Past Death: Man-on-The, Run; aboomerang movement.

certain.pngI wondered about the other side of the country.

Then we were gone all stereos on-the way with batteries toward it.

I missed the smaller surface grass; and the smell of chlorine in the very aqua blue pool.

It was a styrofoam cup that did it; I knew we were going to be gone; I knew I’d be deployed, too.

I hadn’t guessed the more obvious; which isn’t really though obvious; that we’d be split up.

I couldn’t imagine my life without him. It was a spy pocket prick; of who else I’d never thought about imagining my life without. I guess that’s being a kid.

To save me quick; I changed ages skipping over like ten years of growing up.

I was lucky the new older kids I got bunched with were nothing like flowers.

They were immature and gross. I learned to cook; and I found a new religion. None of which were me. Inside them, I found actual me. The one that racism hurt. I remember my motha’s face the tinge of curry powder on her skin; I knew what it meant when she stared at him that way, too. I was too scared of it; for us to stay. Like I caused it. I guess I should you could cause much worse. Yeah.

Every time I saw her face in the flash of my mind; something I couldn’t control; I moved past what I could recall. But my decisions went with me. My brother grew up to be a beautiful man and he wasn’t a beautiful boy. Just a bit above average. His skin a muddy hue, his eyes a godly blue; his hair dreaded to a various colors; I think it’s because he worked his way partly through a more prestigious college. I don’t think my father could have gotten him there. I knew how he did it through the prick of curry powder. It was what we expected to be around us; like always; a childhood that was scary but secure. I started to use that to move, and I died. Entering someone else’s dream is not scary; when you trust them. The food tastes better, the colors are more vivid; your movements are so worthy; and you have a calling fully formed; you even get to see his sister. It’s like your old neighborhood forever with fear that you move. A boomerang is wherever I go. Me I’m the boomeranger. I didn’t guess that we’d be able to control the way we moved; that I’d actually get to see my own brother again; and that my dad would be locked up, without being in prison. He was the most respectable actual adult in our old neighborhood; but not the most respectable adult. A kid, was; competition for their generation was stiff; and I lucked out to belong to a different dream.

In case you wondered; I’d tell you. I can tell you what their dream is about: it’s about who is the best. The best is a girl, who’s like a boy; and started as a kid. Then there’s the second best, and the third best; and the fourth best, overall. But the rest of those after the first, are outside of our old neighborhood; and the rest of us have to dream in the levels of the first four bests. I guess my father’s dream wasn’t good enough; like a woman’s loss, it taught me about gender; the weakness of what used to be a woman; and not necessarily a girl; the fit of childhood; a wrangling dream eventually realized a movement at the tinge of curry powder a place where racism can’t rest.

theme: styrofoam

theme music citation: Aqua Barbie Girl

also see this image on-close up, and an accompanying sort-of performance: slides 11 thru 13

cited: voicethread; as added to on, 32017



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