glutinous racism: it’s what’s for breakfast, second breakfast, brunch, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, evening snack, midnight snack, etc. etc. …

If you’re paying attention, you’ve watched as coronavirus migrated from hot topic to shrouded in camouflage as protests and race riots commandeered the ship.

Long forgotten are the days of cheering on essential workers. And it was basically last week. You still hear squeaks of reports on coronavirus. But they are overshadowed by George Floyd and BLM.

This country couldn’t be more divided on “opinions” about everything from confederate flags, to the efficacy and strength of our president and governors.

I keep my 11th finger on the pulse of Breitbart, especially the comments sections. The articles alone are insanity times a zillion. But the comments are mind blowing. The views expressed on that site should scare the world into complete reform of our overall fabric. I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen, but I read the site astonished that the words there are emitting from real Americans.

“Surely these are Russian bots,” I think to myself. I wish there were ways to identify who they are.

The number of people claiming “I’m not a racist” is through the roof. It’s usually followed by, “I grew up with black people. They are my friends. But let me say, ‘Fuck Black Lives Matter.'”

Pro Tip: if you claim you aren’t a racist, you are a racist.

I’m a racist. You’re a racist. We’re all racist. The key to the puzzle is self identifying as someone who needs to grow and learn about what is and what isn’t racism.

I do my best to not be racist, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have racist tendencies. I make snap judgements, based on my evolved brain, that immediately snaps judgements of people based on their appearances.

I make comments that I have to stop myself and ask, “Wait, was that racist?”

Racism comes in many forms. It could be assuming that someone you can’t see driving a car is a certain race. It could be crossing the street when you see a person of color walking toward you on your side of the street. It could be talking down to someone because you hear on the phone that they aren’t your color.

Hell, how many times do you hear a story and either identify someone as a “black person” but do not qualify another person as “white”?

Or during a story, someone doesn’t identify someone as a color and the first question you ask is, “Were they black?”

We need to heal. We need to understand each other. We need to listen hard to the stories about black people unnecessarily arrested, needlessly stopped, blatantly mistreated, egregiously abused because of the color of their skin.

I wish that the November 3 election were the impending cure to all that ales us. But I’m afraid we put too much pressure on dates as scapegoats. Or on people. Or on viruses. Or on memetics.

Let’s all heal, grow and learn. Take a second to focus on your racism like your breath. Agree that it exists and fix it … together.

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