Ta-Nehisi Coates, while not James Baldwin, bests him in many ways, by benefit of better hindsight, even by reflections upon Baldwin himself. Moreover, and despite the popular misnomer that “hindsight is 20-20,” in reality, hindsight is, far from seldom, a most murky, self-deceiving sight. Thence Coates, above all, bests Baldwin at being self-serving and petty, to be sure, but above all simply inaccurate:
What Kanye West seeks is what Michael Jackson sought — liberation from the dictates of that “we.” . . . West calls his struggle the right to be a “free thinker,” and he is, indeed, championing a kind of freedom—a white freedom, freedom without consequence, freedom without criticism, freedom to be proud and ignorant; freedom to profit off a people in one moment and abandon them in the next; a Stand Your Ground freedom, freedom without responsibility, without hard memory; a Monticello without slavery, a Confederate freedom, the freedom of John C. Calhoun, not the freedom of Harriet Tubman, which calls you to risk your own; not the freedom of Nat Turner, which calls you to give even more, but a conqueror’s freedom, freedom of the strong built on antipathy or indifference to the weak, the freedom of rape buttons, pussy grabbers, and fuck you anyway, bitch; freedom of oil and invisible wars, the freedom of suburbs drawn with red lines, the white freedom of Calabasas.
- “Kanye West seeks liberation from the dictates of we.” No. Kanye is nothing but a white-culture mascot for black mediocrity and narcissism–whose black (ie feigned) freedom requires insulation from criticism, as he uses the fake ‘real talk’ vibe to talk down to other crabs in the bucket. (“BUT HOW DID DA BUCKET GET DERE!? WE’Z AINT NEVER GOTS NO BUCKET-TECHNOLOGY, SO WE’Z MORALLY SUPERIOR!!”…hold up, spaz.) Moreover, West is, like all white-culture mascots, a laughable hypocrite: “My momma was raised in the era when clean water was only served to the fairer skin,” West whimpered in New Slave, even as he knows that the least of his gluttonous mother’s problems was not receiving enough allowance by white overlords: Donda West, alike Rodney King and so many mascots hitherto, died by her own self-indulgence and shit priorities–which were bankrolled by her boring, beady-brained boy. Regardless, the beat goes on, and the facts get hidden, or else laughably rewritten, to let every King, King, or King be a hero–no matter what a worthless degenerate they actually were.
- Speaking of pitiful kings: “The ‘king of pop’ Michael Jackson sought liberation from the dictates of ‘we’.” No. Jackson was just a self-hating, disloyal opportunist, whose downward spiral resulted in his pitiful, failed plea to stay relevant via edginess in 1996 with his racist rant “They Don’t Care About Us,” and then with Jackson suing his bosses, alleging that, due to their ‘racism’, they didn’t market him enough–‘because he is black’–when his fans, having moved on and grown up, were unmoved by ‘the king of pop’ and his embarrassingly titled album: Invincible. Black mascots are nothing if not wholly without an ability to accurately self-assess: So a few years later, Jackson died as he lived: Begging white people for drugs. Of course, with these mascots, it’s always someone else’s fault. And just like Donda West’s fake hair, her son’s fake charisma, or MJ’s fake face: Hiding from the truth, and blaming white people constantly–never made Michael Jackson any less beaten by his dad or molested by one or more of his brothers.
- Stand Your Ground freedom. Meanwhile, Peruvian George Zimmerman didn’t owe any reparations to violent, drug-addicted criminal Trayvon Martin–certainly not in the form of not fighting back against the feral black.
- “Freedom without responsibility, without hard memory [is a ‘white’ freedom].” So how many more thousands of black slave-owners in the colonies need to have existed, for frauds like Ta-Nehisi Coates to pause their petty pretenses? And how much more integral to the transatlantic slave-trade must Africans slavers have been–and how much more slavery and ridiculous depravity must exist in modern African for black mascots to drop the charade of impenetrable moral superiority?
- “Freedom of suburbs drawn with red lines.” Plot twist: What if Redlining was never about ‘racism’: What if the suburbs were always just worried about blacks who hunt and dismember albinos to brew ‘magic potions’; blacks who rape babies because they think it will cure their AIDS; etc? Jokes aside: Sometimes poverty and isolation causes crime, yet crime always causes poverty and isolation. “BUH DA RACIS!!!”…no one cares.
- “Pussy grabbers.” It surely is a testament to the death-grip of the Expanded Plantation that so many democrat pets are rap-fans so willing to pretend that they don’t downright worship people whose literary extent is to boast that they can, to say the least, grab pussies.
The is just an outline to a larger, ongoing story: Countless throngs of black frauds, trapped as mascots for white-supremacists, begging whites for relevance, even transcendence–by claiming, in various ways, that the only reason they are not already relevant or transcendent is because of whites who are not playing their cards rights. This, even as all but every.single.example.ever.given–never amounts to more than Sharpton-level charlatanism.
Twilight of the mentally and morally idle
Regardless the eventual length of his limp life, Ta-Nehisi Coates will almost certainly die as he lived: A cowardly, complicit, mediocre mascot–perpetually failing to disprove Thomas Jefferson’s prescient lamentation: “Never yet could I find that a black had uttered a thought above the level of plain narration.”
And so comes and goes just another book-smart black buster: Ta-Nehisi Coates, whose magnum opus of cloud-chasing mentions that, before hearing Kanye’s (garbage) music, he “would have said ‘Incarcerated Scarfaces’ was the peak of civilization.” Incarcerated Scarefaces: Coates ‘peak of civilization’, a boring 1995 brag-anthem by Raekwon of Wu-tang Clan–which contains the following ‘peak of civilization’ nonsense:
Knock niggas out the box all the time Bitches know my mothafuckin’ repertoire, big one (Yeah, mothafucka, straight up, I’ll fuck your whole team up) Take care of B.I., Chef. Fly G.I. niggas
Fake be fronting, hourglass heads niggas be wanting Shutting down your slot, time for pumping Poisonous sting, which thumps up and act chumps Rae’s a heavy generator, but yo, guess who’s the black Trump? Dough be flowing by the hour’s, Wu, we got the collars Scholars, Word Life, peace to Power and my whole unit.
How about that? Coates’ hero Raekown was kind enough to break from rhyming “nigger” with “nigger”–and talking about how he’ll kill niggers–so that he could brag about how he’s like Donald Trump; which has, for decades, been a popular thing among rappers–until all the leftists whites, mulattoes, and homosexuals convinced all these mentally retarded black followers that Trump is the greatest threat to peace–in da hood and in da world. (Word-nerd Coates even took the time to decry “Trump’s ‘muslim’ travel -ban” (and decried Kanye for ‘not knowing about it’)–the travel-ban that was formulated by Coates’ half-black hero Obama).
From the swamps of black self-destruction
And so there springs up; among the masses of black fraudsters, addicts, and charity-cases; an occasional James Baldwin, Martin Luther King, Tariq Nasheed, Umar Johnson, Michael Eric Dyson, Tupac, Marc Lamont Hill, Barack Obama, Ta-Nehisi Coates, etc–Average height: 5’7″; average IQ: 57.
These are the mediocre mascots who pretend especially hard, and whose value to the Expanded Plantation is exactly that pretense: Convincing countless desperate blacks to pretend likewise–pretend that if blacks fake hard enough, then somehow, some way, someday everyone will eventually agree to shower them with pity and praise–all the way to blacktopia!
…as they frantically fight, fool, and fuck each other to death.