I am drinking a beer
And waxing philosophical
On topics like war, and peace
Moby ****
White whales and insane old men
Reminds me of my grandfather
Which brings me to the topic
Of my grandmother
My Japanese grandmother
“coochi” grandma—our name for her
because her yellow skin hung in folds

I am drinking a beer
And the heavy feeling in my head makes me honest
And I am musing about my life and my father
Who has always been the magnet
To my compass
That I have worked so hard to deny
But my needle is true.

I am drinking a beer.
And thinking about my culture
And how I want to visit the bright
Streets of a Japan
That aren’t bright after those quakes
I am thinking about cleaning those streets
And holding the hard, cold men that have lost
Quiet, soft wives, until they are healed.

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, *******.

Why do women that i like
Always say **** like
"I like you , but I'm not ready for
something serious!"....right ....

Sounds like ******* to me
Cuz if she liked me she'd be
Ready, but instead she
Doesn't sag what she means

Cuz what she means is
"I think I'll wait for someone better"
Cuz I'm good enough to be
Friend zoned,  but she'll never

Admit I'm not good enough ever
Cuz I've seen this before
Some people get scared hearing
Gun shots but A closing door

Causes me way more horror
Cuz truth is the whole package
Doesn't consist of a fat body
Cuz I maybe cute but unattractive

Overall, so overhauled yet again
Is the familiar reflection
That personifies rejection
So I'll answer the question

Of why she doesn't like me
Cuz I'm a sketchers, not Nike
a no name handbag, when Gucci
Gets the coochi, so ***** likely

Will go to some ******* unlike me
With less heart to offer
who will take her for granted
But as long as he's hotter

Or makes money like a doctor
He's automatically above
I guess that's why I need drugs
The only substitution for love

To fill, what never will be filled
By a companion, cuz a bangin
Full gallery of Personality,, don't
Beat salary, so hangin

Like a man from a rope
as suicide takes air out his throat
Left dead, is my chance to advance
like I choke on hops

So of course back to dope
Is how I cope, but I know that
All I have to offer, isn't hotter
than the beauty of a 6 pack

Left wishing I was like crack
Like I was anything that stops me
From being inferior, like an exterior
Less inferior, so she'd want me

But like always all I'm wanting
Seems to just be too much
why can't someone want me
and not be , saying what she does

when she doesn't say
what she says , not saying it cuz
she don't wanna be rude and say The truth... I'm just not enough

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 had the bad luck of dating
rich girls...
                    квaс...

        i said it as i saw it...
outside the st. petersburg opera house...
about to see
                la triavata...
    later, hearing her complain,
about her looks,
and how two russian girls
were making fun of her,
how, how she managed to court me,
and her big russian knose...
and she telling me:
oh, their hand-bags as precursored
judgements, ready, to be made...
no matter how high,
or how low,
        so many, petty judgements!

back to: квaс

        i said it as i saw it:
            K'BAC (tss)....
how do you say it?
            KVAS...
        lithuanian drink,
non-alcoholic fermentation process...
you know, in between
the train ride from st. petersburg
through to moscow,
listening to bob dylan...
i never saw, i never saw not one
mcdonalnds...
just these pancake outlets...
that served orange caviar...
in pancakes....
and the drinks were all about
serving this bread fermentation
"soft-drink"...
from lithuania...
    
            if she let me,
i would have shown her something
akin to Poland...
Iłża... the flinstones...
         krzemionki opatowskie,
   a neolithic and early bronze age
settlement...
  if she let me...
i really don't need
the anglosphere canvas
of going as far back
as what darwinism dictates...

i can go as far back as
the big bang...
the backup...
and tell you...
when, earth, was inhospitable....
wouldn't mars own
a chance to entertain life?
and the great deserts, i.e. sahara,
be great mountain ranges?!
you know...
when the sun was hotter,
than it is at present?
when dino came across dino?
no?
        sorry... you believe your
****, i'll believe my own ****...
standing outside of "all" time
and space... yes,
when the sun was warmer,
and the earth was a massive volcano...
there was life on mars,
as the gobi, the sahara was no
more a desert than the current
"spectacle" of the himalayas being
a mountain range!

who can say i am wrong?
  the same people who conjured up
the meteor narrative?!
they buck bet the best treating people
like me as schizoid...
    
i should have never dated rich girls...
   they're nothing but trouble...
esp. if they were rich,
russian girls...
                         i should have ventured
to the north of england,
akin to newcastle,
               and ****** myself silly.
now that i am, "wiser"...
             **** me...
the best thing i ever accomplished
was stealing kisses from prostitutes...
you know what it feels like,
being told, by a *******,
that you're a good man?
                    
         well... ramming a man via
a k.o. blind, climbing a mountain,
doing an F1 circuit, racing...
                   stealing a kiss from
a *******?
                             nothing to brag about...
but at least, something, to remember,
of equal worth.

         did i already mention
that dating a rich girl is a bad idea?!
who was i?! a son of a working class roofer!
high and forever persistent
ambitions to make a living,
via writing...
      
             well... good luck to me...
good luck to anyone.