(Conceptual) Relationship

Finally

Winter pass

Mood rise

All feel brighter

Actions move faster

I step up to clean out the messy life

You emerge from the cold thick white

And we finally

say hi

Court

Wait by the phone for that call

back and forth, tug and pull

A mind game worth playing

If it takes two to tango

I wonder who takes the lead

Stand face to face

Hands reach out, fingertips touch

Sparks brighten their faces as if lit by

candles on a dinner table, silver screen in a theater,

full moon in the sky

Smiles

Gazes

Whispers

Kisses

Promises

Until a commitment is

proposed

Love Letter—An Exercise for Romance

Right—

“To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished”

says Roland Barthes

As I try to articulate, daydream, plan—

The greatest love story of our own time

Would you like to co-write it?

The wedding party will be held at the Riverside Café

The song for the first dance will be the Beatles’ I will

The flowers will be cherry blossoms, irises, lilies, lilacs, lotuses

The Champagne will be Moet Chandon

The ring will be Tiffany’s & Co.

We will stand in front of the glass windows radiating Manhattan skyline

We will adjust each other’s collars from guests’ inadvertent bumping

We will kiss our back palms and exchange “Let’s get outta here” glances

“We two, how long we were fool’d, now transmuted,

We swiftly escape as Nature escapes,” says Walt Whitman

Speech will still be delivered and oohs and ahs will still rise

One day

The words will be heard, but—

“The perfect will be the enemy of the good”

says the anonymous

For now, it is an exercise for romance

And I hope it will be a romance from exercise

XX, Yours

Girlfriend, Defined

She lit a cigarette, serene as white smoke

The relationship was defined as Affair—at this point

No sunglasses; nor trench coat

Her face carried no lines of discomfort or guilt—the fittest composure for a gambler

No make-up either; her skin absorbed every particle of sooty loot without rash outbreak

The only recognition given away on this affair was her hair

Blossoming, Cascading, Erupting, Radiating—the hair’s in love definitely

“He was a boor,” she said

The shameless tyrant approached, demanded, invaded, declared victory

She succumbed as his colony, a door away from his motherland

shared with his wife whose sovereignty stopped outside her front door

“It’s all physical,” she explained

with no qualms, clichés of feeling connected through body heat

Promise minimally kept/Schedule randomly selected/Code delicately planned/Hint deliberately dropped

Emotions were not defined—at this point

Secrecy should dress both of them somewhat decently,

with certain definition

Rough Love

Doors opened

Steps crafted

Under the veil she wanted everything in control

Father witnessed

Vows exchanged

She committed with a band of inscription—

Forever, from March 1999

Later she reminisced

how the petals twirled along red carpet aisle

the light danced under arch of epoch

broken glass twinkled as from edges of a diamond

hymns of gaiety flew

in ecstasy

Years went by

Sweet dreams subsided

Ordinary chores wore off the uniqueness of

staying together

Perpetual familiarity toughened the core of

accepting each other

until it cracked

Later she remembered

How the dainty porcelains thrown smashed windows

let go ferocious flood of light drowning the 10 feet high loft ceiling

with the unbearable confession cut deep scabs bleeding

An end treaty signed

in numb

How come—

the ceremony of moment could be this holy

the dissolution of later this ugly

Let There Be Light

I. 

The morning when he walked out of the room, all he could think of was to put an end to some ghostly images which disturbed him for a very long time; those flimsy images were formed into the egregious and frightening human monsters and they always showed up in front of him everywhere; for example, he would shower and see an emerging Capricorn from the drain pipe whose head was distastefully replaced with the girl who always felt like a springtime water lily in the pond at the high school where he was used to being bullied and no one would look at him except that breezy girl who would give him an sympathetic yet futile grimace after she glanced the bruises on his forehead and passed by without saying a word, which was all sympathetic yet futile, which stung but was all he needed, especially back at the moment when he left the room, strutted pompously on the sidewalk, targeted the first building, walked into the lobby, pulled out the .45, and started to shoot the fleeing, screeching, anonymous human monsters, and the acoustics felt just right, like the thematic melody of the video game, called “Let There Be Light”, in which he played a handsome raider and he could use an enhanced shotgun to terminate all those terrorist aliens, who were ethereal but bright. 


II. 

I am a Chinese guy with an effeminate face 
I work as a data entry clerk
I have no spare income to save the world
I jerk off at web porns before sleep

Why can’t you be like Nick Wong and get a job at the Goldman Sachs?
My parents sighed during the ritual Sunday dinner. 
Why can’t you marry me to let me get the green card?
My Vietnamese ex-girlfriend made a fuss at the TGI Friday’s. 
Why don’t you suck my cock? You faggot?
My neighbor onetime cornered me in the staircase. 

Interminable hardworking and meticulous calculations are basic recipes for the Land of Plenty. 
In China, they don’t play by the same rules but I will not start talking about Back When…...

Nowadays bathed in blood can be so easy and accessible
The memory is not even long lasting and nothing is legendary
Still many questions leave unanswered and unsatisfied. 

An afternoon I sat in the living room. 
Thought about the future and unknown
From the TV delivered some bullets
Tear dropped and heart stopped

Let there be light
Let there be light
Let there be light

The promise is so ethereal but bright.

Paris is Burning I--Overture

Dressed to the nine for the ball on 145^th Street

Runway down without turning back

Gold trophies glistened at the end of tunnel

Comments and catcalls fiercely mixed and maxed

Honey, time to strike a pose 

When you bent over, hard to tell if you were a pimp or whore

mother or son/executive or secretary/president or soldier

REALNESS—Blending in with your straight counterparts, you erased all the flaws, mistakes, giveaways to make your illusion perfect. 

In those overextending and overbearing hours of vogue

You created a Legendary, a status in the ball, a household name for yourself

Ruffled feathers and flowing chiffons could only reveal—

The queen of the night had her grace on the house

O-P-U-L-E-N-C-E

You own everything

Everything is yours.

Paris is Burning II--Main Act

What did we see in the ball?

Chin up, lips pout, you proudly announced your name:

House of Xtravaganza, Overness, Pendavis, Saint Laurent, Dupree, Adonis, LaMay

Mother of the House made her name by opening wide her white mink coat to shelter clueless, listless, homeless waifs

let them find some warmth under her coat’s silver lining

Liz Taylor was famous, so was Mother Pepper LaBeija

What did we tell in the ball?  Butch queen in drag first time at the ball?

Reading came first: flirt with passive aggressiveness, simmer a pot of anger

Shade later arrived to knock frienemies out, get’em anyway, hit’em below the belt—

“I don’t have to tell you’re ugly, but I don’t have to tell you because you know you’re ugly. [1] 

But never punch a girl on her nose

Nor drag a bitch’s hair to mop the floor

Houses were street gangs

Competitions morphed into war

We popped, spinned, dipped, and vogued.

High. Physical High. Seductive High. Addictive High

Good Vibe

Dance moves crafted honorable and stylish battles

Two hands squaring cheekbones marked an eternal close-up—we were always ready

 

Who did we want to be in the ball?

Judges might pull their 10s to work ego boost for us

Outside the auditorium, we knew we could never vogue like Naomi or Paulina

Fabulous extravaganza and movable feast ninja

were mirages everyone stared at, attracted to, hardly lived on

 

REALNESS—Life on the piers in West Chelsea was to live and learn

Clients satisfied with our petit bones, licked our silky skin

Wined and dinned for us acting demure

But be careful—

Never let those dirty fingernails move down and dig; they always freaked out afterwards; beat us up

And we had to jump off to fire escapes. Forgot the 40 bucks left behind.

 

Nobody was really protected

Mother could only put on her mascara and hoped for the best

 

Only in the ball could we laugh our vaginas off

With push-up bras, bruise proof purple eye shadows, and right-sided buttons---

We were at wonderland, nurtured and worshipped like nobody’s business

The ballroom told us we were somebody

Until nasty bastards strangled us to death and hid our body under the mattress in some dingy hotel at West Chelsea—

for FOUR days

---

[1] From the movie

Paris is Burning III--Epilogue: A Manifesto

This is White America

And living is burning

Queen of the Night eventually pales

A title like this can’t really do shit except continues to ferment our defunct yet endless self-indulgence.

The ballroom told us we were somebody

And burning is dreaming:

 “I want to be fragilely beautiful like those Vogue models arching their twig backs and waited to be plucked by some trust fund suave boys”.

“I want to be wholeheartedly excited at my future like every 20-year-old white client I serve, to expect an upward ladder venture in any career, with only frat recklessness to worry about”.

“I want Louis Vuitton quality environment with no one cursing me freak or monster, forcing me to suck their dicks without pay, nor beating me with their bats, knives, and guns in the name of god’s will”.

“I want perfect cut diamond solid relationship with a man who loves me no matter what stage my operation is : he can put his fingers between my legs , feels that little remnant, and still wants to come at me”.

“I want a world of luxury where countless designer clothes, handbags, cosmetics, jewelries, travel trips…… cascade and flood to purge my memory …… everything, to my complete oblivion “.

“I want to have it ALL for myself; feel natural and naturally happy”.

And dreaming was promising—

I want to be

I want to have

I want so much more

This is what I want 

“When it comes to minority, We as people, for the past 400 years, is the greatest example of behavior modification in the history of civilization, We have had everything taken away from us, and yet we have all learned how to survive. That’s why in the ballroom circuit, it is so obvious that if you have captured the great white way of living or looking or dressing or speaking, YOU IS A MARVAL”. [1]

This is White America.

 

 

 

 

---

[1] Direct quote from the movie

The Son

(For the Night of November 4, 2008)

The late economist's son made it.

A historic return in the worst marketplace

Under millions of stars and flashlights,

the sweat on his face sparked

as if the light of knowledge

finally came out from a crystal ball

He asked himself, "Did my father cry?"

It was not long ago when his skin color,

or his father's, or his people's

would define what they could be

From early on he sensed the chosen,

seized the opportunities

and worked hard for it

His old school charm smile and

immaculate teeth defied prejudice

Fended off ghetto karma

When he posed at the podium

He didn't lose his mind

Nor rally frenzied supporters

The speech was calm and somber

The gratitude was mellifluous

Like spring rain soaked in to nourish

this dry and decaying land

Trust would be repaired, he was convinced

Like flowers would blossom, as if

With all the success, he still secretly hoped

his father would shed tears of joy

for him.

 

No.1 Single (Self-Help I )

I I make efforts not to allow

drama disturb or damage my singlehood

Yes. No one. 

Volver

Smoking a Camel Lights calms me

especially with two drags in a row

and take the Solgar Formula VM75 at the same time, for which--

turns my piss into meadow green

You are: about to wallow in the sybaritic splendor

Modern chemicals can be acerbic, for which--
I say goodbye but you say hello
Whoever leaves the party first should dance barefoot

You suck a juicy honeydew hollering sweet

I think it's time to take B-12, Folic Acid 800, and B-1

Your viscera contains syrupy fluid

I am: so ready to fall in the punch drunk love

Leading an ascetic life is half-baked

You say goodbye and I say hello

At Our Feet

I.
In the old days, she would drop something as a hint. Now
She merely glances.
An eye, and it quickly shifts to elsewhere.
(She always observes. With no assumption.)

Someday, somebody will pick up where she drops, and fall down to her feet.
Until then, nobody is paying attention.

They see her. (Of course they do)
She is unique yet common in everyone's eyes.
Eyes, and they quickly shift to other places.

Sometimes she senses their unspoken and indiscernible gazes. They turn into silent attacks. They are everywhere to corner her.
She runs/She dodges/She finds no shelter/She covers her head/She can't catch her breath---
And she blacks out.

In her dark universe, colors speak for themselves. They dazzle her.
Accents fascinate her. Styles puzzle her. Smells nauseate her.

She wonders, is variety really the spice for life?

II.
I am eager, proactive.
I go out to build relationships.
I try to be colorblind and minimum judgmental.
I want to believe sincerity IS the foundation for grandeur establishment.

Difficult. Two eyes rarely see the same thing.

People project me in their own ways. They see me and soon conclude who I am and what I should be.
I just let their imaginations develop, fantasies fly.
I am that light reflected, deflected with a rainbow of colors through their prism lens—
Made in U.S.A, or China, or India, or Turkey, or elsewhere.
The lens are roughly carved,
and I simply black out.

III.
From those stares an intangible tickle ripples her still water.
She feels that sudden wetness.
She is surprised, frightened, and at times disgusted.
She keeps to herself. She secretly analyzes every wisp of sense thread, imposes a scientific research, forces a lab purge.
(Her longing proves her confusion and lost identity)

In her white universe, rules are written as demonstration.
But nobody is paying attention. The connection is vanishing.
She-is-exhausted.
(Lonely? a little bit)

She asks herself: Why do these matter so much?
The Masses Think, Behave, Conform, Succumb to Uniform Value.
She does NOT.

IV.
Some day, somebody will pick up where I drop, and fall down to my feet.
Until then, I have no clue. All I know is--

The eyes will see.
The colors will mix.
We will be happy.

I can hold our hands/I can listen to our whispers/I can touch the softness of our flowers/I can feel our warmth under our sun/I can squint and smile
And I

I am not your Ching-Chung-Chong

I am not your Ching-Chung-Chong
Or Ching-Ching-Chung
But what can I do?

I am not the humble Chinaman you should verbally abuse
the smooth Chinadoll you may pervertedly play
the messy Chinatown you could randomly litter
But what can I do?

Mispronounce misunderstand misrepresent missing in action.
Do what you like
I will make a fuss
Call me drama queen
Isn't that what you want me to be?

It's human nature-my passive aggressiveness

I am not your squinty eyes Fu-Man-Chu
I am not your made in China sweatshop
I am not your memoir of a geisha

Listen carefully--My real name is CHENG-KUANG-CHUNG

(Dedicated to "I Am Not Your Princess" by Chrystos)