French Toast


Youthquakes are karmic eruptions. The inevitable false promises of the old regurgitated like bitter bile by the young. Looking around at the world their elders have left them, they rant "You lied to us, you betrayed us, you sold out our birthright." The power-relations, between parent and child is echoed in the drama of domination and subordination between Imperial France and colonized North Africa, between master and slave. "You used us--as labor, as fodder, as garbage collectors. You starved us and raped us and beat us and used us up and now you throw us away."

Colonialism is bad karma---an abomination of greed, pride, arrogance and sloth. The Wretched of the Earth suffer, the imperial power gets fat. 2005, and the foix gras has come home to roost, the goose explodes and Paris is burning.

Bondage-up-yours! The brown kids of Clichy sous Bois are caught between a liver pate and a sand dune. Neither truly French or really African, they can't move backwards or forward. Anomic, alienated, angry, shiftless, they're stuck, stranded, without hope, all they can do is explode--inward or out.

"There is you FIRST and then I am what you let me be."
--Charles Manson

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