I used to, when I was a lot younger. It took a close homie of mine chipping away at the neurotic almost-phobia that my mother gave me of my own culture, and then a run-in with the cops a few years after the homie that absolutely informed me as to what I am when the pig’s radioing home, for me to really start busting those walls down and feeling out who I am and what my place is.
Wish I knew. The trail for my genealogy disappears after like 1890, but I was given to understand that my family escaped slavery before the Proclamation was written. I can only really call myself Black, rather than have a direct nation to trace back to. (Cause motherfuck me if you thought I was gonna claim Amerika!)
I used to, when I was a lot younger. It took a close homie of mine chipping away at the neurotic almost-phobia that my mother gave me of my own culture, and then a run-in with the cops a few years after the homie that absolutely informed me as to what I am when the pig’s radioing home, for me to really start busting those walls down and feeling out who I am and what my place is.
Hmm, if I can ask, what nation-state do you trace your ancestry and your revived culture from…?
Wish I knew. The trail for my genealogy disappears after like 1890, but I was given to understand that my family escaped slavery before the Proclamation was written. I can only really call myself Black, rather than have a direct nation to trace back to. (Cause motherfuck me if you thought I was gonna claim Amerika!)