3-11: The Dog is Smarter Than I: A Poem

The Dog is Smarter Than I

By S.O.F. Rapine

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Belgrade is grey

The Sava is vomit-colored

The #2 is a deathtrap

The dog is smarter than I am

This city is still fucking awesome

I've clearly abandoned meter

Here are some observations.

1. The psychology of hate scares me so much because it's not irrational. Fuckers like Goran Davidović (Serbian hardline nationalist) seem to reach conclusions involving phrases like "ethnic purity" based on logical processes and human reason, but working off of twisted and warped premises that they believe are as immutable as gravity. It makes me wonder about the nature of evil as it pertains to order and chaos (some people watch TV; I contemplate morality like a crazy person): which most effectively defines "evil", the ordered and systemic hostility that results in ethnic cleansing, or the chaotic, mindless insanity that results in random shootings and small but horrific acts? Does the difference even matter? If you couldn't tell, it was a pretty heavy discussion in class today.
2. Speaking of, the documentary we watched raised an interesting point of identity and in turn morality--to most effectively communicate your point to the largest variety in audience, perhaps the most effective tool is association. What's scarier--and don't think about this intellectually, but symbolically--a clean-shaven, mild-mannered author discussing his book about Zionist conspiracies in a well-lit office, or a tattooed, shirtless bruiser pumping iron while talking about the Albanian menace with a heavy metal riff playing in the background? Now, as a weight-lifting metalhead with designs on getting a tattoo, I have to wonder just how comfortable I am with things that I'm passionate about being portrayed negatively to prove a point, however noble or anti-fascist it may be. It raises an interesting ends-justifying-the-means argument, but I think that's enough for one day.
3. I had a dumbass/badass moment on the #2 the other day consisting of having a door close on me trying to exit (which is what I get for chivalry in letting the sweet old lady exit before I did). Jammed between the two doors as it started to move, I ripped it back open wide enough to slip out, jumped (the tram was moving at a decent clip by now), landed on my feet, stood up straight, fixed my lapels, and walked off. I'm still not sure if the smoothness outweighed the idiocy.
4. We had homestay interviews today, consisting of a checkup to make sure we haven't been pressed into slavery making wine for two comical Frenchmen while the donkey sleeps on the straw, leaving us to the cold floor (Ten Super Extra Golden Banana Fun Tokens for anybody who gets that reference). One of the questions was "is the host family providing you with enough food?". Being all classy, I didn't quite fall out of my chair, but it was a close call.
5. Speaking of being laughably overfed, I've come to the conclusion that I miss host-grandmom, who disappeared into the world at some point while I was in Kosovo, doubtlessly to solve that whole "world-hunger" problem. I'm actually relieved to get my own food in the morning, but she just gave the morning a serene, relaxed pace. Bahh.
6. The elevator's dead. I don't mind the extra stairs (Katie, we're even), but I miss the Yugovator's personality so.

Srpski reć dnevni: Breskva (бресква): Peach (not that I've had one here, but there's a breskva-flavored version of just about anything drinkable in this country)

I'm just gonna leave this here.