East vs West - A Collusion of Values?
East vs West - A Collusion of Values
THE CLASH OF VALUES OF A CIVILISATION. Naturally impinged by emmigration, save what not? The allusionary start of a new potentate for the Thanksgiving Feast is an uncomfortable one. Brown. The color that I write of. Truly stands in stark contrast to the finely washed linen of the naturisms of dreams and idealised simplicity. That we go on to believe in peaceful red brick neighbourhoods with lofty leavy branches that overhang their spread of influence unto us all. Typical angles of descent, is normally used to give us a feeling of being close to both nature and to the human soul. Brick walls have no souls. They just are. Brick walls have no colors. They don't see. Brick walls are rough. Do they feel for us or the pitiful poor soul grating his finger across the floorboard? The big and fat toasted delight that comes along each year. Topped off by the oddity of cranberry crush. A synonym of the spread of cultural imperialism to come. The crush that we might be ashamed of, yet proclaims as a preservation of the societies act for posterities sake. Is today an anomaly where we do not require or regard them in high esteem. Relegating them to an even more colored version of the color Brown. I write as brown as a complex allegorial metaphor. One that gives distinct recognition to the nature of homo sapiens sans sapiens. Bigger and better we might become, yet a shrink in the hearts of man we gain. Increases on the inside, yet decreases on the outside. The veiled references that poke of discomfort in the very existential natur of the pan-aryanism that seeps through the cultures of the East. Developments aside. It is beyond the complexities that historians and anthropologists and social analysts to ponder on the glory of 5000 years worth of chopsticks. The nature in which we boast proud of. Yet do not wait to convert save sans-yellow. A transitional state of being. The mind and body in constant conflict. Where the heart is nowhere to be found. A pervasive impringement of a thumbscrew that reminds us daily of its presence by societal norms and means of upkeeping and uplifting that which is seen to be right on many fronts more than one. The nature of which still confounds brilliantly intellectuals upbringings from the three philosophicals schools of thought. Outside intervention not welcome. Apartheid and Internal Politics. Argumentation of whichever point is right. Gaining sake for experiences and benefits. The fear of the rejection of one's very own being, one's quinessentially mature approach to the victory thought that counts. Not moral of nature, yet divine and deep seeped within the peaceful heart. Often jolted up by the alarm clock of reason much better than a defilbrilator can do us service to wantonly self-destruct on either fronts.
The workings of one manner of sarong. Moving in a direction. Yet seemingly so inpossible in another manner. Though contradictions usually appear. It takes a special blend of political activism, liberal thought and the paradoxical nature to combine these with self-supporting and fundamentally flawed virtues of the Asian Civilization that awaken us to such a reality. East will almost invariably form another bell curve and be seen as the spoiler of all. Oftentimes ridiculed and made fun of, to the extent and point. Like the difference of a driving test across half a hemisphere and half a spin of the globe away. The surprising nature in which we bode our confidence yet ever seems more flawed in the era of counter-intuitive arguments in the mannerisms of a connected "global" world. We tread carefully upon the thoughts of the "international", "global" and strangely mutual reconciliation of past and present. To bask in the full glory of a Florida Orange Sunrise with drinks made in California. By the keys of a certain manner of wooden planks. To shake legs and be merry. Sipping into oblivion not realising the daily struggles and stresses of a highly competitive economy. To care about nature and the environment and to read and delve into complex liturgical understandings and apologetics on the many fronts that exist for the time that only history can decide who and which was technically right and technically wrong. Yet history is biased at times. It works agains us for the convincing of the masses. History. The boring subject. Essentially grants us our identity. Public Relations material is like history. It brings forth our sense of committment. Tying our heart strings in a manner that we have no choice but to chose to embrace. The complexities of a long haul flight out of a seedy part of New Jersey. We might be able to then take a stopover in Czechchoslovakia. Or as they speak of it. The "Czech Republic". When is a republic(s) a real essentially self supporting one with the ideals of Aristotle's Politics and the readings of Socrates in Public Policy? They watch from the shadows, to prevent any chance to the future of our nation. When is a republic a "republic". The bastion of democracy and free speech so much championed in the west. Then again. It is a conspiracy against our very moral and social fibre. Ever tingling to break. Or perhaps weakened so much so to the extent that it is already broken. Yet through the looking glass looks artifically soldiered upon each other and thick?
The Tea Ceremony in all its complexities harkening to antiquity. The tolerated virtues of culture that clash with extreme right wing fundamentalism is in its discourse a very difficult tow face self effacing manner of a rack trap. To lose that which is prided greatly upon the wedding day yet with no appreciation of the culture therin along with all manners of mispronunciation. Difficult the enunciation is, for like one, I have struggled with it for ages and so it is so to the boy who gladly proclaimed a means of escape that his father could implement. Or that is what they say in the shadows. Uh oh Uh oh. The stretch in which they face for the untimely and ultimately difficult to scale walls of Juliet's home. The paramour in secret that the heart desires for reasons it is unclear of. The food and exoticism that takes place in such a balance. The clash of the free spirited will that desires change and the economic realities and necessities of a bill paying society in its every day competitive nature. The difficulty in acceptance of peers in either side. Even if he should humble her and she in her kind and gracious manner except. What will the rest think? Do we not stress ourselvs CRAZY over the thinking tinkering thoughts that dong the grey matter plateau of others. The times in which a gay fundie does seem to be pretty much better than the contradictions of a whimisical sheets that whip up a public furor with a bad job of purported lineage distortions. The delineation which can further be seen in the compressed landscape of discourse and rhetoric study through the lens of another more experienced and wealthier owner on all fronts. The candid nature of picking up the very pieces of finding out why we tick? On either side of the pacific they face difficulties and discrimination. On either side of the Atlantic, the confusion erupts further. To segregate and divide and then lable and attempt to unite. Or to forever unite and shoves the pressing raises of pertinent issues above to be crushed like cranberries at Thankgiving once again. The customs and cultures and the food which wil lbe difficult to reconcile. The mannerisms of convincing door men to believe that one is no longer asian. But in a constant flux state of trans-brown. Or yellowish-white by virtue of association. The general thesis of ideas conspire against us because there seems no other way like a manner of contradiction to us. Like a lava lamp that can never send all its floaters to the top forever, but must engage in a never ending act of juggle and collisions. We question our nature to which our allegiances lie at times.
The grass is always greener on the other side. Green grass at the feet causes the eyes to seek out greener pastures in the distance. The satisfaction of never having found the necessary acceptance plus the awkwardness and contradiction it might bring to the expectant foliage of greens. It is why in certain cases reactions are mutually reversible. At other times, they tend to work only in one mannerism. Though it exists in part by nature and by commonplace in society as an accepted mainstream manner of thought and hyper-realisation for the cultural benefits of all. Like clogs to the kenneth coles. The contradictions pop up like high heels to tai-suns.
THE CLASH OF VALUES OF A CIVILISATION. Naturally impinged by emmigration, save what not? The allusionary start of a new potentate for the Thanksgiving Feast is an uncomfortable one. Brown. The color that I write of. Truly stands in stark contrast to the finely washed linen of the naturisms of dreams and idealised simplicity. That we go on to believe in peaceful red brick neighbourhoods with lofty leavy branches that overhang their spread of influence unto us all. Typical angles of descent, is normally used to give us a feeling of being close to both nature and to the human soul. Brick walls have no souls. They just are. Brick walls have no colors. They don't see. Brick walls are rough. Do they feel for us or the pitiful poor soul grating his finger across the floorboard? The big and fat toasted delight that comes along each year. Topped off by the oddity of cranberry crush. A synonym of the spread of cultural imperialism to come. The crush that we might be ashamed of, yet proclaims as a preservation of the societies act for posterities sake. Is today an anomaly where we do not require or regard them in high esteem. Relegating them to an even more colored version of the color Brown. I write as brown as a complex allegorial metaphor. One that gives distinct recognition to the nature of homo sapiens sans sapiens. Bigger and better we might become, yet a shrink in the hearts of man we gain. Increases on the inside, yet decreases on the outside. The veiled references that poke of discomfort in the very existential natur of the pan-aryanism that seeps through the cultures of the East. Developments aside. It is beyond the complexities that historians and anthropologists and social analysts to ponder on the glory of 5000 years worth of chopsticks. The nature in which we boast proud of. Yet do not wait to convert save sans-yellow. A transitional state of being. The mind and body in constant conflict. Where the heart is nowhere to be found. A pervasive impringement of a thumbscrew that reminds us daily of its presence by societal norms and means of upkeeping and uplifting that which is seen to be right on many fronts more than one. The nature of which still confounds brilliantly intellectuals upbringings from the three philosophicals schools of thought. Outside intervention not welcome. Apartheid and Internal Politics. Argumentation of whichever point is right. Gaining sake for experiences and benefits. The fear of the rejection of one's very own being, one's quinessentially mature approach to the victory thought that counts. Not moral of nature, yet divine and deep seeped within the peaceful heart. Often jolted up by the alarm clock of reason much better than a defilbrilator can do us service to wantonly self-destruct on either fronts.
The workings of one manner of sarong. Moving in a direction. Yet seemingly so inpossible in another manner. Though contradictions usually appear. It takes a special blend of political activism, liberal thought and the paradoxical nature to combine these with self-supporting and fundamentally flawed virtues of the Asian Civilization that awaken us to such a reality. East will almost invariably form another bell curve and be seen as the spoiler of all. Oftentimes ridiculed and made fun of, to the extent and point. Like the difference of a driving test across half a hemisphere and half a spin of the globe away. The surprising nature in which we bode our confidence yet ever seems more flawed in the era of counter-intuitive arguments in the mannerisms of a connected "global" world. We tread carefully upon the thoughts of the "international", "global" and strangely mutual reconciliation of past and present. To bask in the full glory of a Florida Orange Sunrise with drinks made in California. By the keys of a certain manner of wooden planks. To shake legs and be merry. Sipping into oblivion not realising the daily struggles and stresses of a highly competitive economy. To care about nature and the environment and to read and delve into complex liturgical understandings and apologetics on the many fronts that exist for the time that only history can decide who and which was technically right and technically wrong. Yet history is biased at times. It works agains us for the convincing of the masses. History. The boring subject. Essentially grants us our identity. Public Relations material is like history. It brings forth our sense of committment. Tying our heart strings in a manner that we have no choice but to chose to embrace. The complexities of a long haul flight out of a seedy part of New Jersey. We might be able to then take a stopover in Czechchoslovakia. Or as they speak of it. The "Czech Republic". When is a republic(s) a real essentially self supporting one with the ideals of Aristotle's Politics and the readings of Socrates in Public Policy? They watch from the shadows, to prevent any chance to the future of our nation. When is a republic a "republic". The bastion of democracy and free speech so much championed in the west. Then again. It is a conspiracy against our very moral and social fibre. Ever tingling to break. Or perhaps weakened so much so to the extent that it is already broken. Yet through the looking glass looks artifically soldiered upon each other and thick?
The Tea Ceremony in all its complexities harkening to antiquity. The tolerated virtues of culture that clash with extreme right wing fundamentalism is in its discourse a very difficult tow face self effacing manner of a rack trap. To lose that which is prided greatly upon the wedding day yet with no appreciation of the culture therin along with all manners of mispronunciation. Difficult the enunciation is, for like one, I have struggled with it for ages and so it is so to the boy who gladly proclaimed a means of escape that his father could implement. Or that is what they say in the shadows. Uh oh Uh oh. The stretch in which they face for the untimely and ultimately difficult to scale walls of Juliet's home. The paramour in secret that the heart desires for reasons it is unclear of. The food and exoticism that takes place in such a balance. The clash of the free spirited will that desires change and the economic realities and necessities of a bill paying society in its every day competitive nature. The difficulty in acceptance of peers in either side. Even if he should humble her and she in her kind and gracious manner except. What will the rest think? Do we not stress ourselvs CRAZY over the thinking tinkering thoughts that dong the grey matter plateau of others. The times in which a gay fundie does seem to be pretty much better than the contradictions of a whimisical sheets that whip up a public furor with a bad job of purported lineage distortions. The delineation which can further be seen in the compressed landscape of discourse and rhetoric study through the lens of another more experienced and wealthier owner on all fronts. The candid nature of picking up the very pieces of finding out why we tick? On either side of the pacific they face difficulties and discrimination. On either side of the Atlantic, the confusion erupts further. To segregate and divide and then lable and attempt to unite. Or to forever unite and shoves the pressing raises of pertinent issues above to be crushed like cranberries at Thankgiving once again. The customs and cultures and the food which wil lbe difficult to reconcile. The mannerisms of convincing door men to believe that one is no longer asian. But in a constant flux state of trans-brown. Or yellowish-white by virtue of association. The general thesis of ideas conspire against us because there seems no other way like a manner of contradiction to us. Like a lava lamp that can never send all its floaters to the top forever, but must engage in a never ending act of juggle and collisions. We question our nature to which our allegiances lie at times.
The grass is always greener on the other side. Green grass at the feet causes the eyes to seek out greener pastures in the distance. The satisfaction of never having found the necessary acceptance plus the awkwardness and contradiction it might bring to the expectant foliage of greens. It is why in certain cases reactions are mutually reversible. At other times, they tend to work only in one mannerism. Though it exists in part by nature and by commonplace in society as an accepted mainstream manner of thought and hyper-realisation for the cultural benefits of all. Like clogs to the kenneth coles. The contradictions pop up like high heels to tai-suns.
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