Thursday, May 05, 2005
America and I have had a turbulent relationship. Childhood curiosity and wonder gave way to an adolescent disdain. Then, in my late later teens I discovered American literature, film noir and Noam Chomsky: ‘50s America good, contemporary America bad. Last night I wanted to be American so bad - I swear to God - I thought my tightened chest might burst and leak. I was watching Fox News and wishing, just wishing, that I could have been born there, that I knew about the different states and the intricacies of domestic policy; Europe seemed so drab. Looking at the clock (it was 16.30 there) I was imagining that I was in Austin, at work, just thinking about leaving. Perhaps I’d go to a bar on the way home? Maybe catch a poetry slam? But those things wouldn’t be any more fun there than here! I would rather clean the toilet than listen to some prick read a poem in the upstairs room of a pub (“Come on lads, off you go, we’ve got a wedding in later…”), that they have American accents makes no difference.
Who am I kidding? Of course it does. America so rules.
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