Emancipate the White Man

Emancipate the white man from his born into this white privilege

and liberate him from his He-Man Masters of the Universe status.

As you the ethnic and gender underclasses

of the world

grind your teeth in irritation of

his cultural appropriational ways.

Please do not judge the white man

for this is just his way of

showing appreciation for

a culture not his own,

for as a white savior

these cracka’s amongst us

need to create cultures by sometimes

stealing from ones that come

already colored in.

Emancipate the oversexed white man from his public shame

as he accepts his own blame for sending dick picks

to secretaries and under age chicks

for his libido has been raised as a Playboy slave  

led to believe thay every sexual advance from puberty on,

should go his way.

Emancipate the white businessman for his ascension up

the ladder of success

for he is only doing more or less what

he deems to be his best and well those

struggles of minorities and women

are just not expierences that

a white man of privilege

can relate to or attest.

Emancipate the elitist white golfers and doctors

Lawyers and CEO’s of evening news shows.

Emancipate the God loving, Manifest Destiny

white power preachers from their fear of their own

daughters or sons being enaged in a genderfluid

bi-racial matrimony.

Emancipate the white frat boy from

his past coming back to haunt him

and his alcohol induced collegiate bad boy ways

for why should his Ivy League skull and bones

laissez-faire attitude be held over him

while sitting upon the Supreme Court.

Emancipate the white real estate developer from

his trickle down economy

and his God given right to gentrify

every corner of every city,

as poverty is not his problem

when buying up and reselling properties

at an overinflated rate.

For the slow death of ethnic communities

is his suit and tie contribution

to the new age final solution.

Emancipate the white liberal savior

from his affirmative action saving grace and

forgive his homage to Malcolm X last Halloween

as just an honest mistake, for he did know better,

when he showed up at the office costume party

in black face.

Emancipate the white man from the hole

he and his predecessors have dug for themselves 

while at the same time burying all of those who

have never fit into their blue eyed mold

for the history of the world

seen through the white mans eyes

is a storyline narrative

that is in dire need of  

being retold.

.

Joe Strummer once said that the future is unwritten

Joe Strummer once said that the future is unwritten,

and while this idea gets me at times wondering

about the storytellers of the past

and how those amongst us still

busy themselves writing stories that

engage the evolved inhabitants of planet earth

in dystopian futures that look rather dim

from this side of the coin,

These futures portrayed all seem to be

ones that will be rather unpleasant

for more than just some.

And as we the readers of novels

and watchers of screens

keep waiting and wondering

pondering how the actual future will  

play itself out.

For if it is, as Joe Strummer once said

that the future is unwritten,

it does gets this reader of novels and watcher of screens

to wondering about the consequence of all of this dire storytelling

and about the portrayal of the possibilities of

our future days and if this

sort of dystopian storytelling is not just our human way

of predetermining our own twisted prophecies

one by one by one

each and every day.

For if the future is truly unwritten

then how will we free our present selves

from being held hostage

by the obviousness

of our modern ways

this Stockholm Syndrone

of our own cynical cycles

as we are held at gunpoint by both

ill informed and overeducated opinions,

how we are all accountable

regardless of which side of

the camera phone you stand,

and as we allow world and local leaders

to act as enablers and feeders

coercing the masses to gorge itself upon

this modern age dietary rage

of burning the calories of our compulsive need

to fill enraged,

this twisted way of laying claim

upon this world

instead of ever actually becoming

engaged.

For if Joe Strummer  

once said that the future is unwritten,

and now more than ever we the still living

must be increasingly aware

of becoming naive or just to damn

dumb enough not to know

that one day in that unwritten future

that we who have not been blindsided by hindsight

will be confronted once again

to look back in shame

about the present way

that so many of us are now

prone to act.

Some unions are better off retired than reunited.

We had spoken over whiskeys

of one anothers tlife ragedies

and you, just like old times

always had a punchline

for every poignant moment.

And with every joke the burden of

the weight being carried by my heart

shifted to my head,

for the brain is better equipted to

deal with the reality of an asshole

when given half a chance.

And you joked about how still having

the capacity to

recall and share memories

made you feel so damn cool

while sitting half-baked in that catering hall

full of hormone injected housewives,

opiateted orthodontists and honors class overachievers

now with the onset of early alzheimer.

You told me that your kids

were all grown up and fucked up

and I laughed and said, we’ll whose aren’t anyhow.

While all the while feeling lucky that somehow mine

had turned out relatively alright.

You had said that your 2nd wife had been

a more loving wife than your 3rd but stability

was something that at our age was more important to

you than love.

And when you kept saying over and over

how amazing you thought it was

that everyone, after all these years,

still looked so damn good,

I began to grow a bit skeptical

about that pill that you had offered to me,

the one that you said that your brother in-law

from your 1st wife

had prescribed for your bad back.

And later on, after dumping you in the back

of an Uber at the end of the night

and while trying to buckle you in

for the drivers safety,

you sprayed me with your spittle

while babbling on about staying in touch and

that yes, I of course love you too man,

and yeah it was all good

and we fist bumped and high fived

as I was sober enough to tell the Uber driver

that he was better off taking it slow

in the curves,

and knowing that at our age

that this expression of bro’hood,

one that hadn’t even been there in High School,

was now just the drunken melodrama

and nostalgia of a middle age man

who had gotten

once again

way too

high.