FRICTION, TILL DEATH

For brown people in the so called United States, shopping at Whole Foods and such places with “controversial” connections, is a minstrel show. When you compare to the death-defying culpabilities humans of reverse-diaspora endure in homelands to achieve some meal for their stomach– as you revel in the grocery aisles of a large corporation complicit, because you can, because you haven’t struck the effort to go about obtaining your own meal through more graceful measures… it’s a derogatory scene placed against a backdrop of war and famine that whether you like it or not, we are connected to, if not through heritage, then by taxed incomes.
A transport truck in Al-Obeid, Sudan, carries, “the lives of families, not just goods” (the goods being the only subsistence families may or may not end up getting access too) in old backroad paths or secret farm routes to avoid drones and military checkpoints, whereas trucks here carry obstinate passivity and enduring lust for never-ending decadent hunger. I once saw a lady muffle tears and sligh into her boyfriend’s arms because Natural Grocers didn’t have one of the fifteen kombucha flavors she liked. It was tyrannical. What sort of connections in a brain must form for a reality like that to persist out in the open. It’s devout capitalism, in shambles are the people who’ve capitulated to it, unknowingly or not wanting to know, it’s a sad reality.
Micro-plastics have destroyed our guts in this part of the world, in both senses, and considering the city of Dallas (Caddo, Wichita, Comanche land) alone, whose 99% of all riverway’s have tested positive for the capital disease– what must that mean for every other large city in Amerika. A test, a tribulation, an inner jihad is mandatory or reprimand is mandatory if we are to see our soul’s from the musty hell we subserve each day.
That’s it for now. I must continue my job search.