- Territorial amnesia
- Euroamerican whitewash
- Huck Finn never asked me but this is the color I would paint the fence if she had
- Alibi crème
- He’s not a racist (but his great-grandparents painted their swastikas this color)
- The color of the bones in the mass graves after the pogroms, deep down under that hill on which the willows are just starting to green up in springtime
- The color of the whites of our eyes regardless of different eye and skin colors and race as a social construction
- My ancestors gave up being Irish in order to be this color of white when they were struggling as immigrants after being deposed and starved and exported by the British
- A snappy, brisk “don’t blame me”
- The color of hair on the people, head bowed, who take responsibility and make amends
- The color of the flag after the multidimensional warfare and domination on people, place, and planet exhausts dominator culture’s capacity to eat, breathe, and breed
- Color of bronchioles when a young person is born and thrives in a world without petrochemical burning in a post-carbon future
Poems and poetry as experiential art experiments, created by a dedicated core, sparking consciousness river, word slurry. A harvest of poems and creative thought from a creative collective cadre.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
“White” Paint Swatches
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Finding this engrossing.
ReplyDelete"Alibi creme" (to rhyme with "them")
The bullet "My ancestors gave up being Irish..." is so keenly worded.
So much force here.
Also working lately with race as a subject for improv storytelling performancemaking, and this feels like good momentum idea fuel.