Meaningful Conversations With A Black Person.

[IdolEyes787]

No I checked and almost all the hardcore felons are afraid of me.

[chalice]

I grew up in the Falls Park on the Falls Road in Belfast. I moved there from Ballymurphy on my third birthday. It was snowing.

My father had died, and it being 1976, myself, my mother and my younger sister went to live with my grandparents, my grandfather having been a park-ranger for the parks and cemeteries, and so been given a gate-lodge to maintain. We had free phone-calls, whipped straight from the government's sky rocket, but the phone was a religious act of sin to be used only in moments of protocol'd panic. Of which there were many. I only say this because I feel, or have felt set apart from a community whilst still having to interact within it. I was perceived as something of a laird in primary school, with not having the terrace street smarts of my peers. It may not have helped when I declared this expanse of public land my own. I spent the next six years beating people out of it with sticks. The water fountain was never good enough for them. They had to form a serpentine queue outside our home on summer days, each armed with an empty bottle, looking it filled.

The first time I had the luxury of viewing a black man, outside of Huggy Bear and a couple of red shirts on Star Trek, was running along beside British Troops, the fellows in question looking barely ten years older than myself. Irritable, exotic and impossible. I heard one who had a Scottish accent one time. It ruined my innocence.

I had a good view from my house, before it was blown up, of Bobby Sand's funeral, which was fucking immense, and every ethnicity formed a procession before me, but they flitted off again to atrocities anew. They sure as fuck didn't wanna live here.

[mjmacky]

Please to be taking advantages of your abilities to move about the world.

[IdolEyes787]

I grew up in the Falls Park on the Falls Road in Belfast. I moved there from Ballymurphy on my third birthday. It was snowing.

My father had died, and it being 1976, myself, my mother and my younger sister went to live with my grandparents, my grandfather having been a park-ranger for the parks and cemeteries, and so been given a gate-lodge to maintain. We had free phone-calls, whipped straight from the government's sky rocket, but the phone was a religious act of sin to be used only in moments of protocol'd panic. Of which there were many. I only say this because I feel, or have felt set apart from a community whilst still having to interact within it. I was perceived as something of a laird in primary school, with not having the terrace street smarts of my peers. It may not have helped when I declared this expanse of public land my own. I spent the next six years beating people out of it with sticks. The water fountain was never good enough for them. They had to form a serpentine queue outside our home on summer days, each armed with an empty bottle, looking it filled.

The first time I had the luxury of viewing a black man, outside of Huggy Bear and a couple of red shirts on Star Trek, was running along beside British Troops, the fellows in question looking barely ten years older than myself. Irritable, exotic and impossible. I heard one who had a Scottish accent one time. It ruined my innocence.

I had a good view from my house, before it was blown up, of Bobby Sand's funeral, which was fucking immense, and every ethnicity formed a procession before me, but they flitted off again to atrocities anew. They sure as fuck didn't wanna live here.

That would qualify as poetry if it made less sense.

[Artemis]

New Zealand, whilst another colony of the former British Empire with all it's tender mercies to the fuzzy wuzzies when they invaded colonised, has truly tried to make amends constitutionally. There was a treaty signed between the British and Maori, guaranteeing Maori soveignty called the Waitangi Treaty (Littlewood Treaty on the British side), which in the usual inimitable British style they simply ignored and grabbed the land and resources anyway. But over the last 30 years there have amends been made, there is a Waitangi Tribunal, completely separate from the government which listens to Iwi (tribal) claims and then adjudicates them. The government has to abide by these decisions and has handed over vast tracts of crown land and money to Iwi as recompense for their lossses. At least here, we are seeing some small redress for the past, an example is that the native greenstone has all been given as a resource to one of the Iwi as a trust, they have the right of ownership for all of this resource. Whilst by no means perfect this is one of the most forward thinking and caring projects for an indigenous people to give them back what was taken and to create a partnership and move forward that I have seen, giving back a small measure of hope and pride.

[manker]

I grew up in the Falls Park on the Falls Road in Belfast. I moved there from Ballymurphy on my third birthday. It was snowing.

My father had died, and it being 1976, myself, my mother and my younger sister went to live with my grandparents, my grandfather having been a park-ranger for the parks and cemeteries, and so been given a gate-lodge to maintain. We had free phone-calls, whipped straight from the government's sky rocket, but the phone was a religious act of sin to be used only in moments of protocol'd panic. Of which there were many. I only say this because I feel, or have felt set apart from a community whilst still having to interact within it. I was perceived as something of a laird in primary school, with not having the terrace street smarts of my peers. It may not have helped when I declared this expanse of public land my own. I spent the next six years beating people out of it with sticks. The water fountain was never good enough for them. They had to form a serpentine queue outside our home on summer days, each armed with an empty bottle, looking it filled.

The first time I had the luxury of viewing a black man, outside of Huggy Bear and a couple of red shirts on Star Trek, was running along beside British Troops, the fellows in question looking barely ten years older than myself. Irritable, exotic and impossible. I heard one who had a Scottish accent one time. It ruined my innocence.

I had a good view from my house, before it was blown up, of Bobby Sand's funeral, which was fucking immense, and every ethnicity formed a procession before me, but they flitted off again to atrocities anew. They sure as fuck didn't wanna live here.

That would qualify as poetry if it made less sense.

No it wouldn't as I enjoyed reading it.

[IdolEyes787]

New Zealand, whilst another colony of the former British Empire with all it's tender mercies to the fuzzy wuzzies when they invaded colonised, has truly tried to make amends constitutionally. There was a treaty signed between the British and Maori, guaranteeing Maori soveignty called the Waitangi Treaty (Littlewood Treaty on the British side), which in the usual inimitable British style they simply ignored and grabbed the land and resources anyway. But over the last 30 years there have amends been made, there is a Waitangi Tribunal, completely separate from the government which listens to Iwi (tribal) claims and then adjudicates them. The government has to abide by these decisions and has handed over vast tracts of crown land and money to Iwi as recompense for their lossses. At least here, we are seeing some small redress for the past, an example is that the native greenstone has all been given as a resource to one of the Iwi as a trust, they have the right of ownership for all of this resource. Whilst by no means perfect this is one of the most forward thinking and caring projects for an indigenous people to give them back what was taken and to create a partnership and move forward that I have seen, giving back a small measure of hope and pride.

In Canada being fair and forward thinking to a fault, we basically let Black people do anything they want short of holding positions of real power or getting too uppity.

[Something Else]

I grew up in the Falls Park on the Falls Road in Belfast. I moved there from Ballymurphy on my third birthday. It was snowing.

My father had died, and it being 1976, myself, my mother and my younger sister went to live with my grandparents, my grandfather having been a park-ranger for the parks and cemeteries, and so been given a gate-lodge to maintain. We had free phone-calls, whipped straight from the government's sky rocket, but the phone was a religious act of sin to be used only in moments of protocol'd panic. Of which there were many. I only say this because I feel, or have felt set apart from a community whilst still having to interact within it. I was perceived as something of a laird in primary school, with not having the terrace street smarts of my peers. It may not have helped when I declared this expanse of public land my own. I spent the next six years beating people out of it with sticks. The water fountain was never good enough for them. They had to form a serpentine queue outside our home on summer days, each armed with an empty bottle, looking it filled.

The first time I had the luxury of viewing a black man, outside of Huggy Bear and a couple of red shirts on Star Trek, was running along beside British Troops, the fellows in question looking barely ten years older than myself. Irritable, exotic and impossible. I heard one who had a Scottish accent one time. It ruined my innocence.

I had a good view from my house, before it was blown up, of Bobby Sand's funeral, which was fucking immense, and every ethnicity formed a procession before me, but they flitted off again to atrocities anew. They sure as fuck didn't wanna live here.

You've gone and described it too vividly. Now it's strangely attractive. I'm confused.

[ziggyjuarez]

Imagery here is amazing!

[Something Else]

Imagery here is amazing!

Magic Mushrooms are cool like that. Go to the park.