Literature

Reform or Revolution

I stand at a precipice

Between a new genesis

A chance to rewrite

To cause the night

To finally fall over the scene

And the day to rise on a world that’s clean.

 

Or not

To only work to unravel a knot

On a rope that might be best to cut

So we may all be free from the gut

Of a beast

 

But what would that entail

To slay the dragon without fail

I might be able to garner some with a clever verse

But others will certainly rise to deliver a curse

Against me and my kin

As if we were the only ones with sin

 

Fellow countryman and family

Who claim to be so nattily

Will treat us like a calamity

To their sacred reality

 

But their world isn’t so pure

And though they try to obscure

The centuries of torment they inflicted

The peoples they evicted

The behaviors they restricted

And the souls they conflicted

We know, we remember

 

So what if we cut ties

Allow the bonds to die

Play the devil to their god

And finally break the rod

They have struck us with

 

For in enacting our coups

What exactly do we lose?

 

And yet that voice whispers

“No, no, mend the fissures

Don’t strive for exemption,

But rather redemption”

I don’t know the source

Of the voice directed to reinforce

My hesistation

 

Does it belong to the god of the faith I’ve abandoned?

Memories of people I have long forgotten?

Regardless, I have listened

And now I’m tempted

 

Maybe wrongs can be mended

Without the society at fault ended

Maybe, for the people who are hostile

It is worthwhile

To try to bring them into the fold

Once they are told

Our list of grievances

 

Our systems aren’t inflexible

And as we reach the pinnacle

Of our strength

Then perhaps, after this struggle of great length

The world would be better

 

Still, plenty of people thought the same

And though it is justice they exclaim

Did they ever achieve an ultimate victory?

Give the wrongs a final valedictory?

No they didn’t, the sins still precipitate

The new form, our actions facilitate.

 

What is this voice anyway, an evil angel or a righteous devil?

Bent on lowering me to an acceptable level

Where I’m choked by civility

My virility replaced by docility.

So the world can go on unchallenged, as I’m expected to embrace futility.

 

Nay, Nay I say

But yet, I’m astray

And left with a choice

On what to do with my voice.

Do I advocate merely change, or a society’s annihilation?

Do I pursue redemption, or a final solution?

Am I for reform, or revolution?


Short Story: The Horrible Life of Jordan S.M.B.L Thorchann

My Grandfather always told me that there would be no rest for the weary, and boy was that fossil right as rain. Here I was about to retire for the evening, get out of this tacky uniform, and go spend a lovely evening at the new Picasso exhibit with my beloved only to receive a call to haul ass to the slums of Jackson St. It’s a rough life I tell you. At least I could peer out of the squad car window as the city passed us by, it’s bright lights appearing as strings of lights in front of a black background as we whizzed through the streets at top speed. At least, in the face of all this, I could enjoy the temporary view.

“We’re here, quit the day-dreaming Jordan” my partner, Alicia, said to get my attention.

Never mind!

Man, they weren’t kidding when they called this place a slum. Half of the houses looked depilated, the rest appearing like they were on there way. Crossing the police tape into the house beyond revealed that the inside was just as putrid. Peeling lead pain, stained worn carpets, such a disgrace. I bet they don’t even clean their bedrooms.

“Man these people should be ashamed, living in this squalor.” I said to Alicia. Her little black nose twitching in frustration. 

“Well the legacy of red-lining on top of all the other historical bullshit makes that kind of thing difficult to transcend on an individual basis.”

“Stop blaming the past. You and your people need to take responsibilities for yourselves.”

Her face was angry now; boy, women are so easily triggered.

“What would you know about it, dick?”

Dick!? Wow, misandry much. Kept that thought silent though. What can I say, I’m a nice guy. Besides, more important things were afoot as Detective Michael Keeler was calling us over. Probably wants to see my mad skills in action.

“Ah Alicia, just the person wanted to see. So sorry for holding you up, I know your shift ends soon.” Michael said.

What!? I’m here you know, can’t get an acknowledgement. Why that piece of… got to stay calm. It’s not me, probably just some affirmative action bull-crap. Gotta give the obviously less skilled a leg up in accordance to cultural marxist doctrine. I understand.

“It’s not a problem, Michael. Duty first and all that. Any changes from last we spoke.” Alicia said.

“Nothing much” Michael sighed “Mrs. Smith’s son Malcolm is still missing and she still isn’t talking. Not that I blame her. Son was arrested a few years back and garner two black eyes and broken nose while in our custody. Only called us because no one in her network knows where he is. People are willing do anything under desperation I guess.”

“We need to make sure we get her son back into her arms, safe and sound.” Alicia said.

“Agreed, that’s why I called you here. I need you to talk to her…”

I’m sorry, I can’t take this anymore. It’s my story, I’m the protagonist, I’m suppose to be the one shining here.

“Don’t worry Mike” I butted in “I’ll speak with her.”

“No!” Alicia said in a vain attempt to steal my thunder. Michael tried stop my approach via the old hand on shoulder approach, but to no avail as my mighty shoulder is not so easily grabbed by soy boys. These people need to stop underestimating me. I’m a nice guy, I’m rational. I just need to say the exact right thing to have her spill the beans.

“Eh, Mrs. Smith, why ain’t you talking, you hiding your son’s coke problem.”

She said nothing, merely giving me the kind of scornful look only a woman can give. Clearly a sign of my eminent victory; women’s rational faculties are so easily overwhelmed by emotion that a superior mind like mine can easily outmaneuver them.

“You dick!” a familiar voice said, followed quickly by a slap right. I turned to face my assaulter only to find it to be Alicia herself. My word, how dare she attack me! What did I do to deserve this? Well, I can’t let this stand without reply. Raising my hand I prepared to trade an eye for eye with Alicia, only to be interrupted yet again.

“Thats enough, Jordan.” Michael said, his scrawny arm attempting to hold back my big testosterone enforced guns. Alicia, obviously trying to escape the fight she picked, ran up to Mrs. Smith for consul while I was dragged to the side.

“Why the hell you did that for?” I demanded “Equal rights means equal lefts.”

“All you’ll be getting is a foot up your ass if you don’t shut up Jordan.”

He let go of my guns, so I leaned on the wall to see Alicia and Mrs. Smith conversing. Look at them all wide-eyed and understanding; what a ruse. She is only talking because of my intro; once again Alicia simply piggybacking off of my achievement. Typical professional wom. They wear their make-up and lipstick to entice you, then steal all your opportunities. What a load!

“Jordan, let me tell you something I picked up on after all these years.” Michael said to me. Oh great a long ass speech. 

“White people, even the best intentioned and most empathetic, can never truly get at the black experience. At best, it’s merely inklings of the fear, of the resentment, of the double consciousness these people have to deal with everyday. Sometimes I wish it could be different, would certainly reduce the number of awkward moments in my life, but it’s just a limitation you have to be aware of.”

“What the hell you getting at Michael?”

“That Alicia there can do some things that you can’t, know some things you can never know. Acknowledging those things doesn’t make you a bad cop, far from it. Knowing that you can’t be the hero of every tale is a mark of wisdom.”

Limitations?! Things I cannot know?! That’s some lefty, cultural marxist, postmodernist bullshit. I’m a man; I’m rational. Heck, the other day on my youtube channel some called me the next Plato. To think Michael would be so infected with SJW propaganda. So sad. Couldn’t muster a response in time though, as Alicia came back to us, still giving me the stink eye.

“She said his last stop before coming home would have been to the clinic a few blocks down. Apparently he gets some medicine there to take the edge off his cravings.”

“A good enough lead as any.” Michael said “Given that you two nearly came to blows, I’ll go with Alicia to the clinic. Jordan, just take your squad car back to the station and gets some rest and please think about what I said.”

And just like that, I was on the road again on again taking in the stream of city lights. Can’t get what Michael said out of my head. Suppose if you cut out the post modernist language it makes some sense. I mean black people are on the lower end of the bell curve. Obviously a person with a higher I.Q. would have difficulties understanding the lower I.Q. simpletons. Thats obviously the reason. Though I must say, why do I have to work with one of those simpletons rather than above. Why upset the natural hierarchy. I mean Michael, so infected by cultural marxism, would claim that’s it all social. Bullshit! I mean if you look at humanity’s closest living relative, the lobster, you would see that hierarchies are natural. Guess I’ll just have to be the only rational person in this whole damn city. What a shame. Next right and I am at the station, but its 7:05. Dammit I’m going to be late at this rate. I can’t disappoint my beloved. 

Past my initial right two blocks down lied the gallery. It’s quite the wonderful building, held together by a lovely wooden finish. And the river just beyond it looks beautiful. Entering the building like I have done many times before, I was greeted by my beloved, Asuna. She looks so lovely, so busty, and not a peep from her mouth. That’s what I love about 2D woman, they never insult me unlike those 3D femoids. My beloved was eager, so I toured the gallery. So many Picasso works and re-creations on display, hell I could see a few of mine own submissions to the gallery. The textures of the paints are so lovely, how they wrap around the curves of the canvas, all wrapped up in the wonderful scent of formaldehyde. Man I love that Spaniard, so much better than the modern art of today. Trash as art? Please! So deep is society’s infection with cultural marxism that everything is melting away. Art, literature, Video games. Hell, I even heard they made a woman the lead in this new star wars trilogy. Culture used to make us feel good, but now, now I’m lonely, I’m lonely and ITS EVERYONE ELSE’S FAULT BUT MINE!

Jesus, I can’t get angry like that. I’m supposed to be the nice guy, the hero. Don’t want to upset Asuna now do I. But as I composed myself, I heard another set of foot steps. I turned the corner to find, of all people, Alicia staring at my submission. How the hell did she get here, tickets are sold out. Oh, I know how, must have snuck in. People like her only want free stuff after all. Guess I’ll have to be the one to escort her out. Luckily for me, my gun was still on my belt. Pulling it out, I lined up my sights directly at her. Just in time to as she just managed to detach one of the pieces from the wall. MY OWN PIECE!!!

“YOU THIEF!” I yelled pulling the trigger to release two rounds. Both missed and she fled behind the gallery wall holding the paintings. Nice reflexes, I’ll give her that. Her kind always had great physicality. No wonder they made such great models for my imitations of Picasso. But how long can she keep this up? After all, she coming face to face with a patriarch, a hero of culture, an ALPHA LOBSTE…

And just like that, everything went dark. The only sense I had was the feeling of blood dripping down my forehead. The bitch! She must have gotten me when I was internally monologuing. I just wanted to get her for trespassing, I was being a nice guy. While I was pondering that though, the darkness began to part, replaced by a bright light of all things. God!? No it can’t be, I’m a rational skeptic; I don’t believe in such silly things. But I must say it was an impressive illusion of my oxygen deprived mind as a hand materialized to reach towards me. Purely out of a sense of curiosity I raised my hand to meet it. But just as our hands were about to meet, the illusion rudely flicked me. Falling through the void, I looked up to see this force giving the bird of all things. Falling and falling through the darkness only to be halted suddenly. Finding myself tied to a desk and stuck in a classroom of all things. Just then a woman materialized and began to speak.

“Hello class and welcome to Social Studies 101.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”