"Even as a civilization we are simpleminded."-- Jonathan Weiner, digital location 3450
The post-Mandela ANC may appear to be more humane than the European legacy which evolved into Botha's apartheid, but what is kept quiet, in a "sssh, keep it under your hat mode, is that ethnic black Africans cannot govern Africa according to the principles of inherent natural human rights developed during the Enlightenment. Why? Because black African societies evolved their mores in accordance with totem identification, survival strategies against exotic parasites and malaria, and not all the might of Europe and China and Russia combined is ever going to change a damn thing about that.
Does this mean I side with Arikaners who created the Orange Free State over sweetheart hotties like Nate, who may be wondering why I'm singling him out when he's given the dowager a great deal of latitude?
Ah. Well, things aren't quite that simple. European aggression lucked out in the New World. Natives had a mass die off, and the Aztecs, who were in the best position to fight back against superior European hardware, miscalculated, and as a result, North America eventually took over global hegemony. But Caucasian emigration failed to successfully transplant itself within mainland China and central Africa, and guilt over the Holocaust has gone so far in the other direction that Muslims created a new Fascism.
Granted, Kerry and his counterparts have simmered things down, but what led to the incarnation of ISIL isn't going to fade away simply because Putin is still trying to fend off Anglican satire of Russian backwardness, pretending Slavs are as European as the continent, which Slavic ethnicity isn't.
Radical egalitarianism is a brutal fiction, and the sooner we face up to it, the better. Leave west and central Africans alone, and you know what? I bet they resolve their societies in their own way, and would have done so faster, with more efficiency, than Carter's medical intervention over the guinea worm. What does this have to do with the price of beans, or power sex with Ray Liotta? You know in your heart that behind his comment to TV guide about kissing his informant extra, we avert our eyes from those pictures, don't want to contemplate the grotesque escapades of Hollywood's underside, and even if we did, buying porno invariably uncovers child sex harems. Capisce?
Doyle, as a contemporary of the Boer War on the side of the Victorian Empire closing ranks on what it had left, still peaks a mild interest over that of his autonomic character who "changed the world". (And in a whisper: I have more followers than Weiner, and he's a professor!) So there!
Showing posts with label guinea worm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guinea worm. Show all posts
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Italian Anglais
"Will you be civil!" --Nicholas Marinelli, Sr.
Fathers and daughters invariably disappoint each other. As an undergraduate, I had to do some forging on ahead with vocational services when padre could no longer afford the tuition. I doubt yanking vocational services along as I did in the mid-eighties would be possible today as it was then. My education was expensive, as my old age will be even more so. I told myself not to get my hopes up when I heard "looking for a new place," before my aging parent's cell phone went dead, but leaden despondency vanished.
My father hates me. You may say I exaggerate, but he attempted abandonment of all his children, even his dead son, when my mother divorced him; he hates the fact that I am a cripple, hates the fact that I am slovenly via biological inclination; I hate my father, but always loved his elegance, sense of style, his drive for material acumen.
I have been trying to make him proud of me for 50 years, and my grief for my sociopathic ghost of a brother is mainly through his eyes. He loved little Nicky, loved Italy. Gandolfini's sudden death was a story in my head I am writing in irony before it became an obituary, much like Pacino's ...And Justice For All was an episodic soap opera in the foment of his Godfather arc. The former film is not a Francis Ford Coppola masterpiece, but getting past the fact that Justice is a situational argument about jurisprudence, it is actually a very dark rendition about the dirt that goes on in the criminal courts, and how the law grinds people with a civic sense of decency into a pulp, and favors sadists, which John Forsythe's one dimensional demeanor adapts to conveniently, in this instance.
It was some years ago now. Padre may have been 69 or 71, still handsome. I was lowered on the hydraulic Paratransit lift, growling about the driver's incompetence, before my sister and I ruptured into civil war, appearing for my usual compulsory holiday visit, and I was admonished. All whites are racists, but they hide it behind whatever vinaigrette you'd like me to list: veneer, condescension, affluence, ripping off (immersion in) black culture, belief that Barack Obama is a demi-god, or one of my favorites, paternalism toward the Sudanese in relation to the eradication of the guinea worm.
Fathers and daughters invariably disappoint each other. As an undergraduate, I had to do some forging on ahead with vocational services when padre could no longer afford the tuition. I doubt yanking vocational services along as I did in the mid-eighties would be possible today as it was then. My education was expensive, as my old age will be even more so. I told myself not to get my hopes up when I heard "looking for a new place," before my aging parent's cell phone went dead, but leaden despondency vanished.
My father hates me. You may say I exaggerate, but he attempted abandonment of all his children, even his dead son, when my mother divorced him; he hates the fact that I am a cripple, hates the fact that I am slovenly via biological inclination; I hate my father, but always loved his elegance, sense of style, his drive for material acumen.
I have been trying to make him proud of me for 50 years, and my grief for my sociopathic ghost of a brother is mainly through his eyes. He loved little Nicky, loved Italy. Gandolfini's sudden death was a story in my head I am writing in irony before it became an obituary, much like Pacino's ...And Justice For All was an episodic soap opera in the foment of his Godfather arc. The former film is not a Francis Ford Coppola masterpiece, but getting past the fact that Justice is a situational argument about jurisprudence, it is actually a very dark rendition about the dirt that goes on in the criminal courts, and how the law grinds people with a civic sense of decency into a pulp, and favors sadists, which John Forsythe's one dimensional demeanor adapts to conveniently, in this instance.
It was some years ago now. Padre may have been 69 or 71, still handsome. I was lowered on the hydraulic Paratransit lift, growling about the driver's incompetence, before my sister and I ruptured into civil war, appearing for my usual compulsory holiday visit, and I was admonished. All whites are racists, but they hide it behind whatever vinaigrette you'd like me to list: veneer, condescension, affluence, ripping off (immersion in) black culture, belief that Barack Obama is a demi-god, or one of my favorites, paternalism toward the Sudanese in relation to the eradication of the guinea worm.
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