They told me to wait,
So wait I did,
Until weeks turned into months turned into years.
Then she came along
And I said, 'fuck it.'
Worst time to be so flippant.
The result was a three year roller coaster ride
That ended like the Hindenburg.
Nice.
Next, I turned to the nocturnal comforts,
Selecting hour-long companionship
With a click of the mouse
That ends with the closing of the window
Tossing of the damp tissues in the bin
And stepping out for a smoke,
With Jay Chou crooning in my ear
Singing of love new and lost.
Closing my eyes
My memory summons my gramps.
Those Japanese devils
My grandfather would tell me,
Lighting up another Marlboro
Before launching into another rambling tirade
About the misery of post-war China.
*I'll ******* **** you if you get with one--
Disown you, even.*
Rest his soul.
Does Maria Ozawa count, gramps?
Would you **** me
Or give me a high-five?
(I'd get smacked for being insolent.)
Bamboo switch in hand
Grandma would sit me down
And tell me how they used to fight over sewer rats
With other refugees for dinner.
Grandma, you'd shake your head
If I tell you about the rats
I have to work with
On a daily basis.
Your move.
(Oh wait, you're dead.)
The wisdom of my forefathers
Fossilized in ancient Chinese tomes
Extolling the virtues of patience
There are gem fragments to be found in the waiting.
One perfects oneself as one waits
For the time to ripen.
Life passing you by
Is naught but an illusion.
In the meantime
I've resigned myself
To wherever the mercurial turns of life
Take me.
I'm happy with the status quo.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
They told me to wait,
So wait I did,
Until weeks turned into months turned into years.
Then she came along
And I said, 'fuck it.'
Worst time to be so flippant.
The result was a three year roller coaster ride
That ended like the Hindenburg.
Nice.
Next, I turned to the nocturnal comforts,
Selecting hour-long companionship
With a click of the mouse
That ends with the closing of the window
Tossing of the damp tissues in the bin
And stepping out for a smoke,
With Jay Chou crooning in my ear
Singing of love new and lost.
Closing my eyes
My memory summons my gramps.
Those Japanese devils
My grandfather would tell me,
Lighting up another Marlboro
Before launching into another rambling tirade
About the misery of post-war China.
*I'll ******* **** you if you get with one--
Disown you, even.*
Rest his soul.
Does Maria Ozawa count, gramps?
Would you **** me
Or give me a high-five?
(I'd get smacked for being insolent.)
Bamboo switch in hand
Grandma would sit me down
And tell me how they used to fight over sewer rats
With other refugees for dinner.
Grandma, you'd shake your head
If I tell you about the rats
I have to work with
On a daily basis.
Your move.
(Oh wait, you're dead.)
The wisdom of my forefathers
Fossilized in ancient Chinese tomes
Extolling the virtues of patience
There are gem fragments to be found in the waiting.
One perfects oneself as one waits
For the time to ripen.
Life passing you by
Is naught but an illusion.
In the meantime
I've resigned myself
To wherever the mercurial turns of life
Take me.
I'm happy with the status quo.
