Shooting For The Record (or, When The Shot Is Not Enough)

It seems that every time I watch a game these days

Someone is breaking a record

We like to feel like we are part of history

They make up stats we never considered

It use to be most points in a game

Now it’s most points by a father son duo

Use to be most yards

Now it’s most yards thrown by a left handed quarterback

It just keeps getting more specific

And it makes us feel like we’re part of something

We keep watching

So we can say we were at the game when Curry shot the most distant three pointer of any player in history of the game when the clock was exactly at 3:47

Remember that game?

I was there

I saw it

I lived through history

Somewhere along the lines

They realized that makes people keep watching

When all the shots have been taken

When the shooting is no longer exciting

When it’s just another season

Let’s make sure to mark some moments

Moments that might not mean anything had we not defined them

Were you alive the day

You know when those kids shot up Columbine?

There were other schools after but I don’t remember the rest

How bout Sandy hooks?

That had to be the youngest school

How bout when the man shot up the night club?

I forgot the name.

Of the man

And the club

But it was the largest mass shooting in US History

At the time

I remember that one

How bout the time the man shot all those people in Vegas?

Wasn’t that some new record

Maybe this year we’ll have the most mass shootings ever

That will be something to remember

That would keep me watching

If we were going for the record

If it might be something spectacular

Otherwise it’s just another shot

Another run

Another day

Nothing breaks

Nothing changes

No one cares

They’re just shooting

Maybe we can learn something from Sportscenter

Sometimes you gotta make up events

To excite the spectators

“The largest mass shooting against Jewish people ever”

“Against black people ever”

“Against police”

“Perpetrated by a US citizen”

“By a non us citizen”

“By a black man”

(Nah black people don’t do that shit…

Except for…okay…fuck it)

“By a Muslim terrorist”

“Islamic radical”

“By a white man”

It’s gonna be hard to break that record

They always setting the record

They always making the record

Maybe we can start letting some of these black folks shot by the police break records too you know?

“Black man shot by the police had the most golds in his mouth ever”

“Had the most amount of money in his pocket ever”

Or maybe just, “graduated college.”

Something to distinguish between

This one and the last one

I’m losing track

The records are blending together

They’re getting messy

They mean nothing

Unless we make them

Because too many shots have been taken

For me to be amazed by any one in particular

So keep shooting y’all

And we’ll worry about the labels

Because the shot itself

Is not enough

Tour Journal, Day 5: “To Pimp A Butterfly…”

This picture was taken by the local newspaper at one of my high school workshops and is a part of their feature story on me for my performance in Helena, Montana this weekend.  So many things on my mind.  I felt for this journal, bullets point might be useful:

  • Performing my work in Montana, literally the least Black state in the country, I realize I didn’t have Montana in mind when I wrote this piece.
  • When I’m telling my own story, or the story of some of the black characters in the play, I’m scared.  I’m scared that I might be one of the few unfiltered representations of Blackness that these folks, and especially these children, have.  My inclination to be “one of the good ones” grows even stronger.  It is challenging when I’m telling a story of a black male getting arrested for drugs.  Is it any different than what they may have expected…?
  • Lots of nice people in Montana.  But as we walked into Lewis and Clark Brewery on Trivia Night, the POC crew got some not-so-welcoming stares.
  • Sometimes I feel I’m pimping my butterfly.  I went through a process that made me beautiful in a way, and I have used it to excel in my career.  Now others use it for their purposes: to help the kids of their community, to confront state violence, to represent “diversity”.  I suspect that some of these people would not want to hear from me had I not been the caterpillar, and some would not want to hear me if I were only the butterfly.  Must I always be both?  Must I always show off one to be recognized as the other?  It’s a strange feeling.   To pimp a butterfly is to hold the tension of wanting to be useful but not wanting to be used.  “Are you really what they idolize….to pimp a butterfly…”
  • In reference to the quote in the article where I say “I didn’t think it was a problem…” after being caught with mushrooms, I’m not sure why she pulled that quote.  I spoke to her early in the morning so I’m not sure what I said but… I knew it was a problem.  Maybe not THAT much of a problem!
  • I had such an interesting experience performing this piece in front of employees of the justice system and then leading a dialogue.  It was the crowd I always had in mind when I thought of people who would have the least sympathy/empathy for my story.  Who would be most suspicious of my account.  I found myself choosing my words carefully trying not to attack that all-white audience of probation officers and mental health workers.  I found myself holding back when the conversation came up about what a “drug problem” is.  I didn’t want to undermine their work or their intentions.  I didn’t want to argue all the hypocrisy.  It was uncomfortable.  But I guess that’s the process of learning.
  • Yesterday, I learn that an unarmed Black man is shot in his own backyard by the police in my hometown less than 10 miles from where my parents live.  It doesn’t make it into the highlights of Apple News.  Is this not major news anymore?  Every time I start to feel like maybe I’m making a problem where there isn’t one…
  • There was one Black kid in my last workshop I did at this “alternative learning” high school.  I could tell he couldn’t believe I was saying some of the things I was saying.  He laughed super hard at the first joke in my performance, and all the other kids turned to look at him because they knew his laugh was something different than theirs.  He, like I, caught wind that everyone turned to look at him and he got nervous as kids continued to look at him as I said things that everyone can find funny, but Black folks really find funny.  There was this look in his eye, as though I held the weight of all Black representation in my being and in my words, and I felt the weight too.  I hope I did us justice, kid.

Check out the article in the Independent Record about me, this show, and our performance tomorrow.