The distant staring eyes a few feet away from me only drives my paranoia to a climax. Distant laughter from bystanders causes my ears to search for any sound coming from their lips. What are they saying about me? Then I think to myself, could this fear turn into anger, all caused by the hateful acts of racism? I walk to another side of the library before I hear the words, hip-hop and gangster. Keep in mind, I don’t wear my pants hanging off of my ass, no du-rags (besides the one you see in that picture, which was not mines. The hat was not mine either), piercing or tattoos.

I know the world is sick and tired of hearing stories revolved around tragedy. Believe it or not, folks, that is what this world was, is and will be. Pain is a part of life. I’m extremely thankful that we have outlets here in America that give us freedom of speech, though I believe that freedom will be gone in the near future.

I am one of those writers who sits in front of his computer, a glass of Root Beer by my side. I imitate a “writer” by putting my forefinger to the top of my upper lip between my nose and mouth. I wrinkle my brow in hopes that the actions will help me visualize the thoughts in my head better so that I may translate them on to paper. There are no notes that I look from. I write directly from my heart. I don’t do this because it is a technique I’ve learned, but because my writing has consisted of this action since I was very young. I had many questions. I always thought, there are many questions that need answers. And to find these answers, I researched and wrote.

I call myself a writer and I’ve completely jumped off of the topic. LOL.

Today I was flipping through a book and saw a picture that set my mind back to the early 1900's. I was sent through time in a heartbeat, experiencing what I saw illustrated on that page. What I saw was a black Negro swinging from a tree, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The whites of his eyes where bright as fresh white sneakers.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the African American hanging from a noose that roused me. It was the little Caucasian girl who stood in the front row of the crowd, hands politely in front of her, seeming like the most innocent child. She was innocent. It wasn’t her fault that her parents made her witness such a devastating image. Or maybe she wanted to see this man hanged, who knows?

I’ve seen countless images like the one I’ve just described. Yet, each time I look at this era in history I’m transported there through thought. I replace that young individual with the face of my sister, brother, mother, father, aunts or uncle. I feel the thump that rises in one’s throat when they are fighting back tears. Why am I ashamed to cry on behalf of the many African American’s who died so that I can write a blog online like this and not fear for my life? There are many questions that I ask myself. Sometimes I think like how I did back when I was a younger fellow. Same spirit, different logic. Yes, some questions are meant to be answered and some need to remain in the void behind my eye lids, locked up in my subconscience.

This is Terry Snipes signing out. May everyone on this site appreciate the blessing you have of being able to express yourself. I just wrote a blog entry the other day about a Japanese homosexual siamese twin sumo wrestling seeking Asian American. And when I think about how silly and freely I speak on this subject, I cry my eyes out. For this little freedom I’ll cry with no shame in thank you’s. Thanks to brave African American, Negro, colored and black folks for surviving in order for me to receive this luxury.

Love, peace and empathy.

Terry J. Snipes