Canada’s fun.
They say that Canada is like a loft above a great party, but I would say it’s a roof party looking over a busy street. Last time I wrote to you was at the Miami airport on my way to New York from the Dominican Republic. More than a week has passed since, and I was unable to utter a word. A week and change in New York had blasted out of my will to live. I hate New York. It’s not the big apple, but the rotten apple. You see, New York is an old French prostitute refusing to let go of its past glory days before her youth made way to wrinkles and old people smell. Before people attack and executed me in the honor of the city claimed to be the world's largest and most important, the cultural center, the business center and numerous other superlatives, let us breathe for a moment, calm down and take your finger outta your ass. Killing me won’t make any difference, New York will still be a worn ho. Two long years I lived in New York. I worked, I studied, I played, but there was never a moment that I didn’t ask myself what the hell I was doing there. I wound up there by accident and got stuck for two years. I'll be honest with you, once, I thought New York was cool, but that was before I visited there. It was when New York was Seinfeld, Friends or Woody Allen. Saying you love New York has always been a sign that you are cool and full of life, that you are well connected and you know people, that you have great taste in fashion even though you shop in the cheapest stores of the most generic brands. Nothing happens there, except for noise and pretentiousness, and nothing can happen here. New York is its traffic jams, not only in cars but in the human sense as well. Endless people in the same spot in life trying to reach to same place, and as it is on the road, they all stand in the same place, getting nowhere. You might get lucky and exit on the first street light that you see. You might decide to ride your bike and get hit by a taxi, or you might give up and like in the REM video, get out and start walking. Or you could just sit there, spending your time, waiting for the traffic to clear, either way you’ll get nowhere.
Burnt coffee, salty food, fetid air, shallow people, cheap girls, small apartments, and all of them expensive and futile. But still people feel very fortunate to live in this city, as if they were blessed to share public transportation with rats and dead bodies, and breath the mixed air of tainted bbq meat and caramel peanuts. have I already noted that the people are shallow? Let me assure you they have lots of opinions, an academic degree, iPhone, and a subscription to Time Out, people to admire. Seriously, they are pathetic, dry, and full of self-significance.
Let's get something straight, it doesn’t matter if you're black, white or yellow. Doesn’t matter if you're gay or straight. Doesn’t matter if you're Jewish, Christian or Muslim. Doesn’t matter if you’re a liberal, socialist or nationalist. Doesn’t matter if you’re a male or a female. Doesn’t matter if you’re a white collar, blue or black. If you can’t take a joke as a joke, if you can’t laugh about life and yourself, you’re a pathetic creature that deserves no respect, and maybe you should just shoot yourself in the head and save us all the headache. Do not hide behind your color, sexual orientation or your politics to hide your human misery. You are a coward and a hypocrite, you are stupid and weak, you're boring and bad in bed and your kids will look horrendous even to their grandparents. Do not try to sell your pop pluralism and bluff you call it freedom of expression and speech, as you filter everything under the auspices of political correctness that retains your hatred to the different. You, the enlightened, are worse than any of us, as you think you are better than all of us. Oh, by the way, I'm talking about you hipsters. I know I'm generalizing, but as usually when I generalize, I do not care.