the fabric of our legacy

His lover died 44 days ago. He kept count. He did not think he could love anyone more human than his father. A lover whose body still had a need to sweat. The world was no longer moving in that direction. Humanity is a destination.  Or was a destination.  Quite laughable now. He thought of how Jahdub’s laugh was honorable and sincere.

Cyborg tribes are quickly gaining power through impossible-to-follow passable policies (like curfews and celibacy) and their daily data count are now broadcasted free of charge. He needed a break. He turned off the screen and got dressed.  Jahdub’s  spirit transition left him feeling numb and nervous. “Jesus!” He shouted at the screen. Hating the sound of his yell and the post-trauma of dramatic commercials proving cyborg efficiency  BS   and human likeability percentages. He learned that he loved to love humans more than he loved to be intimate with machine.

He had a moment of gratitude as he walked to the water center for a swim. The planet he lived on male creatures couldn’t be born without knowing their fathers. All of their fathers. So he knew his science. He knew why he would grow through the interaction with water and music. His fathers left footage that was still playable for the most part. Drums. Guitars. Rhythms. Breath. Lips smacked. Words kept for people naked and in bed and in battle. Desiring to be vulnerable and safe and pleasurable.

He now remembered Jahdub’s  black fur boxers. The ones folded on his altar and reminded him that animals were still here. The allowable animal agencies  constant play of barks and growls from the reservations were not convincing enough. And neither was seeing his lovers’ body limp wrapped in mudcloth and egyptian musk.

This wasn’t a celebration of life party that his mothers’ friends seemed to be throwing all the time. That sort of all black party which included gaudy invitations, expensive  presents, mock funerals, and eulogy. Purposely serving as a dress rehearsal for friends and families on how to treat you when you no longer have a say.

When you no longer live in body form. We fought so hard to be able to wear our own body form, and to have our say as a tribe. However, according to NPR, having a say after death is ruining full human lives. Killing them slowly.  And here he is placing some unknown creature’s skin next to the braided nappy lock of his great grandfather.Knowing good and well that minimalism is important to his tribe.

He knew his work was to feel full off spirits. Holy never crossed his mind.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s