“My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own”
– Jewel (Hands)
“Sri Lanka police now busy rounding up couples holding hands and / or smooching in public”. These police people, the dildos of a ruling class that ride the hypocrisy in Sri Lankan ‘high’ culture, have the worst CV a social institute can ever dread of having. Always ready to inconvenience the public where power can be applied, now they are busy contributing to the “preservation of the next generation”, stopping people from exchanging glances, batting eyelids, holding hands, being together with beloved…… Talk about the bad guy doing the catharsis act.
If we tolerate this any more
The day will soon come
Where I will have to fill some form
Before jerking off at one.
The day will come where,
When you bed a woman,
You will have to prove that it’s legal unlike
Some terrorist’s bomb.
Where you may need written permission
From some pervert cop
To take a girl for a snack
Behind a pervert’s shop.
One ball will be cut off
If you dream of other women.
That’s when Malinda will get it:
Who defends every move of this regime.
This regime — long before
Police rounded up couples a walking,
Youth holding hands in public places
Cos no motherfucking govt. ever gave em the necessary spaces,
Long before this regime rotted
To this inhuman state where
Emotion was banned, where hatred reigned,
Long before it came to ridding humans of being human
We saw it coming here, if you ain’t VIP
Or a bud warming the palms of an Anna Kelly,
And have no card to pay the Hiltons while passing out:
Do not tolerate this. Value your piss.
Enter, John and Paul:
John: “One, two, three, four….”
(Guitar starts to play)
John and Paul:
“Oh yeah, I
Tell you something, I hope you’ll understand.
And I, say that something:
I wanna hold your haaaaaaand.
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand”
“We’re now on the scene where a civil policing force in Sri Lanka earlier surrounded the late John Lennon and Paul McCartney….” (camera alternately focuses on shattered parts of a box guitar, a white colour shoe and twisted horn-rimmed black sunglasses on the ground) “…while the duo were found here singing ‘I wanna hold your hand’: a song essentially about a banned substance in the Democratic Sri Lanka….” (the scenes merge into black and white footage of the Beatles at a live 1964 concert, of John in bed with Yoko Ono during the ‘Bed Peace’ campaign etc) “…The song which earned the Beatles a UK Number 1 in 1964…” …
Robert Knox was sincere of what he saw
And did his best not to betray that nerve of awe:
Couples walking around, love being partly in the air
And divorce if you found that you didn’t fit in there.
Knox wrote these things so the future would know
How this island made love, made hearts before
Victorianism became the defining base
Of middle class ‘Sinhala culture’ and its ways.
Thank you, Bobby, sweet brother
The message you gave, we got.
Just that the laws are fumbled by a retard lot.
National TV Channel IT-Hen News clip (a slim, tightly osareed girl with a shrill parrot-like attitude with wide open eyes stares innocently at you; as if at gunpoint):
“Speaking to IT-Hen News the People approved this timely move by the State to curb the pollution of young minds and the corruption of the future generation by misbehaving couples in public places. The People pointed out that the People have been put at great difficulty by….”
1. Perhaps, the “at gun point” look is cos of what she, for a few rupees, is made to read. She means, is labour so devalued and that, too, for the whole country to see?
2. To think that I fantasized my Primary teacher naked and being whipped till her ass bled when I was six years old.
We are the hollow men,
Cos we’ve been hegemonized to silence,
Till they’ve drilled holes on us all around
And filled us up with violence.
Hollow men, and they drill us more
Like as if we’ve not been drilled like this before.
Broken us apart, made our days with lies
And telling trust the Greek boys, when the Greek come nice.
It began with the fall of a terrorist’s head
And now it comes home to our fucking bed.
It began with power being stored in one band
And now it comes to where I hold your tender hand.
It began and it’s grown now, it’s growing all still
And till it grows to be blown to go growing it will.
Till what’s tyranny’s checked, stakes made available for digs
Than writing fables of courage and of three little pigs.
“And in the end, there would be much to destroy; much could have been saved but neither the grace nor intuition was to be had. The sweet Socrates will be made to drink off his own hand, hemlock be brewn using the common man’s labour (while all the time being conversant of how one ought to love one’s neighbour). Asin and Salman Khan would be ambassadors for film India. T. George College will advertise their courses on national TV. Suppression and violence would be in the name of the LTTE. Armed militants and khakhi longs will become the watchdogs of the Nation. The Nation, in turn, would be an anomalous concept — cos the consolidation of it depends on the annihilation of another. But, to accept that anomaly would defeat one’s claim to power. So, the unfitting shoe was usurped for private consumption. So, still, the Nation is a stance. But, the Nation is ‘Us’. The Nation is ‘Me’. The Nation is a fair, fellow-minded ‘Family’….”
Cassandra is the doomed maiden
Who foresaw her end; the last chapter
To the last line of Achilles and the
Footmen alike. Doomed not to be heard
In spite of her seeing
Cassandra just being
A clichetic metaphor in time.
And I always want to make love to you
So that the others should see
What you mean to me.