Because this? This is not justice, or peace, or progress. It reeks of death, the stench of corrupt power wielders, it reeks of silence, of institutionalized murder, of heartbreak, of irreparable damages; this feels like waterboarding, like syndicated torture for the masses. I am not mad at the video shown on my timeline, or the New York Daily News front page. I do not get triggered that way. I am far more scared of police triggers than psychological ones. So yes, show me, show me how he died. Because I do not want to forget the “how’s” anymore. Because, I am mad that we have another video, another article. I am mad that we now need videos, need articles, in order to validate our rage, to justify our angst, to give credence and life to the named and nameless victims of state-sponsored aggression against persons of color. And, I am tired of this story. Even as I type this, there is another mass of flesh taken— this time, Philando Castile; his girlfriend and her four year old daughter playing the role of spectators in this glorious tale that is Black death gone viral.
Shhh…let me tell you a true story: Black murders are water cooler fodder. Black murders are recyclable, "insert name here" more news at ten p.m. headlines. Black lives do not matter — victimized, violated, used, stolen, raped, shot at, shot through. Black bodies are bullseyed, bulldozed. And, I am tired. I am tired of talking about talking; tired of marching, tired of yelling, voice hoarse. I am tired of being “conscious”, “woke”, awake, alive...I want to shoot shit, burn shit to ground floor levels. I am tired of the need for survival, I am tired of asking "what do we do now?", "where do we go from here?", "how do we cope?". Tired of circumstantial evidence and DNA testing and eyewitnesses and little Black girls being dragged by their necks, and Skittles, and cigarettes and knocks mistaken for bullets, murder for a traffic stop, murder by asphyxiation, toys mistaken for guns, wallets mistaken for guns, teenagers jailed for rapes never committed, boys mistaken for men, murderers going home to eat pizza. Tired of broken levees and broken promises. Tired, blood-shooting eyes, watching debates and panels and videos. I am tired of watching a world ablaze at its feet.