No matter the society, it has never been an outrage to kill, only to kill certain people. In ancient Sumer killing a slave was frowned upon, but not an outrage. In 1820, killing Tasmanians was the thing to do. But kill a British naval officer and there was hell to pay. The high priests of our media church have now decided that people who were recently killed without outcry are now martyrs, and that people who were once treasured by a community, are no longer taboo victims.

The thing about being in The Boned Zone that really sucks, is that you know that society does not care. Your attackers have come for you knowing this, knowing that you have no right to defend yourself, that you represent the guilt of your savage ancestors, that you will not be mourned by your money grubbing masters, and that your slack-eyed peers will blame you for choosing to be where you should not have been.

A full 30 days after the so called Baltimore Riots, bus use is still at 50% of normal. Bus drivers no longer attempt to enforce MTA regulations after dark. Young black men who do not wish to pay their fare are left alone. Of the various police departments humiliated a moon ago none was laid so low as the Maryland Transit Authority police. [The van burning on the main page of this site was one of theirs.]

Arrests are down in the city, way down, with one exception, whites are being arrested as often as usual. At this point that is just an assertion of mine based on speaking with a handful of cops, criminals, witnesses and victims. I wonder if the racial arrest numbers for this month will come to light.

I, myself have been jumpier than I had been before the purge. Last night, as I walked past the 7-11, I heard the scuff of a shoe behind me and turned to confront the person, where before I would have glided off to the right and let him pass. He backed up, walked around, and walked by me in the street. We were both still feeling the edge from being hunted so blatantly last month.

On the bus home this morning it was nearly deserted, only one student going to school instead of a dozen in the county. No students in the city, out of two dozen that usually take that line. Some of this is end of school year attendance fall off. Not all of it.

A man was standing over me waiting for a seat when I woke. I made to move over and he said, “No, no, no, Sir,” pointing to a lady that was leaving, indicating that he would take her seat. The last time I remember adult males being this courteous and jumpy was in the early 1990s when the drug war was kicking into high gear and men seemed to call a truce across racial lines as we all looked out for the teens with the guns and the 20 pair of man stomping sneakers.

A sense of danger has its upside; solitude as people choose to leave their homes less often, and aggressive courtesy among men across racial divides. Two days ago I stopped at a gas station to get a drink, and waited patiently behind a black man who was buying over $100 worth of lottery tickets with specific numbers. I settled in for my 10 minute wait. The Pakistani attendant, in the time before the purge, would have said to the lottery customer, “One minute, sir, while I take care of him.”

No such customer service choice would be risked in our new African American Ethical Zone. The man was my age or older. When he realized what was going on, he took the initiative to set things straight, telling the clerk, “Please, take this man before you finish with me.”

He seemed genuinely embarrassed that the clerk was afraid of him.

The clerk used the next 20 seconds making the transaction—twenty seconds that could have gotten him beaten to death if that were a young black man rather than a mature black man in front of me. I thanked the man and he wished me a good day. I am coming to like this lawlessness, this knowledge that the police will not come when called, or, if they do, will hold back from enforcing the law upon the majority. The animals are showing themselves for what they are, and the cops for the crutches of state they are. Men are learning to be men again, practicing courtesy and making tactical decisions, not leaving their fate in the hands off the State at every turn.

There is a new life value system in Baltimore. If a Baltimorean is slain, he will only be mourned by the national media priesthood if he is a black male slain by a white male or a law officer.

The local media priesthood will also mourn black males slain by other black males, and white women or children who are slain by anyone.

Of the 38 people who have been murdered so far this month—making this the most violent month since 1996—the two most recent were a young mother and her seven year old son, killed in the Uplands neighborhood of West Baltimore, in their home. Not being warriors in this undeclared race war, these two humans have no value to their oppressed community, and will be mourned in a very limited way. There will be no national media outcry on behalf of this baby. Neighbors who saw the killers come and go will not give statements to the police.

I live in a city where thugs beaten and killed by cops are worshipped as martyrs, and women and babies murdered in their bed by thugs do not rate a media tear.

And somehow, it feels right, like this is the real Baltimore, the nation’s seeping cold sore, a pox on the body politic; oozing its toxic puss in the form of its negligent mayor asking FEMA for a 20 million dollar bailout and telling reporters they are "out of line," for asking her about the crime surge that followed the race purge. It is refreshing to find that Tyranny can still be such an empty-headed slut.