#depression poverty blackness incomeinequality

[petey3express]

Was weatherproofing the windows in our bedroom in an effort to keep the house warm and the utility bill low.

Without the urging of my bestie I'd certainly have put it off till last minute.

I'm exhausted and also settling into a new skin.

Talked to my oldest last night who told me about a writing assignment at school. She chose to write about her social anxiety and how it's affecting her focus.

Of course, adults don't often take preteens seriously, and assume that failing grades are a sign that they're not trying hard enough.

I happen to personally understand, as I deal with it daily at work. I have to walk a fine line these days so as not to completely shut down.

I'm glad she's opened up, sad that she has inherited her mental illness from me.

She's afraid to talk to her mother out fear of dismissal and has asked me to give her time to build up the courage to do so.

My mother, a sister and I'm sure two of ny brothers have severe depression. I can't begin to imagine how far back it goes, how generational trauma plays into it.

We shouldn't be afraid to confront that aspect of our lineage. Especially our youth.

I encouraged her to keep writing outside the project. I'm gonna send her a journal... #blackmentalhealthvisibility

#blackmentalhealth

[petey3express]

I phase shift from listening to first world, at work grievances to public transportation real world problems.

Folks in this town lament about the inefficiency of the buses. Not realizing that those who use it need it. Our very livelihoods are tied into its existence. It gets us where we need to be for a civic contribution. We're always on time.

I use the ride to write, read. Absorb the shared common woes of those pressing on so they can afford the basics in a tout economy. And we're all on edge from being tired.

Talkinbout healthcare suits, busted pipes and high speed car chases. Affordable home heating options for winter. The bus is a space for workers to be at ease with their struggle, formulate options. Or just let the mind rest. We're meeting in a mobile alter, down home church, each individual a confesser of sin and a priest.

Best believe we in that mufucka conspiring. Looking for angles, needing to get over just to stay afloat. Having a side hustle is essential and staying medicated is a must.

Let us enjoy our ride in peace.

#class

#afropessimism

#racism

#blackmentalhealth

#depression

#poverty

#blackness

#incomeinequality

#mentalillness

#radicalnonmongamy

[petey3express]

When you ask us to be civil to those who have historically had the power to main and murder us you're saying that we need to model the nonviolent civil disobedience that was executed by Dr. King and the NAACP. Recall, even he and his followers were hated by white society in general. Their faith was used against them in acts of cowardice by white supremacists, and each day I applaud the perseverance it took them to be abused and villified.

Because blackness has been successfully integrated into the chosen model of Christianity, you assume that we all have a hidden desire to hang from a cross.

When militant movements came to the fore, the government ramped up COINTELPRO because they knew that our impatience with the nonviolent mode of protest would have upset the settler economy, caused a second civil war and destroyed America.

I've said it before: niggas ain't out here playing for oppression Olympic gold medals. We're tired of bleeding for nothing at all. We're disgusted with allies and accomplices telling us to suppress our rage, quelch our hood tendencies, sang and pray.

By nature I'm reserved. I can smile, walk softly and disappear into the crowd. Only because my rage seethes just beneath the surface. To quote Rorshach, I'm not locked in here with you mufuckas. Y'all locked in here with me.

#queerblackanarchy

#racism

#uncivildisobedience

#wamfw

[petey3express]

[petey3express]

The notion that blackness has at its core an endless well of forgiveness, is to say that we seek and enjoy persecution. If only just to show the world that our spirit is bound up in wanting to be loved.

To wave the 13th amendment in our faces is like fanning the face of a person who is ablaze. You only tease, and use flowery words to express an interest in setting a bigger weight upon our chest.

The disconnect stems from the fact that you refuse to lay claim to a legacy rife with mass murder, twisted laws and regulations. And your insistence that we speak kindly as we protest, make way as we walk, present our ID when asked, prove our allegiance at every turn, is often worse than a bullet.

The one thing I owe myself and my folks is a voice that captures the rage we swallow just to get by. We will not relent. I'm not trying to be civil. I will not accept the supposed humanity of a group or individual who wishes to see me and mine impoverished, enslaved and dead.

[petey3express]

A Dual Resistance

Where I/We were:

For the indigenous people of the world, spiritual praxis has ever been tied to tribal hierarchy, matriarchal iterations, distribution of land and election of monarchy.

The Fathers of settler facism distanced themselves from the failed religious revolutions that saw them banished from their European homeland. Through writ law, slavery, genocide and manifest destiny they enforced…

[petey3express]

Untitled Motivation Speech at the End of the Beginning

The ceiling offers no good news.

And yet here we are, staring at one another, music blaring in the background, vying for (dominance)balance…

I wish away this fatigue that has separated this depleted self from family…

The sun beckons, and me, who has begged its presence this long winter, cannot be displaced from a neutral position on the floor…

The squad is outside, the mistress/maestro caressing…

[petey3express]

Blue Bird Singin Down the Line

One of my oldest memories is the sound of metal resounding with asute finality. We made it to the Walls around 6am, a Blue Bird filled to capacity with silent black and brown bodies, a sprinkle of shaved head white boys trying to melt into the hard seats. Our chains sang a dirge as we walked pigeon toed into the ancient building. It had been an almost 15 hour journey for me, from the bowels of West Texas to Huntsville.

It smelled like stale socks, wet cotton and misery. Gray suited CO's walked the hall making sure we stayed in the other side of the yellow line, lest we get flat weeded* for our transgression.

Processed, striped, examined, probed clinically. They asked if I was suicidal and I thought for a moment, surely I must be, to subject myself to the abject machinations of the carcereal end of the State. I said no out loud.

Dressed out, we were led to the chow hall as the sun peaked over the wall. During my walk I was catcalled, hit on, bets made that I would fold before night hit. A few of the seasoned cons asked if I could be bunked with them. I walked in silence, inside the yellow line, having swallowed my fear weeks ago. I was more on edge because of the dour black correction officers telling at every turn to stay inside the yellow line. I watched one loud inmate who stepped out of turn get thrown against the wall with such force he lost two front teeth. Then to the concrete ground.

Throughout this process I saw a man, with a broom, keeping in pace with our parade, chatting with the CO's, hollering at other old school cons. He wore shades inside and out, the whitest, pressed clothes and black Nikes. When he smiled you only saw his gold fronts.

We were hustled into the chow hall for GMO style slabs of chicken, and bare minimum vegetables. The dude in shades walked past, approaching a table just outside my periphery.

It was the noise that caught me first.

The panicked slap of feet, trays scattered around, then aloud, " Got one over here boss!"

"Hit the flo' muthafuckas, get down, face down, hands behind ya head, nose to the stone! Don't move bitches!"

I peeked out of curiosity as they administered to the inmate who'd been stabbed, his white outfit bloody, the floor spattered with droplets and erratic lines. A medical team hustled him onto a gurney, away.

I'd not even had a chance to eat. We were unceremoniously led back into the main of the prison and locked in. My celly asked me what happened but I wasn't about to speak on it.

I was in hell.

- August, 1994

(*Flat weeded- body slammed)

[petey3express]

Songbook in Pictures....

Songbook in Pictures….

newly born, wrapped in a shroud, pushing upward from fitful sleep.

brain waves change shape in anticipation, limbs creaking from disuse

pinch of light salts the eyelids,

beseeches me, hold on to absurdly abstract yet striking dream shards

a body, once stiff as an unexpected erection, is fluid, draining from the shallows, covered in primordial slime, dismissed

cleansed, thoughts tumbling about.…