Who are you?


The Jig is Up: The Capture of Huang Yong
October 29, 2008, 9:56 am
Filed under: Poetry & Prose

Online, we read a story.
Of a killer who was gory.

He made some noise
By killin’ some boys,
And he kept their belts
But buried their pelts.
His secret was intense.

When the last boy escaped,
A deal was made.
And Huang was sadly sent to his grave.

We hate men too. Killing 17 will definitely do!
The jig is up.
It’s time to confess.
Look around at your unfixable mess!

We’ve found you finally,
Despite the hard chase.
We have no fears!
We brought the mace!

THE JIG IS UP.

.

By Sammy James and Cat



The Bug that Time Forgot
October 27, 2008, 9:23 am
Filed under: Poetry & Prose

How long have I been here? Seven months, at the least. Has it been a year? Two? It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten who I am.

I don’t remember what kind of bug I am. Trapped on this spider web, my body hanging topsy-turvy, upside-down, and sideways. I have six legs, a long, brown body, but nothing very distinguishing. I’m not a roach—I’m too small for that.

But how long have I been here? It must be over a year. You see, I am caught in the most unfortunate of places: between the sink and the toilet. You know, the nook of the bathroom that no one ever cleans. I was completely forgotten. The spider never came back to eat me. He spun his web and forgot about it. The boy that used the toilet never noticed me. Guys never use toilet paper when they pee and they never wash their hands.  He never saw me; I was out of his way.

Then a girl came over one day. She came into the bathroom for the first time. It must have been her first time in the apartment. I have never seen the other rooms, but I can guess they are as well kept as the bathroom. The first thing she did was look around. She looked disgusted. Her eyes surveyed the moldy shower curtain, the spit stained mirror, the toothpaste encrusted sink. The boxes of razor blades, the dusty counter, the mildew towels. Open bottles, used breathe-rite strips stuck to the counter, a toothbrush in the tub. She reached for the toilet paper.

She gasped. She saw me. Lying there, pathetically, on the floor between the toilet and sink. Her toes curled in their socks and she backed away. What was she afraid of? I’m dead. But she wasn’t afraid. She was disgusted. She quickly snatched the toilet paper and used it to brush off old pee stains and pubic hair. She turned around to throw it away—there was no trashcan. She put it in the pot instead. She took another piece of paper, eyeing me all the while, and used it to put down the seat. Even so, she didn’t sit on it. She hiked.

The entire time she peed, she had her eyes on me. She was making sure I wouldn’t move. Those eyes were so unnerving. What was I going to do, crawl into her panties?

She flushed and washed her hands vigorously. She went to reach for an old, dirty towel crumpled on the counter, paused, and dried her hands on her jeans instead. She turned the light off and went to the other room.

I heard her laugh and say, “You know there’s a dead bug in your bathroom?”

“No,” he said uncaringly.

She visited me for seven months. A few times after the first encounter, she gave in and cleaned the bathroom herself. She scrubbed, mopped, and disinfected every inch of that room—except for the nook between the sink and the toilet. I don’t know why she didn’t throw me away or dust up the cobwebs. I know she didn’t forget. Every time she peed, she kept her eyes on me. To make sure I wouldn’t get away.

Then, in the fall, she stopped coming over. Through those seven months, her own things had collected in the bathroom: razors, shaving cream, lotion, tampons, and face wash. One night, all those things were gone. Except for the face wash. The boy forgot to give it back to her. He forgets a lot of things.



I Found Jesus
October 23, 2008, 2:25 am
Filed under: Poetry & Prose

I found Jesus. He’s got the long hair and beard. He’s got a gap in his front teeth and wears glasses. He studies math or science or law. He just took the LSATs. He also just shaved his mustache. He still has the beard. I’ve seen him without the beard and the hair—trust me, he looks better with it. He scoffs and he smirks at me. He likes to challenge my ideas. He never says I’m wrong. He sometimes makes me feel stupid, but he sometimes makes me feel smart. He’s polite and he smiles and he always wants me to sit near him. He has redeeming qualities.

I cried. I didn’t know he saw me cry. The next time I saw him, he asked me if I was feeling better. He told me I wouldn’t be lonely forever. He told me I’m beautiful.

I like Jesus, but he’s kind of a creeper.



A Haiku
October 23, 2008, 1:39 am
Filed under: Poetry & Prose

Heating the oven,
Baking him lemon chicken–
Dead fly on the stove.



*飲みすぎた時*
October 22, 2008, 11:37 pm
Filed under: 日本語

私は旅行が好きですけれども海外旅行をしたことがありません。でも、国内旅行が大好きです。今までにフロリダとカリフォルニアとルイジアナを旅行したことがあります。中でカリフォルニアが一番好きです。

カリフォルニアのロサンジェルスは去年の冬に行きました。ロサンジェルスに行った時、友だちの家に泊まりました。友だちの名前はナナです。アパートはきたなすぎました!1日目に私はアパートをそうじしました。私はきたないアパート!そうじしろ!と言いました。アパートをそうじした後でゆかが見えました!

ナナは韓国人です。そして、2日目に韓国の町に行きました。韓国の町で韓国の料理を食べて、韓国の酒を飲んで、からおけをうたいました。楽しかったです!でも、飲みすぎました。家までタクシーに乗らなくてはいけませんでした。

3日目にナナは酒を飲むなと言いました!その晩はハンバーガへルパを作りました。後で、韓国のケーキ屋へ行くことにしました。たくさんだいふくを食べました。おいしかったです!

4日目に私はテキサスにかえりました。ざんねんでした。酒を飲んだから、見物できました。ロサンジェルスにもどって、かんこうしたいんです。



Woman and Warrior: A Union of Obligations
October 22, 2008, 6:07 pm
Filed under: Suicide in Japanese Fiction

The women of “Love Suicides of Amijima,” “The Death of Kiso,” and “Patriotism,” display three timeless honor codes: the bonds between women, the loyalty of a wife and mother, and the code of warriors. By taking the honor codes individually displayed throughout the literature and finding one body that encompasses every aspect of those codes, Chushingura’s Oishi is found to transcend boundaries and expectations.

Woman

Women portray their motherly and womanly virtues in the matter of marriage politics. “Love Suicides at Amijima” provides a basic understanding of womanly bonds through the characters Osan and Koharu. They both sacrifice their honor and reputation in order to service the obligations of womanly bonds. Koharu, the lover of Jihei, seemingly betrays her own honor. She freely accepts the reputation of a fickle hearted woman. She sacrifices the man she loves, only for the request of another woman, “Her [Koharu’s] true feelings are hidden in the words penned by Jihei’s wife, a letter no one has seen. Jihei goes his separate way without learning the truth” (Chikamatsu 185). The letter is a request from Osan, asking Koharu to cease her relationship with Jihei in order to prevent a love suicide. Osan is asking Koharu to sacrifice love, and Koharu complies with Osan’s request without hesitation. Yet, when Osan heard that her request would lead to Koharu’s death, she reveals everything to Jihei in order to keep her alive, “She answered that she would give you up, though you were more precious than life itself, because she could not shirk her duty to me” (192). The duty Osan mentions is the duty of a woman. There is a strong connection between the two women—they understand that a family comes first. Jihei could not leave his obligations of father and husband behind because he was the sole caretaker. Yet, Osan could not let Koharu die. The bond between women ultimately rose above the bond of the family.

Oishi goes through a similar process that Osan went through: refusing the union of two people to save the family’s honor, yet obliging to the union in order to uphold the bond between women. Oishi uses her control over the marriage politics to save her family’s and Enya’s honor by refusing to allow Rikiya to marry Konami. Her reason is, “But now I am a ronin…the daughter of a high-ranking officer like Kakogawa would make as ill-suited bride for my son as…a paper lantern for a temple bell” (Chushingura 134). Tonase believes that Oishi is refusing the marriage because of financial differences. Since Enya’s death, Oishi’s family stipend has been eliminated. The Honzo stipend would benefit the Obashi family greatly if they accepted the marriage. But the refusal is not out of financial pride, but of family honor. Rikiya and Honzo do not have, “true matching of hearts… The precious son of Yuranosuke, a man who refuses to serve two masters, cannot take a wife so ill-suited as the daughter of Honzo, a man who draws a stipend as a sycophant samurai” (135). By refusing Honzo’s wife and daughter happiness, Oishi is indirectly punishing Honzo’s behavior.

But like Osan, Oishi allows the union in order to prevent the deaths of the women. Two possibilities must be considered at this point: was Oishi allowing the marriage to save the women, or did she see it as an opportunity to revenge Enya? Because of Oishi’s complexity in the play, the motivations are overlapping. Oishi does it to save two women that have proven themselves chaste and dedicated, while also seeking out the death of Honzo.

Warrior

As seen with Oishi, women are capable of unifying and overlapping womanly and warrior attributes. Before exploring the overlapping duties of a woman and a warrior, the duties of a female warrior must be explained. The Tale of Heike’s “The Death of Kiso” shows the exact warrior codes women are expected to respect. Tomoe, although not Kiso’s wife, is literally a samurai that fights among the men. The narrator describers her as, “the first captain…and she performed more deeds of valor than any of the other warriors. She was now one of the seven who remained after all the others had fled or perished” (“The Death of Kiso” 291). She is physically a warrior—at first, to a Western reader, perhaps the equal to a male warrior because she is recognized as one of the few that has stood by Lord Kiso. Her strength and loyalty is put high above other warriors, and she is seen as stronger than a thousand men.

In strength, bravery, and dedication, she is more honorable than Kiso’s men. Yet, when Kiso is faced with his death, he says, “’You are a woman, so be off with you…I intend to die in battle, or to kill myself if I am wounded. It would be unseemly to let people say, ‘Lord Kiso kept a woman with him during his last battle’’” (292). Why, if Tomoe is held in such high regard, would it be an embarrassment to die by her side? In fact, she is braver than Lord Kiso, who runs away and dies while looking back. He dies a pathetic death: his horse sinking in the mud and the enemy displaying his head on their sword. Tomoe’s death is seen as valiant: fighting thirty men with her armor discarded. Her dismissal from Kiso is parallel to Rikiya’s interference with Oishi’s attack on Honzo. She is forced to stop because of her gender. Once a male interferes, a woman’s duties as a warrior are no longer needed.

Oishi, unlike Tomoe, is not a genuine samurai. At first, she goes about her samurai agenda through womanly means. She grants permission for Rikiya and Konami to marry, but only with the dowry present of Honzo’s head. When she says, “[I want] the head of Honzo, on this wooden stake,” she gives the image of an angry samurai, hitting the stake on the ground as if claiming her territory (140). Even though this image is masculine, Oishi is still within the boundaries of feminine codes. She is merely using the political marriage system to carry out her obligation as a servant to Enya. In short, she is carrying out masculine related deeds: killing Honzo, through feminine techniques: controlling the marriage.

When this tactic fails, Oishi turns to a warrior’s mode of action. She physically attacks Honzo with a spear. She’s described as, “gnash[ing] her teeth in helpless rage” when Honzo pins her down to the floor, giving yet another image of masculine traits (142). Although she herself fails in killing Honzo, her attempts are what make her an honorable warrior. After her attempt at physically attacking Honzo, Rikiya intervenes. Once the son takes her lance and assumes control, Oishi retreats back into her complete feminine role. Both as a woman and warrior, Oishi attempts to honor Enya.

Union

These ideas of woman and warrior are able to fuse together. As earlier stated, Oishi never has just one reason for her actions—many aspects of the situation motivate her. In this way, while a woman is a wife, she is able to simultaneously be a warrior. In Mishima’s “Patriotism,” he creates a unification of wife and warrior in both Reiko and the lieutenant. This idea of both man and woman adopting unexpected roles shows the importance of fusing two roles together. By fusing the two gender roles together, deeds of honor can be harmoniously accomplished.

Reiko is given the complete trust of her husband, given praise for her loyalty, and trusted with an officer’s duty of witnessing the lieutenant’s death. The first sign of the dynamic between wife and warrior is shown in the wedding photograph of the married couple: the lieutenant is wearing his military uniform while Reiko, although just as stern and strict as the lieutenant, is wearing her wedding kimono. She is also able to encompass the duties of a military wife while accepting their inevitable suicides their first night together (“Patriotism” 94).

The lieutenant shows great appreciation and approval that these two ideas could merge into one:

A lonely death on the battlefield, a death beneath the eyes of his beautiful wife…in the sensation that he was now to die in these two dimensions, realizing an impossible union of them both, there was sweetness beyond words. (111)

What is more interesting, however, is that this merging of two dimensions is not limited to Reiko. Even the lieutenant, after the last night with his wife, helped with the chores that are usually only left for a woman (108). A merger of both warrior and wife are seen in both characters, which creates the idea that these two honor codes are desired because they work so completely together.

Unlike “Patriotism,” Oishi is the only one to merge both qualities of a wife and warrior together in Chushingura. Like Reiko, Oishi displays the fusion of warrior and wife when her husband treats her as an equal. She proves herself an honorable wife when she does not complain about Yuranosuke’s philandering and drinking. She tolerates his misbehavior because it is in service to a greater cause. Evidence can be taken from when Yuranosuke is dishonoring Enya and his own name by eating the squid, drinking, and sleeping with prostitutes. Oishi does not question his actions, but fixes him a cup of salt tea when she knows he is faking being drunk. Therefore, she has proven herself loyal, and he can then trust her with the honor of a samurai.

The fact that she is aware of the greater cause is what sets her apart as a warrior-like wife. Her husband, Yuranosuke, discloses his plans of attacking Moronao to Oishi. There are two reasons why his confidence in his wife is so particular and honorable: Yuranosuke proves that he mistrusts people and does not confide in them until they have proven themselves worthy, and Honzo literally kicks aside his wife and daughter when they ask about his plans to bribe Moronao (122 and 46). Yuranosuke cannot include Oishi in his battle plans simply because she is a woman, but allowing her to join on the secret, and trusting her as a secret keeper, she too bears the responsibility of loyalty to their master Enya and her husband Yuranosuke.

Each woman has their own identity, yet Oishi successfully encompasses the ideas of all codes presented by Osan, Koharu, Tomoe, and Reiko. Oishi portrays a strong character that is able to feel hatred, revenge, sorrow, pity, and guilt all at once. She is an extremely dynamic character that protects the higher cause over everything else. She rises above and beyond all characters through her dedication and virtues.



Bitterness: Mishima’s Patriotism
October 13, 2008, 6:26 pm
Filed under: Suicide in Japanese Fiction

I wanted to be bitter about the lieutenant. I wanted to blame him for everything in the story. My rising hatred for the character came through the first paragraph. His death was given an extensive introduction, solemnly explaining the motives behind his suicide and how he committed the act. One line was given to the wife, “His wife, Reiko, followed him, stabbing herself to death” (93). I was angry that the woman was disregarded so easily. She must have killed herself out of forceful obligation. It was his fault she had to die, and his fault that her death was given little attention.

Then I began to realize that the lieutenant was not called by his name, Shinji Takeyama, but simply by his military title. In the wedding photograph, he is wearing military uniform while Reiko wore traditional Japanese clothes. Again, this mounted my suspicion that he was political-obsessed and did not care for his wife. His obligation was government, not love. Their marriage was seen as “seemingly flawless” (94). Such a perfect union could not be genuine—yet, they “were gazing, each with equal clarity, at the deaths which lay before them” (94). I still had my doubts that she was forced to agree to the suicide, yet the realization of the union of love and politics was finding its way into my thoughts. Perhaps what made it a tragedy is that the suicides happened at the beginning of their new life together. Their love ended too early. But that’s where I was mistaken—I assumed that a suicide meant tragedy.

The physical and emotional intensity of their relationship caused me to warm up to the idea that Reiko was acting on her own volition. There was an understood combination of military and love, “Even in bed these two were frighteningly and awesomely serious. In the very midst of wild, intoxicating passions, their hearts were sober and serious” (95). What solidified the thoughts that she was an independent woman, choosing her fate, was the fact that Mishima focuses on her while Reiko is out discovering the rebellion, “…Reiko had read the determination to die. If her husband did not return, her own decision was made: she too would die” (96). Yet, what surprises me is that the lieutenant did not seem as aware of the future as Reiko did. Throughout the day, Reiko made preparations and thought about their future deaths, while the lieutenant, home and already facing his destined actions, “stared undecidedly at the paper before him” (109).

Another reason I first felt bitter for the lieutenant was because he refused Reiko the right to keep a journal—a journal that would record all the happiness of their brief marriage. From other stories we have read, writing is an essential art form. Writing plays a role in happiness, sadness, love, and death. Why would the lieutenant deny Reiko such a common and honorable art form? Yet, writing played an important role when it came to death. The first moment we’re given an idea of writing is the last time they will share the passion of their love, “It was as if the words ‘The Last Time’ were spelled out, in invisible brushstrokes, across every inch of their bodies” (104). Did the lieutenant not want Reiko to keep a journal because that part of their lives was so insignificant compared to what was to come? Did he believe writing should only be expressed in the most intense, passionate parts of their lives?

We are never told what Reiko’s suicide note says. We are only told, “she had already decided upon the wording…” (109). Yet we are given the last words of the lieutenant, “Long Live the Imperial Forces—Army Lieutenant Takeyama Shinji” (110). Since the very first sentence, this is the first time his name is said, and it is also the last.

I’m bitter for another reason. I’m bitter that I was wrong. The lieutenant did not force anything on Reiko. They were both able to unify love and politics—unify two extremely different obligations. The wedding photograph shows this; the combination of military and marriage. The lieutenant gives his wife a duty usually given to a fellow military man, witnessing his death, but this action shows complete trust and love for his wife:

The fact that he had chosen his wife for this was the first mark of his trust. The second, and even greater mark, was that thought he had pledged that they should die together he did not intend to kill his wife first-he had deferred her death to a time when he would no longer be there to verify it. (100)

Two quotes that affect me most strongly both show the lieutenants ability to completely unify his patriotism and love for Reiko:

“Thus, so far from seeing any inconsistency or conflict between the urges of his flesh and the sincerity of his patriotism, the lieutenant was even able to regard the two as parts of the same thing” (102).

“A lonely death on the battlefield, a death beneath the eyes of his beautiful wife…in the sensation that he was now to die in these two dimensions, realizing an impossible union of them both, there was sweetness beyond words” (111).

I’m bitter and jealous of what they were able to accomplish. Rarely have I seen two people successfully unify work and love. They are commonly seen as two separate things, when they should be seen as one.



Chushingura Assignment
October 8, 2008, 4:24 pm
Filed under: Suicide in Japanese Fiction

1. Come up with a Title for Your Paper:

Warrior Wife: Chushingura’s Oishi

2. Write up Your Thesis Statement:

Oishi successfully transcends her female boundaries by demonstrating masculine actions in order to protect the code of women, family, and warriors.

3. Outline of your 3-4 Main Points Separated into Paragraphs

Write down 3-4 bullet points. Each will be the main idea for a paragraph in your paper.

  • While Oishi is a wife, she is simultaneously a warrior.
  • Oishi portrays her motherly and womanly realm when she refuses the marriage because of money and differing samurai hearts.
  • Oishi shows her overlapping womanly and warrior attributes by the two ways she tries to kill Honzo: through marriage politics and physical action.

4. Arranging your Evidence:

  • While Oishi is a wife, she is simultaneously a warrior.
    • She proves herself an honorable wife when she does not complain about Yuranosuke’s philandering and drinking. She tolerates his misbehavior because it is in service to a greater cause. Evidence can be taken from Act Seven when Yuranosuke is dishonoring Enya and his own name by eating the squid, drinking, and sleeping with prostitutes. Oishi does not question his actions, but fixes him a cup of salt tea when she knows he is faking being drunk.
    • The fact that she is aware of the greater cause is what sets her apart as a warrior-like wife. Her husband, Yuranosuke, discloses his plans of attacking Moronao to Oishi. There are two reasons why his confidence in his wife is so particular and honorable: Yuranosuke proves that he mistrusts people and does not confide in them until they have proven themselves worthy, and Honzo literally kicks aside his wife and daughter when they ask about his plans to bribe Moronao (122 and 46). Yuranosuke cannot include Oishi in his battle plans simply because she is a woman, but allowing her to join on the secret, and trusting her as a secret keeper, she too bears the responsibility of loyalty to their master Enya and her husband Yuranosuke.
  • Oishi portrays her motherly and womanly realm when she refuses the marriage because of money and differing samurai hearts.
    • Since both Tonase and Oishi take marriage matters into their own hands, it is assumed that marriage politics falls under the woman’s duties. Oishi uses her control over the marriage politics to save her family’s and Enya’s honor. Tonase and Konami beg Oishi to permit the marriage, but Oishi responds, “But now I am a ronin…the daughter of a high-ranking officer like Kakogawa would make as ill-suited bride for my son as…a paper lantern for a temple bell” (134). Tonase is mistaken by Oishi’s intentions. She believes that Oishi is refusing the marriage because of financial differences. Since Enya’s death, Oishi’s family stipend has been lessened considerably. The Honzo stipend would benefit the Obashi family greatly if they accepted the marriage. But Tonase mistakes their refusal as financial pride.
    • Oishi is quick to correct Tonase. Money is not the issue. Although the Honzo family funds would help her family financially, she refuses any money benefits in order to uphold the honor of Enya and reject Honzo. She explains that the two men do not have “true matching of hearts… The precious son of Yuranosuke, a man who refuses to serve two masters, cannot take a wife so ill-suited as the daughter of Honzo, a man who draws a stipend as a sycophant samurai” (135). By refusing Honzo’s wife and daughter happiness, Oishi is indirectly punishing Honzo’s behavior.
  • Oishi shows her overlapping womanly and warrior attributes by the two ways she tries to kill Honzo: through marriage politics and physical action.
    • Oishi grants permission for Rikiya and Konami to marry, but only with the dowry present of Honzo’s head. When she says, “[I want] the head of Honzo, on this wooden stake,” he gives the image of an angry samurai, hitting the stake on the ground as if claiming their territory (140). Even though this image is masculine, Oishi is still within the bounds of feminine codes. She is merely using the political marriage system to carry out her obligation as a servant to Enya. In short, she is carrying out masculine related deeds: killing Honzo, through feminine techniques: controlling the marriage.
    • When this tactic fails, Oishi turns to a warrior’s mode of action. She physically attacks Honzo with a spear. She’s described as, “gnash[ing] her teeth in helpless rage” when Honzo pins her down to the floor, giving yet another image of masculine traits (142). Although she herself fails in killing Honzo, her attempts are what make her the most honorable character. Both as a woman and warrior, Oishi attempts to honor Enya.

5. Writing Transition Sentences:

  • Beginning of paragraph 1: Femininity and masculinity are often categorized into personal and political affairs. Oishi exhibits both personal and political responsibility within the family.
  • Beginning of paragraph 2: The marriage of Rikiya and Konami displays Oishi’s talent of using marriage politics in order to carry out her revenge against Honzo’s family.
  • Beginning of paragraph 3: Oishi uses marriage politics to her advantage when she sees the opportunity to avenge Enya’s death. The task of killing Honzo creates a situation in which Oishi struggles with her restrictions as a woman and her obligations as a warrior.

6. Conclusion

After her attempt at physically attacking Honzo, Rikiya intervenes. Once the son takes her lance and assumes control, Oishi retreats back into her complete feminine role. She gives a heartfelt reason for not allowing the marriage, “We took into our house a bride destined to become a widow…I wanted to avoid such a wedding” (145). Oishi portrays a strong character that is able to feel hatred, revenge, sorrow, pity, and guilt all at once. She’s an extremely dynamic character that protects the higher cause over everything else. Although she says she is unworthy of Yuranosuke, she is the female equivalent and equal. Because of her gender, she must go about the task of protecting and regaining Enya’s honor through both feminine and masculine ways.



The Un-girl
October 5, 2008, 9:36 am
Filed under: Jude the Obscure

Last night I was called unconfident, unstable, and uninspiring.  In short, unlovable.

Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten who I am.  Years of work from people like Zimmermann, Monahan, Powers, Cootz, and Bump have been unraveled in the span of a few months.  All these people, and anyone else who knows me at all, knows that I’m a worrisome person.  I worry from things ranging from my grades to the happiness of others.  This has always been a trait of mine.  I don’t believe this shows a lack of a backbone or confidence, I think it shows motivation and drive.

But I can’t stop feeling like Jude.  Poor Jude’s life was ruined because he became involved in relationships.  His eyes fell off the goal of education and to the devotion of a relationship.  What are we supposed to get from Jude the Obscure?  Is it impossible to successfully juggle education, career, and a relationship?

I really hated Jude.  I’m always attracted to strong, independent women in stories.  The exact opposite of what I’m told is who I am.  But why should I let someone else dictate who I am?  I’m not these things.  I’m a fighter, I’m a strong person, and I know what makes me happy.  Maybe all I need is some of The Who and another read of Alice in Wonderland.



Waltzing Matilda
October 3, 2008, 12:39 pm
Filed under: Australian Literature

Australian literature has to be one of the most boring classes I’ve ever taken… It’s a  class about the alcoholics, Aborigines, and “beauty” of the outback.  What we’ve read so far is Tracks, a travel journal of a woman that journeyed through the outback “alone”, and Walkabout, a movie of two orphaned, British children traveling alone in the outback.

Then we read a few poems that “romanticized” the country.  This was my favorite:

Honestly, I think there is definite connotation of sheep sex.  I know, completely stereotypical.  It’s obviously about a hobo that stole a sheep and kills himself before the police can punish him.  But after reading about men that would piss on bar counters, threaten every girl they met, and crap on someone’s bed… waltzing is the last thing I think a swagman would do to a woman.

Unfortunately, there is only one intellectual person in Australia.  So this has become one of their anthems: