What Makes What?
What makes mountains the mountains?
What makes the colourful spring clouds the colourful spring cloud?
What makes whisky the whisky?
What makes guns the gun?
What makes money the money?
What makes cows the cow?
What makes India the India?
What makes the world the world?
What makes government college teachers who preach about the right to self-determination the government college teachers who preach about the right to self-determination—sucking up and letting themselves sucked up?
What makes people who are out on the street every time the government miss one step to cover up its asses the people who are always out on the street every time the government miss one step to cover up its asses—taking money, kissing asses, wiping out every bit of decency that we have or at least that we pretend to have?
What makes connoisseurs of the seedy local art that calls itself the Ras Lila the connoisseur of the seedy local art that calls itself the Ras Lila—just because its self-styled artistic story goes well along with that of the masters’, while the shitty art for bloody shit’s sake means nothing, implies nothing, signifies nothing but the desire of mass orgy and the common perverts’ aspiration of taking part in a ten-hour long pornographic film?
It is only human who call themselves humans—it is only us who call ourselves the human.
What makes the colourful spring clouds the colourful spring cloud?
What makes whisky the whisky?
What makes guns the gun?
What makes money the money?
What makes cows the cow?
What makes India the India?
What makes the world the world?
What makes government college teachers who preach about the right to self-determination the government college teachers who preach about the right to self-determination—sucking up and letting themselves sucked up?
What makes people who are out on the street every time the government miss one step to cover up its asses the people who are always out on the street every time the government miss one step to cover up its asses—taking money, kissing asses, wiping out every bit of decency that we have or at least that we pretend to have?
What makes connoisseurs of the seedy local art that calls itself the Ras Lila the connoisseur of the seedy local art that calls itself the Ras Lila—just because its self-styled artistic story goes well along with that of the masters’, while the shitty art for bloody shit’s sake means nothing, implies nothing, signifies nothing but the desire of mass orgy and the common perverts’ aspiration of taking part in a ten-hour long pornographic film?
It is only human who call themselves humans—it is only us who call ourselves the human.
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