My colleague eats his harden snot nuggets with impunity. It's disgusting- he does the roll, pick and lick. It's gut wrenching and sad. He's an adult (possibly autistic). Maybe I am ignorant of autism but I have seen other habit booger snacking men (a former boss, a Ph.d, and my possibly autistic colleague) all around the same age- 25-30 years of age.
I am not talking sopping snot after a blow out sneeze, but harvesting the hell out the face mines that we call nostrils. Just shoveling, needling, hunting for any signs of that sweet salty nugget of sick joy.
Just to remind you booger lovers, your nose is a filter for debris not to enter into your olfactory cavities and to protect you from potential harmful and COMMUNICABLE disease. So when you yank out a large green, gray, and brown hairy wad of clumped disease, you are reintroducing that shit back into your mouths. And unless you lick your fingers after plopping every successful expedition into your mouth you are passing what your nostrils just reject AROUND. Yes your party candy is accompanied by virus's and bacterium. Thanks and fuck you too!
So....Oh dear, look... Please don't pick your boogers in public. It seems there is a culture of booger eaters out there and I can't (and won't) try to stop you mucous munchers from gnawing at your schnoz for hardened snot nuggets that you find.
Just please if you feel the hardened pleasure of the crusty remnants in your olfactory canals begging to be pluck from the void that is your already desperate etiquette, get you infantile ass up, wipe your finger, get a Kleenex, walk to the bathroom, blow out that whopper, and have at it. Slurp and lick that Kleenex until your salty snot loving heart is content.
Just stop subjecting people to your gag inducing, booger yanking snacking. It's fucking disgusting and you should have your kindergarten ass beaten with in inch of hell! It's just nasty, unsanitary, and shameful- just euhhh!
De Chicago par Minneapolis atterri en Aigle. La vie est cher ici et vivante.
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Another day that has begun and already too long. I have had more days where the end of it could not come soon enough. Benign, useless, listless, and uneventful. The people are even more uninteresting that staring at paint. Same complaints and small minded talk. I have a better time sitting at making attempts to improve my life. Yet I have to work at this restaurant with sperm faucets and depressive women. The only motivation I have now is to pay to sleep. I have to work to afford to sleep in a bed. That is a pathetic existence.
I don’t want to live for someone else, nor do I desire a relationship with anyone else. Yet I have gotten myself in the position of fighting for my life, my liberty, and my expression by working in a environment with where conversation centre around fucking and drinking. Me being gay and a very sober person, neither subject appeals to me.
Like I could never discuss the philosophy of how time is not a static condition that affects age, but a fluid dimension in which interacts with our existence. Instead of trying to control time as an object, when need to overcome it like the other dimension we have learn to manage, like gravity, frequency, and space. We age by our arbitrary rules of measurement and not by the real culprit that I fear we are ignorant of. I believe we are aged by our desire of material and the possession their of and not by the soul of the existence, which is eternal and ageless. Souls aren’t measurable by any instrument other than experiences.
Me: Gay Afro-American + Them: European Ignorance = My Response
I am an African American gay male living is Switzerland going on my 15th year herein, with one short stint in San Diego. Originally from Chicago raised in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and studied in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Not shy from Chicago, La Crosse survivor, Minnesota quiet kid nice. Straight up, no chasing.
I moved here with the traumas and dramas of American racial politics in my head. I still have PTSD from the shootings, robbings, burglaries, physical abuse, and absolute injustice in Uncle Sam's Lapland of middle America. So the fact that I have calmed down my responses to bigoted questions is a feat that I will congratulate myself on.
The folks here hate dealing with me because I resemble a certain ethnicity to them and when I disappoint they tell me that I behave wrong or I should "let go!, ya know be more loose and fun". Not to be so jaded. As though I wasn’t loose and fun before. Odd thing is that it is usually a follow-up from people who ask me about my origins with persistence and conviction that I am from a place in Africa.
Then I break their heart when I tell them that my origins lie within the borders of the United States and no other nation. They are confused and shocked that I don’t want to know where my ancestors were traded from. They think it is important for me to be categorized so they can behave a certain way. Sadly, they don’t realize that despite their intentions, they are being an asshole. An idiot savant.
My in-depth origins are not known to me because I lack the resources and emotional depth to go search through the atrocities. I know that I am a descendent of one to threes aboriginal tribes that were either massacred, enslaved, or ethnically cleansed on American soil, not Africa. These questions posed by the inquisitor are not targeted for the aboriginal origins, but the “nation” that colonized my ancestors.
Their feigned interest in my origins is overshadowed by their disappointment that no European colonial power is on the list when I mention my origin and nationality of the United States. Their template of behavior toward me is destroyed because there is a new specimen to be studied, despite their elite education. African Americans are not a group that they can categorize.
As far as I am concerned, my origins, if ever sought would focus on my aboriginal roots. Not some European nomenclature which was imposed on my ancestors as a way for European colonialists to ruin my bloodline.
I guarantee that upon mentioning my methodology in defining my origins, they will refuse and feel offended. How dare I omit their influence on my existence. How dare I seek a time before them, a time before the invasion of colonial imposition. Their sense of entitled omnipresence in my ancestry oozes off their personality like the odor off their transpired sedentary body sweat and deficient pheromone production.
I have mastered the response. My answer is like a powerful slap to their ego and a false sense of superiority. I can actually see them tumble from their pedestal of power above me when I stand up for who I am and of whose I are. The pride of not wearing the coat of arms of my ancestor's captors strikes like a flash of lightning during a supercell storm in the middle of Kansas before a major storm front. That storm front packing hurricane-force winds of truth and golf ball size hail of reality. With the tornado warning that will certainly pull them up to face our creator.
I use my responses judiciously. I am not seeking a fight. I am not seeking dysfunction. I seek respect. I seek to be seen. I seek my humanity to be respected and seen just as they seek to be respected and seen. I will not back down from that basic duty. I owe this to all who love and care for me. Accepting anything less is not honoring those who have supported me and my efforts. It is an affront to my life and my loved ones.
When I stand up for who I am, not just what I am, I am standing up for my team, friends, and family. What I represent is all the sweat, tears, and heartbreaks that all my loved ones have suffered, they put aside to give me the time for my existence. So, upon the time a person smiles in my face and makes the assumption that I am a product of their ancestors and not the descendant of my ancestors in the Americas, it insults not only me but every person in my life. I am here because they put in the effort to give me the time on this earth, not some ignorant inquisitor who only sees my skin color.
To their disappointment, I am deeply divergence from the assumptions they possess based on my skin color. Their ignorant indoctrination as to what I am supposed to be based on my skin color simplifies their humanity more than they know. It signifies to me that they are operating on another frequency, that is particularly designed to minimize my humanity to a 2-dimensional existence for their ease of consumption. A bite-sized ethnic.
In my interactions with people of this sort, I realize that I am off-putting when I respond with "Chicago" and not some presumed nation in Africa. Or better still some island in the Caribbean. I realize that the real estate allotted in their mentality is not large enough to construct my real, abbreviated, and limited knowledge, of my genealogy. For that, they are not ready to hear me reclaim Afro-American roots, instead of their presumed colonial European roots.
The follow-up question to where I am is usually, how did my parents get there? In mind, my ego wants to shut down the conversation with "the vagina ". The absurdity of asking me " how" my parents arrived on the shores of the United States boils the acid in my stomach to no end. So, I take a deep breath, tell them that my mother is from Chicago, and my father is from New Jersey. The ones with enough mental real estate and time, usually get the point. They then somehow find a reference in their memory about Afro-Americans existence. That is where they end the inquisition and show some remorse for going too far. Yet, I get the more frequent, "but how did they get there" query.
This I explain: That I am 100% American, my family has way more generations in the United States than theirs in Switzerland. They become indignant with a facial expression that says "my superior intellectual program does not have this information and the logical ends of his statement require further investigation". If their synaptic hurricane has left any energy for them, they will eke out " but how ". I just give the brief rundown as follows:
*The United State was built, constructed, and operates on war, genocide, and slavery. Uncle Sam’s going concern is to maintain guard the wealth in the hands of the wealthy by exploiting every human weakness possible, by any means necessary. In doing so, the gears that created the United States: the enslavement of my ancestors, the slaughter of Native Americans, and the armament industry of war involved my family, friends, and circle of friends for the past 400-500 years. I can NEVER claim exclusively the mother continent, Africa, as my origins because my family, friends, ancestors, genealogy, and history are the foundation of Uncle Sams's wealth and history, of which I proudly, with a ton of bitterness, claim as my origins. I will not deviate to seek my African roots until have come to terms with the atrocities exacted against my mother, father, brothers, sisters, cousins, grandparents, the greats and other grands, distant cousins of my bloodline that were used to build the institutional wealth, racism, and your ignorance that brought to ask me such a dehumanizing question. Upon the time I have come to terms with the universe of information, of which I must consume in order for me to come to that term, I will seek the region and the roots preceding the invasion of Europeans into Africa.*
*So when I speak of my origins, I speak of my immediate liberated version of my ancestry.*
The irony is that as an ex-pat in Switzerland, I flip wigs of the academia here because brown people are write-offs in the minds of many intellectuals. They take one glance at me and say " West Africa ". This would be true if I was born in Africa, yet when they open the cover of where I have lived, studied, and was born, their brains are left wondering how did that happen. Then they realize, hopefully, that people's origins are not as simple as theirs. I force them to do a mental exercise that they weren’t prepared for. I do get blowback, though.
**"You shouldn’t be so brutal "**
**" They don’t know any better "**
**"They were just trying to be nice "**
So here’s the thing about living under white supremacy. I have been indoctrinated with the notion that I am inferior because I am not of the right color. I have been indoctrinated to believe I have no right to seek intellect and I should just settle for the joy of my oppressor. As long as they are happy and smiling, from the micro to macro aggression for their smiles and joy is just the transaction necessary to stay relevant-i.e ALIVE. Our bodies are the batteries and resources necessary to maintain the economic imposition that drives western society. We are serfs in the human hierarchy, where I, a black male, sit right above a black female, where, ironically my sexuality, is a plus. My homosexuality mutes my threat or propensity of reproductive behavior. My dark skin removes any familiarity with the power brokers because of their indoctrination of my supposed programmed inferiority.
I know my place and I own it.
In their eyes: I am not of value in society. I am only here to serve and arouse the masses of male superiority. That is my predisposed role on this planet. I should never be concerned about individuality and self-agency. I should only be concerned about material wealth and ego adoration from my social hierarchy. I should be grateful for that and seek no more. My satisfaction with what is imposed, my ambitions are prohibited. Ambition, autonomy, and self-agency are being wiped from existence and I am supposed to follow suit. The most dangerous human being is an unshackled slave with the power to decipher the desires of his master.
The reason for my full chest, from the base of the gut, eyebrow raised "Chicago" response, is this: I am reclaiming time. I am reclaiming my humanity on every occasion. I deserve the same respect that I give. Boundaries will be respected, even in conversation. Light-hearted or not. A ship is as strong as its weakest point. Any type of bigotry is battled on every front for thee and for me. Liberty of expression should be met with the liberty of defense of self. Reclamation of our humanity in the face of a dehumanizer is the best remedy and most peaceful answer to psychological and physiological violence of bigotry and dehumanization.
When I am asked incessantly where "am I really from" , "what is really" my origins, I respond "Chicago, Illinois- like Michelle Obama" like I am striking the earth to wake the blood of ancestors to holler in ears of the soul of my inquisitor. With force, soul, and full of existence. Just to get the point across.
The cherry on top is when they lack a response, I mention that there are over 39 million of us in existence in the United States. Their response is just silent heartbreak. Heartbroken, that I seek nothing of their affirmation or validation. That I see them as equal and not a threat. Their arsenal of dismissive and reductive commentary becomes a futile mess of inconsistent truths and useless anecdotes regurgitated upon their flatlined expressions. I am unapologetic.
The caucasity, bredacity, opulancity, and gonacity to blurt out their damned mouths these simpleton questions to reduce me to a morceau of my existence will be met with the same fierceness as their intent. I understand that their upbringing and education have brought them to this point. I am more aware that I am too old not to stand up for myself, no matter how tiring it is. It is exhausting and emotionally draining to reeducate people who hold way more privileges over me, not necessarily power, but access, about permitting a human being to be. Not to be a box to check off for their expediency, where all the consequences of my erased humanity are debited from my wellbeing.
This supposed superiority should come with responsibility and greater intelligence if we were to play this game. Flaunting one's superior qualities without cause or requests cheapens the human. We are of the universe, not just of its atoms. Focusing only on the superior quality (rather real or imagined) of our existence, to a logical eye, illuminates all the inferior qualities surrounding that quality. My belief is that superiority in any sense on this planet is about as real as Santa Claus. Otherwise, flap those arms, fly to the moon, and bring back a rock. Just jump up and fly to the moon, now.
Bigotry and ignorance is a disease that destroys the brain, I believe. The societies that use these diseases to indoctrinate children through education then amplified through institutions are plantations exploiting their citizenry for the ends of their benefactors. Plain and simple. Protesting racism in many westernized nations is considered unpatriotic. Misogyny is still accepted. Rape is a pro. Homophobia, still a back seat issue. Poverty is punishment for having a soul.
The rape of humanity, like the rape of Africa, has been moved and uploaded online. Deep fakes (blackface 2.0), bitcoin, cryptocurrency, AI, and the metaverse will be exactly as it is on the physical plane. No matter what your avatar choice shall be, if the « superior » race never accepted the higher power's creation of our physical being as a human, the upload of respect will not be a part of the programming of this new frontier. It is up to us and it is up to the individual to confront this bigotry that is being programmed into social media.
Since I cross and stand at these intersections, I am instinctively aware of the traffic. I run home, lock the door, shut down for a couple of days so I can detoxify my mind. All the way down to the intrinsic insidious subtleties in daily speak and behavior. That is why there is often radio silence from me to my friends, family, and colleagues.
Tiktok thinks I have ADHD, a bipolar disorder, anti-social behaviour, and that I am some traumatized abused child that needs to speak to a psychiatrist. Because they assume that normal well-bred people grew up in a two-parent household with no dysfunction. While daily bigoted trauma and micro-aggressions are not in the algorithm of TikTok because it is made by capitalists seeking to exploit our weakness. Normal people don’t experience bigotry. Those who do, are damaged goods. The "damaged" needs to be fixed.
The weak or lazy-minded are being incepted through their desires and rage to consume more products with labored revenue. Keeping the machine and hived mind institutions alive. All the while stealing, repackaging, and claiming our ideas, behaviors, and existence for mass production to unsuspecting consumers. Among those consumers are debt-ridden and emotionally tired human beings seeking a respite from the perpetual trauma and capitalist pressure to comply, influenced to continue this vicious cycle without a second thought. The emotionally wilted. Guilted to consume, consumed by guilt. Rinse and repeat. This is where the digital world fleeces us. Like the colonialists fleecing the native lands under the sun.
I am not antisocial, introverted, nor do I have ADHD. These social media diagnoses come from me needing to recharge my batteries and sort my mind out on my own accord. Me entertained by their bs. I need to hear MY voice, not the thousands of other voices of critique and commentary about what I should be, do, or go. I need to have silence to hear my heartbeat. Do a soul check. In this overcharged world of instant gratification and low-frequency interaction, it is considered a luxury or an affront to think with my voice. It has been said to me that I think too much. Yet, when I interact with people whose pedigree is greater than mine where their thoughts should be in better order than mine, I am not so sure. If they know better, they sure don’t do better.
My emotional bank account is my responsibility. My psychological bank account is my responsibility. My physical energy and well-being accounts are my responsibility. So on and so forth. What is under my power to maintain and gain is my responsibility. Boundaries and reciprocity are the currencies accepted to get to know me. Anyone that knows me or has interacted with me on a long-term basis knows this.
I am sharing this in the hopes it may inspire others to reclaim themselves. For anyone who feels inundated with the barrage of microaggressions and subtle bigotries. It does get better with full attention. It cost time to pay attention, otherwise, we pay something else. People are not always trying to be assholes, but their behavior must be checked, period. Behaviors unchecked become character traits that are extremely difficult to modify. It is just one step before destiny. Our minds must stay cracked open to learn and accept new information and ideas. A closed mind is a useless mind for any progress.
All this to say:
Upon asking me about where I am from, I am unequivocally American, whether we like it or not. Apologies or justifications are not necessary. It is not up to you, asshole, to decide and bet upon my skin color. The fact that this has taken space and time in my mind is insulting enough. I have had enough.
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