Razorblade Tears Quotes

Folks like to talk about revenge like it’s a righteous thing but it’s just hate in a nicer suit,

When the people you love are gone, it's the things they've touched that keep them alive in your mind

Tears ran from his eyes and stung his cheeks. Tears for his son. Tears for his wife. Tears for the little girl they had to raise. Tears for who they were and what they all had lost. Each drop felt like it was slicing his face open like a razorblade.

It occurred to Buddy Lee that anything could be a weapon if you were dedicated enough. Even love. Especially love.

Life sends us down some strange roads on our way to our destiny.

He had the self-assurance of most mediocre men. They told themselves the world was their oyster but never realized their oyster had turned rancid a long time ago

I ain't gonna lie and say I get you, because I don't. I can't even pretend I know what it must be like to be... you. But if all this has taught me one thing, it's that it ain't about me and what I get. It's about letting people be who they are. And being who you are shouldn't be a death sentence.

He needed your love then. Not now that he's in the ground

But time was a river made of quicksilver. It slipped through his grasp even as it enveloped him

It didn’t seem fair for a man to morn someone, abundantly, that he had loved, so miserly.

That was the thing about violence. When you went looking for it you definitely were going to find it. It just wouldn't be at a time of your own choosing. It jumped up and splattered your nice new boots before you were really ready

Ike thought one of the worst things you could give a man was a clipboard. He’d been at the mercy of men with clipboards. They could keep you out of a gated community or put you on a bus to prison. Give a man a clipboard and watch his true nature come out.

A man once told me we can’t change the past but we can decide what happens next.

Most of it is just being respectful of people and accepting them for who they are

His empty hands. Hands that had held his boy when he was barely ten minutes old. The hands that had shown him how to tie his shoes. The hands that had rubbed salve on his chest when he'd had the flu. That had waved goodbye to him in court with shackles tight around his wrists. Rough callused hands that he hid in his pockets when Isiah's husband had offered to shake them.

But time was a river made of quicksilver. It slipped through his grasp even as it enveloped him. Twenty became forty. Winter became spring, and before he knew it he was an old man burying his son and wondering where in the hell that river had taken him.

It’s like that story. The wolf gets to the turnip patch at six in the morning. The rabbit been there and gone,” Ike said. “We the rabbits, in that story, right?” Buddy Lee said. “Yeah, but we gonna eat them like we’re the wolves,” Ike said.

No, hate. Folks like to talk about revenge like it’s a righteous thing but it’s just hate in a nicer suit,

This is who I am. I can’t change. I don’t want to, really. But for once I’m gonna put this devil inside me to good use.

When the people you love are gone, it’s the things they’ve touched that keep them alive in your mind. A picture, a shirt, a poem, a pair of baby shoes. They become anchors that help you keep their memory from drifting away.

Human beings were wired to get used to just about anything. That didn't make you hard. It made you indoctrinated.

Gerald ain’t the person you told yourself he was. That’s a hard lesson, but it ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, Tangerine. We all learn that lesson or we teach it to somebody.

You love a person enough and you’ll make excuses for almost anything.

Chopping up your first body is disgusting. Your second is tiresome. When you're doing your fifteenth, it's all muscle memory.

I go looking I might find them. And if I find them, I’ll kill them,” he said. The words came out plain and without much inflection. She’d known him since he was fifteen and she was thirteen. Mya knew he wasn’t exaggerating. Ike waited for her to say he couldn’t do that. He stood there waiting for her to say let the cops handle it. He waited and waited.

A lack of movement inside the house had allowed a pall to settle over the entire structure. The air had a stale, spoiled scent. A thin layer of dust covered most of the exposed surfaces. Death had laid his cold hand on this place and stilled its heart

Ike didn’t want to be a king. A king never sleeps. He ends up like Slice. Staring at everyone and anticipating how they might try to come for his crown.

The past few nights had been cool, as the last vestiges of winter refused to cede their kingdom to the spring.

It’s easier to keep your head in the sand than it is to try and see things from somebody else’s point of view. There’s a reason why they say ignorance is bliss,

Over the last few months death had carved a valley between them as deep as grief and as wide as heartbreak

Ike knew what gave Buddy Lee’s eyes that murderous sheen. It was the rage coursing through his veins. A poison that killed off certain parts of yourself. The parts that made you weak. It was coursing through Ike’s veins, too. It was powerful but deadly. It made you determined but reckless. It gave you an edge that could turn against you and slit your own throat.

Oh, you get the truck. But you also get pulled over four or five times a month because ain’t no way your Black ass can afford a nice truck like this, right? You get the truck but you get followed around in the jewelry store because you know you probably fitting to rob the place, right? You can get the truck but you gotta deal with white ladies clutching their purses when you walk down the street because Fox News done told them you coming to steal their money and their virtue. You get the truck but then you gotta explain to some trigger-happy cop that no, Mr. Officer, you’re not resisting arrest. You get the truck but then you also get two in the back of the head because you reached for your cell phone,” Ike said. He glanced at Buddy Lee.

But if all this has taught me one thing, it's that it ain't about me and what I get. It's about letting people be who they are. And being who you are shouldn't be a goddamn death sentence.

Ike tried to remember a time when men with badges coming to his door early in the morning brought anything other than heartache and misery, but try as he might, nothing came to mind. They felt like the long-awaited answer to a mournful prayer for rain.

Oh, so you think it’s easier being Black than being gay? I tell you what, you go somewhere don’t nobody have to know you gay unless you tell them. I’m Black everywhere. I can’t hide that shit,” Ike said. Tex pulled his towel out and twisted it with both hands. “Yeah, you can’t hide that you’re Black. But the fact that you think I should hide who I am proves my point. Like Dr. King said: an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” Tex said. Ike sucked his teeth and sat back onto his stool. “You guys let me know if you want anything else,” Tex said. He turned and walked to the other end of the bar. “Damn, he dropped the Martin Luther King card on your ass. I think he won that round, Grasshopper,” Buddy Lee said.

It didn’t seem fair for a man to mourn someone abundantly that he had loved so miserly.

My grandmother used to say if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

Mama tried but Daddy didn’t give a damn,

The only thing I’d want to say to Isiah is that I’m sorry. And I couldn’t say it enough even if I had forever to say it.

Nobody ever knows the last time is gonna be the last time until it’s too late.

No, hate. Folks like to talk about revenge like it’s a righteous thing but it’s just hate in a nicer suit,” Ike said.

Human beings were wired to get used to just about anything. That didn’t make you hard. It made you indoctrinated.

death had carved a valley between them as deep as grief and as wide as heartbreak.

He felt hands flutter against his back and shoulders. Words of encouragement were mumbled with half-hearted sincerity. It wasn’t that folks didn’t care. It was that they knew those words did little to soothe the wound in his soul. Speaking those platitudes and clichéd homilies seemed disingenuous, but what else could they do? It was what you did when someone died. It was as axiomatic as bringing a casserole to the repast.

I have to punch somebody’s ticket, I’ll do it. If I gotta crawl a hundred miles over broken glass just to get my hands on these motherfuckers, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m prepared to bleed. Are you?” Ike asked. Buddy Lee leaned his head back and stared up at the sky. The clouds danced across the horizon, taking on vaguely familiar shapes. A horse, a dog, a car, a face with a crooked smile just like Derek’s. He lowered his head and locked eyes with Ike. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” he said.

Whatever is going on, don’t let it tear down everything you’ve built. You’re better than that. You’re better than those funky-ass bikers,

Garland’s sat at the corner of Grace and Foushee Streets.

Ike thought one of the worst things you could give a man was a clipboard. He'd been at the mercy of men with clipboards. They could keep you out of a gated community or on a bus to prison. Give a man a clipboard and watch his true nature come out.

A baseball bat with nails. A tamper. A .45. It occurred to Buddy Lee that everything could be a weapon if you were dedicated enough. Even love. Especially love.

Folks like to talk about revenge like it's a righteous thing but it's just hate in a nicer suit.

He should have walked across that goddamn glacier instead of waiting for it to melt.

He had the self-assurance of most mediocre men. They told themselves the world was their oyster but never realized their oyster had turned rancid a long time ago.

I’ve learned to always be ready to be disappointed by white people. Doesn’t always happen, but when it does, it don’t shock me anymore. You ain’t the worst I’ve had to deal with,” Ike

He supposed he should be shocked how fast his disposal skills resurfaced, but it was not really that much of a surprise. Chopping up your first body is disgusting. Your second is tiresome. When you’re doing your fifteenth, it’s all muscle memory.

He’d figured six Rare Breed with guns was more than enough for a nigger, a shitkicker, and a slut. He was getting real sick of being wrong.

You think my son was sick? Or his son? Or Tangerine? You think they deserve to die because you can’t deal with who you are?” Ike asked. Gerald said nothing. Ike straightened himself. “The funny thing is, if my boy was here, he’d feel sorry for you. If his son was here he’d probably forgive you,” Ike said. Buddy Lee opened his knife. It clicked as he locked the blade in place. “But they ain’t here, are they?” Buddy Lee asked. “No, they ain’t,” Ike said.

The tears came again. They poured from his eyes and ran over his cheeks. Flowed down to the stubble of his chin. This time they didn’t feel like razorblades. They felt like the long awaited answer to a mournful prayer of rain.

Yeah, I do. I’ll be bawling like a baby in a minute, and I think neither one of us wanna see that. Look, I know you can’t say it, but I gotta ask. He went out fighting, didn’t he?” Margo said. Ike gave her a long unblinking look. She studied his eyes, saw the answer to her question, and nodded her head.

It was a mistake, Chrissy. We both made a lot of mistakes with him. He wasn’t abhorrent. He wasn’t sacrilegious. He was just Derek. That should’ve been enough for both of us,” Buddy Lee said.

Nobody ever knows the last time is gonna be the last time until it’s too late. You ain’t alone in that. That’s what makes living so damn terrible sometimes

Ike was sick to death of tears. His own, Mya’s. Isiah was the star in their universe. When he had died that star had collapsed in on itself creating a black hole. That black hole swallowed every ounce of joy they had ever felt.

When the people you love are gone, it’s the things they’ve touched that keep them alive in your mind.

A baseball bat with nails. A tamper. A .45. It occurred to Buddy Lee that anything could be a weapon if you were dedicated enough. Even love. Especially love.

My drops of tears I’ll turn to sparks of fire.

I’ve learned to always be ready to be disappointed by white people. Doesn’t always happen, but when it does, it don’t shock me anymore. You ain’t the worst I’ve had to deal with,” Ike said. Buddy Lee ran his finger around the rim of his glass.

I’ve learned to always be ready to be disappointed by white people. Doesn’t always happen, but when it does, it don’t shock me anymore. You ain’t the worst I’ve had to deal with,” Ike said. Buddy Lee ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “I ain’t trying make no excuses, but when you grow up around people—your aunts and uncles, your grandparents, your brothers and sisters, your friends—all of them saying things that you don’t even think about being wrong or right, you don’t put that title on yourself. Like you remember when they used to play The Ten Commandants on television every Easter? And there’s this part where this boy tells his granddaddy to look at the Nubians? My granddaddy on my mama’s side would always make this joke about them not being Nubians, they just, well, you know what he said. And I used to laugh at that joke because it was my granddaddy saying it. I never thought, I never had to think how somebody like you would feel about that joke. Then when I got older I stopped thinking about it, because if that joke was fucked up, then what did that say about my granddaddy? What did that say about me that I laughed at it?” Buddy Lee said.

So you do think I’m racist,” Buddy Lee said. “I think maybe for the first time in your life you’re seeing what the world looks like for people that don’t look like you. I mean you still ignorant as hell, but you learning. But then, so am I. We both learning. We both done said and did shit that we wish we could take back. I think if you figure out at one point in your life you was a terrible person, you can start getting better. Start treating people better. Like as long as you wouldn’t laugh at that joke now, I think you on the right road. Same as if the next time I get offered a drink I don’t go the hell off and just walk away, instead of jacking somebody up because they had the nerve to think I was in a gay bar to meet somebody,” Ike said. He held his shot glass up and motioned for the bartender. Buddy Lee downed his shot, too. He gasped as he sat the glass down on the bar. “Goddamn that shit will take the paint off a ball hitch. I guess you’re right. Feels like we waited pretty late in the day to start learning shit,” Buddy Lee said. The bartender brought them two more shots. “Day ain’t over yet,” Ike said.

It belonged to my daddy,” Buddy Lee said. He didn’t offer any other explanation than those five words. Ike didn’t need one. The knife had belonged to Buddy Lee’s father. That explained it all.

Ike brought the rum to his head and finished it in one huge gulp. He winced but kept it down. He considered getting another one, then changed his mind. Getting drunk wasn’t going to make things easier. He needed to feel this pain. Keep it fresh in his heart. He deserved it. In the back of his mind he’d always thought that he and Isiah would come to an understanding. He just assumed time would thaw the glacier between them and they would both experience an epiphany of sorts. Isiah would finally understand how hard it was for his father to accept his lifestyle. In turn, Ike would be able to accept that his son was gay. But time was a river made of quicksilver. It slipped through his grasp even as it enveloped him. Twenty became forty. Winter became spring, and before he knew it he was an old man burying his son and wondering where in the hell that river had taken him.

He learned how to control his temper. There was no such thing as nonviolent conflict resolution in the joint. You hit first, and you hit hard. If you didn’t, you would find yourself washing another motherfucker’s boxers. The first time he got cut off in traffic after being released had been tough. It had taken everything in him not to chase the guy down, drag him out his car, and curb-stomp him. Buddy Lee had it all wrong. Ike wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He wasn’t afraid to spill blood. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Oh, you get the truck. But you also get pulled over four or five times a month because ain’t no way your Black ass can afford a nice truck like this, right? You get the truck but you get followed around in the jewelry store because you know you probably fitting to rob the place, right? You can get the truck but you gotta deal with white ladies clutching their purses when you walk down the street because Fox News done told them you coming to steal their money and their virtue. You get the truck but then you gotta explain to some trigger-happy cop that no, Mr. Officer, you’re not resisting arrest. You get the truck but then you also get two in the back of the head because you reached for your cell phone,” Ike said.

It caught Ike in the solar plexus, and he felt a spasm ripple through his midsection like he’d been tased. He fell back against the truck. Light-Skinned had recovered somewhat and was advancing on him from the left. Acting purely on instinct honed from hundreds of throwdowns, inside and on the street, Ike grabbed the passenger door, opened it with deft fingers, and slammed it into Light-Skinned. The bottom of the door caught him in the shin, and he immediately dropped to one knee like he was about to propose. Mini-Afro caught Ike in the chin with a two-piece combo. Black stars twinkled in front of Ike’s eyes. Grunting, he launched himself at Mini-Afro. They collided like a pair of mountain goats. Ike hooked the other man’s leg with his own as he executed a tangled pirouette. They fell to the ground in a twisted conflagration of arms and legs and fists. Light-Skinned was back to his feet, and this time he was holding a collapsible baton. Ike ended up on top of Mini-Afro. Ike hit him with a right cross, then a right elbow strike. Mini-Afro’s nose flattened against his face like a jellyfish. Blood flowed unfettered from both his nostrils and into his mouth. Ike doubled up on him. Two fast brutal punches that closed the man’s left eye like a curtain. Then Ike’s world exploded in a nuclear flash of white light and searing pain so intense he thought he was going to vomit.

It was bad enough being a Black man in the good ol’ US of A and talking to the cops. You always felt like you were on the edge of some imaginary precipice during any interaction with an officer of the law. If you were an ex-con, it felt like the precipice was covered in bacon grease.

People like to talk about revenge like it’s a righteous thing; but it’s just hate in a nicer suite” - Razorblade Tears

Get that what’s normal ain’t up to me. That it don’t fucking matter who he wanted to wake up next to as long as he was waking up,

Being gay ain’t nothing like being Black,” Ike said. The words came out slow and deliberate. Tex furrowed his brow. “I’m just saying we still in the South. Unless you straight and white you gotta watch your back,” he said. He turned his head toward Buddy Lee. “No offense,” he said. “None taken, I guess. I just never knew I had it so good being straight and white,

said. “It’s bigger than the first trailer we had,” Christine said. That reference to their shared past knocked the breath out of him. After all these years he thought she’d probably had those memories scrubbed out of her mind. Made herself believe their years together were a bad dream. They certainly felt like a dream to Buddy Lee. Hazy, half-remembered visions of a person and a time he occasionally didn’t believe he’d ever been or had ever existed.