Apr 23
Blackfolk, Let Us Feast Upon The Facts Of Our History
And bring forth our literary gifts, talents and works in the service of our community
We do not want to touch the truth of our history, for it is truly filthy. Many of us descend from the products of legal rape. Many of our lineages didn’t exist because our forefather’s genitals were hacked from their bodies. Of our countless ferocious rebellions only one succeeded, which was none other than history’s only successful slave revolt. At what total cost of blood and tears came this victory? How vast the river of violating whiteman’s semen sewing seeds of self-hatred deep within the fertile wombsoil of our foremothers? Seeds which yet spring today as the actions and actualities of softspoken traitors who know none other than to secretly slay us from the inside out as does the autoimmune disease.
We bemoan those who won’t let the past die, while our blind eye to history buries us neck deep at the knees of murderers. Out of fear and false shame we let not our rage spark reems of poetry, let alone the due diligent study and razor discernment which alone can show what we must revolt against, and who, again. Instead false shame becomes revulsion at the filth of our true past, as if our ancestors deserve none of our pride but only our disgust, as if we have not to thank their overcomings for the blessings of hot and cool to which come we so naturally.
Our community as absent as the black father we believe to be the omnipresent reality. It certainly was for me, for mine left and was replaced by a whiteman who was there, with my mother, when I was conceived. No longer legal to force the seed, now legal for us and them to breed and even get married, and thus you get inbetweens like me who seem to be neither they or we completely but our spirit knows to which side we belong truly.
Praises to Yah for the blessing of rooted identity, which is so much more than ego it’s essential spiritually, for that which created this entity I call me cannot be known or honoured without tracing my ancestry. History knows this, they want us not to have root, they know our achievements give us a mighty horn to toot, they know a traitorous Blackman grows only from a confused yout so let them not use our confusion please, fathers, brothers, let us feed our sons the truth.
Daughters, sisters, mothers too, let us feast upon the facts like the powers that be do, they do be keeping our truth locked away from me and you behind a wall of propaganda which we’ll keep on breaking through.
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