Colors, by an anonymous poet.

When I was born, I was black.
When I grew up, I was black.
When I'm sick, I'm black.
When I go out in the sun, I'm black.
When I die, I'll be black.
But you; When you were born, you were pink.
When you grow up, you are white.
When you get sick, you are green.
When you go out in the sun, you are red.
When you go out in the cold, you are blue.
When you die, you turn purple.
So why do you call me colored?

Original piece by an unknown writer, which works out how unruly pure bigotry can be:
"Hey, why is OUR hue the wrong one? We endure low, undue muck like nigger, coon, boy, sambo... Why should we? Does it bug you when we call YOU whity, cowboy, hee-haw, red-neck?...
Spoken, inhumane abuse, you see, can well be our cue to wake up;
Nobility, like humanity, will guide our way to euphoria."

An analysis of a pop song.

Pink
Get The Party Started

Get this party started on a Saturday night
Everybody's waitin' for me to arrive
Sendin' out the message to all of my friends
We'll be lookin' flashy in my Mercedes Benz
I got lotsa style, got my gold diamond rings
I can go for miles if you know what I mean

Pumpin' up the volume, breakin' down to the beat
Cruisin' through the west side, we'll be checkin' the scene
Boulevard is freakin' as I'm comin' up fast
I'll be burnin' rubber, you'll be kissin' my ass
Pull up to the bumper, get out of the car
License plate says 'Stunner No. One Superstar'

Makin' my connection as I enter the room
Everybody's chillin' as I set up the groove
Pumpin' up the volume with this brand new beat
Everybody's dancin' and their dancin' for me
I'm your operator, you can call anytime
I'll be your connection to the party line

I'm comin' up so you better get this party started

Modern Teen Philosophy
by Mey K.

While surveying a current entry by Pink, I noticed it conveys a multilayered theory. Yes, at first it seems like sentences a nine year old boy wrote down and put together at random, but a closer investigation brings out an intricate doctrine, aiming to outwit the old thinkers.

First, our singer defines herself by means of mobility, then all of a sudden becomes plural. Pink, as Sartre might have pointed out, no longer IS, yet is symbolic of the car. On the same level, the ode impudently scorns, Sartre IS a pink car.

Although "Pull up to the bumper" annoys with obscurity (a mobile 'bumper'? A 'bumpy' entirety?), her wit advances in "Pumpin' up the volume", its ambiguity (by two appearances in the ode) mocking Kant's moral law, while "Stunner", naturally, renovates Nietzsche's concept of God's murder.

I'm off to buy the album. Goodbye!

The Beatles
Across the Universe

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
That call me on and on across the universe.
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.

Sounds of laughter shades of earth are ringing through my open ears
Inciting and inviting me.
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns,
It calls me on and on across the universe.

Jai guru de va om,
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Mey K.
The Ode to War

Dust and ashes in the air, the smell of battle in our hair,
The thick and grimy fog gets in our eyes again and no one sees.
Huge, aggressive gangs are formed when almost all the experts in the news
Are urging "Buy more guns".

Phony politicians lying, horrid crime waves multiplying;
Meanwhile homeless masses starve to death and no one knows.
Countless missiles hushing yell of dying millions stuck in hell
Their cry of panic torn as vicious horrors lead, and no one hears.

Newsman says the major crisis met its end, while calls for justice
Pour in but the rebels choke.
Heavy and divisive feel within, the killed are now 'heroic', as
Abandoned amputees pass by and no one cares.

Struggling to survive,
In the prime of Holy War.

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