Saturday, July 12, 2003
Right-Handed Guilt
We have been taught that the real baddies are the racists, the bigots, the homophobes and misogynists -- and rightly so. But what about right-handed people?
If you are a WASP like me, it is fairly normal to feel guilt on occasion for all the injustice, hatred and violence that other WASPs have perpetrated over history. Looking at all those that have suffered from our collective wrath, the list adds up pretty quickly -- minorities, homosexuals, women, animals, lesbian animals.
But there is a group that has failed to recieve proper recognition, sympathy or compensation for their persecution: the lefties.
For centuries, left-handed people were told they were unnatural, inferior, even perverse, and what have we, right-handed citizens of the world, done to make up for this heinous injustice.
I propose that today right-handers and south-paws must unite to dialogue and reconcile. Think of all the repressed anger living inside the left-handed; this could erupt. The result may be a violent revolution. One day, the lefty will realize that her/his suffering is unacceptable, and when that day comes we are in trouble; for, as Malcolm X said (roughly): I don't support violence, but when violence is used as self-defense, I call it intelligence.
Stop the violence before it begins; curb the right-handed guilt before it overwhelms you; the time has come to make peace and heal the wounds.
Masturbate with you left hand as a sign of appreciation. Shake hands with you left hand. Give the finger with your left hand.
Left-handed people are not our enemies. They are not degenerate. Left-handed people are people, too.
We have been taught that the real baddies are the racists, the bigots, the homophobes and misogynists -- and rightly so. But what about right-handed people?
If you are a WASP like me, it is fairly normal to feel guilt on occasion for all the injustice, hatred and violence that other WASPs have perpetrated over history. Looking at all those that have suffered from our collective wrath, the list adds up pretty quickly -- minorities, homosexuals, women, animals, lesbian animals.
But there is a group that has failed to recieve proper recognition, sympathy or compensation for their persecution: the lefties.
For centuries, left-handed people were told they were unnatural, inferior, even perverse, and what have we, right-handed citizens of the world, done to make up for this heinous injustice.
I propose that today right-handers and south-paws must unite to dialogue and reconcile. Think of all the repressed anger living inside the left-handed; this could erupt. The result may be a violent revolution. One day, the lefty will realize that her/his suffering is unacceptable, and when that day comes we are in trouble; for, as Malcolm X said (roughly): I don't support violence, but when violence is used as self-defense, I call it intelligence.
Stop the violence before it begins; curb the right-handed guilt before it overwhelms you; the time has come to make peace and heal the wounds.
Masturbate with you left hand as a sign of appreciation. Shake hands with you left hand. Give the finger with your left hand.
Left-handed people are not our enemies. They are not degenerate. Left-handed people are people, too.
God Bless the Writers:
Poets (a poem)
Poets scream.
they enter pages like samurai hacking through
jungle
they meet tigers
with ferocious teeth and whiskers
Poets have beards and glasses
and achieve orgasm more difficultly than pornographers
or porn actors
Poets can't understand physics
yet
find words to explain the
gravity of everything
like mathematicians
they make problems and equations
-- as big as the cosmos
and like farmers and bears
they labour best in springtime
and summer
and hibernate in the winter
when it is cold
H
Poets (a poem)
Poets scream.
they enter pages like samurai hacking through
jungle
they meet tigers
with ferocious teeth and whiskers
Poets have beards and glasses
and achieve orgasm more difficultly than pornographers
or porn actors
Poets can't understand physics
yet
find words to explain the
gravity of everything
like mathematicians
they make problems and equations
-- as big as the cosmos
and like farmers and bears
they labour best in springtime
and summer
and hibernate in the winter
when it is cold
H
Death to The (Cannonball) Writers:
[Jonathon Swift] was a monster gibbering, shrieking and gnashing imprecations against mankind. -- William Thackery
[Jonathon Swift] was a monster gibbering, shrieking and gnashing imprecations against mankind. -- William Thackery
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
And Fuck Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw While Were At It:
With the single exception of Homer, there is no eminent writer, not even Sir Walter Scott, whom I can despise so entirely as I despise Shakespeare when I measure my mind against his..I would positively be a relief to me to dig him up and throw stones at him. -- George Bernard Shaw
[George Bernard Shaw] writes like a Pakistani who learned English when twelve years old in order to become a chartered accountant.
-- John Osborne
With the single exception of Homer, there is no eminent writer, not even Sir Walter Scott, whom I can despise so entirely as I despise Shakespeare when I measure my mind against his..I would positively be a relief to me to dig him up and throw stones at him. -- George Bernard Shaw
[George Bernard Shaw] writes like a Pakistani who learned English when twelve years old in order to become a chartered accountant.
-- John Osborne
Poety and Penis-Envy
This a poem I wrote a couple of weeks back:
Everything we ever dreamed of is part of the skylight; or fuck the nazis
hoover vaccums and vancouver gay-bars
and everything that makes you smile with your head in the stars
and mind in a vice
and your breath smells of flowers
and your time is but hours
but, gracefully, you tick them with joy
Not a dinosaur in the sand
a carnivorous plan
a daylight timetrap
your eyelids clap, but
you rejoice, then nap
and then talk about lust
where is the love-sick?
where is the kick?
you are a sharp whip,
and I am German sex tourist
in a latin american hotel room
You makes my ears bleed
You inspire my cat to read
Oh yes, he's dead
shall I call the police?
Are you interpreting with fear --
hand on a beer,
perhaps stroking a queer
do not shed a tear
love is full of cheer
and I am not queer
nor am I a member of the RCMP!
Call the police, call the police
he's bringing me grief
he's not brushing his teeth
I have a beef -- and he's obtuse
He's suggesting we curry our moose
let loose
be one with the Wave
a planet circling the sun
youthful sonic fun
unedited buns
and horror, oh god
Never marry a comic
or a poet
or a drunkard
or a thief
Never bury you night-smiles
your worry, your grief
let go of something
maybe sunshine
or rice-wine
or the length of this poem,
oh do not complain:
this is not for you (or me)
but just for this, this
this is this
or that
we shit and
pat ourselves backwards for accomplishments and references to the Olympics
in Prague or
Munich, or Dusseldorf
-- fuck the Nazis
punkrock aesthetic
open ethic
always pathetic
do you get my sentiment?
do you get my pain?
do you get my energy
it is always gay.
The Church stole our pant and fed it to ants
The Government stole my penis and fed it to Venus
My parents stole my rock n' roll and fed it to Satan
Satan liked it -- The Church is gay
away, away and heartbreak hooray!
and good poetry today
and love all day
disguised in a whisper
a pinch on a mister
in a latin american hotel room
the German is waiting
his voice is breaking
all is bliss
your hope is piss
my glasses are foggy
-- fuck the Nazis
This a poem I wrote a couple of weeks back:
Everything we ever dreamed of is part of the skylight; or fuck the nazis
hoover vaccums and vancouver gay-bars
and everything that makes you smile with your head in the stars
and mind in a vice
and your breath smells of flowers
and your time is but hours
but, gracefully, you tick them with joy
Not a dinosaur in the sand
a carnivorous plan
a daylight timetrap
your eyelids clap, but
you rejoice, then nap
and then talk about lust
where is the love-sick?
where is the kick?
you are a sharp whip,
and I am German sex tourist
in a latin american hotel room
You makes my ears bleed
You inspire my cat to read
Oh yes, he's dead
shall I call the police?
Are you interpreting with fear --
hand on a beer,
perhaps stroking a queer
do not shed a tear
love is full of cheer
and I am not queer
nor am I a member of the RCMP!
Call the police, call the police
he's bringing me grief
he's not brushing his teeth
I have a beef -- and he's obtuse
He's suggesting we curry our moose
let loose
be one with the Wave
a planet circling the sun
youthful sonic fun
unedited buns
and horror, oh god
Never marry a comic
or a poet
or a drunkard
or a thief
Never bury you night-smiles
your worry, your grief
let go of something
maybe sunshine
or rice-wine
or the length of this poem,
oh do not complain:
this is not for you (or me)
but just for this, this
this is this
or that
we shit and
pat ourselves backwards for accomplishments and references to the Olympics
in Prague or
Munich, or Dusseldorf
-- fuck the Nazis
punkrock aesthetic
open ethic
always pathetic
do you get my sentiment?
do you get my pain?
do you get my energy
it is always gay.
The Church stole our pant and fed it to ants
The Government stole my penis and fed it to Venus
My parents stole my rock n' roll and fed it to Satan
Satan liked it -- The Church is gay
away, away and heartbreak hooray!
and good poetry today
and love all day
disguised in a whisper
a pinch on a mister
in a latin american hotel room
the German is waiting
his voice is breaking
all is bliss
your hope is piss
my glasses are foggy
-- fuck the Nazis
Slavery and SARS; or, The inevitable infection of political-correctness
"[George Orwell] could not blow his nose without moralising on the state of the hankerchief industry" --Cyril Connoly
Upon reaching the breakfast table this morning, the first sight that met my eyes was the cover of today's Globe and Mail. Gracing the cover (or should I say disgacing the cover), was the one and only George Walker Bush. (People have not taken full advantage of the fact that the president of the US' last name is bush -- there has to be some vulgar insinuations about female genitilia waiting there). The headline reads: "At Africa's Door of No Return, Bush condemns slavery and its lingering effects." This headline is accompanied by a photograph of Walker looking out of a stone doorway with his ape-like head, his satellite-dish-like ears at full attention, and, of course, he is wearing his usual look of bemused stupidity and arrogance. (From the very first time I saw W. I thought to myself: I don't know if he is really as stupid as people say, but he sure looks stupid -- really stupid).
Anyway, the story which follows on the eighth page of The Globe is about W.'s current visit to Africa. OK, so George is saying some of the right things during his visit, calling slavery "one of the greatest crimes of history" and blaming "white Christians for the brutal legacy of slavery." But how much have things improved?
In a lot of ways things have improved: no more slavery, no more abuse of African nations, no more explotation from white Christian (retard) heads of state, right?
Not entirely so.
As we speak, Liberia, a country on the west coast of Africa, is experiencing terrible violence. This matters especially to me because I have a Liberian friend. Now, what most Americans don't know is that Liberia has been controlled by the US for over thirty years. The liberation of that country which occured when the US decided slavery might be bad idea gives it its name. But for an extended period of time, I'm not exactly sure how long, Liberia has been a puppet-state controlled by American interests. Sure, this has brought some wonderful advantages to Liberia, like Pizza Hut, McDonald's, and Nike stores -- luxuries which other African countries can only dream about. But my question is this: as the violence erupted in Liberia and the dictator Charles Taylor (also the name of Canada's most famous philosopher) abused his power where was imperial-daddy USA. Too busy bombing Afghani villages and seizing oil wells? Well OK, we all get distracted. But what I am try to say is that if America wants to play World-COP, they have to look over those countries where the mess is really their mess. (From one George to another -- Orwell to Bush -- represent),
But even as George Walker says: "Christain men and women become blind to the commands of their faith...and add hypocrisy to injustice." So: Praise Allah!
Now that I am done with moralising about diplomatic neglect, I can talk about something infinitely more hankerchief-related: SARS. I just found out that I am probably going to Toronto in August and I was thinking about what I should do -- what would make my Toronto experience complete. I could go to the Hockey Hall of Fame; I could attend a Jays game; I could go up the CN tower; but what if I got SARS? Should I not go to Toronto for fear of SARS?, I thought. But then it occured to me: getting SARS would only make my vacation more authentic and help me truly be Torontonian. So: when I return in September I might bring a friend to Vancouver, SARS. But no worry.
Has anyone seen 28 Days Later?
"[George Orwell] could not blow his nose without moralising on the state of the hankerchief industry" --Cyril Connoly
Upon reaching the breakfast table this morning, the first sight that met my eyes was the cover of today's Globe and Mail. Gracing the cover (or should I say disgacing the cover), was the one and only George Walker Bush. (People have not taken full advantage of the fact that the president of the US' last name is bush -- there has to be some vulgar insinuations about female genitilia waiting there). The headline reads: "At Africa's Door of No Return, Bush condemns slavery and its lingering effects." This headline is accompanied by a photograph of Walker looking out of a stone doorway with his ape-like head, his satellite-dish-like ears at full attention, and, of course, he is wearing his usual look of bemused stupidity and arrogance. (From the very first time I saw W. I thought to myself: I don't know if he is really as stupid as people say, but he sure looks stupid -- really stupid).
Anyway, the story which follows on the eighth page of The Globe is about W.'s current visit to Africa. OK, so George is saying some of the right things during his visit, calling slavery "one of the greatest crimes of history" and blaming "white Christians for the brutal legacy of slavery." But how much have things improved?
In a lot of ways things have improved: no more slavery, no more abuse of African nations, no more explotation from white Christian (retard) heads of state, right?
Not entirely so.
As we speak, Liberia, a country on the west coast of Africa, is experiencing terrible violence. This matters especially to me because I have a Liberian friend. Now, what most Americans don't know is that Liberia has been controlled by the US for over thirty years. The liberation of that country which occured when the US decided slavery might be bad idea gives it its name. But for an extended period of time, I'm not exactly sure how long, Liberia has been a puppet-state controlled by American interests. Sure, this has brought some wonderful advantages to Liberia, like Pizza Hut, McDonald's, and Nike stores -- luxuries which other African countries can only dream about. But my question is this: as the violence erupted in Liberia and the dictator Charles Taylor (also the name of Canada's most famous philosopher) abused his power where was imperial-daddy USA. Too busy bombing Afghani villages and seizing oil wells? Well OK, we all get distracted. But what I am try to say is that if America wants to play World-COP, they have to look over those countries where the mess is really their mess. (From one George to another -- Orwell to Bush -- represent),
But even as George Walker says: "Christain men and women become blind to the commands of their faith...and add hypocrisy to injustice." So: Praise Allah!
Now that I am done with moralising about diplomatic neglect, I can talk about something infinitely more hankerchief-related: SARS. I just found out that I am probably going to Toronto in August and I was thinking about what I should do -- what would make my Toronto experience complete. I could go to the Hockey Hall of Fame; I could attend a Jays game; I could go up the CN tower; but what if I got SARS? Should I not go to Toronto for fear of SARS?, I thought. But then it occured to me: getting SARS would only make my vacation more authentic and help me truly be Torontonian. So: when I return in September I might bring a friend to Vancouver, SARS. But no worry.
Has anyone seen 28 Days Later?
A Long and Lovely Suicide
Life! Life! Don’t let us go to life for our fulfilment or our experience. It is a thing narrowed by circumstances, incoherent in its utterance, and without that fine correspondence of form and spirit the artistic and critical temperament. -- Oscar Wilde
Life! Life! Don’t let us go to life for our fulfilment or our experience. It is a thing narrowed by circumstances, incoherent in its utterance, and without that fine correspondence of form and spirit the artistic and critical temperament. -- Oscar Wilde
