The more and more we see certain segments of Anglo America convulse, the more and more we may hear Blancmange’s Blind Vision as its anthem.
We all do know that anxiety-throttled whites and less than conscientious law enforcement officials understand the supremacy they conferred upon themselves is in its end phase, right? Now that planet receives instantaneous videos from clashes instead of easily disputed eyewitness statements, more of mainstream America is being jolted into awareness of its complicity in repression against other Americans.
Doesn’t that sort of knock for a loop our nationally promulgated belief in our own self-righteousness? Why, yes it does. Can’t have that tarnishing our silver-lining, can we? Continue reading White Riot!
What is dignity worth?
In our Trump times, Americans have steadily devalued that attribute. Continue reading Cheapened and Coarsened
New Las Vegas residents need accustoming themselves to the local incongruities. Living in Nevada, a state on the fringes of the mind or amid the spatial void, the usual standards seldom seem to jibe.
Las Vegas is a community where those of us passing as solid citizenry mesh daily among what others elsewhere would regard as unconventional, unhinged, unmoored, and uninhibited.
Easy as it might be to ascribe the behaviors to weirdness or eccentricities, indifference is the apt word. Remoteness and the regional disposition conspire for perfect conditions which allow a good many individuals to flout or ignore recognized forms of comportment altogether.
Probably explains the locals’ mania to mar and disfigure themselves with tats and piercings as well as dye their hair in colors unseen in nature. On the upside, though, these deviations help tell the bags of shit apart. Continue reading Dissolute Figures
Both women must’ve been epiphanies. There are no mirages in Las Vegas unless one is homeless or high.
At the bank to pay bills and withdraw cash, two uncommon sights filled my view. Uncommon for Las Vegas.
These visions were tall, slender, dressed in pleasant near peasant summer wear. Billowy dresses. Sandals only remarkable for their utility rather than bizarre design. Shades. Long and free hair bounced along the smooth shoulders of each.
Amazing. No wild-style coif that defied convention. No tinted tresses which burned retinas. Nor any sour couture that assailed good taste.
Neither had disfigured herself through ink, piercing, nor had succumbed to the apparent Southern Nevada female extremes – hypertrophy or obesity. These were normal women, no? Femmes I might’ve lent cursory views before relocating to Las Vegas. Now, though, they became revelations.
Each was a plain beauty. And I was grateful. Continue reading Saturated Flesh