August 31, 2014 - Black and White

With the appearance of social unrest tearing through cultures all over the world, it is important to explore different perspectives to paint the truest picture of the situation. The pieces featured here explore race, specifically looking at relations between black people and white people.  

Poetry

Identity"White reflects all colors on the light spectrum,"
                                    my teacher once said.
I wondered why it took a scientist to discover
a lesson that history has already taught us.
White doesn't carry home its dead
                                   with
                                   the
                          
Identity by TurboTracks

"I live with dispersed hues that run at the sight of me
because my science-history says it must be so."

This poem takes a white perspective on this issue, exploring the guilt of history as well as the daunting dream of cohesion. What makes this interesting is the rarely-explored idea of hope for white people - that this state of oneness can be possible despite history.

OvercomeOvercome
It is a moment without metaphor,
without the elegance of ambiguity.
What happens does not signify anything,
does not borrow the body of what it is
to create the soul of what it is;
it does not lend itself out to betoken
other things. These are seconds
without such generosity.
It is not a moment of young onions
grown tender for the harvest, or persimmons
frosted over by the sugars of age. There are
no solemn rail cars rusting into poignancy.
There is only a young black man
who is only a young black man
bullied by the sting of insult and indignity
too great, his proud mouth burnt by wrath
as he careens down the sidewalk
toward bedlam.
There is only a loose-tongued white man
who is only a loose-tongued white man,
older and leaning heavily on a cane as he turns,
a bag of something in his free hand, fretfully
silent now as he looks into the face
his epithets have spoken to life –
one ugliness begets another.
Cups of coffee leave the parking lot
behind me, where presumably all 
Overcome by b1gfan

"It is not a moment of young onions
grown tender for the harvest, or persimmons
frosted over by the sugars of age. There are
no solemn rail cars rusting into poignancy."

Taking the perspective of an onlooker, the impact of this piece comes from it's blatant style. It is not layered with emotion or impression, rather, it presents the scene as it is. Whether intentional or not, the situation described in this poem speaks to a deeper issue; a black man, angry enough to be moved to violence from the words of a white man. There is something to overcome. 

Prose

colour blind.She saw him at the park once. He was the colour of dirt; with bird eyes and white, mapped palms. Her little forehead lined as she felt the bile force its way up until her saliva was acid. She counted her toes and bit the inside of her cheek, should she run? Are they fast runners? She figured this one must be if he kept himself out of jail. The dark man flashed a mouthful of pebbles and held out his hand- which would have swallowed hers.
'Don't touch me.'
Her hands were all knuckles and her baby eyes tore into his. He faltered and stepped away, a half mouthed sorry. He looked upset, a grin spread like fire between her dimples.
Suddenly she imagined force-feeding him barbed wire and then tearing it back out- the way a clown pulls coloured cloth from his sleeve. She imagined tying the left of his limbs to a heavy tree trunk and the right to a truck. Dragging and pulling until his joints sang high with dislocation and his arms snapped like twigs. The way she likes the crackle of dea
colour blind. by Pretty-As-A-Picture

"The bruised black boy sat two seats behind her one year. She'd hold her nose to stop the apocryphal smell as she tried instead to fill her lungs with the air that lingered under her shirt, at her chest."

This story is written from the perspective of a young girl raised to hate black people, not realizing the blackness that is a part of her. It presents the stark injustice of discrimination, at the same time dealing with identity and white passing. Both interesting and haunting (and at times difficult to read), this story is a quietly important addition to the racial dialogue. 

Black and WhiteI met him in the sandbox.
It sits just past the streetlight mamma tells me is old fashioned because it looks more like candy than a stoplight. I don't agree, but I'd never tell her. (she only insults it in this manner after she forgets to look for it and runs a red light)
I was not building sandcastles, or playing house, or pretending to be princess of anything. I was building roadways and mountains and intersections for my little yellow jeep to purr its way over; ignorant of all traffic laws. (Did you know that if you purse your lips and blow, you can grrr just like one?)
He had green eyes to match his green tractor, and we built farms and dug trenches until our little arms were sore and then we planted pebbles while we chanted grow corn grow.
.
I think I remember her skirts, and the red of her hair, and the twisted rouge of her lips as she yanked him stumbling to his feet and sneered.
She had his green eyes.
I do remember what she said, Don’t play with her Michael. She
Black and White by TheAfterWhys

"I do remember what she said, Don’t play with her Michael. She’s dirty. I didn't know then, that the word dirty had nothing to do with hygiene."

This piece takes the perspective of a young black girl told she cannot play with a white boy. What makes this interesting is, unlike many stories within this point of view, the mother is unable to teach racism to her child. This creates the effect of highlighting the ridiculousness of the mother's ideals, but does this without taking away from the pain felt by the black girl and her mother. 

All of these pieces are interesting and thought provoking. Each of them provides a unique perspective on the relationship between black and white, each adding something to this important dialogue about race.   

It's not a huge time commitment, but it is a commitment. So I'd appreciate a little, you know, commitment. 

Thank you. And have a nice day. 

Then I get stuck. Then I am compelled to edit. And I have to do it in pen. Let me tell you, I have burned through quite a bit of ink. So I edit. And I edit. I edit through the whole thing I have. And I think to myself, 'Self, you might just get through this draft'. When suddenly -

BAM! Writer's block. People have told me it's only a state of mind, that I can get through it if I just sit down and stop freaking myself out over it. These people are not artists or writers, and I often find myself questioning whether or not they are human.  

So I find myself wondering - what do other people do to get past creative blocks? I'm quite curious to know.

You really think I would have figured out a consistent method by now.