ugandabeinsanfrancisco

I was delicate, lest I am, construed as unbecoming, I never talked of my skin, that subject, being owned, not by me, even if, I carried, the skin around. That Holly place, where I go in, and come out, haloed, or, hollowed, makes me, a subject of whim and whip. Then, Du Bois, oh, that figure, of, astounding, brilliance, taught me, a management, of self and anger. Instead, of, anger, self-disparagement, self-questioning, count to seven, or even seventy, then you will, see, how gifted you are. The animosity, struggles, closed doors, half-smiles, wicked, back-stabs, open up, a veil of ignorance, in which the left arm tied you in, and a right arm will untie you from. Against your skin, a monolith, of destruction, was built, if it were not for you, a white flag, would not be raised, you are anchoring, a cargo ship on which, the flag flutters. One thing, th

In the wee hours of the night, a few hours before twilight, several miles south of Napa, that place whose fires still scorch, smoke wafted incessantly, perhaps brought our way, via these deep gorges, we call canyons, at this gael-land we held vigils, each in their own way, professors and students, non-faculty and maintenance, we knew what was going on, in wine country, we have homes, relatives and neighbors, we have benefactors, well-wishers and friends, we heard of 100's missing, of homes, in the 1000's, grazed to the ground, of people, in the hundreds of thousands, affected in one way or another, we are hopeful, that the dead, are received, in eternity, that the deprived, find restitution, and that the land, recovers and is revitalized, Napa may be in ashes, Napa will rise again.