All right. I might tell you that the assault on the unfortunate Zimmerman is a reality (remember the price put on his head by the Black Panthers?) driven for dirty political reasons from the very top (nobody was so much as questioned about that little stunt) and from the top of the top (remember a certain presidential candidate remarking that Martin looked like the son he never had? a candidate who, as a trained lawyer, ought to have known that you simply don't say things like that before a trial?). But then I would be called to defend the murderous lunatics who openly rejoiced in the boy's death, and I have no intention to do that.
I want, however, to tell you a couple of true stories. The first took place in the hideous academic year 1989-90, otherwise known as the Year of Hunting Barbieri Down. Among the various stories that the academic authorities used against me, one that did me particular damage was that of a former friend who claimed that I was following her around in the corridors and that she was afraid of being raped. You will have to take my word for it that I was doing nothing of the kind, and that on one occasion not long before I had actually found myself alone with her in her own bedroom and had not even thought of any such thing. (She also was the most beautiful woman in the whole college.) The place was all corridors, and one could not help meeting someone who was studying many of the same courses and interested in the same areas; and as for wanting to do anything with her, this was the time of my head-over-heels total and absolute love for Debbie Wallace, and even though I tell you that this woman was as beautiful as Aphrodite, I simply was not interested. Now the authorities at SOAS behaved exactly as you think they should in the rest of the world: "Please, sir, this man is following me around!" "Who, m-" "CATCH HIM! GET HIM! HANG, DRAW AND QUARTER HIM!!!" . But even without that charming experience, I had still been taught a lesson a couple of years before. One night I was walking down a London street and I heard someone walking behind me. It was a young black man in a hoodie. I got nervous and tried to accelerate, but the guy was faster than me and caught up. He said: "Give me your money!" I said: "W-What?" - and then he started to laugh and walked away. I can't say this story does me much honour, but it taught me a lesson I've never forgotten.
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Date: 2013-07-19 03:09 pm (UTC)I want, however, to tell you a couple of true stories. The first took place in the hideous academic year 1989-90, otherwise known as the Year of Hunting Barbieri Down. Among the various stories that the academic authorities used against me, one that did me particular damage was that of a former friend who claimed that I was following her around in the corridors and that she was afraid of being raped. You will have to take my word for it that I was doing nothing of the kind, and that on one occasion not long before I had actually found myself alone with her in her own bedroom and had not even thought of any such thing. (She also was the most beautiful woman in the whole college.) The place was all corridors, and one could not help meeting someone who was studying many of the same courses and interested in the same areas; and as for wanting to do anything with her, this was the time of my head-over-heels total and absolute love for Debbie Wallace, and even though I tell you that this woman was as beautiful as Aphrodite, I simply was not interested. Now the authorities at SOAS behaved exactly as you think they should in the rest of the world: "Please, sir, this man is following me around!" "Who, m-" "CATCH HIM! GET HIM! HANG, DRAW AND QUARTER HIM!!!"
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But even without that charming experience, I had still been taught a lesson a couple of years before. One night I was walking down a London street and I heard someone walking behind me. It was a young black man in a hoodie. I got nervous and tried to accelerate, but the guy was faster than me and caught up. He said: "Give me your money!" I said: "W-What?" - and then he started to laugh and walked away. I can't say this story does me much honour, but it taught me a lesson I've never forgotten.