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TRASH: chauvin (Short film - Poetry) by Tammy M. Gomez and

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Play, download and edit the free video TRASH: chauvin (Short film - Poetry) by Tammy M. Gomez and Everton Melo.

Written and Performed by Tammy M. Gomez
Directed by Tammy M. Gomez and Everton Melo
Cinematography by Junichi Royal
Edited by Everton Melo

Special thanks to Dylan Kennedy, Miles Garcia, Mercedez Garcia, and Michelle Kirk.
TRASH: Chauvin
by Tammy Melody Gomez

During the 11-minute hearing in Hennepin County Court, Judge Jeannice M. Reding set Derek Chauvin’s unconditional bail at 1.25 million dollars, with bail at 1 million dollars with conditions--those conditions being he cannot work in security or law enforcement ever again; he must relinquish any personal firearms, and licenses or permits for a firearm; and may not, for any reason, contact the Floyd family.

Well, yeah, let him try to post bail at 1 million dollars with conditions.
Let him be out on the streets with no way to physically and personally protect himself.
No guns and no permits, no more?
Huh, you don’t want to be out on the streets, naw.
You don’t want to be out on the streets, Chauvin trash.
Ain’t no people my color, any color, want to pick up trash like you off the streets—
Living or dead--
Nobody wants to trash themselves by trusting their hands to be put
Upon your body
Your insulting body
Your offensive body
Your death-making body
Your murder-making body
You on the streets:
Ain’t no janitor wanna touch or pick up that trash
We done picked up all your trash for you in the past
We picked up,
We swallowed,
We ate it,
We drank it,
We looked at it
We got stared at by it,
By your trash,
And now you have nothing but time
To sit in there, behind bars,
And rewind, rewind, your life tape,
And look at where you went wrong.
“Oh, where did I go wrong?”
If I could just do it over!”

Well, WHEN would you start doing it over?
Huh?
Murder 2 rap? Huh?
Two weeks ago?!
You better NOT be starting there.
You better be rolling further back!
Rewind, rewind to your past:
your child past, your prepubescent, adolescent, young adult past, trash!
You trash,
You be out on the streets, you won’t be safe,
the nice people won’t be touching and picking you up.
No, you’d be murdered 2, too, trash.

You’d be trash out on the streets,
Without a funeral
Your body all falling apart, decomposing,
Under the hot Minnesota
South Dakota, Arizona,
Texas burning hot summer sun,
Broiling that rot right out of you
Broiling that rot right out of you
Broiling that rot right out of you
Which you should have done yourself!
You had 44 years, and you didn’t even think about how you full of trash?
You trash full of trash,
All that inborn hate,
That racist rage
That white male insecurity,
That white male fragility.

You didn’t have time or make time to dig into your own trash.
Well, we ain’t picking you up!
It ain’t my labor,
It ain’t my physical, emotional
labor
to fix you up.
You fixed yourself up good.

Look where you are now!
Look where you are now!
You got time.
Mr. Big Man,
no more in social control enforcement uniform.

You been demoted, de-ranked, degraded,
You been demoted, de-ranked, degraded,
And you did it all to your self
You done messed up good, trash.
You messed up so good.

Ain’t nobody wanna touch you, now!
Ain’t no garbage bin or dumpster or landfill
Gonna make room for your kind of trash,
You trash all by your lonely self,
So be that lonely trash:
Kickin’ down the road
The wind barely wanna move you along,
Scurrying into fields,
The tumbleweeds run away from you
They roll in opposite directions,
To the four winds,
‘Cause you messed up,
You rotten,
You rotted yourself out
When you kneeled,
You rotted yourself out when you stuck your damn hands
In your damn trash pockets
You rotted yourself when you had no thinking heart
in that moment,
In that space,
Kneeling, like you think you doing so good,
Mr. Officer Man,
Mr. Uniform with Gun Belt Hand and Head Man.

No, you made nothing but more trash out of your already trashy self.

And I’m so sorry,
I’m so sorry,
On the morning, the minute you were born,
You weren’t trash
You were NOT trash,
You were innocent and beautiful,
And you had a bright future,
As any child on this earth would have.
You could have lived a greater life and made such a
better piece of person out of yourself.

But now---
It’s way too late,
You’re bunched up in some horrible clutter
Of guilt, pain, and darkness.
And you’re gonna lie there all by your lonely self,
You despicable piece of trash.
You done trashed up good.
You done trashed up so permanently good.

How does that feel, man?
Makes you just wanna burn, huh?
Makes you just wish you could be incinerated right now, huh?

Well, don’t worry, man, ‘cause we’re burning it all down now.

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