|
Dearest Sirs and Madames & All Other So-Inclined Parties Due to recent occurrences and happenstances and so forths and whatnots, I feel that it is the duty of any Bangladeshi named Arafat Kazi-- being, of course, only myself-- to confess and admit their grand duplicity and madness. So mea culpa mea culpa I confess! I confess! Specifically, I must cop to a long time impersonation of Mr. Jarett Kobek under several varying and disparate pseudonyms, not the least of which is his own name, in writings dating back several (which is to say about seven) years-- yes, I admit! I released several "text files" under an obscene pseudonym which contained his name, propounding to be him, and god damn it I am proud! And fuck you, I did it as a comment on mythopoesis and identity in post-modernity. Like the great Bergman film Persona or the mid 60s London curiosity Performance (in which Mick Jagger plays... Mick Jagger and is directed by the son of a disciple of Aleister Crowley and the guy who would go on to fully make David Bowie an alien), I am he as he is me as I am he-- but think not that Mr. Kobek did not know I was impersonating him. Of course he knew! Why, I recall our long walks on Thayer Street, in Providence, in which he would whisper in my ear and say, "Dearest Arafat, you browny buttersauced baritone! Sing me a song of Sean or Shem! I demand you make my name live forever in infamy." So taking use of our new digital Democractic paradise-- namely the Internet-- I put myself through the rigors and torments of becoming, in name, at least, Mr. Kobek. I always performed with a certain insatiable joy at knowing that no one could take such things seriously-- even if, indeed, they did at some odd points include emails Mr. Kobek had forwarded to me (and then were reused without his permission!) and other personal artefacts that only an insider could lay upon hands. (And a certain beauty of Bangladesh will tell you jes how much I like to lay hands!) And, sirs, and my dear ladies, please be assured that however I did perform I always performed with panache and poetry! But lately certain KILLJOYS-- no relation to the Charlton comics hero of the Ditko years-- have rained ingloriously upon my parade and accused Mr. Kobek of all forms of scandalous behaviours and interests. Perhaps most hurtful in these accusations is that Kobek's own behaviours and interests contain more than enough scandal to keep even the most interested party hopping! After all, the man is an indepedent scholar in such Highly Salacious areas as: early 20th century African-American religious history, Howard Phillips Lovecraft along with his Weird Tales Kin, and the early Colonial History of America! Yes, the sins in these interests are multitudinous and variegate and surely worth of a flogging in the pillory! Yes, that pervert even went out of his way to republish the works of the infamous Mr. Edgar Allen Poe's love, Sarah Helen Whitman. Surely this is doom! Surely this is madness & murderous business! SARAH HELEN WHITMAN! What kind of fiend does this? What kind of monster & misfit & mutante? A killer beast, certainly! But for all his crimes there are many of which he stands accused-- by friend and foe alike-- for which only this browny butterscotch bastard, Arafat Kazi, stands guilty! I did it! I confess! I am the sinner and he the saint in these matters of the heart. Also, our relationship is entirely free of homoeroticism! Yours, ARAFAT KAZI |