Miss Anthropology
Margaret Mead was full of it:
Boas’ unconstricted student
Half-baked matron lost at sea
Nurturing unnatural views
South-sea natives yanked her chain
Giggling maidens told her lies
On her bookish South-Sea cruise
Trying to flee her own neurosis
Frumpy methodology
Interjected Western bias
Greening grasses far from home
Theorizing Love, unfree
(Maslow’s tawdry pyramid scheme
Fitting tomb for wrong assumptions)
Titillating dull patricians
High on sexy kava-kava
Margaret Mead was full of it.
TR♥PICAL L♥VE–LAND !
What a shame of what Margret Mead wrote about My Samoa… The truth always come to light. She wrote all jokes that women of the Village told her… She came from America with that way of living that alway make compliment to others and she thought that Samoa are like that… Oh please, trust me, the family she staying in Manua was love to make funny so that she can right it down… They love funny stuff and something to make them laugh, like jokes. You took it seriously. No!… Samoa are not work like that… Samoa love jokes call FALEAITU!… It tell us Samoan that she didn’t do any research, she was listen to all the women of the Village… Just like what she did, she listen to all the lies and she wrote it down, But its not true… We believe that Manua people respect her by taking care of her… but for her story, we are real Samoan, we respect our sisters or girls of the Village… Our custom, we don’t married girls of the same village right from the start of Samoa till now… No, Its not true… Thanks for teaching lies in anthropologies… Shame on your research.
(relevant YouTube commentary by T. Jr. Misikau)
Subtle Journalistic Yawn
The nuanced global metrosexuality
of the NYT,
the progressive patrician narcissism
of New Yorker,
The dark democratic dying
of the Washington Post,
the salty smugness
of Atlantic,
the effete unstrung irrelevance
of Harper’s—
Newsweek, Time,
even Life itself:
These are passing away.
PROMPT #7: a poem based on a news article

Bosched
In the garden of earthly delights
A disturbing assortment of sights;
From sublime… to more ominous,
Holy Hieronymous
Painted abysses and heights.
Lay of the Knaked Knight
Revealed beneath her seventh veil:
A poem on her ass in Braille.
My fingertips caressed that verse
And read her lyric universe.
An astral plane of swelling curves:
Her lyre well-strung to calm my nerves.
My lovely muse! All lettered charms
Grow warm in her angelic arms.
Her noble face, her tawny cheeks
Bestow the balm my spirit seeks.
Bright thoughts arise, and glowing, pass
Upon the volume of her ass.


