Basquiat
There for all to see was his black skin. Standing in the middle of the arcade Leroy
turned around slowly to the piped tune of spirit in the sky in all his manly
glory. The audience were mesmerised.
“Yeah Nigga, when ya die ya going to go to the spirit in the sky.” The chorus sang. The noise was deafening as the crescendo of their savage primordial racists taunts took on frenzy. The girls screamed at the spontaneity of the situation mixed with fear, excitement and total disbelief.
Again Leroy measured the distance and the throbbing beat of the music. The gang of racialist thugs, with knives drawn slowly closed their semi-circle.
Like a pack of wolves they snarled, drooling and salivating at their quarry. Leroy had seen such action before, what was new to these young boys was a way of life for Leroy from the internalised aggression of a thousand beatings by his parents and teachers.
“Kill the Nigga, Kill the Nigga,” chanted the boys. One youth braver than the rest thrust the knife forward, Leroy, side stepping sent the youth to the pinball machine. The knife ricochets from the hard frame of the machine and stabbed the boy in the arm. As the pain struck, the boy widened his eyes staring at Leroy’s naked form. Leroy backed away following the light and the breeze of the entrance to the arcade in an uncharacteristic naked kung Fu posture.
The snarling baying wolves baited Leroy as they stabbed the air around him. Leroy moved his lithe body from the swishing blades. As though dancing to avoid raindrops of his own blood, Leroy slithered through the empty spaces as he slowly reversed towards the entrance with back arched towards the street. A dance of frenzied hatred ensued. As his bottom felt
the cool air of the entrance to the arcade. Leroy could hear shrill screams of women and children, glancing Leroy could see mothers hiding the face of little children from the sight of his angled posterior. Leroy continued his directional route of escape from the whistling blades. He remembered Sidney Poitier (fully clothed) being in a similar predicament with a clawed hook in an aboiter but this was no cinematic performance this was real.
Leroy’s shameless nudity now had become a public affair as he had reached the pavement. The disapproving stare of King Edward the VII statue looked down at his black liberated form.
“If ya want to get this black skin you will have to catch it first,” said Leroy taunting his pursuers to join him in the street. With utter astonishment and outrage his clothed assailants gave chase in their blinding fury. The predators were on his heels, cars crashed as mayhem took the streets. Leroy weaved through the traffic. Two bounding white wolves blinded by their fury and unused to such concrete jungle lunacy were struck down head on by a bus as they gave chase. Women screamed, and children began to cry as the peaceful afternoon became a circus of hatred and fear.
As Leroy jumped through the traffic and climbed on the bonnet of a car shunting in a traffic jam, Beethoven’s Bagatelle No 25 could be heard. Leroy moved to the music in the cool air, naked. The female driver was mesmerised as she watched Leroy’s form above his knees dangling through the windscreen as he balanced himself in the South London traffic. Like a
true surfer, Leroy maintained his nude balanced state. The young people stampeded towards the entrance of the arcade to avoid the apportioning of blame
“Yeah Nigga, when ya die ya going to go to the spirit in the sky.” The chorus sang. The noise was deafening as the crescendo of their savage primordial racists taunts took on frenzy. The girls screamed at the spontaneity of the situation mixed with fear, excitement and total disbelief.
Again Leroy measured the distance and the throbbing beat of the music. The gang of racialist thugs, with knives drawn slowly closed their semi-circle.
Like a pack of wolves they snarled, drooling and salivating at their quarry. Leroy had seen such action before, what was new to these young boys was a way of life for Leroy from the internalised aggression of a thousand beatings by his parents and teachers.
“Kill the Nigga, Kill the Nigga,” chanted the boys. One youth braver than the rest thrust the knife forward, Leroy, side stepping sent the youth to the pinball machine. The knife ricochets from the hard frame of the machine and stabbed the boy in the arm. As the pain struck, the boy widened his eyes staring at Leroy’s naked form. Leroy backed away following the light and the breeze of the entrance to the arcade in an uncharacteristic naked kung Fu posture.
The snarling baying wolves baited Leroy as they stabbed the air around him. Leroy moved his lithe body from the swishing blades. As though dancing to avoid raindrops of his own blood, Leroy slithered through the empty spaces as he slowly reversed towards the entrance with back arched towards the street. A dance of frenzied hatred ensued. As his bottom felt
the cool air of the entrance to the arcade. Leroy could hear shrill screams of women and children, glancing Leroy could see mothers hiding the face of little children from the sight of his angled posterior. Leroy continued his directional route of escape from the whistling blades. He remembered Sidney Poitier (fully clothed) being in a similar predicament with a clawed hook in an aboiter but this was no cinematic performance this was real.
Leroy’s shameless nudity now had become a public affair as he had reached the pavement. The disapproving stare of King Edward the VII statue looked down at his black liberated form.
“If ya want to get this black skin you will have to catch it first,” said Leroy taunting his pursuers to join him in the street. With utter astonishment and outrage his clothed assailants gave chase in their blinding fury. The predators were on his heels, cars crashed as mayhem took the streets. Leroy weaved through the traffic. Two bounding white wolves blinded by their fury and unused to such concrete jungle lunacy were struck down head on by a bus as they gave chase. Women screamed, and children began to cry as the peaceful afternoon became a circus of hatred and fear.
As Leroy jumped through the traffic and climbed on the bonnet of a car shunting in a traffic jam, Beethoven’s Bagatelle No 25 could be heard. Leroy moved to the music in the cool air, naked. The female driver was mesmerised as she watched Leroy’s form above his knees dangling through the windscreen as he balanced himself in the South London traffic. Like a
true surfer, Leroy maintained his nude balanced state. The young people stampeded towards the entrance of the arcade to avoid the apportioning of blame
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