Who the cap fit, let them wear it
This one for the jackers
the jealous ass crackers and the ๐๐
I make you prove that it's bulletproof
I'm making devils cower to the Caucus Mountains
I'm on a mission that bitches say is impossible
But when I swing my swords, they all choppable
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This idea began many years ago when I realized I didn't want to be published by white journals. I've always known my work was great, especially when compared to professors and classmates throughout my undergrad and and grad programs. I made professors and students cry for years at Washington State University and at University of California, Riverside. These tears poured themselves into a deep desire of separation from the white world, especially from the white consciousness that presents itself through their imitations of art, theory, freedom, philosophy, and writing ([[Supernatural as Reality]]).
At the age of 30 I have now published in any journal I've ever wanted to publish in. I've corresponded, either in person or online, with any writer I love and respect. I have created and published music that reflects sounds and ideas I've always wanted to hear, I continue to have access to methods of production and continue my work in music. I work with students in a foreign country and teach them about my culture and the many cultures of the world. I speak to them and empower them in a way that prioritizes their experience as a non-white inherently oppressed (by way of the racist capitalist system) student. I am the person I wished to be when I was a boy, living a life I imagined for myself, by way of the privileges and luck I have been provided by family and earth.
It's hard to recognize the parts of myself I am thankful to myself for accomplishing and living. I often become distracted with the parts of myself I am unsatisfied or unhappy with. As of late, to get myself out of self-wallow and to gain self-respect, I have found it easier to write and detail my thoughts on the things I know most about.
At an early age I became interested in the organization of society and particularly obsessed with how unfair things seemed. I questioned so many things, there was always a question on the tip of my tongue. As soon as I left home for university, I began my journey of self-discovery.
At first I thought it was the books that freed me and taught me what I needed to know. I read so much those four years in undergrad, books whose names I no longer recall. I later realized all this reading was only assisting in my understanding of things I had suspected or experienced. Suspected or experienced through my life or through the lives of my family.
I was constantly asked by professors why I wrote and centered my family in the stories I wrote. Why don't you center yourself? Why are you not an active character? Why are you only there to comment on your family? Can't you rewrite this so you're the main actor?
I got older and understood that in recounting my family and ancestor's lives, I was recounting my own life and ongoing existence as an extension of them. I wasn't asking to invent a new tradition, I was writing into an existing tradition these whites didn't know or understand.
Once I understood this I felt empowered but still stifled. My mind and pen could be liberated but liberation feels good when you can show it off, no? As an aside, in this case, am I really liberated? Am I free even now as I write to a reader?
I longed to be seen by larger audiences though the more I published in various journals, the more I realized I felt unsatisfied by publication. I convinced myself it was because I needed a larger audience, that I needed to publish with the help of an agent in order to achieve satisfaction. I sent my work to many agents but there was a complete lack of interest.
I got caught here in understanding my writing as not good enough, as something undesirable by anyone who enjoys reading and thinking. For years I wrote only in my physical journals and shared occasional writing with friends. I told myself that I was a good writer but that I didn't write what people wanted. I tried to write what people wanted, tried to write what I thought white people would love, but it never felt right and it made me sick.
I knew the institutions I studied in were full of shit, I knew people like [[Peter Chilson, Tom Lutz, and Reza Aslan]] were sad childish men who helped me understand the frailty of white men and the frailty of whiteness and the frailty of white consciousness. In looking back at those experiences, I could piece apart the ways they weren't shit, but the impact they had on my confidence and in my ability to publish outside of them and their institutions, was lasting.
This site is an attempt to explain my thought and ideas. It is also a way to subvert traditional methods of publishing, especially those methods or outlets dominated and filtered by whites and by those infected with the white consciousness. I don't think there is a point in waiting to say something in a journal or book published by a white-owned, white-operated, and/or white-allowed institution.
I hope one day I can make money from my writing, of course, but I also believe the things I know and have to say can help others now. Ain't no one got time to wait for white people on they bullshit.
The dark blue colored links are writings and reflections still to come. The light blue colored links should be clickable.