Uhhh, I *should* be cooking for Thanksgiving dinner right now. Butttt I'm going to do a political blog post, cause I'm just so damn thankful for my freedom o' speech.
And also I'm a procrastinator.
This post is dedicated to Beau Sia.
I'm willing to admit that I'm in love with Beau.
Well, thats not quite accurate -- I'm actually in love with slam poetry. I'm in love with art that intersects with social justice. And I'm in love with artists who use their art to interrogate racism. And I'm also in love with the Nuyorican Poet's Cafe (NPS) National Poetry Slam.
I'm actually fuckin' FILLED with love for all God's creations -- but most especially with Beau Sia, who covers all those bases beautifully.
Take this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJCkHu3trKc
[Note: a) I know, I know, I'm an ass cause I'm too lazy to embed my videos. b) I have to credit the finding of this video to a link a facebook friend posted.]
I have two commentaries:
1. I don't want to be represented by Rosie O'Donnell. Not as a feminist, and not as a queer woman (even though the latter part of that identity is harder for me to own, but thats a whole other post). Just because we both happen to have that in common doesn't mean that I identify with her in any way, nor do I want her representing or defending me. In the same way I don't think Bill O'Reilly represents me as an American, just because we both happen to live here and are alive. I've heard it said several times, both in popular culture and from people here at home, that Rosie's word is the word of all lesbians. Like the public defender of what a "typical lesbian is and thinks" (thats a direct overheard quote).
Of course. All women think alike too. It would follow that so do all queer women.
2. I see all this shit in the comments of that video about "reverse racism". I also had a really disturbing conversation the other day where that argument was used. I use the word 'argument' loosely, btw.
A few notes about "reverse racism".
Its an empty phrase.
"Reverse racism" does not = a logical argument.
The very word, racism, has an entire legacy of discrimination, violence, and inequality behind it. "Reverse racism" carries no such history, and thusly no such truth. Tacking on reverse 'cause you feel slighted in conversations about race doesn't make it a real concept.
The term is offensive simply in its ignorant usage. I mean, that right there is high scoring on the Richter scale of What-The-Fuck. But even its etymology offends -- a white majority appropriating a word with years of struggle behind it. Huh. Thats so new and different!
As for all those "GOD, have a sense of humor. It was just a JOKE." comments --
Oh damn, how deftly they point out the error in anyone feeling offended... boiling down an entire culture to a sing-song slur is *absolutely* not exploiting stereotypes with no intellectual insight or forethought! After all, the perfect joke recipe IS that perfect blend of arrogance and racial privilege.
I'm always wanting to disclaim myself and say: I'm not any kind of expert on racism. That's because I'm privledged and white. But I recognize that. And I try to call 'em as I see 'em. Sometimes I'll fuck it up, but I'm trying to engage as best as I can.
Anyhow, to close (so I can go eat), let me reiterate my love for Beau, by iterating his love for love. First year I did an embarrassingly terrible job of performing the first few stanzas of this poem for an acting class performance, effectively schooling myself in why I should stick to my day job.
I don't know, maybe it wasn't *that* bad -- ask someone who witnessed it, ha ha. Regardless, it was my initiation to Beau, and it really blows me away every time I hear him perform it.
"Love" by Beau Sia
I think love is the most beautiful thing
in the world,
and I don't give a fuck,
because I have no original ideas.
I'm a pathetic man
whose goal is to read poetry
in order
to get women
to fall in love with him,
and you'd think I was reprimanding myself
and revealing my horrible dark side
by saying that,
but I was really saying
"women who hear this, fall in love with me, or else,"
because that's what it comes down to --
an ultimatum,
life or death,
and sure, maybe I'm being extreme,
but you walk around and tell me
that things aren't extreme,
jesus,
I've seen a man jack off to a gap window display,
so don't tell me that love isn't important.
and maybe you didn't get that series of lines,
that's OK,
most of them are subtext
designed to impress people
who know too much about art,
all you need to listen to is
the 12 percent
which contain words like "fuck,"
and "ass,"
and "ride my dongstick, you naughty schoolgirl."
because in a poem about love
we all need to know the relevant things,
because we're all looking for the complete definition of love,
if only we could open our encyclopedia brittanicas
and look up love and know,
but love isn't that easy.
they say cupid loved my so called life
and when the show was cancelled
cupid cried and cried and cried and
decided that he was going to fuck up
all of humanity,
and this is why china has a trouble with its birthrate
and arkansas rhymes with date rape
and iraq is iraq,
and the fat lipo-sucked out of california
could be
its own island.
but this isn't a poem about geography,
this is a poem about love,
the bane of my existence,
the reason why I hate valentine's day
and halloween,
which is about ghosts
and I think you know where I'm going here.
I'm going to the land of girlfriends of halloweens past,
and maybe I've only got three ghosts in this land,
but this doesn't mean that they don't bring their friends,
who are the ghosts of girls who have rejected me,
because girls rarely travel alone in this land.
lydia is from this land.
I used to kiss her
while listening to
the cure's "just like heaven,"
now I don't see her anymore,
so that song makes me sad,
why must we associate music with
our love lives?
I'm not trying to be profound here,
I'm just saying that music really takes me
back, way back,
and I can't explain the memory process involved in that,
because I am not a psychology major,
and maybe
my problem with picking up women
has to do with me always asking,
"what's your major?"
but that only makes me as cheesy
as 90 percent of guys
looking for women,
and 86 percent of them have women,
so what's the deal here?
maybe I shouldn't think of women in terms
of picking them up,
and maybe I should open up my sensitive side,
but really,
the sensitive side sucks.
I've been there.
you can only imagine the kinds of sweaters
they make you wear.
it's not fair,
love is not fair,
and war is not fair,
and I don't care what anyone has to say about
any of that,
I feel unloved,
I'm sorry I need people
to tell me I'm cool,
I'm just that way.
aren't you?
am I the only one?
I know that I can't be that
misunderstood.
but you don't want to
understand me!
you just want to hear the part
where I talk about my small dick again,
because the asian man will always be plagued
by this rumor
until he is brave enough to fling it out
and say,
"HA! WE ARE GIGANTIC!"
this is not the direction
I wanted to take
this poem.
honestly, I just want to be in the arms
of my true love, in a house, in a room,
in a wonderful, perfect world with our
two children,
a boy and a girl,
helga and lamar,
but maybe I shouldn't have said this,
woody allen taught us
that marriage is a death trap.
I'm almost as old as his girlfriend.
she could be the long lost sister
I've been looking for,
maybe my mother gave her away
when we lived in china,
wait, I never lived in china.
I think I've begun lying in this poem.
I was hoping to talk about love
for 3.4 minutes
and then
come to a conclusion,
somehow defining love
within the poem,
but
I don't have any answers
and I'm looking for help from anyone,
because love has got me fucked up
and dying,
because I feel retarded without anyone to hold me,
and maybe that's sentimental,
but what's wrong with sentimental?
I just need love --
to self: fuck you, I'm OK!
you see, I can't even decide what I need
much less understand what I'm saying.
you see, all I'm saying
is
someone love me.
ps- i'm vaguely sure this performance is on youtube, and/or his site is http://www.beausia.com/. you should listen to it, since it gives it a totally different context.
pps- I may have posted this several hours (after I said I was) while the dark chocolate food-high wore off. bahhhh sue me.
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