A Song for Anti-Humanism (Non-Structural)

A Song for Anti-Humanism (Non-Structural)
For Chien Swee-Teng and Stolichnaya Andronnikov

A day of six apologies
Arrested by a sentence from a page

 - I was dragged out from that evening bar
no strangers there
(no puerile, self-pitying urban alienation).
Everyone looks familiar here
the same bastards, the same kind of motherfuckers
reproduced en masse
(because their parents wanted, but half-understood, pleasure)
the same pasty faces
who can't wait to get their claws on feminine skin,
get themselves drunk, get the ladies drunk.

'I apologise for six days
Arrested by a sentence
read out
on the radio

the voice told a tale I am more or less familiar with
- the boys hummed a tune and moved their mishapen, spastic hips.
(they needed something to rub on,
and there were many legs of tables and high stools)

Techno beat, we thought of Africa, the beat that could move the most primal soul
the most visceral beat.
I just couldn't use a single word 'dancing' to describe this movement.

We half-understood Hegel
but we remember he said Africa has no history
Their pseudo dialogues have no subject'.

Arrested by six sentences
recorded on the tape.

- I was dragged out of the country I was born.
but I find it hard to call this island factory a country.
But I am not that fucking yellow skin conceptual artist
who claims to have lived in Berlin, New York and been to Venice
who thought he's too good for this place.
Global, international and contemporary citizen of the world, liberal open society.

I hear he's married: amazing, somebody actually opens her legs for him.
I imagined his face when he's having an orgasm.
I have one word for it: non-aesthetic
And I understand beauty is not the chief concern of most conceptualists,
but this guy must have done some dematerialising work on his face too.

He is not a refined, intelligent elitist motherfucker like Borges or Roger Scruton.

My summary for this rant:
fucking artists, writers, philosophers and laid men.