Appetite for Distraction – Another Day.

He wakes up. His landlord is ill. He gives his landlord $750 in cash which makes his landlord a little better and he apologises to his landlord for the check that bounced because it shouldn’t have bounced because he had money in his account so there was no reason for it to bounce and then he makes a paper flower which was beautiful and elegant and then he learns that Daniel Day-Lewis’ son has a rap video and he watches it and it is terrible and thick with whining self-deceiving pity and awful posturing cultural appropriation and he can’t watch the whole thing because it makes him feel physically sick and even more disturbed for the hope of humanity but then he puts things in perspective because the crime of a young white man rapping is indicative of bigger problems that will go unsolved if all the time of the day is spent focusing on a young millionaire who has never suffered in any way that merits his concern. Then he watches some W. Kamau Bell and feels happier and then he has a coffee and eats a sandwich and wonders how long the day will last and thinks about writing. Then he watches Hari Kondabolu and he feels happier. Then he reads that some ancient spear tips have been found which might push back the age of modern man to 85000 years ago or it could be that the artefacts were collected poorly and given he was a student of archaeology and did that very thing once it is very likely or there was another branch of humanity that made spear tipped like artefacts or maybe they aren’t spear tips but actually tiddlywinks and the ancient peoples spent all day playing various games of skill to while away the long temperate days. Then he remembers the racists at the African American History section of the Museum of American History who talked abuot blacking up in middle school to dress as Martin Luther King and how it was acceptable to do that then but it probably wouldn’t be acceptable now and that they are illustrating their lack of racism to their friends by being at this museum and walking around this museum and laughing about blacking up as children and unashamed and with justification not finding that this is a problem that runs far deeper than the ignorance of their teachers or their peers or the world they lived in then because black face has never been acceptable to do and walking round a museum dedicated to The Struggle and loudly declaiming that your heart was in the right place and your intentions were good does not let you off the hook as you nervously laugh because you know in your heart that you were party to oppressive racist lampoonery of the worst kind and one might argue that your ignorance as a middle school male was not your fault but your lack of education as a middle aged man is certainly all your fault and you have no excuse for your heinous views and your nervous giggling he thinks to himself. But he does nothing except for to look in irritation at the two people who are oblivious to his rage and then he goes for lunch and then on the National Mall he declares his love and it is romantic and then he goes home and watches Saturday Night Live and falls asleep in happiness.

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The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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