A lot of times when I told people where I worked they would ask, "what is that? Phizer or Pitzer? A bathroom or a chemical company? I tired of answering it. It did not sizzle on my tongue when I thought of it or said it. Some people you might wonder if they weren't having acid or tweak flashbacks, this was especially true with a certain EWLLL professor, Laura Harris. She had the normal brush and sweep gesture inhaling something invisible twitch in our meetings.
The main thing you notice about her (though you keep it to yourself) is her little fat ass. You've seen black girls asses and you've seen Italian asses. Whatever her claims with her, it smelled like ass. She had a pugnacious and blathering attitude about herself as she fought windmills that attacked her for her self-awarded "blackness." You see the diasporics, you see the South African Indians, the Caribbean Asians, and yeah it makes sense. These are black women. But you see Laura Harris, and .... in truth she's hard to see at all even at her full height.
The only good I had heard of her from other feminists was that she claimed a minor connection to Alicia Arrizon and to Rosaura Sanchez, both of whom were well-known critical theorists, one a feminist and one a materialist feminist. Both were bilingual UC Profs with identical fields as me: theatre with Arrizon and literary history with Sanchez. So as I know they are both good scholars, I assume there is some standard of quality that would be found in Harris as well.
All I remember of the bitch are too many, far too many memories than I'd ever wished to have lived once but more than once is atrocious. I tried to get rescued from the Tyrant Oh Sore Eyes Harris but it would be impossible as once having tasted blood, she seethed with eager and egregious rage in thirst of more. She tried pulling the Spanish language accented version of Laura on me. I just looked at her and with one look said "no." And that's when I liked her.
The response to her is brought on by the autonomic immunse system. You know how the doctor hits your knee to check your reflexes? It's what happens to you when Harass speaks of James Baldwin.
The main thing you notice about her (though you keep it to yourself) is her little fat ass. You've seen black girls asses and you've seen Italian asses. Whatever her claims with her, it smelled like ass. She had a pugnacious and blathering attitude about herself as she fought windmills that attacked her for her self-awarded "blackness." You see the diasporics, you see the South African Indians, the Caribbean Asians, and yeah it makes sense. These are black women. But you see Laura Harris, and .... in truth she's hard to see at all even at her full height.
The only good I had heard of her from other feminists was that she claimed a minor connection to Alicia Arrizon and to Rosaura Sanchez, both of whom were well-known critical theorists, one a feminist and one a materialist feminist. Both were bilingual UC Profs with identical fields as me: theatre with Arrizon and literary history with Sanchez. So as I know they are both good scholars, I assume there is some standard of quality that would be found in Harris as well.
All I remember of the bitch are too many, far too many memories than I'd ever wished to have lived once but more than once is atrocious. I tried to get rescued from the Tyrant Oh Sore Eyes Harris but it would be impossible as once having tasted blood, she seethed with eager and egregious rage in thirst of more. She tried pulling the Spanish language accented version of Laura on me. I just looked at her and with one look said "no." And that's when I liked her.
The response to her is brought on by the autonomic immunse system. You know how the doctor hits your knee to check your reflexes? It's what happens to you when Harass speaks of James Baldwin.
No comments:
Post a Comment