The girl next to me is crying. She’s looking at her phone, browsing through old messages from someone. I feel sad. Things we lose in our lives. Worse still. Things we let go in our lives.
Recently Indrajit Samarajiva, wrote that rap is really poetry. I thought this was ridiculous. What he was saying was that Eminem and 50centz were poets. I thought that was the most eminently fucked up idea I had ever heard. After attacking Indrajit for this on my blog however, I did a Google search to find who else holds his lame ass opinion that rap is really poetry (stuck in misogynistic, homophobic rectums). Surprise surprise. Nobel prize winning poet Seamus Heaney also thinks very highly of Eminem as well. I immediately figured out where Indi Samarajiva got this lame ass idea from. I think we can safely assume that Indi Samarajiva is incapable creating even a lame ass idea that is original.
What the copy-paste blogger is trying to do is being trendy. There was Stephen King who thought Harry Potter was a great work of fiction and that JK Rowling was as good a stylist as Martin Amis. There were critics who thought Xena: The Warrior Princess was a great work of art. But all that is just bullshit. Classics are classics for a reason. Mozart was a great musician for a reason. Shakespeare was a great dramatist for a reason. Saul Bellow ws a great novelist for a reason. Sopranos is a great TV show for a reason. Those intellectualoids just want to be fashionable. I really believe this. The sole purpose of their being is being trendy.
Yep. Indi P Samarajiva thinks rap is poetry. I’m not going to link to the place where he said that because he banned me from his blog. But in an article titled ‘Why Writing Will Live’ he wrote “Just like rap is really poetry, this is writing.” All I can say about this is “hah hah ha.” Anyway, here’s what Eminem, the greatest poet of all time according to I.P. Samarajiva, has to say about himself.
Slim Shady, brain dead like Jim Brady,
I’m M80, you lil’ like that Kim lady,
I’m buzzin, Dirty Dozen, naughty rotten rhymer,
Cursin at you players worse than Marty Schottenheimer,
You wacker than the motherfucker you bit your style from,
You ain’t gonna sell two copies if you press a double album,
Admit it, fuck it, while we comin out in the open.
Again, hah hah hah ha. I know appreciation of poetry is subjective. But again, hah hah hah ha. Meanwhile, here’s a poem John Keats wrote to Byron.
Byron! How sweetly sad thy melody!
Attuning still the soul to tenderness,
As if soft Pity, with unusual stress,
Had touch’d her plaintive lute, and thou, being by,
Hadst caught the tones, nor suffer’d them to die.
Yesterday I went to my parents’ place for lunch. I was actually summoned there; ordered to come. Some of our relatives who live abroad were coming there for lunch and my parents thought that I, who doesn’t give a damn about relatives, should be there. The son of our relatives was supposed to get married last May but the wedding was cancelled with just a few days to go. The parents had come to explain what happened. It was alright. They verbally fucked a family and went back to their rented apartment in Rajagiriya. After they left my father had to say “damn that bloody black Tamil ate ice cream with this spoon.” Our relatives had come with a Tamil driver.
My father is openly racist. He wants the government to colonize the North. He even wrote a letter to the president describing the necessity of colonization. I don’t know whether he really posted it.
My girlfriend is less openly racist. She doesn’t like Tamils, but doesn’t dislike them either. Who she really hates are the Muslims, except her best friend who is Muslim. I’m amazed at what racism can do to people. She’s a devout buddhist and I’m religion-less. She’s okay with that. But she would say the foulest thing she can imagine about Muslims. “They stink” she says, “I hate them.”
I try not to be racist. I really do. I have written and spoken about how stupid an idea racism is and how dangerous it is. I even confronted my father about that spoon comment yesterday. But I too am a product of the time and place I live. Not even living a few years in a Western country changes a thing. Once there was this guy who frequently called a cousin of mine, and when she picked up the phone she could only hear a tamil song. This had become a nuisance to her. So once I waited for the guy to call, picked up the phone in no time and shouted in English “listen you Tamil fuck. If you do this again I will fucking call the police. I will fucking deport you to your shit land in India. You listen to me you piece of shit. I will fuck you up.” That was the end of that..