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Bad Blood
A Brief Encounter of the Hate Kind
© 2020 James LaFond
[written on 11/7/19]
The man is stocky and fit, tattooed and quiet, two inches shorter than the average and is sometimes mistaken for a member of one of the Spanish language “races” of mixed blood. However, he is all evil of line, all pale of race, of the European diaspora shipped off to this ever-so-useful world from the used-up world of his people. I take one look and think, “Italian American,” and sit for his tale, which he frames as not much of one, but rather an encounter that rankles in his guts, that when he ponders it, makes him wonder what the American future holds for him and his.
I will paraphrase and quote of the encounter in broad terms, for these are the terms of its gravity, not the mechanical specifics, which most meet-puppets of the pale variety would never regard as aggression.
Our man was sight-seeing in the Lower Manhattan neighborhood of New York, near Chamber Street, a center of cuckoldry and meat-puppet morality, a holy place where is celebrated the frailty of a once great family of races, not scattered to the winds by some wrathful god of antiquity, but rotting in plush stalls, fettered with rose petal chains as the dark dogs of extinction are wondering at their suddenly loosened leashes and developing a hunger for white meat...
Three men, dressed in plaid shirts, seeming for all the world like military men by their bearing, but with the two pale men being bearded bringing this into question. Of perhaps 30-years-of-age, the trio turns their attention on the smaller, older man, perhaps 40, exhibiting classic bull parade body language of the swaggering and possibly, but not necessarily, belligerent kind.
“It was a big sidewalk next to a park where the Brooklyn Bridge comes into Manhattan. The Mexican guy got closer to me and was eye-fucking me, staring at me, with standoffish aggressive body language. He was speaking to them in low tones from seven to eight feet away.”
More ominously, he notes that he is dealing with an aggressive, Latino leader and two beta boy “whites,” pale, fit, specimens marching in a state of worship behind their Latino lord. Absently wondering if the Latin Don forces these two betas to suck his cock, our man, a reader of this author’s survival advice, takes evasive action, making space.
“He’s staring at me from my right, comes over at an angle, so I walked around him. He might not have meant nothing, but his body language and look, this was not some regular dude and I had seen them walking by posing like tough guys before. All I had on me was pepper spray and a hand umbrella and pen. I decided to wait for them on a park bench and then bash the hell out of them. This was really tactically dumb, but I was angry that these tourist-looking guys in the day were eye-fucking me—especially the Mexican-looking guy, and they all had shades on. At this point any white man who wants to attack me with some fucking spic—its on!”
“At night, you know, I’m taking a chance. But this is family hour, so I got pissed at this shit. I walked slow, to where I sat down on a bench, so they could see me, so I could see when they came up on me. I waited there and they didn’t come up on me. I wanted to know what they were going to do, if they had bad intentions. They did not come up on me. I don’t know where they went. But after running into them this second time, with that body language and then the proximity approach, and that hard look, I wanted to know, not run into them later after they thought I rabbited.”
To this writer and interviewer, the actions of the storyteller were reasonable. I have taken many such actions, once noting aggressive body language and attention paid to me in the Baltimore Area, mostly at Bus Stops. My sorting tactic to gauge the possibility of an attack and better deal with it when it came, was to move off about 30 feet, to a dead space, not an access or egress point, so that any closing of distance with me would be deliberate, permitting me space and justification for a stop-action strike.
What we have above is a description of level 1 aggression, which falls short of an attack, as the subject is simply being considered for possible violence, not being targeted. In such a situation, the behavior of the subject under consideration as a violence target—whether for profitable crime, racial dick-measuring, group-bonding stomp out or masculine dominance—has a usually greater weight in tilting the situation towards contact than that of the potential actors, who are still engaged in the selection process.
Good job.
The Boned Zone: Surviving Urban Predation
Don't Get Boned: The Harm City Handbook
‘Master of None’
guerilla masculinity
The Curtain
honor among men
solo boxing
broken dance
on the overton railroad
the combat space
under the god of things
winter of a fighting life
Glasgow Ned     Jan 29, 2020

Sounds like they were cops
James     Jan 29, 2020

Good call!
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