White Out

 

White people all over. White people with pearly teeth wrapped in fog cover to

blend in with their white sky. White people eating pasta pasty mashed potato

cauliflower puree creamed crumpity milkfat mayonnaise. There’s a joke that

goes — what color is this? Point to something white. Somebody says “white”.

What color is that? Point to something white. Keep going until the person gets

tired. Then ask them what cows drink. They’ll say milk. Cows drink water. It’s

not that funny. White people eating vanilla ice cream after vanilla intercourse

on bleached linens painted with daisies and lilies and lined with cocaine from

what they called the Ivory Coast a long time ago with eyes gleaming and

colourless lotioning pale arms and legs wrapped in a white wet dream of

plaster-dried salt-licked moon lard filled golf balls covered in toothpaste. They

are buttoning up to the tippity-top of pressed collars printing out receipts that

say calcium and airplane and sugar. They are pouring laundry detergent in

clouds over nurses and chefs and space shuttles and wedding dresses

naming everything Whitehall and White Horse and Whitechapel and White

Tower. They are erasing chalk from blackboards after telling everybody how

history is supposed to go but feeling really bad about it but they still don’t

know what to do about the Problem of Multiculturalism or Immigration. They

have discovered a whole new continent of euphemisms. They are sewing

stitches on white flags. They are making TV shows about diversity and are

very sorry about the war. They are reading poems about black bodies to a

room full of people sipping white wine while whitewashing white noise with

witty rhetorical whittlings. It’s almost as if they didn’t do it. It’s almost as if they

aren’t even there. But still with white knuckles in a white heat they stalwartly

steer FedEx trucks and robot drones full of dental floss mushrooms

spearmint Tic Tacs soy milk aspirin shoelaces and cigarettes filling up White

Houses with picket fences and propane tanks and back up lights and cotton

balls and dress shirts and Apple products and white chocolate and sand from

places that still don’t belong to them singing I’ve got a blank space baby while

having fun fun fun on the white beaches of their imaginations