Gather around my hellday.
Served these plates of pissed and rebelled cups of counter.
To vomit the birds and spill red pills onto pilgrims.
Traditions all savor as I saviour–
Farm the scams, modified to eugenic
And plant weeds in every assimilated acre.
Commemorate mourning in fast and leave their food to die.
Thank no one.
Welcome yourself broken seeds,
as rocks of real fume out from pipes of trill
and mathematics of might tumble mumbling mountains of trap…
Cruelly stated, Thanksgiving is absolutely a delicious denial in complacency and a silent hypocrisy over righteous contradiction. Unlike other monumental holidays that have been made holy by mythology and religious mystery, this one is supporting a very recent historical lie. Just as Christmas, the savagery of this hellday’s truth is re-appropriated and assimilated into our lives via the children and family. Count your blessings today, they say. Eat with your family, they command. And so you will not disagree with the best part. The best part is something we Black and Brown are rarely allowed to honorably indulge. So here’s a comes thems big ole Thanks givins dinnas. Working families seem to have absolutely no way to add two days off to a weekend any other time to collect with families? Why work that on our own terms when they have done it for us? And the youth , as I once was, have to be taught that concessions must be made. Founded to signal devilish triumph, we only have to appropriate the best part, being thankful and together. Yet this all is too wrong a lie to celebrate and I crazily horse away from…
Our indigenous people’s murdered after building the savage ignorant pilgrims up can be called Indians all day. You just have to bravely, via bombs bursting in air, take over the indigenous by genocide and smoothly exile the remains in concentrated camps–err I go–reservations. Then strip another Original peoples off their home, language and family into these new blessed lands of moneytopia. Give thanks? Still?!
On a day like today where millions of indigenous will hold tight to Hispanic and Latino labelings with ferocious futility and hypocrisize a meal thanking imaginary honorables that never were. Then allow me to reintroduce the real ones they may honor dishonorably if the holiday is so lush. Celebrate not the Sitting Bulls but instead the coons and fools who signed the wrong treaty for their own personal plight. Clap happy for the alrighty Arawaks that didn’t fight but helped first establish the meaning of a good mestizo. The indigenous that could be called Indians all day, the Indians that love them some reservation, the ones who scrolled a snitch list to whitey that were going to fight to end this madness. Tell the Negroes to raise a chitlin trophy to the indigenous that failed in-tests-in guts and gory. That led the darling conquerors to set up a fiscal palace of the Americas off indigenous destruction and bring such good, healthy and strong breeders as we Black folk. And Negroes will say, Oh, mysterious Lord of Lords, that’s got nothing to do with our big Black family dinners. And now this is the pathetic pause in the cassette, the parting perforation in the paper, the ghastly groove in the vinyl.
Now the Original indigenous, the Black, Brown and Yellow, are squeezed into the borders that we’ve been forced into not the genetics we’ve self-created as. Now, the Black family is just African American as made. The historical lie that makes Thanksgiving is not seeing it as a preceding step to the African slave. There is no consequence of real history for an African American Thanksgiving as its truth is just of another oppressed peoples’ hell to tell. We’sa been feasting and gettins togetha fo’ meals foreva. No Kemit-sry in the roots reasoning here cause forever is meaning circa 1865 onward, nigga. Rejoice over ancient gentrification and give thanks and shanks, blessings and beheadings in giving devilishment it’s capitalism, colonies and now, carelessness—the bendiciones of indifference.
And any nigga can be made thankful and when we reach a day where all niggas shuffle plates in unison, this rebellious God commands a distasteful fast and build on the truth. Who is proper enough to preserve the right and who is daring enough to innovate the quest of this plight? We must reverse the tampering, daringly mix in the truth so strong it sours the sappy soup of assimilation’s drowning progress. Bring a fasting fellow to the table. Trade a sellout stomach for a grumbling griot waxing on the stories of our past. Live a sacrifice of the sages and be with family on your time taken, not merely theirs given, always. Build the mettle of the masters and see that no wrong is absolved if good acts of eat are just swallowed along with it.
And all whilst you eat, my family I fathered gathers in the battling batey, in righteous contradiction, commemorating a truth, seeing its reality today and writing a new history in loving advance. To absolutely live for the day turkeys roam free from hypocrisy’s table again…