The broth thickens!
I selected “Super Angry” on my app and got this…
Warning: the following randomly generated poem contains bigotry, explicit language, and biblical-level violence. It is not suitable for mature audiences.
Doggy-doo (no love for you) ️
Subhuman is a word I’d never use
In talk of Scotsmen, Indians, or Jews,
Or Mexicans, Mauritians, the Masai,
Or any other group beneath the sky;
All men my brothers are, my teachers too,
Except the Taiwanese, they’re doggy-doo.
I hate them for that gormless, grinning stare
They throw at me like dirty underwear;
I hate their stinking, phlegm-bespattered streets,
And hate their flip flop waddle and splay feets;
I hate them cos they lie, and harm, and stink,
And have no soul, and cannot feel or think.
I hate them yet am weak: I’ll pray to Him
(And train like mad my deadlift in the gym)
That I may smash them into smithereens,
As Samson did the goddamn Philistines.
You Taiwan motherfuckers be forewarned:
You’re going down, your deaths will not be mourned.
Surely you mean this bowl of freshly chopped and stir fried Cai?
(Or if you were being evil Minan Sai? No, no, you wouldn’t do that!)
I am having trouble clicking like on this one. I preferred the repressed homosexual dreamscape to be honest. Jib is a little too close to the wind there for me on the Taiwan basing. tut tut tut
A glorious pair of bookends to this tale. Yet another poetic “rant” by our pair of bards.
Tongue in cheek. I’m nearly 100% sure. I like the post (with a heart), although I disagree with the surface interpretation of the content.
That’s the the point. There is merit to the poetry of the post, although more time (as always with our posts) would have rendered a finer work. A+ for effort and W (as in “watch your ass for humorless nationalists”) for content.
90% agree, but consider it a possible evolution back towards a typical rant (rather than soulful story) in an atypical form (rather rigid poetic structure). Alas, alack, I think to much!
No doubt the honorable Jinyu is working with an unreliable narrator. I still find it hard to click like on it cause it hits home like. There are plenty of otherwise rational people who think like that weightlifter in certain contexts and it scares me.
Our gallant trav’ler takes his pen in hand,
A brand new province wherein he may flow’r,
Yet words polite finds he not for this land,
But stories rancid haunt him, hour by hour.
An island beautiful to most who come,
Shows passive malice every where he looks;
A mind, so bright, creatively undone;
Unchanged by life, unpacified by books.
The Forums charge him follow us or die,
Sweet, calming words on deaf ears make effect,
And yet those clouds still conceal what blue sky?
For even what we hope we can’t expect.
So comes the joyful solice of the night,
Break clouds above alone by barbells’ might.
Very nice. I like the intertextuality and references to the Taiwan zietgeist
OK, so poems now is it? Right. Hear ye then the tale of the papists wheat cracker. I sourced it by typing “eucharist” in my app.
To the dearest and most beautiful
Enchanted body of my angel
To the new ephemeral covenant that forgives all sins
To the immortal idol:
I strip my clothes off
I burn my house and crops
And walk out into the crowd
Spitting at the sky
Not asking or caring why
Knowing that my god will be watching
When I meet you
I hear with my heart
I push with my hands
Weak, and then strong
I hear you; I see you
I smell you in the air
I feel you in the ground
You bring your belly pot with you
Behind your salty arms
Below your monkey feet
Above your brutal face
Your inexplicable, all-encompassing, and hypnotysing kisser
And murmurs the tune your belly taught
To hands that cover, and reach inside
So that I am your voice
Which tickles so, it almost hurts
Until you hold and we unfold
Like a map
In one swishing movement
And you taste just like you should
Just like your glow and your voice
Just like lips, and tears and sleepy bodies
Millions of them
A perfect, blooming, secret, stolen taste
Concentrated in your spit
And that goes inside
Where it can be brewed into a drink that will make you see
All the way to the end of your nose
All the way into the darkness
Where you suck your thumb and think of fish
All your humming body bites me
While a thousand look on
Waiting to be bitten
Waiting to become
What will you make them?
All your broken body holds me
While I look on
Waiting to be holden
What can you make me?
All the hills and the fires
The stars and the memory of your salty air
The clouds that blow by when you feel like that
And every serene afternoon by the sea
When she would be waiting
Take these now and break them
Give them up so that god can be forgiven
These are but the days of the never liven
Not worth a moment in the eyes
of the creature with the wings of gauze
Do this in memory of me
You all are much more poetic than me . Your “eucharist” is simultaneously humanizing and blasphemous.
What? my poem dunt even rhyme brah! Ha ha
Nice poems, Geajvop and Abdohgah!
Very briefly – cos I’ve gotta go to the gym now, gotta get in shape for – JOKE ALERT – massacring the entire Taiwanese people with my ass bone (or should that with the bone of my ass?) – the comments above on my poem are perfectly reasonable, however I’m probably going to have to come back later and take off my funny cap with the dangley bits and bells and give a boring semi-serious response… .
yea, sorry about that. Oh shit, I’m doing it again…
I can only speak for myself, but do appreciate any insights you have to offer. In jest, in poetry, on sincerity: all are welcome!
I take solace in the fact that you did a good job ; You chose solice …please don’t check my grammar. I am not an English Teacher. Is it a dual option ? I do not know .
I’m glad, at least, that my nasty little poem inspired two weird and wonderful ripostes in verse!
I wrote more than two pages, starting from an incredibly petty incident that took place tonight in the gym and moving out to other experiences in Taiwan. And the thing is, these personal annoyances with insignificant people (while representative , I feel, of widespread – but (surely?) not universal – flaws in the Taiwanese soul) are not the main source of my vitriol. I’ve seen too much contemptible behaviour, too much crime, among seemingly friendly, “well-respected” Taiwanese elites overseas.
I stopped writing before my post before it turned into an 800 page tome, complete with case studies and statistics, entitled Why Many Taiwanese People Suck (with the word “Many” almost invisible – like the word “If” on the cover of O.J. Simpson’s book “If I did it.”)
I initially planned on taking a few steps back from my nasty little poem, but only to slip on my thigh-high stilettos and come back with a run up, really sticking the boots into Taiwanese society in a surgical, premeditated way. Of course, I don’t need much of an excuse to put on my thigh-high stilettos, boys! But I’ll try and refrain from going all Romper Stomper on Taiwanese society in my fuck-me boots. It’d be unladylike. And more importantly, although supressing my rather bitter disappointment with Taiwanese society is probably unhealthy, giving way to vitriol is never a good idea.
My poem did come with a warning that it contained “bigotry” and “biblical-level violence” as well as a statement that it was not suitable for mature (i.e. excessively serious) audiences. Also, as Geajvop points out, I did frame the poem as the product of a very “unreliable narrator,” namely, an app set to “extra angry.” Nevertheless, with so much acid seeping through the poem it’d be disingenuous to pretend that I wasn’t making a nasty jib against Taiwanese society (from which even now I partially but not entirely disassociate myself). Certainly I wasn’t trying to condone any kind of violence, and the violence that emerged in the last stanza, while in keeping with the negativity of the poem, grew somewhat by chance out of the silly Philistines/smithereens rhyme, which I found funny for some reason at the time. Probably the only couplet in the poem which expresses how I feel about Taiwanese society much of the time is this one:
I hate them cos they lie, and harm, and stink,
And have no soul, and cannot feel or think.
Nasty, I know, but unfortunately how I feel much of the time. Although even here I would need to qualify the couplet in the following three ways to make it an accurate depiction of my feelings: 1.) Hatred is hardly a desirable emotional state, although sometimes difficult to avoid 2.) “They” here does not refer to every single Taiwanese man, woman, and child; it refers to a representative type 3.) “Stink” is used here principally in a metaphorical way
Hmmm, you pretty much said it yourself:
Government Warning: the following post contains dry boring conversation and uncreative dry broken record style use of language.
Not that it isn’t understandable that people do have certain feeling and experiences that can lead into this kind of perspective, and not to demonize anyone who would have a perspective like that. But such a perspective simply does not stand up in the long run - or sometimes in the short run - for any group on earth. I have to say I personally hold Taiwanese people in high esteem. But isn’t it funny that positive prejudices are no more logical than the negative ones. I kinda thought that you were underlining the ugliness of the perspective rather than taking a shot at Taiwanese. Perhaps you were. Who knows.
Either way I enjoy reading your stuff you have a real talent, if you had a book id buy it for the comedy gold and creativity. Maybe you already do, in that case please direct me to the title and nearest book store where I can buy it.
Sorry for late response. I just got back from Taipei. A strange thing happened to me today. A limo pulled up next to me and a tortoise got out and held the door open while saying in a Sicilian accent, “Get in the car, kid. If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.” I was driven at high speed down empty freeways to the Presidential Residence in Taipei and was brought into Tsai’s office. With a wave of her hand she dismisses the tuxedoed tortoises. She took a sip of bubble tea and then leant back behind her desk in her leather chair, studying me. She presses her fingertips together and brought them to her lips before speaking. “I hear you’ve been talking trash about Taiwan. You also claimed I had three testicles.” I shifted on my chair slightly and was about to explain when she raised her hand to stop me and continued speaking. “You don’t need to explain anything. What I would like to know is, how can we make things right . That’s why you’ve been brought here today.” There was a long pause in which I could hear the ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the background. Eyes fixed on me, Tsai took another sip of her bubble tea, making a slight slurping sound as she sucked up some pearls. She put down her bubble tea again and lent forward slightly, no longer looking at me directly. “I hear you like ice-cream.” Another long pause in which her gaze made its way back to mine incrementally with each metronomic tick of the clock. “In particular,” she continued, now looking directly at me, “I’ve heard you have a fondness for deep-friend ice-cream balls. Something to do with (makes vague hand gestures) childhood memories… Neanderthals… desire… I know you like them (talking faster now). I know you want them. Not just any deep-friend ice-cream balls. But freshly fried with the golden batter still warm. We can make that happen.” For pride’s sake, I at least pretended to negotiate. “I want chocolate topping.” “I want a silver spoon to eat it with.” “I want a man bib.” I was granted everything I requested. And now, with a newfound love of all things Taiwanese, I humbly present my first couplet in the new style (from a poem in progress under the working title “Encomium to a Lovely Isle”):
Taiwan is such a rare and pretty flower,
And Tsai is lovelier than a lovely bird in a lovely bower.