"They defended a stubbornly held view of themselves, which was that they were ordinary and in the right of it."-- Doris Lessing, kindle loc 27
Dick Polman utilizes the rule of thumb that when mainstream media zigs, you should zag in the other direction, but Jantjie is an irresistible confirmation, a nefarious joke of first order rebellion against saturated accolades of a top heavy liberal era doddering under so many finely attenuated victories. I can only imagine the swarm of stringers and interns who have contributed to the fall out, the back story juice. One flagship outlet blames Afrikaner subjugation, and I don't doubt it. I remember the townships. I also remember Winnie's gang, politely swept under the carpet for the soaring oratory. Many analogies made between apartheid and American segregation, but the Dutch settlement of Cape Town and the European bloodbath which created the United States are not quite identical. White Americans stigmatized a diverse ethnic group, including themselves, and came out of it with an uneasy plurality and an archaic bureau which yelps in decimated cycles, reminding the citizen uneasily of nineteenth century pacification.
So I pick at scabs. To what end? We could speculate that perhaps forced co-existence of diversity, such as within the absurd theocracy of public housing, doesn't work any better than the refugee camps of my favorite Afrikaner film. What District 9 says about racial hatred is not quite easy to parse, as the native Africans are and aren't integrated, and both black and Afrikaners hate the prawns.
Toe nails on ailing left foot clipped successfully, I am absolutely ecstatic that I now understand how an aggregate works, having forgotten that I posted my Blogger address in my profile statement, my poor brain dancing with pieces in my life already over-extended, and alas, now I have to troll for subscribers, but we're all in a spam lot, just like Gorden Gekko is a parody of a pissing army ant. Why Oliver Stone had to make the 2010 sequel is a bit of a dribble, not that the drool of the story line rests entirely on Douglas's shoulders. I'm beaten people, beaten even if I get the fuck out of this building, even if I feed my former supervisor her head on platter. The aesthetic vanity of a grand dame in dignified old age is beyond and away, dead alive rolling through the motions. I will stay with Examiner.com for a time, however. Sedentary lifestyle-- with patience maybe I can join the editorial team, if I can keep my thinking cap.
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