(Tuesday, February 10, 2009)
there's not way that i can explain how much i hate asian literature. every single book i've read written by anyone asian, i can never fucking finish it. or if i did, it probably took somewhere around 6 months to a year to digest. and it made me felt hungover, bad aftertaste and nauseating. personally, i think it's too fucking asian. mellow and depressing. one dimensional. lack of depth. whatever.
in my very lack of exposure point of view, for the life of me, i've not met anyone that got buggered at a young age or a child that gets sold to a brothel masqueraded as a social lounge then falls deeply in love with a man that she claims she didn't have sex with. she's got dignity, that one. then there's this drug addict with history of drug abuse, and she tells her story with such shame and disgust. we, asians live a fucking tragic live, and there's no two ways about it.
if asians are what the fiction says we are then we're just a bunch of weppy queers that couldn't get over our chillhood plight. it seems like Billy Holiday's baneful existance can't even hold a candle to any ordinary asian's life. To us, Christ's crucification is merely as painful as getting an ear pierced. asian's woe hurts a million times more than any living thing has every experience. we are, the sole master of torment.
ironically, our romance with pain single-handedly drowns the rest of the numerous but sensational emotions anybody normal would have. hence we fail to live an existance that does not relate to agony. we're one dimensional and broken yet we could not understand or find relieve in it.
surprisingly, last week while poaching for materials to read last week, i came across a book, the cover was a sketch of a gingerly stick man with a slab of blood smacked right on where the penis (all stick men are male, mind you) should be at accordingly to the right human anatomy. i can too, be a victim of marketing if it's competent enough, and the cover stuck out from the shelf like an erect dick in a women that loves other women convention. as soon after i dug the book out from the shelf, i couldn't get my eyes off it. with the eloquence of guy ritchie story telling, localised humour which is can be funny too and none of the (asian) melancholy weighing it down. the author, Brian Gomez did pretty good i must say.
4:46 PM
that fucking traitor
liEw, 18 and since 2002, 270lbs, 5ft, brazilian chinese russian icelander hybrid, black eyes, short black hair, racist, antisocial, semi-alcoholic, ignorant, exhales profanity, black-poetry fanatic
