I am returned from Los Angeles. I plainly saw the political pattern of institutional damage, even where Thrifty gutted their own headquarters and other stores - the scribble of black power on the standing walls looked as if it were hastily scrawled by furtive white gloved hands. But I speculate. What power my speculation has is etched in embers these days. It is so easy to recall the subtle and not so subtle slights I received at the establishments which have now been disemboweled by raging flames. It is as if for a few hours, the black collective in my part of town had access to the mind machine of the Krell which transformed mental desire into real power. The Krell had one warning. beware of monsters from the Id.
How will theory transform the monsters created in our nightmares by our abusive white fathers? Against whom will they be turned? When we grow to find these boogie men of our inferiority to be unreal will we hate? Is there an oedipal complication? Should we leave the house, tear it down and rebuild or simply evict our patriarchs? I try to punch holes in the walls of my room, I am not satisfied with the view from my windows. I knocked a secret trap door in the floor and carved out a chunk of ceiling. They are hidden from view. They suspect I've seen more. I do not say, but act that way. Yet I remain furtive. I am not yet complete and still afraid to go outside never to return. I haven't gotten the best in the refrigerator, I worry about hunger beyond the familiar borders.