Olam Meshuga
It’s always been a fucked-up world
although, until I picked up cursing
from my highschool friends, it was a messed up world.
And before that, conversations with my mother
in our mother tongue, it was Olam Meshuga.
Meshuga that I wasn’t allowed ice cream before dinner
and then meshuga that I couldn’t have an iPhone and then
suddenly meshuga that I had to hide my necklace under my shirt,
meshuga that I was treated like a guest in the country I was born in.
What do you call a guest who has overstayed his welcome?
An intruder, an interloper, an infidel perhaps.
Sometimes you call him an Israeli.
I was eleven and my gravest worry was looking cool
in front of girls I knew I were using me,
and now I’m seventeen and my greatest concern
is looking goyishe in front of girls I know will abuse me.
‘Messed up’ doesn’t really do it justice.
It’s fucked up, FUBAR, if you will.
A fucking Olam Meshuga.
Visual design by Hana Tzipora @that.intersectional.zionist
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Hey Jesse,
I wish the world had changed since I was your age. But nothing has. Here is a poem I wrote on a similar subject and I am 55 years old (still running).
Poem about The police
Please stop calling the police
They complained to me about vicarious trauma
And I’m sick of their fucking complaints
Try to deal with your own personal and family problems
Without hassling the cops
They do not want to hear about your shit
They are not interested in your drama
And will turn on you if you keep fucking calling them
Sort it out yourself
Poezie despre poliție
Vă rog să nu mai sunați la poliție
Mi-au plâns de traume indirecte
Și m-am săturat de nenorocitele lor plângeri
Încercați să vă ocupați de propriile probleme personale și familiale
Fără să-i bată pe polițiști
Ei nu vor să audă de rahatul tău
Nu sunt interesați de drama ta
Și se va întoarce împotriva ta dacă continui să te alungi să-i suni
Rezolvați-l singur
Just one more thing I want to give you some motherly advice from a woman who has been incarcerated for no reason on more than 5 occasions. Sometimes to get peace and quiet – you have to confess to things that you did not do.