My tears for Sky-king: I got your backa my cracka

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don’t breaka my hearta ya cracka!

I am not sure the alt-media has this guy’s story nailed -downed. As soon as I started to see the media reports, I knew from a based-belly feel, I did not want to hear the audio.

https://secure-hwcdn.libsyn.com/p/6/0/3/603e9c06aa1d6ce0/ExAm131-FINAL.mp3?c_id=22635930&cs_id=22635930&expiration=1535188854&hwt=bb532157f84d41f9dde2e9ea2e4e715e

His voice though, his sweetness, his my-peopleness. THe way the (((msm))) gaslights us and has only aggression and wants to kill us. Rejoices in the misery they cause.

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See how great and noble savages vibrant you mayo-mutts?

 

I suspect his problems were deeper than your average attacked cracka.

 One of the beauty parts about recognizing that you are an attacked cracka, is it comes with a sense of duty and purpose. 

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You become solderiezed

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and realize there are a million and one tiny-papercuts of ways you can advocate for your fam-fam. That every single time you do it is tiny triumph and just like water you can cut great canyons. 

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I get picked on by all kinds of people. People who, for whatever creepy reason (they are the embodiment of evil but let’s pretend for this blog-cast we don’t know) stalk us and lurk in our groups and pretend to be us. like an entire race of groace unwanted advances. Whatever. Nobody cares. #metoogoyimstyle lol

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But I did listen to this walking home. And I did break like a chicken egg filled with some weird flu-vaccine. I did have a long way to walk. I did stop and rest against a wall. I was grateful that by the blessing of diversity no one would notice my suffering that I find shameful. I ended-up crying for a long time about this. 

Today I also thought about this:

Lord only knows what led up to this incident. oh but whitey gets witch-hunted. like I am expected to believe he went into this do-nut store for the explicit reason of harassing the nasty person who called him b1tch? Black people say that magic word as if they have diarrhea of the mouth and will die if they don’t say it every half a second. They say it in public. They say it to me. But if a white person says it they fall out like a busted out sagger that has to run with triangle legs from the cops?  WHY?

why do we tolerate this? 

Why can I not say- “I got your backa my cracka!” and fist bump or nod or raise an eyebrow to my brethren? Why can I not take a stick and draw half a fish in the sand in front of me and have my fellow cracka draw the other half? 

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WE all know what is going on. we all know. we all are part of a particular spiritual body. Never underestimate the profound effect that advocating for your brethren will have on their beleaguered souls. however small the act. remember that most of our innate communication is very subtle indeed. We are not the (((globo-homos))) of foul hysteria.

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Listen through your belly and hear the beautiful hum of your people. A hum that builds honey-combs and the whole world depends on. Remember to be strong. Remember your purpose and that your greatest weapon is joy.

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Wise up white man and sing your own song

 

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And of course:

This is the arresting beauty of us.  

This is our unique and glorious culture.

This is the beauty that everyone else wants to destroy and benefit from.

Everyone of you that is a genetic expression of this profound love has an obligation to live loudly and joyfully.

(post script: had to reload this bc wordpress must be staffed by idiots with man-buns and wouldn’t let me media right)

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