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Beijing Band 2001
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TONGUE / The Painter
This request is not even a little extreme.
The meat grinder is in operation now,
With one eye open and the other shut,
Climbs onto the grandly blueprinted toilet,
And in another's bed catches a louse.
Shiny coins and the national emblem looking in all directions,
Slide out from under the shadow of the sun.
The Shangfang Dagger and The Jade Seal,
Comfort the spermatozoa on the road.
Carnivores brokenhearted eating vegetables,
Happily lifting steel reinforcement bars.
Toys madly cranked-out over endless nights,
Are all now totally inspected.
He figures these things,
These things,
Are all that he deserves.
Long ago the hats and masks were plucked off.
Long ago the experience and lessons were forgotten.
Different wounds require comrades working hard together.
These days one hand is pulling-up the pants,
While the other hand is strangling the necks.
You are masturbating in front of an old man with no origin,
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Clinging on to Buddha's foot as the riptide washes out.
A sideshow of episodic eras of coherence.
A shame nothing is really ready yet and just slides down the flagpole,
But by teaching through faulty example, you live on in the people's hearts.
Better to just admit that you yourself at that time were too small to meet any specific demands.
Looking back on it with one eye you slouch over.
In the end it can't hold back,
And simperingly pulls itself out,
And sprays a stylish ejaculate at us.
Let us stride ahead towards the things of simple humanity.
It painted the young girls' dresses.
It painted the young guys' Mao suits.
It painted the old mens' bifocals.
It painted the old ladies' pincushions.
It painted our youth.
It painted our spirit.
It painted our rhythm.
It painted our life.
It painted our devotion.
It painted our style.
It painted our crimes.
It painted our everything.
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