Showing posts with label respectability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label respectability. Show all posts

04 July 2016

White Chinese / Mandarin Lobotomy / Bleached Behavior: On the initial building of a chink’s view on other chinks and success (Part 2)

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Early on, in the dayz of way back, a chink hopped across the sea and found himself in North America, land of the free, the excluded chinks, the enslaved blacks.[1] A chink, as all good chinks should, went to Chinese school, and before long, a chink learned that not all chinks spoke alike.[2] First a chink meet up with them canto FOBs, then a chink meets them southern FOBs, then a chink meet them white FOBs from the north, yet still to this day, a chink hasn’t met too many real desert FOBs with that dark skin and wavy hair (none of that perm shit).[3]

Of course beautiful thing is, people (of a certain tint) would have you believe that chinks all kind of look like pandas with straight black hair and squinty eyes. It’s easier to hate the orientals coming for your jobs (not your wives or food because those orientals wear strange clothes and seem to be a feminine (?)) when you can envision a wave of similar looking celestials.[4] Obviously not true, but when you grow up with people saying this, it’s almost like people just want you to think about the Chinese as a singular cloud that’s a chink, so whites don’t really have to think of you as individuals, but instead an individual collective, which takes away your claim to be a person. In reality, a chink darker than Greeks and quite a few Indians and middle easterns. It’s easy to think that all chinks are alcohol intolerant, lactose intolerant, rice devouring stickmen. Chinks much more complex than that. People like to imagine that chinkland is one uniform people. We not white bruh, but the chinks trying to connect all chinks in one identity are white. Now, toeing the CCP line, we one big family, but even a family different. This is the problem I have with the idea of a pluralist collective, and the problem most people have with the melting pot. The idea of a big family isn’t any good but for the people at the fore. The idea of familial care, dare I say paternalism, is debasing for immigrants. I don’t fucking want you to pretend to coddle me. I don’t want you to pretend to accept me. I know you never will, so don’t even fucking front. I much prefer a world where you have to fight to keep your culture, where your culture is the only thing you have in the new land. I don’t fucking want your white help, unless I know your help is in pure good faith, if not, you’re just handing me an apple with the core rotten.[5] You should have to fight to preserve your culture. But being white, you already get to. French people, British people, any European people (now at least, sixty years ago, very different), get welcomed and greeted and exalted because you look the same, you’re all white. And how did you all become white? Because of the chinks put between you and the blacks. Chink laborers had to be put below eastern you’reallpee-ans and mediteranians so the anglos[6] could preserve the beauty of whiteness because they, as you probably have realized, a lot of chinks are white. So, yes European nationalism is white supremacy. I will never retract from that. And your nationalism is why my culture is secluded to strip malls, fat choy ching chong and chop suey.

The chinks are only a family because we fall in the same borders. Chinkland is fractured to the point where where northerners hate southerners, everyone hates the dark skinned, minority are fucked with, and the colonial gem of hong kong thinking they’re white, hating on the rest of the mainland, while jews still live in the ghettoes, but so do the muslims.[7] Chinkland is complicated and a young chink growing up in provincial China didn’t really know that chinks spoke differently than his hicks. In a way, this was probably the most significant contribution to young wei’s self-hatred and disgust towards Chinkland. From about 6-18, I hated chinks beyond anything else. Or maybe, a chink just don’t like rich hong kong people who pretend they’re british. Their elites have a post-colonial fetish where they think that because they’re colonized, they better than mainland Chinese. The sentiment is that because they were british servants they’re better than chinks, who were exploited treaty bodies. Ha. That’s my problem with the hong kong superiority complex and it’s not even most hong kong people. The hong kong people who are the colonial machine vastly outnumber the manipulators of the machine but have their voices quashed by the white Chinese hong kong people. The ones who speak only Cantonese get stamped out by the English speaking dogs. Hong Kong elites are affronts to China, I have no reservations on this. The rich in hong kong only get rich by sucking british cock. Same as any sort of white people in a formerly colonized land. None of those people have success without exploiting colored bodies. After the colonization, it still doesn’t stop. Now that hong kong is no longer british, who made you richer? The mainland chinks’ blood. No respect for hong kong elites. When the western media speaks of 富二代as they incessantly do now, they speak of almost exclusively hong kong elites, communist party decendants, and mainland slave trade operators.

Back to chink school. First off, a chink started in traditional Chinese school (lol) because that’s just what a chink’s parents knew of chink schools, absolutely nothing. In reality, this was just a bunch of lols and probably made a chink even more backwards and self-hating. Young wei knew some 500 chink words and some 100 chink poems before the boat, not that impressive, but solid for a five-year-old chink who never really been to school. Sadly, a chink forgot all this because a chink went to traditional Chinese school and forgot all the simplified Chinese a boy already knew. Part of this is lack of exposure to Chinese at this point outside of Chinese school. Part of this is the desire to become a white boi. Part of this is because a chink boi was lazy. Part of this was because a chink boi didn’t like other chinks in chink school because they were all Cantonese speaking motherfuckers richer than young wei. None of this justifies young wei’s failure to maintain language, but part of this attests to the difficulty of being a chink in a foreign land where he got nothing to show him that it’s worth being a chink since all the rich chinks slaving mopping restaurants slinging chop suey and a chinks parents frying burgers with masters degrees and broken chingrish.[8] Nobody wants to be like this.

Speaking chink was just an extension of this disparate state. What’s the point of knowing chink script if it makes you less white. That shit just gonna splatter on the bamboo ceiling when you inevitably hit it. Your stupid ass, self-ashamed foundation make-up at the fucking price of your life per gram is gonna wear away slowly and surely as you keep living a lie. The chink that knows chink language and uses a chink name is not a pretend white, so nobody gonna treat him equitably like a white. Now that chinks have some semblance of self-respect, chinks shouldn’t use bitch ass white names. Back then, it was for survival. Now that we’re past that, chinks have a choice. But, as soon as a chink let a white name them, render them, damn, you done. Kung PAO chicken

[1] Obviously, a chink knows there are many other cases of people getting fucked, but a chink finds the history of chinks and blacks most compelling, for him, because if you reading this, you coming to hear the opinion of a chink, not all chinks, because a chink’s opinions do not equal the opinions of all chinks, because contrary to public opinion, chinks aren’t all the same, but shit, that’s what it be. Anyways, a chink acknowledge that various other ethnic groups get fucked with, but a chink personally (keyword being ‘personally’) engages most with the story of blacks and chinks. Shit, both end with k’s. So two strikeouts. Maybe in search of a third, maybe a strikeout looking.
[2] Granted, I was aware of the existence of Putonghua and supposedly at that time, I was pretty proficient in it. 妈老说边人家的人都说我们一家人的山汉就我一个说的话还好听着,哈哈。Yet, I was not aware that chinks spoke a variety of dialects beyond my own, coming from backwater desert China.
[3] Personal anecdote of note: a chink is not quite a ‘chink’ as most people would believe, a chink was / is a minority that was killed off. This is why a chink called Dang, the refers to the 党项族 of way back when my homeboys been ruling the part of chinkland that a chink was born in. This dynasty we called the Western Xia ruled by the Tanguts at the time when the rest of chink land was ruled by the Song man, the Han man of today, essentially.
[4] Them whitebois first loved the chinks when they first arrived in the frisco bay because those chinks were happy to do some work and then leave in a few to go home with that blood money. Back then when the chinks wore queues, robes, slanted eyes, strange voices, the white people called them celestials because these chinks seemed like beings sent from heaven to do the bidding of the whites. Crucially, these chinks were not the types to easily assimilate, and as such, it was easier to put them in their own lane, away from the regular world. When these chinks started to veer into the lane of regular americans, they became ‘aliens.’ Note the semantic shift, but the lexical parallel.
[5] To use a whiteman idiom lol.
[6] In this sentence, I don’t care to spell your names properly, because hey, no one bothers to learn how to spell Chinese people names properly and we apparently the most populous people and the most powerful.
[7] I love chinese muslims. As a kid, I always had the goddamn greatest food from muslims. The great thing about chink muslims is that there is virtually no way to distinguish them from a normal chink unless they wear their garb. The uyghurs that get the terrorist rep are ironically white looking. I actually went to the chingchong market the other day and a white woman, who I recognized as Uyghur because of her name, spoke to me in fluent mandarin, dare I say more standard, more 标准 than mine lol.
[8] Disagree with me if you want, but this just the world I saw. Parents both worked cantonese restaurants. Moms also worked fast food, pops also worked fast food. Only rich people a chink knew was Cantonese people working in restaurants. Yet, a chink met so few white bois in school whose parents were as educated or ballbusting as a chink’s parents and their friends. Way it goes. Only to hit a bamboo ceiling.

17 May 2016

15K, Pettiness, and ‘projection?'

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The blog’s genre is essentially a sermon from and to myself. I actually didn’t intend to ever really share this. And then I did. Oh well. So I guess the reader should and is a passive, very external observer to a work of semi-autobiographical fiction, as the reader generally should be. Whether or not that reader is outraged or feels the need to project themselves into any part of the blog is then a twisted form of suffusion qua censorship. There really is no invite sent out. No one is saying to read this, to click on it, to do whatever. Unless of course I specifically ask you. If you click on it, that’s your own choice as a (presumed) adult. Of course as an extant person, I do need some sort of affirmation, and at times, I have made this accessible, more than accessible really. The guise of the blog is a business. The crux of the blog is a public journal. That’s fine. It’s a common enough form.

As has been mentioned, what I care not for, at all, is when someone projects themselves onto the blog or uses the blog as some sort of attack. The blog as essay as sermon (as written by Vinson Cunningham) is “argumentative, insistent, not infrequently irritating.” Very natural characteristics not just of essay writing, but of general speech / text acts. Most things I do are in some form “argumentative, insistent, not infrequently irritating” because a faith in empathy is boring. You may not need or want new forms. Perhaps what is more enjoyable to read are hackneyed, formless discussions of buzzwords and the news. That’s fine. But there is no form for me without argumentative and perhaps irritating content. You can say I bitch regularly and incessantly about something, but if you can qualify something as incessant, you are reading it probably too much. Don’t have to. But if you do, the courtesy would be to not project yourself into it. You don’t need to take credit for things like this, or even pretend that you are a part of it.

It is of course difficult to address someone who projects themselves into this writing without actually slandering, well, not if it is true. But, for the sake of, not simplicity, but ‘universality,’ projection, as a buzzword ha (of this blog), will be discussed generally.

The general assumption made on this blog is that the text editor is undergoing some sort of identity crisis. True. Yet, to not undergo some sort of identity crisis is a comfort, another topic of interest, that doesn’t quite interest me. There is no distinct need to mock someone for asking himself about himself, or maybe worst, to pretend that the mere act of mocking isn’t self-reflection. For evidence, Stevens’s “Study of Two Pears.” also, who says i hate white people? i hate the ones who project themselves on me. as, probably, should you

Opusculum paedagogum.
The pears are not viols,
Nudes or bottles.
They resemble nothing else.

To begin, the work as is all this blog is an ‘opusculum paedagogum,’ a pedagogical work of ‘art.’ The act of writing instead of say protesting, or say posting pictures on facebook, peut-etre me qualifie comme conard. Or rather, it indicates distance. To wit, all of this is an exercise in writing, maybe not to usual standards or rules of writing, but nonetheless an exercise in setting words, in whatever form / joined whichever way, to thought.

As the speaker’s object of study is ‘pears’ mine is the chink state. And here, as pears are pears without song, or without emotive ability, so is the conventional, convenient chink—the apish one who parrots and fits a parochial view of all chinks. And offensive as this writing may be, the only thing maybe outrageous is that it is too liberal for people who pretend that they are liberal. The “a chink” described in CCB is some sort of maybe not “art” but we’ll say a text object with some sort of relaxed constraint on his self-determinism. The “a chink” of CCB is a chink in all but name. Many, in real life (to take a step away from the blog), qualify me as a white chink, a banana / abc / whatever word exists for this kind of chink. I like Wally s and jco, i can recite alex rodriguez’s career baseball stats, i think that kanyeezy is god. Essentially some white bo— person who just is and has nothing too distinctive about them. As a chink, doesn’t quite work. This chink is not “viols, / nudes or bottles / [he] resemble[s] nothing else” of his sort. This chink is not the house slave that an engineer or a whatever is. This chink is not the field slave that your Laundromat owner or the exploited scientist is. This “a chink” is some twisted kind of chink that is basically a white man in equal parts as he is chink. The projection here to disassociate him from conventional chinkdom is fitting. To not worship or respect a “chink” but to respect “chinkdom.”  

Take a step back, and the chink is a subject of a study by himself. The chink is divorced from the person. That a person can read without seeing the layers, perhaps this is elitist and snobbish, but needs to be said regardless, is a waste of money, time, and space. If a person can read or create or simply live without tuning in to the impossibility of perfectly reflecting a subject, a person, this person, cannot actually live. They live on a distinct conceptual level divorced from reality. So, they need to project this inability to understand the world onto every thing. As it is.

They are yellow forms
Composed of curves
Bulging toward the base.
They are touched red.

You could say that this applies to many things, pears being the first one coming to mind simply because it is part of the title. The perception is to take this stanza as a universal approximant of a pear or in the case of CCB, a universal approximant of a chink, and to another degree, a universal approximant of what is disparaged. So, how should seeing a pear or a chink based on simple descriptors or “yellow forms,” “curves,” and “red” proceed to rendering? It helps to have a focus. The accepted view of the speaker is that he aims to universalize a pear by reducing it to its bare, maybe, deeper qualifiers. I do the inverse of sorts—to qualify a chink based on the extremes (to the extent of two personas) of what a chink may be, one a white man bootlicking pansy chink—the average, accepted, welcomed chink—and the perturbing, brash, “bitching,” chink—the argumentative, insistent, infrequently irritating and altogether unwelcomed, unaccepted, and unaverage chink. The series of prefixed un- then marks a way for a chink to self-render through the perhaps universal base of “yellow form” beyond what is accepted.

Of course, most notable in this stanza is the act, anonymized, of “[composing].” Someone is “[composing]” and creating this chink or his role so he may perform it. The choice of “a chink” to deviate from the script then cleaves a space between reader, writer, and meaning for the, themselves perturbed, reader to force themselves into the chink in the process becoming a second writer of the chink. The chink no longer only has the writer’s simple orders of being “yellow” with “curves…touched red,” a fairly human and reasonable description of a chink that doesn’t quite make him other, but now the chink has a whole new set of expectations. The curves are not simply curves.

They are not flat surfaces
Having curved outlines.
They are round
Tapering toward the top.

In the way they are modelled
There are bits of blue.
A hard dry leaf hangs
From the stem.

The curves are not simply curves, they are now “curved outlines.” A chink, the pear in honesty has long been forgotten if the reader is to follow the guide to pondering perception. My commentary doubles the projecting reader’s perhaps inappropriate tendency to write themselves into the page. Yet, here to use the metaphor of the pear as a metaphor for the chink, he is tapering towards the top, towards a region where he never will be full, where he loses himself as the image of him tapers outwards in towards the reader.

The speaker now reminds the reader that the chink and pear “are modelled.” They do not present a perfect reflection of the chink as he is or the pear as it is. The image given on the page, in the medium presents a threshold for reliability and relatability.

“A hard dry leaf hangs / from the stem” recalls the final line of the Pound translated original “Liu Ch’e:” “A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.” The superimposed leaf acts as a sheath that divides the reader from truly universalizing the pears. A chink has no leaf on his head. Yet, “the threshold” is the “stem” of a pear, of chink. His / its creation is the root of his problem. The well of sorts is poisoned with the leaf. The “stem” does not drive straight into the pear, instead, there is a “hard dry leaf” that must shield the pear from nature. There is a cover that must hide the chink from the realities of his creator. A chink, as it must be reminded cannot be a chink without the reader, most of you existing. Your very existence is the reason for the creation of a chink. The very essence of this language is the reason for the creation of a chink. And this needs not be negative. The benign creations are perhaps the worst. The leaf is meant to protect, yet here it hides and anonymizes.

The yellow glistens.
It glistens with various yellows,
Citrons, oranges and greens
Flowering over the skin.

When only the initial phase is seen, “the yellow glistens” and “a chink” is left as a spokesperson for yellows. The echoing, but notably anonymizing “yellow glistens / it glistens” slips away the “yellow” as soon as its uttered. It slides from a singular yellow to a spokesperson. The initial unique “yellow” that “glistens” now becomes an “it” that “glistens with various yellows.” It, though referent of “yellow,” no longer means “yellow” as much as I want it to, as much as the artist wants you to think it is. The “yellow” immediately becomes a spokesperson for the various yellow flowers it can refer to, including a green one. A reader will not allow a “yellow” to remain a “yellow” if the “yellow” gains power.

The projecting reader will make “a chink” and outlet for their own inability to “[flower] over the skin.” The projecting reader will never allow “a chink” to simply remain “a chink.” The projecting reader will forget that “a chink,” that the Chinese—they’re just like us! “A chink” isn’t though. A chink shouldn’t have to speak for anyone else, but a chink. The “citrons, oranges and greens” are nothing related to the original “yellow.” They are but offshoots, feeble replicas of a chink. They’re weak fiats of a chink. The specific “a chink” speaks only for a chink. End of debate. To undermine “a chink” and to force him to speak for things he is not, —

The shadows of the pears
Are blobs on the green cloth.
The pears are not seen
As the observer wills.

The reentry of “pears” marks reflexive submission and capitulation of the speaker to preserve his “opusculum paedagogum.” The speaker gives up on his attempt to play a game. A reflexive cue to the reader, a perceived submission, is perhaps needed to make a point. When I address readers, I only do so, for the reader has diminished the text into a shadow. The meaning is undermined. The universality of a single voice. Doesn’t sound right.

“A chink” becomes a “blob” and “a chink” is “not seen / as the [reader] wills.”


When I started the blog, originally called Country Chink, Big City, I wanted to write about my own thoughts, speaking for no one but myself, on chinks through the guise of food. Not so, as it seems. Three months and 15K views later, my beloved Country Chink Broadsides is a twisted long-form, rapid-response draft of my attempts at heavily stylized writing. In the process, I’ve begun to think that I really have nothing better to do. Writing for CCB is now essentially heavily publicized masturbatory self-flagellation. Reacting to CCB is now essentially revelatory indictments of white guilt. Of course, none of this has really had any negative effect on my personal life. Of positive progress, CCB weeded out the white supremacists and I know. It’s also garnered positive reactions from people I’ve never thought would be interested. Yet, it hasn’t affirmed too much for me besides a knowledge that no real direction exists to my writing, resulting in obscure and dense writing, leading to general impenetrability, creating confusion that, maybe, undermines the perceived telos of my blog. The central lesson then I have learned from myself and reader responses and maybe the “thrill” (of sorts) of publishing (even self-publishing on the internet ha.) is that indifference is twisting into sensitivity and sensitivity is bleeding me out.  

08 May 2016

Firing (blank)s

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A chink with a dick is and will probably always be a small-ish man without too much worth.

A chink with a dick is probably not even a chink with a dick; a chink with a dick is probably a chink actually without a dick because a chink can’t even have a dick because all chinks are bald Tilda Swinton’s or Scarlett Johansen with CGI?


A chink with a dick is a sex object for a white woman and distinctly made to be white. Cf. “the Asian bro” that’s now so celebrated by TV shows. You see a Josh Chan on Crazy Ex Girlfriend and Vulture will celebrate the shit out of it. Yes, it’s good for an Asian bro, but again, it celebrates a chink with a dick that is a fiat (blank) man.


A chink with a dick is a goofy-ass skinny bitch.

That’s probably the majority of chinks with dicks. Chinks with dicks though, man, YOU wouldn’t even know they had a dick.

Go back
A couple years,

A chink with a dick is a strange emasculated threat to most people speaking English. A chink with a dick shouldn’t really be speaking English in the first place, and if a chink is, a chink is probably Japanese autoworkers here to make a quick dime to send home to Saigon.

Vince Chin.

Man, that stuff way back gives some chills. Nice Chinese boy off celebrating bachelor party before getting married to a nice girl and clutching the dream.

Man goes to a strip club with the boys, next thing a chink knows, (blank) autoworker in Highland Park (of them fame) starts heckling a chink for being Japanese. Motherfucker silent majority, jewel of a liberal any-color person really, is against all color. (blank) man and his (blank) friend tail a chink and batter him with a baseball bat. HA. What’s the point of meaning.

When’s the last time a chink taught to remember this stuff?
When’s the last time a chink allowed to talk about this stuff?

I’m still very confused on my own reason for writing this. One, I know that I can’t consolidate what I want to do with it and how I want to do with it. And again, back comes form and content. The most fun I can have in writing this either comes at the expense of views b/c

1.    It’ll be about why (blank) people are complicit in making everyone else’s life worst. Why the best of (blank) people are the worst of (blank) people)

Actually, this is a term I would enjoy further defining.

Why the best of (blank) people are the worst of (blank) people)

The worst of 鬼老, the best of whom are no better than the worst, the whole of which is the same as its part, the negligence and indifference of which is no more distinct than its empathy.

The above quote comes from the “Letters from the (text) editor” sequence. The origin of this quote comes from Kiese Laymon’s How to Slowly Kill Yourself and Others in America. And I guess it’s an idea that doesn’t necessarily need explanation to the people who will read it, but those aren’t necessarily the people who should read it. Because the ones who understand are neither the best or worst or both of (blank)s. The ones who will already understand cannot be (blank). That understanding comes directly from not being (blank). It’s the idea of having something and never being allowed to see or use it.

Nothing can be a perfect Maoist bottom-up reform. When fixation on privacy and happiness occur, there is no way to escape trickle down anything.

A (blank)’s happiness and comfort will always be at the top of a ladder. That’s the point from which everything trickles down. Someone has to be comfortable enough to let things trickle down. These are the best of “(blank) folks.” They’re the ideal of what can be achieved and what can be realized. Models of this revolve downwards and degenerate all the way to lives of crack and heroin. The idea of doubling the comfort and making a (blank) life binds (blank)s to everything below them. And once bound, complicit as the best and worst. The guilt cannot but be universal.

If the cause of the guilt is trickle down, and the actualization of the guilt is bottom up, then what is the progress made in the middle. Or does the (blank) world cut out the middle and widen a gulf.

The comfort of (blank)s would never be secondary to the comfort of another who isn’t a (blank) who doesn’t look alike. A (blank)s livelihood will always be more important.

And so would a non-(blank)s. They would never allow their comfort to be secondary. Or would they. Would a chink change a name to English? Would an Indian dress differently and eat differently? Would a black speak differently? Would a chink make true eye contact? Would I feel welcome in a place where I see no one else like me, yet everyone else is the same? Would I defer education in my own language to learn in English? Would I wish I were (blank)? Can I blame a (blank) for my wishes?

Maybe, maybe not:

I will always value my own comfort no matter what I can or may say. I can continue writing this blog and I can continue “bitching” about this, but I know that my comfort will always be more important. I would never sacrifice my own comfort TRULY for anyone else on the inside. I would only ever defer any comfort to help myself. I pledge allegiance to the right to happiness. I pledge allegiance to keeping my comfort. I pledge allegiance to ignorance. I pledge allegiance to insouciance. I pledge allegiance to the gradual decay of sensibilities. I pledge allegiance to the bifurcation of what is and what is wished. I pledge allegiance to insulate my wishes from my reality. I pledge allegiance to living outside of ideals. I pledge allegiance to letting whatever may be be and what ever wished wished. I pledge allegiance to letting comfort govern. Let be be finale of seem.   

To read in the lyrical “I,” some form of self and some form of speaker come together. The lyric speaker grows apart from what he really is and the reader slowly lets the lyrical “I” become themselves.

Is this truly a pledge of self-sufficiency or is it a pledge of insubordination or is it a pledge to conform to what is demanded.

The worst of (blank)s are then the ones who may read in my italicized “I” passage and empathize. The worst of (blank)s are then most likely the best of (blank)s because I know exactly what kind of (blank)s can or will read this: the best of (blank)s who really don’t need an epithet.

The worst are the best and the best are the worst because comfort is the ruler and the ruler has comfort.

I don’t think (blank) decency truly exists at the top. There are decent (blank)s. There are kind (blank)s. But no (blank) with comfort may be decent. To feel discomfort at simply being is not a discomfort the best of (blank)s can say without sacrificing decency. There is no reason to list the discomforts that the best may feel. Those pains should be erased because they will always choose their own comfort at the expense of non-(blank)s, these best as worst of (blank)s.

Yet, the worst of (blank)s cannot be blamed because they truly aren’t the worst. The worst of (blank)s are put to in the same separation as non-(blank)s. Yet, all sorts of (blank)s will clamor to be a part of this actual, denotative worst of (blank)s. To dress as if a (blank) is poor. To act as if a (blank) is poor. To pretend as if a (blank) is suffering. Because the best of (blank)s cannot. The best of (blank)s have overhauled the meaning of best to mean worst. Solely for them as to be the best, perpetuated is the worst.

And the klan lives on. And the murder of Vince Chin lives on.


And the reason for writing is still a mound of dull roots, but this one step is gone. And I don’t think I can truly blame a chink for not trying to learn Chinese. No. It will forever be a chink’s fault if they forget themselves because a (blank) told them to. All chinks should be held accountable for their own failings.

Why (blank)s need to be attacked

(blank)s aren’t scapegoats. I will never allow a (blank) to be a scapegoat for a chink who has erased themselves.

Making a (blank) a scapegoat pins blames on everyone else, defers blame from the root, forgets the reason for the blame. The only way to combat this is to attack (blank)s head on, to blanch them.

it’s much easier to answer this directly.

Why do (blank)s need to be attacked?

(blank)s need to be attacked because (blank)s let everything happen below them without care and refuse to believe that their supposed freedom from history and freedom from color and freedom from structured disadvantage is exclusively theirs, because (blank)s stay in their comfort when no one attacks them, because that comfort can only benefit (blank)s.

When a (blank) is comfortable, everything is secondary to their comfort, colored people follow suit, everything below a (blank) wants to become a (blank) and the result is a chink uncle named tom who thinks the only reason they should exist is to quietly look for comfort while ensuring the comfort of those up top.

Of chinks, Confucian order and peace doesn’t apply to us, we’re not in the Warring States, this isn’t a war between chinks, there’s only (blank)s routing everyone else because they’re comfortable, there’s no need to follow Confucian values and try to help people stay in comfort, because (blank)s don’t deserve to live in comfort at the expense of a chink or anyone else.

When YOU let (blank)s off for complacency and inaction, YOU condone everything wrong with YOUR own life and YOU believe that YOU actually control yourself when the world is a trickle down (blank) comfort zone.

That’s not to say that a chink’s struggles can be all put on (blank)s. This is the difference between proactively attacking blanks and scapegoating them for personal failures.

(blank)s have advantages that are fact. A chink can choose to indulge their advantages and not attack them. Then a chink will blame a (blank). This is scapegoating.

(blank)s have advantages that are fact. A chink can choose to understand the reason behind their advantages and attack them. Then a chink will separate a (blank) from himself. This is attacking.

This also eviscerates the (blank)ness of a chink. Also colors a chink, instead of just leaving a chink a chink but in word.

The only thing that links us is our—separateness.

A chink that doesn’t attack a (blank) is a chink that lets a (blank) live in comfort at the expense of other chinks who are less comfortable. Not even just chinks, anyone below the best qua worst of (blanks). When everyone wants to and lets others live in comfort no one benefits but the (blanks).

Secondary question:

Why do I constantly berate and target (blanks)?

On the surface, it’s fun to target and attack (blanks) for the same reason that it’s fun to target and attack a bigass piece of juicy chicken. It’s fun because it’s probably hitting a low-hanging fruit. Nobody with real eyes isn’t seeing how good a (blank) has it in life.

So, I constantly berate a (blank) for the same reason that a chink wants to eat. A chink gotta eat for fuel and for enjoyment. A chink, or me specifically, ME, I eat because it helps a chink feel like he’s a part of something that he lives in this place, because he can go to the grocery store.

So, berating (blank)s is a way to fuel a chink because
            a chink better feels the surround he’s in once he pierces through the root of (blank)s [or at least attempts to]
            “the second you hear or see some ordinary moment, all its intended targets, all the meanings behind the retreating seconds, as far as you are able to see, come into focus. Hold up, did you just hear, did you just say, did you just see, did you just do that? Then the voice in your head silently tells you to take your foot off your throat because just getting along shouldn’t be an ambition” (Rankine 55).

the second you hear or see some ordinary moment…
the second a chink can feel the way his moments are made, and get all the meanings behind why he has to be a chink, why he will always be a metic why he will always have to be aware that all homes are filled with pain and home is just where the hatred is because a chink has made his home HERE. I am Here.

come into focus
coming into focus is the reason that whites. Hold up, did you just here, did you just say, did you just see, did you just do that?

Then the voice in my head silently tells me to take my foot off my throat because just getting along shouldn’t be an ambition.

(blank)s create the world, every ordinary moment, because they will continue to go on.

I attack (blank)s because they create the atmosphere that made me put my foot on my throat in the first place. I don’t want to choke myself. A chink gotta breathe. But then again, most chinks choose not to breathe.

I’m breathing when I criticize (blank)s. Because the very act of criticizing (blank)s shows that a chink with a dick is a threat, that a chink with a dick does exist, that a chink with a dick is here.

Papa Labas, can you hear?
Vince Chin, can you hear?

I’m here. I’m here. Here