I thought I was doing okay. I was wrong. Very wrong.
She calls it ‘backwards logic’, tells me with a smile
About that one white girl who was killed in South Africa for being white,
Murdered by black men
(who had been crushed beyond measure by an apartheid regime)
"So you see," she says, "Racism goes both ways”
My tongue is trapped, thrashing beneath the tidal wave of words I wish to unleash, but I bite it, suppress it,
Quell the rage for a moment.
You see, I know we all bleed red,
but it’s not your blood coursing down the streets, painting cities
and countries and continents crimson
It is not your people who have been enslaved, colonised, suppressed,
Hundreds of years of their history corrupted and destroyed
(“Don’t get so angry”, she says, “History isn’t now”)
But even today they are beaten down and force fed your ideals
Whiteness is beautiful
Whiteness is employable
Whiteness is power
Do not tell me that you can understand the sorrow
Of a language dying upon my lips because it holds “no use” in a Western society
Do not tell me that you can understand the frustration
When our history textbooks shows us a sea of white faces, glossing over the slaughter of indigenous peoples in five lines
Do not tell me that you can understand the weight of longing
For a homeland and a different night sky, sun warmed stones beneath your feet and a loving grandmother drying out spices on the rooftop
Do not tell me that you can understand the tears when
This land I am standing on, born from, rejects me day after day, labels me ‘other’ although I am rooted in its soil as much as you
Do not tell me that you understand these words-
You will understand what a racial slur is when it is hurled at you like a
projectile, shattering your skull and ringing in your ears by an old woman,
too old to change,
and again by a white boy, pretending he is one of the gang
and again and again by a white girl, too sheltered by pale skin to even begin to understand the meaning of oppression
Don’t tell me emotion has no place in this discussion, that the
anger in my blood will not set this world to rights when we are “already equal”
Let me tell you this:
We can pretend the word “race” is taboo, and still be racist
We can say inequality is over and still have oppression
We can pretend that the death of a white girl all those years ago, is a racial crime without context
We can pretend that the millions of my people dead are nothing more than a statistic, written in ink instead of blood.
My friend, we can call it ‘backwards logic’
But that will never make it true.
That no loss after it deserves sorrow.
As close as you will ever be to a nuclear explosion
THIS IS FUCKING TERRIFYING
No thank you.
The columns of smoke in the foreground are telephone poles boiling
|Song: Hate That I Love You|
|Artist: Rihanna feat. NE-YO|
|Album: Good Girl Gone Bad|
Harsh realities of insignificant things
real easy to bounce back
you go girl
we’ve all got that weird pretty big secret that we don’t really hide but like we don’t flaunt it like “My brother died of cancer” or “I’m gay” or “I tried to kill myself last year” or anything really and when you find out somebody’s big plot twist you know you’re in this friendship for the long run
Twins Jennifer and June Gibbons became notorious in the ’80s when they carried out a two-woman crime spree at age 18 that resulted in both sisters being declared psychopaths and sent to England’s most famous high-security hospital for the criminally insane. However, they already had plenty of experience being creepy before that: As kids they were known as “the silent twins” because they refused to speak to anyone but each other, and even then they used their own secret language that no one else could understand.
Born to Barbadian parents and raised in Wales, Jennifer and June refused to read or write in school, but at home it was the opposite: They read voraciously and filled dozens of diaries with writing, including full novels with names like The Pepsi-Cola Addict and Discomania. Like all children, they liked to play games, but rather than settling for Barbies or Monopoly, they had bizarre rituals where they decided which one would wake up in the morning first or which one would breathe first, and the other one wasn’t allowed to do anything until the first one did so.
Their relationship was complicated. On one hand, they were best friends, and on the other, they occasionally tried to kill each other — Jennifer tried to strangle June with the cord of a radio, and June responded by throwing Jennifer off a bridge. Their odd behavior escalated as they grew older and turned to petty theft and arson. It was at this point that their parents realized there might be something wrong with the girls and agreed to have them committed (and if they hadn’t, the authorities probably would have insisted)
It was toward the end of their 14-year stay at Broadmoor Hospital that the twins would pull off their magnum opus. One day, they told their only friend, journalist Marjorie Wallace (author of their biography, published years earlier), that one of them wouldn’t make it out of the hospital alive. Jennifer just looked at Wallace and said, “I’m going to die. We’ve decided.”
You see, the twins had realized that they could never be free or normal as long as they were both alive, and so, according to Wallace and later interviews by a reformed June, Jennifer agreed to be the one to die. And what do you know, on the day that they were being transferred to a lower security hospital, Jennifer suddenly passed away from a rare heart problem that was never fully explained. As predicted, June became considerably less creepy after she stopped being a twin, and today she lives a quiet life with her family. Which somehow just makes all of the above even weirder.
I remember reading about them.
Fuck me sideways. I’m a student of the odd and mysterious, and yet I have never heard of these two before. I gotta go see about this story. Thank you for posting this.