Along this path through American history my people have forgotten how to dream. My people are playing their part in making the black/white problem normal. How can you blame us? Our concept of “reality” constantly proves the impossibilities of our imagination, our creativity. What is real, for folks like us, has no conditions. Unfortunately, reality does not await the actions of people of color; we are still mystified, lost to ourselves.
It used to be that we could dream about a different world beyond the races. Today our own mothers don’t even believe in the power of a transformative attitude. 2012 must be the year that children born into hatred also truly inherit the diseased status quo, the diseased reality. Any attitude that wishes to save the world does nothing but upset the folks polishing their chains. Generation Y kids are not just addicts for a beating heart; the aggression that fuels random acts of violence (in the streets) are final attempts at living.
A zombie apocalypse has already happened; dreaming keeps humyns from adopting an attitude of death. Death in the social universe—what we loosely call reality—speaks from the autopsy that diagnoses people of color. In America, ethnic people struggle to immerse themselves in a mood of transformation. How many people of color have been scapegoats in cooperate America, surviving economically at the whim of service? Confronted with a sense of entitlement from the “white” customer or boss, there’s never the opportunity to criticize assumptions.
Even if we recognize the stupidity of the supposedly unaware racist, their problems will soon be normal. How are people of color living when reality encourages us not to transform? The possibility of changing the sickly assumptions in the racist’s vomit deserves not even a thought. Confusing the symptoms of a developed mentality with an immovable reality has murdered our imagination for centuries. In this world, black folks limp with a decapitated vigor: blood circulation has diminished, creativity is sacrificed for reality.
A glimpse at our “minority” family—which should include humyns in general—inspires a preference for change. A look inside the branches of the family will display symptoms; these social disasters come from a source, a blueprint. With both eyes the future draws us in to build another model. Putting intensity back into the alienated corpses pressures us to speak back. Whereas language makes the code real, a collective voice must expand the possibilities for a humyn social world.
The new blueprint that keeps our dreams alive simply waits for its realness. Mere belief in a solution to the race problem—mere belief in a cure of the symptom—keeps our bodies in motion until transformation. Creativity brings the zombies back to life, changing their attitude into one that’s excited for the future. Restoring a mood of transformation to people of color allows us recognize the old zombified attitude. Inside leads to the denial of the original blueprint and all its flaws. This denial is not passive; we endeavor to make way for a new order of things.