kim chi breath, gangster rap, and chiggers
Earlier today, in the library, while replying to an email, I attempted to copy and paste a comment by a friend, "Great blog. much of it is over my head though," in order to reply to him, but apparently the command did not go through, and a previous user's data in the clipboard showed up instead:
BREAK-UP
I would have hated the entire world
And never have hesitated
To kill anyone who dared
To speak to me of a break-up
Between my beloved and me.
That evening at Orety,
Coming towards me with Daky,
My heart breaking with love for him,
I snuggled in his warm embrace,
But he did not call me “Mavy”. . .
His eyes avoided mine,
In front of Bessieux school,
As if bewitched by the blue sky,
He whispered: “It’s over, you and I,
I have come to say Goodbye.”
Did the earth shake under my feet?
Did I hear him right?
Why this sudden chill?
Was it just a frightful dream?
I was powerless to speak.
The day before, in front of his mother,
He told me he wanted a child together,
The most beautiful gift from a lover…
And looking up at the heavens,
Even the sky seemed uncertain…
I was in love with being together,
Why must he forget it?
For him I gave up everything,
Parted from my family.
Should I laugh or should I cry?
A voice from beyond the grave
Stammered: “It’s a bomb”. . .
Before my tears had time to fall,
With a blast, he was gone,
Leaving behind him only a scar.
No more will I say: “I love you”
To all of those who come to me,
To play out the big scene
That awakens my pain!
For thus dies a gentle heart. . .
How's that for serendipity?
I wonder if it was the lyrics to a song.
I wonder if it is a poem for an assignment.
I wonder if the unknown user before me is going through what I did.
I wonder.
And I wander.
I have been short on sleep ever since I began this blog business. Not good. Also, AFTER I am done with my blog, there are the chats with Eve, gorgeous gf of Mr. E (now, for a limited time only, appearing with her ChowChow). And so it boils down to "Chat with Eve" or sleep. For some unfathomable reason, the former always wins. I'm already going through my coffee rations at twice the normal rate.
I've got a crappola worth of work due next week, including presentations, which I totally and utterly detest. I suppose at some point I have to learn to be good at it; after all, in the words of someone special, it doesn't matter if you have it all in your head, if you can't articulate it to your audience, you are as good as dumb. Nice pun there, BTW; I wonder if she realized it. Problem is, I love... wait, let me emphasize... LOVE long complex sentences and polysyllabic words. I also love to interject foreign words and jargon into my sentences. It makes for more concise sentences (hard to believe since I love 110+ word type sentences). By concise, I mean I can pack extremely complex, multi-faceted, and multi-layered ideas and concepts in a single long sentence. The use of higher-order vocabulary allows a single word to be used instead of a large phrase or separate sentence. BUT, when you attempt to read out such sentences, you inevitably send your audience into a coma. Hmm...
During afternoon mass today, a regular--a very nice lady--gave me a few precious insights into the rituals (I haven't had my First Communion yet. Heck, I haven't even been baptized yet). She subtly hinted that she might be willing to be my sponsor as well. I was touched. I might just take her up on her offer.
After lunch and a large cappuccino (corrected by THE Mr. E *grin*), I mustered enough courage to approach the professor whose remarks on Tuesday afternoon resulted in such unhappiness and anger in me. I was expecting a confrontation (though I remained always respectful). Instead, he was very happy to see me, and remarked that he saw me at mass today. He apologized for his remarks that day, and agreed that it might have been out of line, and that "We are cool."
The lack of bloodshed and the happy conclusion of this event made me question if it was really my ego that perceived things out of proportion, or is it through the grace of a higher power that solved it so easily. I am sensitive, don't get me wrong. How can one be insensitive and a poet? Maybe I'm just an egoistic poet...
That said, I remained burnt by the experience. The cyclists on this campus are on their own. I am not going to give away information that I so painstakingly gathered over the course of weeks for free. Taking a cue from the legion of business students burning in Hell (and the rest, with one foot in it), information that is free is rarely valued; attaching a price to it renders it less likely to be scorned--because the users have to pay for it.
I found this little cafe beside campus. It is managed by this sweet Korean lady and her husband. They have a tempting assortment of Japanese confectionery (yes, yes, I am away of the historical/cultural irony here... Shut up and stuff some kim chi up your nationalist (__*__) now. GET OVER IT!), and... get this... they play nothing but classical music in there. Oh, what an oasis of aural bliss! No gangsta-rap thumping and bumping, dropping IQ points with every bass beat, degenerating language from English to Ebonics with every obscenity uttered, de-evolving all who hear it into jungle bunnies... Ah! Bliss.
I make no apologies for what appears to be high-brow disdain for gangsta-rap and its various manifestations of ghetto dress codes and culture. Seriously, are any of the wannabe thugs out there cognizant of the genesis of such modes of dress codes? Why do the men wear their pants so low that their butt cracks are exposed? Here's a clue: it originated in prisons. Still lost? Here's another clue free (no need to buy one, I'm feeling generous today): sanitary napkins are a common commodity in male prisons. Got it? No? Ok, last clue (yes, it's still free. Don't worry. I'm not a business student): don't drop the soap, buddy. So, think about it the next time you are enjoying pretending to be "cruizing da hood" and going "bitch this!" "bitch that!" And for the "aSiAn hOmEbOyS" out there, you are nothing more than chiggers. Look up that term (as a portmanteau word) sometime. You are wearing outfits that say, "Santa Clara," "San Francisco State," "University of San Francisco," "San Jose State," "UC Santa Cruz," "UC San Diego," and NOT "San Quentin." Perhaps mommy's crack habit got her all confused and, since grade school, you have been boarding the wrong bus?
Bottomline: to those of you who listen to gangsta-rap, you are in the wrong society. Your place is in the jungle, where you will earn your MBA in stealing coconuts from monkeys.
Anyone who thinks that going to jail is cool, please read the following two articles:
The Basics of Rape behind Bars
Prisoner Rape Spreads Disease
The following is an excerpt:
The group's handout -- targeted primarily at heterosexual men who have no desire to ever be involved in homosexual activity -- advises:
HIV/AIDS transmission during a sexual assault is a serious concern. The following are practical tips for reducing your risk. ...
If you have a choice, try to avoid men who used needles for drugs in the past or are still doing so. ... The more often you are raped, the more exposed you will be, so especially try to avoid anal gang-bangs. The most dangerous situation of all is if your anus is bleeding, for that allows easy entry of the virus into your bloodstream. So try to use a lubricant or grease or cream if you can to minimize injury to your delicate internal body parts, avoid anal gang-bangs, and if you must endure forced anal penetration, try to relax your muscles as much as possible. These tactics are not 'cooperating' or consenting, they are just common-sense measures to try to save your life. ...
In many situations you are better off agreeing to do something (masturbating, oral sex, sex with a condom) rather than just resisting until you are overwhelmed and forced to deal with unprotected anal sex from one or many guys. You may feel you should resist to the end, but that would put your life in danger. There is no shame in doing what you have to do to survive; nothing changes the fact that rape is involved and you are not morally or legally responsible for it; these compromises are just pathways to your survival. It may even be to your advantage to develop skills in oral sex so that guys you have to deal with will be satisfied with that alone. Don't feel guilty about it; you're just trying to save your life. ...
Still think you are the "cool, tough, gangster"?
BREAK-UP
I would have hated the entire world
And never have hesitated
To kill anyone who dared
To speak to me of a break-up
Between my beloved and me.
That evening at Orety,
Coming towards me with Daky,
My heart breaking with love for him,
I snuggled in his warm embrace,
But he did not call me “Mavy”. . .
His eyes avoided mine,
In front of Bessieux school,
As if bewitched by the blue sky,
He whispered: “It’s over, you and I,
I have come to say Goodbye.”
Did the earth shake under my feet?
Did I hear him right?
Why this sudden chill?
Was it just a frightful dream?
I was powerless to speak.
The day before, in front of his mother,
He told me he wanted a child together,
The most beautiful gift from a lover…
And looking up at the heavens,
Even the sky seemed uncertain…
I was in love with being together,
Why must he forget it?
For him I gave up everything,
Parted from my family.
Should I laugh or should I cry?
A voice from beyond the grave
Stammered: “It’s a bomb”. . .
Before my tears had time to fall,
With a blast, he was gone,
Leaving behind him only a scar.
No more will I say: “I love you”
To all of those who come to me,
To play out the big scene
That awakens my pain!
For thus dies a gentle heart. . .
How's that for serendipity?
I wonder if it was the lyrics to a song.
I wonder if it is a poem for an assignment.
I wonder if the unknown user before me is going through what I did.
I wonder.
And I wander.
I have been short on sleep ever since I began this blog business. Not good. Also, AFTER I am done with my blog, there are the chats with Eve, gorgeous gf of Mr. E (now, for a limited time only, appearing with her ChowChow). And so it boils down to "Chat with Eve" or sleep. For some unfathomable reason, the former always wins. I'm already going through my coffee rations at twice the normal rate.
I've got a crappola worth of work due next week, including presentations, which I totally and utterly detest. I suppose at some point I have to learn to be good at it; after all, in the words of someone special, it doesn't matter if you have it all in your head, if you can't articulate it to your audience, you are as good as dumb. Nice pun there, BTW; I wonder if she realized it. Problem is, I love... wait, let me emphasize... LOVE long complex sentences and polysyllabic words. I also love to interject foreign words and jargon into my sentences. It makes for more concise sentences (hard to believe since I love 110+ word type sentences). By concise, I mean I can pack extremely complex, multi-faceted, and multi-layered ideas and concepts in a single long sentence. The use of higher-order vocabulary allows a single word to be used instead of a large phrase or separate sentence. BUT, when you attempt to read out such sentences, you inevitably send your audience into a coma. Hmm...
During afternoon mass today, a regular--a very nice lady--gave me a few precious insights into the rituals (I haven't had my First Communion yet. Heck, I haven't even been baptized yet). She subtly hinted that she might be willing to be my sponsor as well. I was touched. I might just take her up on her offer.
After lunch and a large cappuccino (corrected by THE Mr. E *grin*), I mustered enough courage to approach the professor whose remarks on Tuesday afternoon resulted in such unhappiness and anger in me. I was expecting a confrontation (though I remained always respectful). Instead, he was very happy to see me, and remarked that he saw me at mass today. He apologized for his remarks that day, and agreed that it might have been out of line, and that "We are cool."
The lack of bloodshed and the happy conclusion of this event made me question if it was really my ego that perceived things out of proportion, or is it through the grace of a higher power that solved it so easily. I am sensitive, don't get me wrong. How can one be insensitive and a poet? Maybe I'm just an egoistic poet...
That said, I remained burnt by the experience. The cyclists on this campus are on their own. I am not going to give away information that I so painstakingly gathered over the course of weeks for free. Taking a cue from the legion of business students burning in Hell (and the rest, with one foot in it), information that is free is rarely valued; attaching a price to it renders it less likely to be scorned--because the users have to pay for it.
I found this little cafe beside campus. It is managed by this sweet Korean lady and her husband. They have a tempting assortment of Japanese confectionery (yes, yes, I am away of the historical/cultural irony here... Shut up and stuff some kim chi up your nationalist (__*__) now. GET OVER IT!), and... get this... they play nothing but classical music in there. Oh, what an oasis of aural bliss! No gangsta-rap thumping and bumping, dropping IQ points with every bass beat, degenerating language from English to Ebonics with every obscenity uttered, de-evolving all who hear it into jungle bunnies... Ah! Bliss.
I make no apologies for what appears to be high-brow disdain for gangsta-rap and its various manifestations of ghetto dress codes and culture. Seriously, are any of the wannabe thugs out there cognizant of the genesis of such modes of dress codes? Why do the men wear their pants so low that their butt cracks are exposed? Here's a clue: it originated in prisons. Still lost? Here's another clue free (no need to buy one, I'm feeling generous today): sanitary napkins are a common commodity in male prisons. Got it? No? Ok, last clue (yes, it's still free. Don't worry. I'm not a business student): don't drop the soap, buddy. So, think about it the next time you are enjoying pretending to be "cruizing da hood" and going "bitch this!" "bitch that!" And for the "aSiAn hOmEbOyS" out there, you are nothing more than chiggers. Look up that term (as a portmanteau word) sometime. You are wearing outfits that say, "Santa Clara," "San Francisco State," "University of San Francisco," "San Jose State," "UC Santa Cruz," "UC San Diego," and NOT "San Quentin." Perhaps mommy's crack habit got her all confused and, since grade school, you have been boarding the wrong bus?
Bottomline: to those of you who listen to gangsta-rap, you are in the wrong society. Your place is in the jungle, where you will earn your MBA in stealing coconuts from monkeys.
Anyone who thinks that going to jail is cool, please read the following two articles:
The Basics of Rape behind Bars
Prisoner Rape Spreads Disease
The following is an excerpt:
The group's handout -- targeted primarily at heterosexual men who have no desire to ever be involved in homosexual activity -- advises:
HIV/AIDS transmission during a sexual assault is a serious concern. The following are practical tips for reducing your risk. ...
If you have a choice, try to avoid men who used needles for drugs in the past or are still doing so. ... The more often you are raped, the more exposed you will be, so especially try to avoid anal gang-bangs. The most dangerous situation of all is if your anus is bleeding, for that allows easy entry of the virus into your bloodstream. So try to use a lubricant or grease or cream if you can to minimize injury to your delicate internal body parts, avoid anal gang-bangs, and if you must endure forced anal penetration, try to relax your muscles as much as possible. These tactics are not 'cooperating' or consenting, they are just common-sense measures to try to save your life. ...
In many situations you are better off agreeing to do something (masturbating, oral sex, sex with a condom) rather than just resisting until you are overwhelmed and forced to deal with unprotected anal sex from one or many guys. You may feel you should resist to the end, but that would put your life in danger. There is no shame in doing what you have to do to survive; nothing changes the fact that rape is involved and you are not morally or legally responsible for it; these compromises are just pathways to your survival. It may even be to your advantage to develop skills in oral sex so that guys you have to deal with will be satisfied with that alone. Don't feel guilty about it; you're just trying to save your life. ...
Still think you are the "cool, tough, gangster"?
posted by -ben | 6:30 PM
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