Notes from Oaktown I

I live on Martin Luther King in Oakland California and I am an negroid. I don't use this term around the people in my neighborhood because I do enjoy walking home without getting my face stomped in by the boys at Your Muslim Bakery the occasional Black Israelite and your random and insane 5 percenter (they are so crazed that I had to ad the word into my open office spell check memory... they've made up a word and now my work has to suffer for it...bastards.) but I will bust it out when I'm talking to the occasional guilty white intellectual near and around Berkeley and San Francisco, but it is nice to be in a place where there is even an illusory line to keep my racial social experimentation in check .

But somewhere around the edges things are slipping. Now I will say that I have no problem with people being peaceable, as long as it doesn't fuck up my ability to mock other people; the other day I watched as two families; a mother and her two large sons and three bigger daughters on one side of the street and on the other side three big guys and a very loud woman they called "gran ma ma", they were all fresh from the church three blocks down the street, some of the boys were still wearing their pleated slacks and the girls were busy taking down their hair extensions.

As I walked by them on my way to work I saw one of the women drop and flash her ass obviously trying to draw the debate to a close with the heavy gelatinous rebuttal.

Someone once told me that the average dog is only about three free meal away from becoming a wolf and the average cat one meal from becoming a bitchy lynx. So how far away is your doctor from using sharpened stone to lance your boils? From pissing on the wall of his hospital to establish his mating rights to all the females in the candy striper pool?

Religion, Hood-wealth, respect, and drugs are pumped in to the streets of Oakland and a hundred other of her twisted sister cities. They ruin on tragedy and justified pity. People (and you know who you are) need something to pity and some people need to fall.

Or at least that's what I tell myself
Some times when I pass a shack and ramble church I think of Jim Jones and when I see the crack-heads smiling on the porch and hear the people
People are primal because we are the ones who came up with the word its the shadow we run from.

Cats don't worry about going feral

They just go feral and some even enjoy the ride