Sunday, 17 August 2014

Karen Lum's Assorted Irritations


 A response to

Slip of the Tongue by Karen Lum


I love the complete triumph of disinformation here. Nothing it says is correct, and a simple glance at a few history books, or conversations with people overseas, would have cleared this up, but the beauty is *the facts don't matter*.

The Victim Complex is strong with this one, yes....

For those who can't make out these misandric mumblings...

_______________________________________
My glares burn through her.
And I’m sure that such actions aren’t foreign to her
because *the essence of her beauty is, well, the essence of beauty.*

[I thought it was wetness? ]


And in the presence of this higher being,
the weakness of my masculinity kicks in,

[I am sorry to be born a man! I am not worthy! Kowtow! Kowtow! Let me slash myself for you! Let me be your Kapo, and burn the other men in your name!
]

[note to the reader: you can actually skip a giant chunk here, it's just the dude punching himself in the 'nads]

causing me to personify my wannabe big-baller, shot-caller,
God’s gift to the female species with shiny suit wrapping rapping like,
“Yo, what’s crackin shorty how you livin’ what’s your sign what’s your size I dig your style, yo.”
Now, this girl was no fool.
She gives me a dirty look with the quickness like,
“Boy, you must be stupid.”
so I’m looking at myself,
“Boy, you must be stupid.”
But looking upon her I am kinda feelin’ her style.
So I try again.

[Still going, just four more lines]

But, instead of addressing her properly,
I blurt out one of my fake-ass playalistic lines like,

[playalistic ?

]
“Gurl, you must be a traffic ticket cuz you got fine written all over you.”
Now, she’s trying to leave and I’m trying to keep her here.
So at a final attempt, I utter,

“Gurl, what is your ethnic makeup?”

[*which is exactly the sort of question you get everywhere. People are curious, and identify strongly with origins, and find strangers who don't quite bizarre]

At this point, her glare was scorching through me,
and somehow she manages to make her brown eyes
resemble some kinda brown fire or something,

[I see the poet here is attempting to torture the reader to death, but carry on. Maybe a better line would be: "her brown eyes resembled two large mounds of flaming flatulence", or perhaps "her brown eyes were like the gaping rectums of ebola victims".. something with a bit more *oomph*.. ]


but there’s no snap or head movement,
no palm to face, click of tongue, middle finger,
roll of eyes, twist of lips, or girl power chant.
She just glares through me with these burning eyes
and her gaze grabs you by the throat.

[Maybe .. there was a Second Gazer? Because we have one gaze boiling this dude's eyeballs out

and another slipped around to throttle his trachea.. oh no, I see it now...
]


She says, “Ethnic makeup?”
She says, “First of all, makeup’s just an Anglicized, colonized, commodified utility

[which is why it was used before England even existed!
]

that my sisters have been programmed to consume,

[so any woman who choose to wear makeup is just a victim and couldn't be expressing herself? Wow.

You have no right
  to tell these people
that they are inferior
   to you
Fuck off
 you tiny-minded
 hate-filled
self-entitled
Cunt
]

forcing them to cover up their natural state
in order to imitate what another sister looks like in her natural state

[Good lord. ]

because people keep telling her
that the other sister’s natural state is more beautiful
than the first sister’s natural state.
At the same time,
the other sister isn’t even in her natural state,

[Maybe she should catch a train, then?]

because she’s trying to imitate yet another sister,
so in actuality, the natural state that the first sister’s trying to imitate
wasn’t even natural in the first place.”

[Has he finished? Good grief. I think what he's saying is "human's are not all equally attractive any more than members of any other species like mammals or birds are equally attractive, and so we take actions to make ourselves more attractive to prospective mates, according to the theory of Sexual Selection


But enough of the pornography!]

Now I’m thinking, “Damn, this girl’s kicking knowledge!”

[Yes, right in the groin.
Possessing it?
]

But, meanwhile, she keeps spitting on it like,

[Like a Social Justice Warrior who spends her life with a giant chip on her shoulder?]

“Fine. I’ll tell you bout my ‘ethnic makeup.’

{No, no, please don't]

I wear foundation,
not that powdery stuff,

[good lord, she's actually going to go into details]

I wear the foundation laid by my indigenous people.

[*indigenous*. adjective
adjective: indigenous
originating or occurring naturally in a particular place; native.

In this context; unless you are a native American *you are not indigenous*]

It’s that foundation that makes it so that past being globalized,

[the past was localised before? You just don't know what words mean, do you?]

I can still vocalize with confidence that I know where my roots are.

[Oh so you are able to identify which native american tribe you are from, and they'll back you up? Do tell...]


I wear this foundation not upon my face, but within my soul,

[No, you'd need one first to be able to do that]

and I take this from my ancestors


because I’ll be damned if I’d ever let an American or European corporation

[but Chinese ones are totally ok, because white people *suck*, amiright?!]
tell me what my foundation
should look like.”
I wear lipstick,
for my lips stick to the ears of men,

[This
is nothing to be ashamed of, but it's probably best to stop kissing people until the eruptions have passed]

so they can experience in surround sound my screams of agony

[I told you, wait until it passes.. there are many good creams for it]

with each lash of rulers, measuring tape, and scales,
as if my waistline and weight are inversely proportional to my value as a human being.

[No, your *actions* determined that, but perhaps by being pretty you might get people to be dazzled to the point of not noticing how worthless you truly are? ]

See my lips, they stick, but not together.

[*CREAMMMMMMMM*]

Rather, they flail open with flames to burn down this culture that once kept them shut.

[Oh good lord, you are gushing blood everywhere. Maybe it's Ebola.]

Now, I mess with eye shadow,

[Oh god no, please don't]

but my eyes shadow over this time where you’ve gone at ends to keep me blind.

[Yes, you should have been more careful
]

But you can’t cover my eyes, look into them.

[Not trying to cover your eyes, which we have established are burning pools of brown goop, I'm trying to make sure they don't splatter that stuff on me, because frankly, you seem rather infectious]


My eyes foreshadow change.
My eyes foreshadow light.

[My yawns foreshadow sleep]

and I’m not into hair dyeing.

[Chanty Binx will be much relieved; she has enough competition as it is!]

but I’m here, dying, because this oppression won’t get out of my hair.

[OMG, my hair is so oppressed, I'm dying, I'm dyinggggggggg
]

I have these highlights.

[Some handy tips: http://www.oprah.com/style/How-to-Dye-Hair-at-Home]

They are highlights of my past atrocities,

[You've done more of these poems? I'll call Geneva, we'll have to organise the witness statements]

they form this oppression I can’t wash off.

[along with the gunk from your eyes and lips...
]

It tangles around my mind and twists and braids me in layers,

[Really, I can't agree with you more
]

this oppression manifests,
it’s stressing me so that even though I don’t color my hair,
in a couple of years it’ll look like I dyed it gray.

[or it looks like you'll go gray from stress.. because dying it gray would be a totally different effect?
]


So what’s my ethnic makeup?

[No-one cares by now]

I don’t have any.

[You don't seem able to keep this story consistent; perhaps if you made notes and did some editing...]

Because your ethnicity isn’t something you can just make up.

[Why not? You seem to have managed]

And as for that shit my sisters paint on their faces, that’s not makeup, it’s make-believe.”

[No, it's make-up, as hominids have used SINCE BEFORE HUMANS EXISTED]

I can’t seem to look up at her.

[I can't blame you, she's hideous!]

and I’m sure that such actions aren’t foreign to her

[
I'm sure she's used to it]

because the expression on her face
shows that she knows that my mind is in a trance.

[Or it blew itself up in the name of sanity...
]

As her footsteps fade, my ego is left in crutches.

[Oh, I'm sorry, it got on your feet too?
]

And rejection never sounded so sweet.

[Ah, she chose not to dine on your brains - couldn't find them? Well, all's well that ends well, or in this case - ends finally!
]

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Please try to avoid logical fallacies!