Help, Please.
Write what you know best- candid, unpretentious advice for any budding writer, thus as far as an inquiring spirit is concerned, consequently a distinct narrative about black life emerges from a conventional arrangement of what one knows best, and along these lines a likewise, candid morality has seen the minds of my own generation ruined by mental illness, and in the cold light of any day, words need not shy away from these minds hauling themselves through symbolic negro streets relentlessly looking for an angry fix to their Black incensed syndromes.
Beyond too proud to beg it's become easy to say that tears cry sometimes, and weep snivels at other times about it, and it's all become a task of keeping the ironic tone of a man who has always lacked a casual grace, stanza by stanza, an emotional abandonment that memorises and repeats stats, such as London’s Lambeth Borough population standing in at 26% Black, and nearly 70% of the borough’s residents in secure psychiatric settings are of African or Caribbean heritage, stats which replicate numbers up and down the UK, as well as across the developed world where the core thing in common is the Black implication the numbers are measured by, a sum now quantified by the endemic mental illness of suffering Black men and women trawling negro streets. When stats suggest adding more weight to an already unbearable condition is the state of the endemic, and the successive pandemonium of which rotten fruits of generational labour run the same afflicted baton, with as much energy efforts can muster it equates to a parasitic race without a finishing line in sight, and judging by a change in cultural attitudes- from revolutionary to pay me – the runners don’t run anymore, they don’t train, they don’t care and clinically don’t understand why they should.
Writing what one knows best is best positioned to reluctantly relate, and often provoked by the daily choir of waking-up with courage, for all intents and purposes every single breath exhaling historical adversity, which includes slavery, sharecropping and race-based exclusion from health, educational, social and economic resources, manifesting into socioeconomic disparities acutely experienced by a mirror image, looking at the sight of it the fierce drive for liberty has rarely been so offensively coaxed and embodied. And rooted in a vision of the London landscape; in affect consigned to the socio-symbolic ‘’nappy head routine”, as well as an insistent provocation that relentlessly implies that ‘one’ can be more from which they are born, trying to apprehend a birth-right of psychological afflictions naturally circumscribes all aspirations, a conscious effort happening by default, which means, in lamas terms, at the heart of old-school ghetto politics, though a young and proud rebellion often considered itself cooler than the other side of a pillow, in reality, coming up in an aggressive household, when Daddy was behind them bars, amongst friends and everybody that likewise knew; the same core thing in common, in attempting to identify the root of Black mental illness, finding unearths psychological pains often stem from seeing the repression of the same things, reciting the very same black undertones, same solos and witness the same psychological grief continuing to have an impact on the mental health of Black/African peoples, and fundamentally what to do unable to see the finishing line to a race that’s seemingly always spiritedly run.
Socioeconomic status, disadvantaged, incarcerated, racially circumscribed and generationally victimised, historical and contemporary instances of negative treatment, the latter fundamental issues are at higher risk for poor mental health than ever have been, and at the heart of old-school ghetto politics- at its core Afrocentric interpretations of history and present subverting traditional Eurocentric fabrications- so distinct, so constant, so very complete, writing the adverse consequences of essentially infinite black outs, principally screaming for the help of a divine significance during the course of interpreting, and often recounting the acuteness, and precision of repressed mental illness languishes still, in affect the same as always increasingly worse, when critically to understand, and apprehend the phenomenon is required with the fierce urgency of now, please.