Principles Over Personalities
Its not the man, its not Obama the person who is objectionable, but bearing witness to the brain-bypass surgery rendered unto a nation of millions, millions who now hold themselves back, utterly, thoroughly. They are knee deep in a delusion, loving madly, deeply a man who they don’t know at all. A cypher, a silhouette, pleasing and handsome, harkening back to old heroes in shiny new bottles.
Yes, this nation of progressive, liberal, kente-colored fools holds themselves back by pocketing their eyeballs and any semblance of analysis in deference to a pretty, Negro league shyster.
Personality, baby. Principles, maybe.
One is easy on the eyes, a lullaby to the ears. The other is hard, with sharp edges and hard elbows. Principles require standing for something even when and especially when it ain’t popular, fun or cool, but necessary. Very necessary. The castor oil tastes like shit, but you must admit, it hits dat split.
“Leave the driving to us” and other gently crooned tunes are like Vidal Sasoon: “they want to wash your brains right out of your hair.”
Brand Obama, a formula, a panacea, a new drug in the lab trial to end all lab trials. Except YOU are the animal experiment. You are the rat, you are the monkey in the white room with the white lights and the white tiled floor. Strapped to the gurney in four-point restraints. Caged, run through your paces, poked, prodded, dissected, discarded…
“Let’s see, how long a line, how long a wait will they tolerate. How much misery will they suffer before they break? And what kind of drug will they respond to that suppresses their pain response and gives them, er, hmmm, hope?!”
Obama and the Placebo Syndrome: trading real democracy and real change, for a suit, a tan, a vocal quiver, and a rhetorical shiver.
Faux progressive whites and colored ninnies take the historic, long suffering bait. ‘Our time has come’ and ‘we can sew up all of our unfinished racial business in one fell swoop.’ Two sides of the same sick, shallow, deep-work averse coin. The psychological longing of the lazy flies is, thanks to the master manipulators, easily captured by dat sweet smelling honey: A symbolic turd. A Trojan Horse.
“You have to ask yourself, ‘do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, PUNK?!
The REAL Dealio:
What do YOU stand for? What are YOUR values and YOUR principles? Fuck the suit being dangled, promising you everything and nothing simultaneously; what kind of country, neighborhood, community do you want to see and what are YOU going to do to get it?
I want to fucking know!!!
To outsource your freedom and your freedom struggle is to lay in a cage and die, die at your own hand, though a white jacketed butcher rips his scalpel through your breast plate. You chose this fate. They offered you the rat poison but only you can take it. Or decide not to.
If you don’t stand for something, you will fall for anything.
Many of my brothers and sisters already have…and…
Place principles before personalities, as they say in AA, and you might see the new day in a new light.