Checkmate

Checkmate

“Forget the politicians. The politicians are put there to give you the idea that you have freedom of choice. You don’t!” -George Carlin

We the People are but kings and pawns.
Bishops and castles, and some fancy knights.
Being shuffled about as another match spawns.
Lamenting the erosion of our Bill of Rights.

Some black, some white, always black versus white.
Some rich, some poor, always rich versus poor.
Wit for wit, an eye for an eye, but in the long run not one of us wins this fight.
Head to head, Mano a Mano, and yet in the end not one of us changes the score.

“Viva la Revolucion,” they cry and decry, all the while repeating the L-shaped moves of a knight.
“Sign this petition,” they urge and encroach, all the while imitating the diagonal moves of a bishop.
Many flock to the polls in order to once again change their fate; this Black Queen experiment has gone on too long so they wish to revert to the White.
Some young, independent pawns decide to abstain; limited to never more than two steps at a time they’d much rather just listen to Hip Hop.

You may like Skittles but will never taste the rainbow when you only get to choose between blue and red.
And no matter how much you care about livestock, you’re not an affluent herder when you only raise an elephant or a donkey.
So during these fateful (s)elections what we get is a dramatic scene that closely resembles The Walking Dead.
Although to be fair, after watching Planet of the Apes, perhaps someday in the not too distant future we ought to consider a monkey.

They say that after a game of chess both the king and the pawn return to the same box.
The implication is that ultimately the mighty king is no greater than the lowly pawn.
But we know while on the board the pawn is readily sacrificed to protect the king, enough to make the latter as cunning as a sly fox.
That notwithstanding, upon the inevitable checkmate even the mighty king’s day of reckoning finally sees the dawn.

It is peculiarly interesting and incredibly clever indeed, when they say that after a game of chess the king and the pawn both end up in the same box.
What is equally interesting and grossly disturbing however, is that they never say who controls the pieces while on the board, and/or who owns the damn box!

P.S. The thing about change within a flawed system is that it is much like chess. Sure, the pieces can make significant moves, and some more freely than others. But ultimately, they all remain on the same old board.

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N***as ain’t S**t

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“I don’t need no man,” her unsolicited mantra would sound the alarm in our ear drums, a constant reminder to whomever was unfortunate enough to be counted among her audience, whereas our sole wish was to hit the damn snooze button. “I don’t want a man,” would follow suit, as if to properly distinguish her needs versus wants and nevertheless inaccurately disparage both as unnecessary synonyms that were not applicable to her chosen life of hermitical solitude. “Niggas ain’t shit!” Well, the n-word must’ve been used here to identify and emphasize her disdain for the alleged culprit, although this rhetoric had worn its welcome and now bordered on gross annoyance. Undoubtedly, this woman was suffering from a paralysis of the heart. Yes, she was hearticapped! Apparently, the last “nigga” had put her heart in a chokehold and strangled it, crippling whatever little love she had left. This tragedy obviously resulted in the disintegration of what was once a peculiarly strong black woman, and had replaced it with an utterly destructive black hole, capable of sucking with overwhelming gravity, even the faintest of feelings that would naturally fall upon those around her who would dare to fall in love. “Ain’t nobody got time fo that!” She would instinctively retort whenever questioned about her bitter disposition toward her male counterparts; and for that matter, all matters of the heart. No harm, no foul, she swore. Besides, all is fair in love and war. She’d become indifferent to the difference between the two. But here’s the irony of it all: One fateful day, she received a call…from her 9 year old son’s school informing her he’d been sent home for acting a fool, and coming to school…in a dress. Apparently, he’d insisted all day that he wanted to be a woman instead. As she confronted the boy when he got home later that afternoon, she looked at him scornfully and scolded, “Boy, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” A sad scene followed indeed as the young boy sobbed uncontrollably. At once overwhelmed and emboldened by his misery, the poor boy looked up at his mother pitifully. His face flooded in tears, he managed only to reply all too familiar words, “Niggas ain’t shit!”

 

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