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!

The Anarchist Rain [1998]

anarchistrain PDF (Imposed)

Made Crazy By You / Driven Sane By Myself [1997]

Featured in Claustrophobia magazine, number 8, page 7.

https://archive.org/details/claustrophobia-no-8-summer-1997/page/7/mode/2up?view=theater

Writings from The Anarchist Rain [2001]

Featured in THE DEFIANT: Prisoners in the Global Resistance

https://www.freedomarchives.org/Documents/Finder/DOC510_scans/APLAN_Anarchist/510.aplan.defiant.2001.pdf

On the Prisoner Solidarity Committee [1998]

The following was based on a letter written to a comrade of Moncton ABC, a support group of the ABC Federation. Shaka gave us the letter to be printed here as a contribution to dialogue on these questions.
The hand between the candle and the wall
Grows large on the wall…
It must be that the hand
Has a will to grow larger on the wall
To grow larger and heavier than
the wall…
–Wallace Stevens

May 10, 1998
10:30 pm

Dear Scott,

I hope that this letter finds you well. I be still here, in chains, trying acutely to remain sane. The vile psychological and emotional effects I must endure, caused by this prison/neoslavery existence, is one of the most feared weapons in our enemies arsenal of pestilence and genocide. These years and days spent in isolation and exile, separated from family, from friends, from freedom; forced to miss the struggle of my family in that same society that separated us; the dehumanizing scars inflicted on the minds of those of us who are reduced, negated and equated to the subhuman status of our forbears who were made the victims of European economics (capitalism); made to submit to a repressive situation supposedly designed to correct so-called criminal behavior, while in fact what is occurring is the further erosion and deforming of the naturally ordered social inclinations endowed in the marrow of all human beings. The question of my humanity, my right to life, liberty, and the quest for human purpose has been answered by the call of the monopoly capital to destroy such human rights for their bestial lust to accumulate super profits via the criminalization of my kind of human being.

Such blatant and insidious disregard and discard are the incessant realities that I must daily confront, combat, and conquer; such insanity chips away at the resolve of the strongest of my kind… Simply put… I am doing okay simply because I am alive, still struggling to become more fully human, in spite of the situation.

As to your proposal to reactivate the PSC [Prisoner Solidarity Committee], I think that you should continue to push it, however, I don not wish to become involved in it. My reason for not wanting to be involved is because I do not agree with the idea of any New Afrikan being a social prisoner. I have (and many other revolutionary New Afrikans as well) long ago come to recognized the political reality that each and every New Afrikan in this settleristic-imperialist nation is in fact prisoners of war, and once we are shoved in this situation of acute repression we become political prisoners of war. Historically speaking, the war that I am indirectly making reference to began when european capital launched its first slave ships and began its free market system with the trade of my Afrikan forbearers. At the conclusion of the amerikkkan war for independence, the present capitalistic nation-state called the USA was founded for euroamerikkkans, but my kind remained in chains.

The constitution was written by and for euroamerikkans’ right to determine and govern themselves as human beings. But my kind, my forbearers, remained the chattel of settleristic amerikkka. In this constitution our subhuman status was affirmed and reaffirmed by those who wrote it. They defined us as being three-fifths of a person in this very constitution that is hailed as being the greatest ever written. In 1857, the highest court of law in the USA (the supreme court) again affirmed the status of “subhuman slaves” of my kind, in the court’s Dred Scott decision. U.S. Chief Justice Roger Brooks Taney said: “A Negro has no rights that a white man is bound to respect.” To show their correctness and legal grounds for denying the slave Dred Scott’s petition for freedom, the United States Supreme Court turned to the Constitution written by their fathers for their freedom to oppress and profit from the genocide and enslavement of the Native and Afrikan slave, and said:

When the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence were written, Africans were perceived as three-fifths of a person. When one speaks of ‘we the people,’ we were not speaking of you. And therefore we cannot now give you the rights and appurtenances that apply to ‘we the people.’ The constitution has no relevance to you and your kind, or to your descendants should they ever become free.

The whole system/institution of slavery was an act of war that was committed against the nations within Afrika which the european slavers (from europe and the amerikkkas) captured, bought, and sold their victims. The nations of europe waged this war in the name of capitalism, civilization, and Christianity. These Afrikan human beings had never before encountered such a foe that came in the disguise of a friend and trader of pretty and shiny products, thus they were not prepared for the deceit, betrayal, racism, greed, and hate that moved these pale men.

New Afrikans were supposedly freed on December 6, 1865 by the 13th amendment of the US constitution, which reads: Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for a crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” And almost three years later on July 9, 1868, we were compelled to accept the paper citizenship ratified via Congress in the 14th amendment of the constitution, which reads: “All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

With the ratification of these amendments came much fanfare and praise by those Kneegrows who claimed to have been the representatives of the New Afrikan masses whose true desire was to be liberated from the Nation-State that held them captive as slaves, a country that had robbed them of their human right to self-determination and independence as a Nation. The student of history will surely see that all these laws that have been enacted and ratified by the capitalist and white supremacist body of the us government, for the sham freedom granted to New Afrikans, were in reality no more than political ploys used to further the interest of capital and white supremacy. Thus through the 13th and 14th amendments we recognize the fact that over 130 years ago the ground for the PRISON INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX was laid. In both amendments the person could not be made a slave or deprived of life and liberty, unless they have been duly convicted of a crime. As the children of the only people who were brought to this settleristic-imperialistic nation in chains, we (I) realize that as the victims of this undeclared war, and that history is not a dead thing for all that is today is but a continuation of what has occurred those 130 years ago, that we are a colonized people. We have been bounded to this decadent nation through the laws, miseducation, and acute genocidal repression that has been waged against our nation.

I am simply trying to give you an idea of why I refuse to ever be a part of anything done by the ABCF. As a New Afrikan I do not accept or respect or recognize the legitimacy of the US government, nor the definition of the United Nation of what or who is to be defined as a PP/POW. My people, no matter how much they have been brainwashed, are all PP/POWs, simply because their continued exploitation and oppression is perpetuated by and through the political system of this capitalistic nation. The conditions that give life to the so-called social crimes are created by this government. The Iran/Contra drug smuggling and CIA crack cocaine pipeline into South Central LA are but two very minute examples of how these situations are created via the government for economic forces/capital. I will not be confined to the definitions handed down by my oppressors, the very european nations that have created the blighted conditions that are killing millions of the world’s people daily.

The Definitions that the ABCF are using do not take into account the present anti-colonial/revolutionary struggles that are being waged throughout this settleristic-imperialist nation. The new form and shape of our struggle is not even taken into consideration by this ABCF. They look to the comrades who have been locked down for over 20 years, who were engaged in the movement 20-30 years ago for insight into that which they could not possibly understand. the conditions that gave rise to the New Afrikan revolutionaries of my generation, are conditions that are quite different from those that gave life to the brothers and sisters from our revolutionary struggles of the 60s and 70s. The government had effectively razed the revolutionary movement of that period in time. My generation was raised without the knowledge of that phase in our struggle for a full and complete freedom: self-determination and independence from decadent capitalist nation-state.

My friend, the fact that the ABCF is made up of middle-class white folk is another reason for me and the Spirit collective not wishing to be involved in such federation. For to allow such a federation to set the terms of how we are to view who is to be considered PP/POWs is to sanction FALSE INTERNATIONAL-ISM. and we will not be a part of this sort of endeavor.

Though we agree that the support of those brothers and sisters who have been targeted and framed by the government, for the active roles they played in attempting to make revolution, should receive the full support of the movement; we, however, simply do not see them as the only political prisoners and prisoners of war, solely because they made a conscious effort to engage this system of white supremacy and monopoly capital that oppresses and exploits and murders its internal and external neocolonies.

I hope that you will keep on struggling in the name of humanity and revolution. Though I do believe that we should create a UNITED FRONT for the making of the revolution for a better tomorrow, however, I will not be a part of any front that does not address the reality of white supremacy, the blight of all humanity.

take care.
DARE TO STRUGGLE,
DARE TO WIN!

RELENTLESSLY,

SHAKA N’ZINGA