Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Zora Neale Hurston in a Jazz Club

I have been writing essays for the last couple of days - one on diverse perspectives in Feminist theory.
One of the theoriests quoted from Zora Neale Hurston's book How It Feels to Be Colored Me to illustrate a point in regard to multi-conscious identities, and Hurston's writing is so incredible I had to share it:

My pulse is throbbing like a war drum. I want to slaughter something - give me pain, give death to what, I do not know. But the piece ends. The men of the orchestra wipe their lips and rest their fingers. I creep back slowly to the veneer we call civilization with the last tone and find the white friend sitting motionless in his seat, smoking calmly.
"Good music they have here," he remarks, drumming the table with his fingertips.
Music. The great blobs of purple and red emotion have not touched him. He has only heard what I felt. He is far away and I see him but dimly across the ocean and the continent that have fallen between us. He is so pale with his whiteness then and I am so coloured.

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