Descendants of African Slavers Pay Reputational Reparations (ROUND 1)
scent of the day: Hurrem Sultan, by Prin
First wear: soapy rose and incense (frankinscence and myrrh) dusted with a black chalk—a norlimbinol-like chalk infused with the appley note I get in Bonded and the nutty-date loukum and fruity-tobacco oud of Anatolia, which together makes for a pruny-tobacco not too far from Prin’s Rhino.
*Let’s workshop this poem about the funk and fury of a Groupon cruise—one of many circus rings where black American supercitizenry racks up a damage tab that blacks around the globe must pay.
Descendants of African Slavers Pay Reputational Reparations
Little did Mr. White Man anticipate the Groupon cruise to ratchet down into Popeyes
on the high seas: thongs twerking streetball funk into his child’s no-going-back nose,
tits flapping in hair-hatted fistfights with staff dumb enough to deny a queen her crab.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)
