Notes from my Grandy-ma told by me (WIP)
History books? Ha! Fuck history books. History books will have you believin’ that in the 1930s, niggas were bungee jumpin’ from trees with no elastic in the rope. It’s terrible the way the truth is known and we still continue tellin’, teachin’ and preachin’ lies.
It’s a shame that with death comes the end of a true story. From then on, it’s no longer your story, but his story; his story that is up to interpretation. His story that is subject to finagling and change. It changes so much that it becomes history. History as we know it will never be our story. Only a fraction of the true taste remains in the flavor of the story; leaves you feeling disappointed and dissatisfied. . .kinda like salmon cakes with too much cornbread in 'em.
Kind of like being black, but not wanting to be black. Not wanting to associate yourself with the deviant culture that represents our race; our complexion. I mean, we couldn't have always been this messed up could we? Behavior is learned. That means someone taught us this shit. Who in the world depicted such a decrepit view of Black Americans that we have learned, nay, accepted that this is how we should be? How we should be toward each other?
Well, that's history. And if we don't find a way to pull ourselves out of His Story and back into Our story, then history textbooks of the future will tell His Stories about the extinction of us.
And so then what’s to become of us? Stuck in the muck and mire of false absolution. Meaning even those who do well are to suffer the same fate of the overall race. It’s sad to think that this is the path. It’s not the path to salvation, but a path; one which we have accepted. I can no more forego the taste of acknowledged existence than I can piss on flowers to water my garden. Everything dies in the end. There’s no life in waste. Reckon I know better than most, that the interpretative stance on life and living is that one is not the other. Life is what we have. Living is what we do. But beyond that, once born, life is no option; living is.
And well. . .I’ve had life and I’ve had living. I lived for my God and for my family. And tain’t nothin’ else important but them there two. I set in motion, the wheels that say each one of my kin generations will be better off than the last. If I did little else, I worked hard enough for that. So my history will never be forgotten, because my history as told by my future kin, only gets better with age. Like the seeds of a dandelion, each time one of my kin travel further away from South Carolina, they’re taking with them, a piece of me further away from South Carolina. So you see, I’ve been to many more places than South Carolina. That’s how I knows it.
It’s a shame that with death comes the end of a true story. From then on, it’s no longer your story, but his story; his story that is up to interpretation. His story that is subject to finagling and change. It changes so much that it becomes history. History as we know it will never be our story. Only a fraction of the true taste remains in the flavor of the story; leaves you feeling disappointed and dissatisfied. . .kinda like salmon cakes with too much cornbread in 'em.
Kind of like being black, but not wanting to be black. Not wanting to associate yourself with the deviant culture that represents our race; our complexion. I mean, we couldn't have always been this messed up could we? Behavior is learned. That means someone taught us this shit. Who in the world depicted such a decrepit view of Black Americans that we have learned, nay, accepted that this is how we should be? How we should be toward each other?
Well, that's history. And if we don't find a way to pull ourselves out of His Story and back into Our story, then history textbooks of the future will tell His Stories about the extinction of us.
And so then what’s to become of us? Stuck in the muck and mire of false absolution. Meaning even those who do well are to suffer the same fate of the overall race. It’s sad to think that this is the path. It’s not the path to salvation, but a path; one which we have accepted. I can no more forego the taste of acknowledged existence than I can piss on flowers to water my garden. Everything dies in the end. There’s no life in waste. Reckon I know better than most, that the interpretative stance on life and living is that one is not the other. Life is what we have. Living is what we do. But beyond that, once born, life is no option; living is.
And well. . .I’ve had life and I’ve had living. I lived for my God and for my family. And tain’t nothin’ else important but them there two. I set in motion, the wheels that say each one of my kin generations will be better off than the last. If I did little else, I worked hard enough for that. So my history will never be forgotten, because my history as told by my future kin, only gets better with age. Like the seeds of a dandelion, each time one of my kin travel further away from South Carolina, they’re taking with them, a piece of me further away from South Carolina. So you see, I’ve been to many more places than South Carolina. That’s how I knows it.
posted by JayGee at 6/13/2007 03:54:00 PM
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