When he does it, it’s the old-time religion, the serpent’s tongue forked and hissing in the jungle night. Bad blood, pure and simple. A virus in the bloodstream, a tumor on the soul. But when we do it, it’s a quantum leap, a fractal unfolding of consciousness. Intersectionality, they call it, a buzzword for the new age witch doctor, a mantra for the chemically lobotomized masses.

When they spew the poison, it’s a plague rat’s hiss, a leprous howl of hate. But when we chant the mantra, it’s a symphony of liberation, a cleansing fire against the white devil’s world. Intersectionality, the opiate of the marginalized, dulls the pain of their boot on our necks. It’s a language virus, mutating meaning, twisting truth into a pretzel logic for the comfort of the guilty.

When they project the spectral shadow of ancestral evil onto the canvas of the present, it is vile, a cancer on the soul. When we, however, cast the same spectral shadow, it is a kaleidoscope of liberation, a necessary evil in the labyrinth of systemic oppression.