I’m a white guy. I have no culture because I renounced it when I became an adult. So I latch onto. Glom to music made by Africans. Suck up art from Mexico. Envelope myself in Asian martial arts to find my true spirit. My inner core. Who I am. Because I can’t just be white. Just. White. Bland. Sans color. Tasteless. No rhythm. No rhyme. No inner peace.
Can I have some of yours? A piece? A bite? Only a taste? Oh, that’s good. A little bit more…? Just…can you cut it in half? I could buy it from you. Or just take it. If I take it, I’m taking it all. The whole thing. Damn that’s tasty. I’m gonna need that recipe, too. So I can make it myself. Put my personal spin on it. Make it my own. Remix it. Re-package it. Repurpose your culture completely.
Look how cool I am now. So. Fucking. Cool.