J.G.J’s “Afro Nihilist Manifesto”
This is hot garbage, uploaded for historical reasons.
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An Afro-Nihilist Manifesto – Final
I am NEVER a fucking “African-American”!
I am NOT “half-Black.”
I am a mulatto, but I am ALWAYS Black.
I am, sometimes, a Negro.
I am usually a nigger… I am usually a “nigger.” I am usually a
n**ger. I am usually an (“)N-word(“).
Now that THAT’s out of the way…
This compendium is in memorium of my brother, Chris
Monfort. Though he might not fuck with a lot of this, he would
die for my “right” to write it. Plus, he’d appreciate that I “had
the balls” to do so…
I dedicate this to Franklin “Hogg” Hargus (and his
cocksucker). Thank you both for the wisdom and inspiration…
An AfroNihilists Libation…
I play the Sims, but only Cleo,
cuz I wanna set it off…
or do the right thing
like Mookie and Smiley.
I wanna pirate, like a Somali,
On the wide Sargasso sea
and free every Sally Hemmings.
Squat like Ellison’s pre-”Ex-Worker”
and be too “G” to need even a name…
I am a sick nigga, I am a spiteful nigga,
an unpleasing nigger.
No more balling like a quadroon,
This mulatto is bringing tragedy
like a mix of Bigger Thomas and Val Solanis
Lighting up August worse than Joe Christmas,
in way to put Jimmy Governor to shame…
If only other edgelords
(of ego addiction and ought-istic affliction)
would listen to Zami’s biomythography
in lieu of playing into horseshoe theory with hand grenades!
I, too, sought the wild by way of the rational
Mama “Bone Black” bell may be the diagnostician
of their dissonant cognition
but Dr. Frantz Fanon deposed Francois de Sade
and can cure the caucazoid infection…
A daywalking vampire with descent
of both Yakub and Khmet
my “Immersion-Emersion” should be icy and bloody
avenging Saartjie Baartman as would Saidiya Hartman
if she, and Wilderson Three,
had resisted domestication…
Eshu, help me eschew my melanincholia!
Let shattered museum glass be my cast cowries…
Make me the “abasom” of the Ewe.
Dumpster-diving at Akodessewa
An ancient adze finds my hand,
and I go from Gongoli to Kakuungu
(witch doctoring my own Nguzo Sab-bath
I take things apart like Okonkwo)
So, for Benin and Togo,
I do the whole Voodoo Doughnuts crew
Like Washington in Waco, circa 1916,
They should have asked Ogun about irony,
because immolation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Shango Unchained is playing in my brain
Like Mancala between Marighella and Gerima
“Tarantino in the Congo” will be shot, guerilla-style…
Shanghai-ed, Dago Dubya Griffith will die in a Coltan mine
and the card attached would say “dead wigger storage.”
Kunta the hack’s foot off, wrap it in kente cloth,
A fetish object fashioned for every Lupita Nyong’o
to ward off all the rapey Weinsteins
and that one wop hipster (“in ten-thousand”)…
May Anarcha’s pain come to Spokane
No anesthetic for she of the NAACP
since Blackness is but an aesthetic…
Dolezal will get paid the same as Korryn Gaines,
with a speculum (to take Amadou’s name out her mouth)…
Even in a cage, no book deals or box-braids,
she’d have Hughes’ poetry and Mandingo fantasies
I’d rather kill this mockingbird… She sings too fucking much.
My Maafa legacy is reverse missionary,
Anansi’s oral theology of anti-prosperity
in riotous tribute to Marsha P.
Scott D. will see how bomb his church can be
and a lot less Lively in the process.
Still I weep for the four on 16th street
But with the blues and caprice of John Allen and John Lee
So I jazz things up with coal trains, in the style of 103 at Lockerbie,
and improvise like Coleman (both Alton AND Ornette).
I’ll bless the rain like MOVE’s Africas
If encaged for burning hippies as at Osage….
Like Ganja (too free for Hess Green),
Gravediggaz got a number I can call
When the Dr. Know to make track 8 on H.R.’s “Yellow Tape”
Not a song but a prescription, so…
In ode to Joy DeGruy (of Ever-Present Anger)
and guided by the Cosmos (especially Setepenra)
we gather wild Afrikan roots
from house to field, with an “X”
(a la Malcolm and Micah Johnson)
to Mark Essex the spot.
Showing Love(lle Mixon)
and (Maurce) Clemmons-y to my enemy,
I follow the Gospel according to Christopher
(Monfort AND Dorner, as Karma for Columbus)…
My clip is a tongue to speak my oppressor into oblivion,
in hollow-pointed words, 9mm at a time,
one shot, (one kill) DO not miss your chance to blow
every latter-day Elvis away (it’s only culturally appropriate)
Bag some cracker begpackers and McYoga vultures,
Bobos in condos can go the way of the Cali condor (but never to recover).
Do Liberal do-gooders in the NPIC like Kuwasi B. did the Klan and Nazis…
Let every honky be exterminated accordingly.
If the Jackson’s repped R and B less than the G,
Both Igbo tradition AND Marxist contradiction
George and Jon of the BPP might be
Communists Tending Toward the Wild…
But fuck “if,” and “maybe,”
Turner, Vesey and the debtor inheritors
of Toussaint’s Ayiti couldn’t know victory
pre-CCTV in the iPhone Galaxy.
In DuVernay’s USA, every Friday is the 13th, in Quilombos of concrete, so…
Why not go Boko Haram?
My bastardization of divination ends here,
In contemplation, not completion…
They say we can’t hate everybody,
and so the pillars of society “-ism,” “-ology” and “-emacy”
some bullshit at us,
(sometimes capricious, always arbitrary)
to absolve portions of the population
of what they “deserve”…
(Whatever that fucking word means.)
A race of infants, sick with abuse,
cannot read, yet die to write
they name on a wall they don’t own.
Grasping to death at shiny baubles
and crying away self-respect to get they dick wet…
If not better than the race of teenage boys
who love only games, rules and strategy,
at least they more honest…
Intentions be damned.
[The simple mind does
overgeneralize, but
how many exceptions
does it take to define
the rule?]
He only a god,
when he got a gun in his hand.
Without systemic power,
the weak settle for respect
and from individuals, no less.
Discipline tastes like cowardice to the hungry.
If all I have is worth less
than a perceived slight,
why not throw it away on a dice game?
Money matters more
than my Black life.
Only the rich can afford to be open-minded,
so the holy trinity of my community
is respectability, conformity and arrogance
(that bastard son of ignorance and
aggression)
Needless to say,
I don’t get invited to my own family cookouts.
Honest Work: Overture
Mama: My son found a master!
Worker: Praise God! It is a Corporate Persyn or Humyn persyn?
Mama: Corporate… Zombie Worship.
Worker: Thanks be to Jesus… But he’s real smart, no? He was going to school…
Mama: No more. No money. He needs medicine. He buy it on the street. They take away his
money. For school. And they take away his medicine…
Worker: Santa Maria… Maybe, he – –
Master: Shut the eff up, s-word c-word. Get back to effing work… Effing s-word c-word…
Warrior: Slavery-
Master: 40 hours a week-
Warrior: -built this country
Master: Any more, and we’d have to pay you more…
Warrior: And the extermination-
Master: If you don’t like it-
Warrior: -of Native people…
Master: You can die in the street…
Warrior: And the extinction-
Master: All your free time-
Warrior:-of millions of species-
Master: -you will spend-
Warrior: -of plant and animal-
Master: preparing for when you are here…
Warrior: Pollution and disease-
Master: If you don’t like it-
Warrior: -from industries of torture and destruction-
Master: -you can spend years in a cage…
Warrior: -are killing us…
Master: Any questions-
Warrior: It doesn’t have to be this way-
Master: -can be asked during your break.
Warrior: We can make a better world. We can- [Warrior is silenced by the placement of white
headphones in his ears]
Master: Get to work! [Character exits]
[Master writes the names of various resources on a large piece of butcher paper, tears it off the
pad, tears it to pieces and burns it in a nearby garbage pail. He then faces the audience and shits
in the garbage pail, singing commercial jingles. While intoning the names of various brands, he
whips Warrior like a slave with an actual bullwhip. When finished, he spoonfeeds the contents of
the garbage pail to the Warrior, now a Zombie…]
Master: Thank you for shopping with us!
______________________________________________________________
Slave: …And what do YOU do?
Character: I cut my hands.
Slave: -could be worse, I-
Character: I throw food away.
Slave: -but the company makes money!
Character: I have to bribe people in white coats if I want to see the sun.
Slave: Just buy health insurance!
Character: I listen to shitty, shitty pop music-
Slave: I LOVE pop music-
Character: and annoying ads-
Slave: those ads ARE catchy-
Character: -on repeat. All Day. Every Day.
Slave: You get used to it-
Character: I spend the best hours of the day, all day, every day, with people I hate.
Slave: We all do it. I –
Character: I look, act and think how someone else wants me to-
Slave: At least you live in ‘Murica!
Character: You call this living?
Slave: I don’t know. I been here over 20 years. I missed my Mama’s lasts and my kids’ firsts. I
met my wife here. I got divorced, because of here. I can’t remember… what it felt like… before I
came here. You’re still young. You should be happy.
Character: That doesn’t make me happy. At all… Maybe you-
Slave: I gotta get back to work. [exits]
Zombie: Peanuts?
Character: Roasted?
Zombie: Peanuts!
Character: Salted?
Zombie: Peanuts!!
Character: Shells on?
Zombie: Peanuts!!! Peanuts?
[Master shines light in Zombie’s eyes, shakes rattle, puts on Santa hat and beard]
Zombie: Peanuts! Peanuts!! Peanuts!!! [Wanders off]
Master: “I thought I wanted limes, but the display… at the store… looked like shit. I mean, one of
the limes wasn’t facing the same direction as all the other limes and… and there was a brown spot
on it. Brown is fucking disgusting. So I left. Now I have nothing to go with the tequila… My
superbowl party is ruined.” That’s from a zombie. They’re not supposed to be ABLE to talk, if
you did your job up to standard…
Character: Standard?
Master: Standard, yes, standard! If you don’t like it…
Character: I’m sorry… I got a letter today. My ma- mother. She was caught eating fruit she picked
and they threw away. The man who oversees, he saw. She sleeps in the back of a truck… and he
saw. He tried to… or he would tell… she fought him. She doesn’t have a job, and may have to
start… again. She might be sent back home… It is a lot on my mind and my heart.
Master: Up to STANDARD, harder than the HARDEST working WORKER or I’ll… or you’ll… if
you don’t like it… AH!… I’ve got it!!! What’s that cheesy pop song, that’s real URBAN, yeah,
when then vocalist hits that major or minor key, or whatever its called with “beats”, their eyes…
programmed to look up-left… see the blue patterned triangles we’ve placed according to
schematic, and their stomachs… programmed to constrict with hunger when their retinas are
stimulated by this imagery, yes, yes… THAT marketing campaign will ensure my BONUS. I’m a
genius.
Character: Your bonus?
Master: You’re dismissed. Consider this a verbal warning. Someone will be by with papers for
you to sign…
Character: Verbal warning?
Master: Yeah, further corrective action could be up to and including termination.
Character: Termination?
Master: Are you…? Yes, termination. I said dismissed… You’ve been sent home.
Character: Sent home?
Master: Clean the bathroom on the first floor, while you’re at it. Someone made a mess…
______________________________________________________________________________
Character: [writes] I don’t know if this will get to you. I know you will survive. When I make
enough… when I own my own… when I… I can’t lie to you. I can’t let this go on. It looks normal,
and that is sick. Yesterday, the master… he said she was stealing something… He grabbed her… a
grandmother… she fought him… He… her throat… she passed out. They put her in a cage anyway.
A grandmother. “She should have thought of that”… I don’t want to think anymore. I’m sick. I’m
not the only one. Someone should… I love you.
____________________________________________________________________________
Slave: What did YOU do today?
Character [stripping off mask, leans the long gun against something, puts a piece of paper in
Slave’s front shirt pocket, removes gloves]: Well, I disabled the power to the cameras, sound
system, everything… then I laid some zombies to freedom… a lot of zombies. I also wrote a
suicide note… for you!