Amiri Baraka is dead.
Good riddance, I say.
But that’s not enough.
I don’t just want to piss on his grave.
I want to dig up his coffin,
Pry open his mouth,
And piss into his throat.
And I don’t just want to dance on his grave.
I want to start a kickstarter campaign,
To hire the Rockettes
And dress them up like rabbis
Beautiful, long-legged rabbis
And they’ll dance a whole chorus line on his grave.
Amiri Baraka was buried in New Jersey.
Land of chemical plants and Superfund sites.
A fitting place: a toxic creature in poisoned earth.
3 thoughts on “Amiri Baraka”
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You’re a small-minded hateful little man, and that never seems to change, whether you think you’re living or dying.
His work was of so little importance to you, and yet you would act as though you even know who he was, and you idiot, you don’t even know how to spell his name.
And that is that.
He was a woman-hating, Jew-hating, White-hating parasite who could string a few words together, and he got praise from his fellow haters (and their apologists, like you).
The only useful thing he did in his life was to convince New Jersey to terminate the Poet Laureate programme… WHY THE FUCK DID NEW JERSEY NEED A POET LAUREATE?
Good riddance to rubbish.
But, hey- nice catch on the spelling, Professor.
-ls/cm just another brown-eyed blue-eyed white devil, as Mr. Little would say.
I’ve got no dog in this fight and it’s probably not my place to say anything but I’ll say it anyway: this story was provocative and some of Amiri Baraka’s work was provocative. Any words that make me laugh, cry, imagine, or (best of all) think, add depth to my soul. To me, both voices bring some value even when I do not agree. But Crap, I’m having trouble visualizing the Rockette rabbis… think it’s something that could be put together in SL? I’d definitely be there for that…