For Sheton Daniel: FLOGG 'POETRY' IS MORE FACTUAL THAN YOUR 'JOURNALISM'

 

Just poetry? Just poetry? In your ass, I go show you just poetry – Jason Sifflet, poet/playwright/non-partisan independent blogger/Certified Real Life JOURNALIST!

Real journalists don't work for political parties.

(Picture here: Jason Sifflet feeling sorry for Shelton Daniel)

 

Recently Shelton Daniel recently wrote off The FLOGG Blog as something not to be taken seriously.

Ok. I can see with that. I don’t take myself too seriously, and when other people do it, it kind of annoys me.  So, yeah, the FLOGG Blog shouldn’t be taken too seriously. It’s not like we’re starting a mental revolution to overthrow Lab-FLAM in their sleep? It’s just a funny little blog that tells the truth in ways that no one else has dared to.

However, the brave Mr Daniel went on to make the single most offensive remark that anyone in the whole of St Lucia made for the ENTIRE 21^st CENTURY.

Mr Daniel, a literate man who can identify the use of many devices in the FLOGG that others may not, noted that the FLOGG is not purely journalistic but veers into a kind of artistic, literary, prosaic zone where the rules of journalism are not the highest law of the land.

True. The laws of FLOGG subscribe to a much higher standard of truth and literary expression than puny commercially corrupt journalism. So what’s the problem, Bro?

Shelton Daniel said the FLOGG was “just poetry.”

As though the lyrics on The FLOGG are not a million times more true to truth and fact than anything he has ever done for a living.

So now, you don’t have to take The FLOGG as seriously as his brand of objective enlightened party hack journalism, because it’s ‘just poetry.’

Ha!

On one hand, I’m flattered. He compared the bombs I make from other people’s boolettes to POETRY. Wow. Thanks Shelton. That was almost as good as the time on Facebook when Jadia JnPierre agreed that “Jason Sifflet is an asshole but he’s our asshole,” was “the most accurate statement made in the history of the internet.” Or S.L.A.P. Same difference.

Almost as good as the time Rohan Roaks said, “Jason Sifflet is the 21^st century Rick Wayne.”

 

I warning y'all now! I eh doing no gay porn!

 

 

Thanks Shelton. Great back handed compliment.

ON THE OTHER HAND…also called THIS MEANS WAR!

Where were we? Oh. Thanks Shelton.

But on the other hand…

What?!? He said what?!? No, he didn’t! Hold on. Imma get ma muh’fugg’n piece cos, like, this mofo just called my mama a ’ho in front of the preacher.

And so, now, I have to pop a couple caps of so-called just poetry in his ass. Lock and load? Ha! Safety off, one in the chamber. Let’s go, bitch. Imma bust yo face up with some diet prose, cos I don’t think you can handle a poem. Talking about my mother like that…

“Just poetry?” Iz u niggaz think’n when you’z talk’n?

 

Let’s spit some factual realism so that you learn not to talk about my mama like that.

First off, The FLOGG Blog wishes in its wildest dreams that it was “just poetry.” When the FLOGG Blog gets down in its knees and prays to God, it prays that if it dies before it wakes, it will wake up in heaven as a Kendal Hippolyte note pad full of first drafts, sketches and nasty edits.

Yeah, that’s right. Poetry is so great the FLOGG doesn’t just want to be poetry when it grows up out of its terrible twos. No, sir. Poetry is bigger than that. Poetry is like Jesus but in word instead of flesh. The FLOGG Blog wants to be like poetry before it dies so it can achieve Nirvana or whatever. The FLOGG Blog wishes that all of us, including philistines like Shelton Daniel, who deny the truth professionally and call it journalism, would be washed, baptized, renewed every day in poetry. To be cleansed. To aspire to the kind of truth that only poetry can express.

Poetry, along with fire, wine, ganja, cheese, music and comic books were among the things stolen by Prometheus from the cruel Olympians to civilize man. That’s a fact.

Poetry is what angels are made of. (Well, it’s the main ingredient anyway. You need some fire and some music, but for the most part, angels aren’t born, they are written and recited.)

Poetry is the only human language God, Himself, speaks. Indisputable fact. God is so cool, he only speaks in verse.

And seriously, poetry is just better looking than any other form of literature.

SO WTF, DREAD?!? YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR MY MOTHER?

So what the fuck is Shelton talking about ‘just poetry’?

“Just poetry” is the reason why St Lucia has a Nobel Prize in Literature and Barbadians have a Pulitzer. “Just poetry” is the reason why St Lucia has any positive international stature, apart from being the place where Oprah will hold the best wedding that’s never going to happen. ‘Just poetry’ doesn’t just give safe passage to facts over centuries, ‘just poetry’ is, itself, one of the single most important facts, ever.

‘Just poetry’ is the reason while Shelton’s sister Melania is one million times the writer that he is even though she has written 1000 times fewer words than he has. There are children in primary school who can quote Melania Daniel poems. But Shelton? No one can remember a single line he wrote. Ever. Not even him.

The talented and beautiful (and talented and beautiful)

Melania Daniel

Accidental sister of Shelton

 

“Just poetry…?” Stchoopse. Boy, I giving you one FLOGGing for your mother, because I know she taught you better than that.

NAME ONE (A Pawol Jettay, Not a Poem)

Name one St Lucian journalist who has achieved what ‘just poetry’ has achieved.

Name one politician, lawyer, businessman, scientist who has approached in the international stature, the immortal glory of what ‘just poetry’ from St Lucia has.

Name one journalist who has spoken more truth about St Lucia than Derek Walcott. Or Kendel Hippolyte. Or John Robert Lee. Or McDonald Dixon. Or Jane King. Or Gandolph St Clair. Or Melchoir Henry. Or Melania. Or even that one hit wonder, Jason Motherfucking Sifflet.

St Lucian journalism has not yet begun to imagine the heights of truth and beauty that St Lucian poetry has achieved on a daily fucking basis for more than half a century.

The greatest St Lucian scientific minds today, Edsel Edmunds, Stephen King, Earl Long, the list goes on….they all know the value of ‘just poetry.’ They all have little notebooks stashed away. They practice. Some of them even published. Poetry, like great music, widens the path and sharpens the point.

 

THE LYRICAL FACTICITY OF THIS FLOGGeration:

POLITICAL GATEKEEPING IS NOT JOURNALISM

But what would Shelton know? He’s just a poor little party hack parading as a journalist, a great talent whose lack of something led him to waste his life pon partisan politics. A man who often forgets not to take himself too seriously, because his career is, in fact, just theater.

(Lol. ‘Just theater.’ In my world that’s blasphemy. But it’s ok, because actors don’t read unless there’s a script. Damned divas.)

That’s right. I just used artistic devices and language to state the core fact of this matter.

Shelton is an actor, pretending to be a journalist in a theater he calls news and current affairs. Fact. And not very good theater either. Fact. Otherwise why would the only thing anyone remembered from last Monday’s IPI show be that Daniel used the words ‘just poetry’ as an insult?

Poor little Shelton exposes himself as the same kind of literary retard as Rick Wayne. This was not a confirmed fact until last Monday, although it was widely suspected.

Basically and factually, he’s a man who doesn’t really read poetry. Can’t. Doesn’t have the capacity. Or the interest. In spite of the fact that his sister is an award winning poet who helped put Mon Repos on the world literary map.

THE RICK WAYNE SCHOOL OF (HACK) JOURNALISM

The piteous thing barely ever qualified as a real journalist except in the Rick Wayne chop shop (we all did our time, right, Earl?). And yet, Shelton Daniel thinks himself and his brand of journalism better, higher, truer AND more factual than the slender shards of poetry that illuminate this blog and slice the heart of the dark and corrupt little world around it.

The little couyon could never quite figure out what poetry was for.

Like Rick, he is stuck in the chop shop of the 20^th century, hacking away at facts, sorting and throwing away that which he doesn’t want and serving up the rest as news. In the end, he will end up like Wayne, who is now the sidekick of Timothy Poleon rather than the Batman we once mistook him for. Sigh. Pause for the memory of a once great king…

 

For those who do not clearly understand the literary hierarchy, it is a well-established fact for millennia that poetry is and always will be the highest form of writing, an eternal exercise in the enlightenment of individual man and mankind in general. If literature is a temple, poets are the architects and priests.

And journalism, let us also be clear, is the lowest most recently isolated literary exercise, divorced from its roots in music to make it more serious and a whole lot less fun. A daily artless grind, swimming through filtered facts that may or may not matter by tomorrow. It’s like porn for people who think self-cenorship is sexy. Like those Japanese videos with all the good parts redacted.

In its current form, it does not enrich your life, it increases your frustration and the likelihood that you are going to need medication for high blood pressure.

You can train a journalist to be the best, but the same is not true for poets. Being the best poet is like being the best prophet. God kinda you picks out from under whatever bush you are hiding. Jesus and Virgil and a set of other dead rappers keep throwing inspiration at you. Ask Derek. Ask Kendel. Verify the facts.

Ask VS Naipaul about how much it frustrates him that his attempts at poetry are worthless. He knows secretly, deep down in his heart, that his failure at poetry means that God does not like him very much. He’ll deny God’ existence, but he won’t deny this fact.

That’s how high poetry is on the literary, nay, evolutionary ladder. It is a mark who God favors. David. Solomon. Virgil. Walcott.  Hippolyte. Poets, all.  God’s favorite people. Facts, brother. Facts.

Being a journalist just means you learned some methodology. Not even that nowadays. CNN fired their entire investigation department so they could spend more time talking. That’s a fact. Face palm. But fact.

God picks poets personally. He trains them Himself, even the goddamned atheists. That is an undisputable fact.

This never happens for journalists, because the truth is, God never thinks about journalists unless they call out to Him. He does not read the paper and he does not watch the evening news. He has way more important things to do. Which explains why I get away with everything.

Poets, meanwhile, have an exalted place in heaven and God, Himself, is constantly forgetting to do things (consider the state of the world), because He’s too busy doing the best thing anyone can do with their life….you guessed it….reading poetry. Now that’s a rumour. But after you hear it so many times from so many people…

And He ain’t denying it, so…

It is unfortunate that a good, well-read decent fella from a good Negmarron family like Shelton Daniel would expose himself as a half-evolved barbaric Philistine. Sad to hear him attack poetry incidentally just to deny the truth of the FLOGG. And for what? To save some political party’s un-wiped butt?

But then, what do you expect from a guy who pretends to be an objective journalist, a veritable NEWS EDITOR, but can’t bring himself to say one bad thing about Labour because the party member is so far down his overused oesophagus?

Suffice it to say that there is more thoroughly researched and verifiable fact in every line of ‘poetry’ on the FLOGG than there is in an entire year’s worth of Shelton Daniel’s ‘journalism’. Fact.

Nobody sings for supper over here.  We’d rather suffer the real truth than live in your world of self-deception.

How’s that for poetry? How’s that for fact?

P.S. And the next time you talk about my mama, I won’t be so nice. You can attack The FLOGG. You can attack me. But the next time you attack poetry, I will go Def Poetry Gangsta on your ass.

I will write you a limerick that children will sing on playgrounds for generations.

And a villanelle that everyone will forget, but you will remember for all time.

I’m done. We now return you to your regularly scheduled ‘journalism.’