||[Mar. 19th, 2004|08:22 am]
|||||seats killed till king.||]|
|||||cmk- crown me king goes on safari||]|
i dreamt of the shepard's crook replacing the pitchfork. foul, foul things.
my opinion about racism is that most so-called sophisticated discussion on the topic of race is actually a cipher for discussions about class. i mean, sure there is plenty of lingering actual racism, & yeah, the repercussions of race are still being felt, but i'm talking about more esoteric issues like sat scores & things of that nature. its more about socio-economic background (a term which, ironically, has become a cipher for race itself) than it is about skin colour, but heavens forbid you mention class. if trickle-down economics don't work than the terrorists have already won.
also, i think that if black people are awarded reparations, than white people should sue the descendants of various west african tribes, claiming that they sold us a faulty product. aw, snap.
i don't have osteology today, on account of my professor being in surgical recovery.
but back to the shepard's crook, it was this twine of cold iron, not the gently curved wooden stave of field & stage. something more like a dentists tool carried to the nth degree. my clone self, aged eight (8), discovered it (the thing, that thing like twisted, seething needles of un-forged metal), but no-one besides myself m-prime believed it. but when the abandoned barn turned into a lavishly furnished bedroom overnight, it was a shock to everyone, who stupidly claimed that we had paid to have it made-over as a prank. it was the eight (8) year old who found where it had gone, tearing up the drywall & climbing into the walls between the studs. it ended up shredding him, going inside off him, wearing his skin & subcutaneous fat & replacing all its organs (leaving them in a tidy, bloodless pile)