the more objective truths humanity finds,
well... the more uncomfortable
it becomes...
                    the supression of subjectivity
is but one of the many objective truths
that are not favoured in a society -
  beginning with the greek philosophers
and ending with the greek philosophers
who stunned poetic endeavours
for fear of crafting: too many weak hearts...
that may be so...
   but was there a subjective weakness
in the wehrmacht? in the kamikaze?
in the red army?
             i find western society is really confused
about subjectivity:
if person (a) says: no one cares what you
feel!
   surely person (b) can reply: shut up!
no one cares what you think!
if you really want soft hearts - argue
the scpetical objective argument -
  sure, sure... forget about the passions...
you know: depression once had a romantic
name (michel de montaigne for one,
clearly shows an elevation of intelligence
with the ailment) - as once did
subjectivity: the passions...
           objectivity is a logical sorrow of
taking the heart, and inserting the brain
of a ******* mouse in its place...
   overly sensitive to stimulii, esp. words...
pointless anti-breeding epidemic of not ideas
alone, but actual people who could conjure them!
melancholy was once cited as the elevated status
of intelligence, esp. in the realm
of a: sense of humour...
                         now? just another grid-lock
in the stigmata ensemble...
              i can't pity these people turning into
the self-crucifying ones...
      not unless they can tell me a decent joke,
or sharpen their minds, akin
to athletes... for when the body gives
to lethargy, the mind is not necessary for
this lethargic succumbed-to predicament...
                                      no, ex-cuses!
objectivity, or the dogmatic-adherence
           to it leaves men's hearts as nothing more
than oysters... mollusks...
              snail who 100 years later finally
wake up and announce their grand
"eureka" of: huh?!
                      the **** just happened?
too late! go, shove your face in a can of
      maggots, and then pretend to go fishing!
can't be that bad, if western europe really
loves to adhere to a self-fulfilling
self-sacrificing prophecy, i'll just turn my
concerns to the east,
   and think up an anti-wrong-thing idea,
namely? group-think!
                      and this whole m.g.t.o.w. *******?
forget it, unless you lack the teutonic
rigour of a monk...
          party time's over...
                                all my potency
for children will be that of insaminating
the only respectable womb these days:
     memory...
                            in memoriam,
                      rather than in vivo, or in vitro:
that's how **** ex machina operates
when there is this constant deus ex machina
pointlessness of debate, akin to shopping
            for a coochi coochi gucci bag.... ugh.
they can have them all they want...
         and when the time comes,
i know where switzerland is...
         and that... i can at least pray for
my last wish to be that of keeping a human dignity...
after all... it's not called dignitas
   for no random reason...
    because, suddenly, this whole objective "allure"
of passing on the genes...
           of keeping it white, while talking it black...
has "suddenly" lost its appeal...
        not that it ever had an appeal to begin
with...
                  my uncle?
   i.e. my mother's brother?
                        20 years older than me...
and he's already on that path...
     would i be stupid enough to "compete"?
                       you know? however many
hamburgers the americans push me,
   however many las vegas dreams they sell -
the west is the best, or rather was the best,
when jim morrison was alive -
last time i checked visiting him in paris:
seemed a bit up-tight, a bit of a ******...
      what once was, cannot be revised,
rekindled, revived...
                          america is currently running
on a day dream:
    hey! you wanted cheap toothpicks!
as the prophecy of queen sheeba stated:
   the earth will be flooded with cinnamon /
copper skinned people -
   and no, not the essex girls who tan themselves
on sun-bed into near-flurescent orange;
as any person who can't be bothered
to gamble on a "future" - as in a poker game:
i put my share in, i'm out, i fold...
  since it stopped being a game of chess
a long long time ago... i fold,
                and tilt my king-piece on its side -
and whoever tells me that there's
still "hope" has become so subjectively muted,
so subjectively numb,
    that calling me throwing a stone
against another stone an unfolding of the "abstract"
concept of relationships: tell you what:
i've come to appreciate cats that rarely
meow...
                       esp. if what they ever get
                    to meow: is, a, load, of, *******.