Category Archives: Racism

Enlightenment – Summer 2015

Chaz wrapped a bandage around his bleeding wrist.  Or was it bleeding?  He knew that something was bleeding, because of all the blood that was pouring out.  Chaz’s head felt dizzy.  It was like he was inside of a tornado, spinning around and around as the wind whirled around inside of his head.  He saw a rich and red soup of alarming blood pooling around his toes.  It crept nearer and nearer, as if it were a thief, trying to steal his consciousness.  It was red like the color of blood.

Chaz did a quick visual sweep of his surroundings – he needed to find some clues as to how he’d gotten hurt.  He found a bicycle, a snarling tree root that jutted out of the ground, and, most importantly, a worrying lake of bright crimson that was spewing across the bike path.  It was sprayed as if from a can, like a paint red and horrifying.  He had become marked with death, which was the hideous letter of the blood of his injury.

His head became dizzier and dizzier as more and more of his blood gushed out.  It spilled from his veins and mixed into the dirt, creating a thick burgundy mud from the liquid of his blood.  It was like a thick red paste of death.  His vision was bright and tinny, like the sound of listening to music that had the treble set too high.

Chaz continued to lie on the ground as his energy faded.  He spirit became weaker and weaker as time continued to pass.  The minutes ticked away until his spirit was destroyed; his soul had become reborn as a lost and sweaty fool.  His hair was wet with perspiration and regret.  Why was he here?  What was he doing?  Who did  he think he was?  Anyone going by on the path could see he didn’t belong, as he lie splayed across the dirt in a pool of his own blood.  He’d brought all of his best suits, but they would never be worn.

Was it hair gel or sweat?  His delirious eyes held the fear of his lost and confused mind.  His hands trembled as he reached out to the sun, which proceeded to blind him.  His throat was an arid mess, shriveled like a dried cactus that had yellowed in the sun.  He had thought that the heat wasn’t as oppressive at it was, but instead it had beaten down on him like the ovens of Hell.  Chaz felt their glowing coils constricting around his neck, scorching into his skin, roasting his Adam’s apple and cooking his flesh.  The odious char then wafted into his nose, singeing his nostrils and making him delirious.

His hair had gone stringy with sweat, and some strands had become dark, a reflection of the moisture that they held in their threads.  It was a hideous mop of fear and displacement; the sweat was like precum from a disoriented erection, and its orgasm was the fear of the hopeless and uncertain.  Chaz was now leaking two types of blood.  It was physical and existential, and it was never going to stop.

He was wailing in the blinding light of reality.  He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know how he’d gotten here, and he didn’t know how to escape.  His hair had become matted to his skull, except for a few wild strands that were bent away from his scalp in disdainful aversion.  They, too, were ashamed.  If anyone passed by, it would truly be a pathetic sight to behold.  All they would see was a pitifully lost foreigner, a man who was afraid, not made for this climate, a man who was sweating and crying in the sun.

The tears stung his cheeks as badly as the sweat from his hair, the sweat that was ejaculating from his orgasm of fear.  His face was a worm.  His mind was a worm.  His soul was a worm.  His penis was shriveling to a thimble of pain.  The women he lusted after would never come back.  They would see him lying on the ground, twisted and gnarled like the roots of a tree, and they would see him for the pathetic scoundrel that he was: a foreigner in Taiwan.  Here was a man who had come to devour their women and consume all their money.  There was a reason that Taiwanese people hated foreigners.  It was because all foreigners were as worthless as trash.  They were garbage and they were nothing.

Chaz could finally see the truth.  As he lie crying, he could finally see the horribly monstrous truth of his life.  He had become the outsider.  He was the other.  He was on the outside looking in.  He was finally aware of the struggles of the oppressed, for now he had joined them.  Everything had become reversed; in America, he was the oppressor, the majority, the king; he had the power to do anything to whomever he wanted; the ability to oppress whomever he pleased.  This was a power that he’d held in the palm of his hands.

But now, in this moment, in this time and this place, everything had changed.  It had all become reversed.  Chaz was now the other.  He was now the minority.  He could finally understand what it was like to be oppressed.  He finally felt the pain of racism and the struggle of discrimination.  He finally knew.

He knew.  He bled, he pained, he cried, he struggled, he fell, and he crawled on the dirt.  When he was kicked to the ground, he stayed in his place, like the millions of others who had fallen before him.  He finally understood what it felt like to be nothing, to be nothing more than mere dirt on the ground.

Before, in America, he had stepped over the oppressed; but now, in Taiwan, they stepped over him.  He had finally become nothing just like everyone else.  Chaz suddenly felt the racism that black people, Native Americans, and others had felt.  He finally knew their struggle, for he had become it.  He knew their pain intimately, now, as he lie on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

And now he was hollow… he was the crimson embers of karmic synchronicity.  The tides of the great wheel had overtaken him.  Desolate blasts of sand from the phoenix’s eye had swept him away to the voids of  sorrowing birds.  Limpid droplets wrote the pain of their suffering… the moist meanderings of his dead sexuality were like tears in the eyes of the sorrowing children.

Chaz was the oppressed.  He finally knew how black people felt.  He finally knew their struggle.  He knew their pain.  He knew it because he had finally experienced it.  He had become whole, in a sense; he had experienced both sides of racism, and with that experience he had transcended to a higher level of empathy and understanding.  Now that he had experienced both sides of racism, he had become more enlightened.  The racism that Chaz had experienced in Taiwan had allowed him to ascend to a higher plane of existence.

His life had become altered, and he would never be the same.  The blood on his hands was the blood of his awakening.

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