People like us have to write as we are unable to cry. It just doesn’t come out and yet we are always in pain, and this pain never ceases, only, we just quit complaining. Just as Robin realised, eventually people no longer want to hear our cries as to their ears, it becomes indistinguishable form gossip – although this might always be an extension, and reflection of their inability to properly discern. We are not “authors” but essayists producing expressions to be archived catalogued. We are the people attempting to share our insights in our efforts to guide home our “last” others who are lost and searching for that parent ship. We are not writers but fighters battling against the tide of aggression and the sea of troubles. We are the voices of the oppressed; those that the rulers would want silenced and sectioned. We are the Ezra Pounds, the difficult individual. After they kill us, the people “worship” us through idolatry and pretend they played our tune even though, in our life, they do all they can to denigrate, deny and degrade. Maybe they are upset by our grace which itself bring them disgrace and shame, for they envy us so naturally. We are simply born with that which they desire to possess; that fire, that flame which rages with anarchy and passion. We are the sensual erotic others that they yearn for, for we are tat key to another world; a portal that will to enter dreaming to be swept away. We are that sultry, illustrious image residing in the back of their minds, but which they can never come to terms with and accept. We are the ones who are unwell realising that it is not a sign of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society.
In my younger days, dabbling with the ideas of “owning my own business”, and having more money for consumption purpose that productive, constructive ones, I read the likes of “Rich Dad, Poor Dad,” “The Richest Man in Babylon” and “Think and Grow Rich” (Credit Delaney), and yet, classics are not obscure, but profane. These exoteric materials – with the exception of Napoleon Hill’s subtle text – were mere bestsellers that revealed little. Secrets are really reserved for those that read between the lies and go deeper than most to make contact with the real, and so, in attempting to make sense of our world, the gifted ones, the beautiful ones yet born, sought out those texts providing better insights. We were afraid of the mainstream, having long seems the effects of its absurdity and so many of us withdrew praying that we would make a R.D. Laing “breakthrough” in business, and yet, maybe we were mistaken. Perhaps we wanted to simply have prominence and status so that we would no longer be dependent on others, and so “owned” by the world. Maybe that’s why I always wanted to be “footballer”, seeing the seductive allure of the entertainment industry, and all that “fame-seeking” as respite and revenge. It came to be the only means of correcting myself which had been dysfunctional and maladjusted for so long. Having endured impoverishment – our quality” of life – we wanted to find something on the “other side of the world” that would be our solace, and yet, like building castles in the sky, we had no foundation, only this was the end. In the first place, we had no foundation because we had been abandoned earlier on. We had not just been neglected, in as much as our talents were not nurtured, and our potential was not realised, u in that we were deserted by those we relied upon, and expected better of. Having come from complete devastation, ours was a search for repair.
…Miraculously, being born without parents, and having little guidance, we are truly the “American Dream”, for we are self-made. I grew up reading notes on Wittgenstein, and the literature of Bertrand Russell. It does not mean I am well-read, or articulate, or intelligent. It means I am not black, which itself implies I am not an “anti-intellectual” even if much of my life has been defined by expression being suffocated and stifled. Either way, I was never a “reader” as only fools would imagine such rubbish, which itself, it only a reflection of their madness. People who can think cannot be readers as that it idiotic. They must be conversationalist, conversationalists, conversationalists! Effective thinkers have no understanding of the word “read” as they “conversate” with people, literature, situations, dynamics, etc. They are always interpreting form a host of angles just a midfielder would do on a football pitch. That individual is always looking for new pathways and always seeking to create or find space. They are always re-interpreting their environment and manipulating their context in their efforts to create something new by transforming their situation, and this is what we do. We are not “readers”; we are “theorists” and “thinkers” that utilise whatever resources they have, even if dominantly, these resources tend to come in the form of literature. This only reflects the reality of the common people, and their collective or aggregate intelligence, being of no comparison to thinking/communication of substance, and so, it was with these “western thinkers” that I built myself.
It was the likes of Manly Palmer Hal, John Taylor Gatto, Erica Carle, and William Milton Cooper. It was with texts such as “Teaching as a subversive activity”, “The Female Orgasm Explained”, “One No One and One Hundred Thousand”, “Freedom From the Known”, Martin Hoyles Changing Childhood; Thomas Szasz The Myth of Mental Illness; In Search Of The Miraculous; Mathematician Reads The Newspaper; Understanding Wittgenstein; Straight and Crooked Thinking; Freedom From The Known; One No One and One Hundred Thousand; The Turner Diaries; Understanding The Female Orgasm; Disciplined Minds; Phases; Techniques of Persuasion; Transforming the Crown; The Endangered Black Family; The Miseducation; The Falsification; Shadow Of The Panther. I have still yet to read, at all or in full, the following: The Invisible Man; Black No More; 2000 Season; Things Fall Apart; Reinventing the black male image; The Black Bourgeoisie; Reinventing Anarchy Again; Farewell To Innocence; The Ascent of Man; Forgiving: Feminist Critique… I as shown “Please Understand Me” and “Please Hear What I am not saying” whilst in our youth, most of us read “Children Learn What They Live.” I was told to locate Douglas Reid so I bought “Insanity Fair.” Dionne introduced me to the biography of Minister Malcolm, Victor Thorn to “An Enemy of the People” and a random lady to Luigi Pirandello. The NVC lady introduced me to Thomas Szasz, and the like, and yet, for the most part, any texts that I ultimately discovered came out of pure persistence and desire. It was that yearning for more; that deep devotion to being enlarged and “finding out.” It was that reluctance to believe and that passion, which drove me to want to be fulfilled by having the answers to the most pressing, immediate, emphasised questions that erupted into our consciousness and, tearing apart our seals, ripped open our veils. We have answered many of our own questions, and yet, in our efforts to realise the pace of the world, many remain.