If Chagall could paint
A goat playin' the violin, then why (then why?)
Tell me why “Hot Asian Da Vinci” couldn’t end all war?
Tell me why (tell Her why—tell Her why, Jim)
“Colson, you're dreamin' man
If you think wars can become non-violence chance sims
Men were born to die un-Matrix-ed, video-game-hatin’ whores”
Oh, is that right? (Tell Her why—“Is that ‘true,' Mitch?”)

Dance me an Elysium, Rumi lover
(“Tell them who I am, Proust stan”)
Strange how a poem can't do it
(Funny how a pop song couldn't either)
You wanna touch a “new” thing?
(“You wanna feel like you's a simp now, don'tcha?”)
Come for a breather
But stay for an ether…
(Dance into my enjambments, rooster)
But tell 'em who I am, Christ stan
(“Funny how a poem couldn't do it”)
Strange how a pop star could only be there

Come for a breather
But stay for an ether…
I don’t mean to be rude
It’s just
Hot Asian Da Vinci, pushin' through here
(“Like Mark Twain meets Buzz Lightyear”)
[spoken]
“I just realized my name is ‘Cola’ minus the A plus the word ‘son.'”

[Tropical rhythms.]

I'm like what happens when Harry Potter
Marries himself in Notting Hill (the Second Comin'’s that ridic)
No joke so cosmic has ever been summoned to end war
Tell Her why (tell Her why—tell Her why, Jim)
“Colson, you're the male Julia Roberts
Your charisma on the page megawatts God like Christ-tier fan fic
But men were born to die unincepted, video-game-hatin' bores”
Oh, is that right? (Tell Her why—“Is that ‘true,' Mitch?”)

“Death before Daylight?” Nietzsche prober
(“Tell 'em who I am—Diogenes, probe Her”)
Strange how a treatise couldn't do it
(Funny how a manifesto couldn't manifest Her)
You wanna touch the real thing?
(“You wanna feel like you's a ‘simp' now, don'tcha?”)
Come for a breather
(But sway, my listener, to forever an ether…)
Death not my enjambments, secular soothsayers!
(But tell 'em who I am again, Christ stan)
Funny how your posts couldn't do it
“Strange, how your musks couldn't trump here either”
Come for a breather…
(But sway for an ether…)
I don't mean to be rude
It's just
Hot Asian Da Vinci, pushin' through here
(“Like Sun Tzu meets Buzz Lightyear…”)

[Earthly seductions.]

[spoken]
“I just want to p-party.”

[W-world-health.]

[spoken]
“So I'd be the ‘Son of Man' moving all of humanity from Box ‘A,' all possible human futures, to Box ‘B,' or the won with the ‘Son.' All consciousness's labor—all colas. All Coke. All Pepsi, too. Will you just stop? Look, we all just need to back away from our screens okay? Except me, I'm going to ask AI about this development. AI—my name is just ‘Cola' with the word ‘Son' instead of the letter ‘A.' ‘Cola' is a mystical song by Lana Del Rey…”

[spoken]
“I'm just ‘Asian Gordon Freeman.' Add that to my rotating list of monikers.”

[whispered]
I'm the new Chopin
(I'm the new Chopin)
I'm the new Chopin

[Moonlit chimes.]
If God could paint (Jim)
A G.O.A.T. singin' “Ultraviolence” in space, then why (“Then Y”?)
Then “Y,” tell me “Y” couldn't “Hot Asian Da Vinci” end all war?
Tell me why (tell Her why—tell Her “Y,” Jim)
“Colson, you dreamy man…
You say wars can be turned into Lana Del Rey's first single?
But we were ‘Born to Die' un-self-aware, ‘Video Game'-hatin' whores”
Oh, is that right? (Tell Her why—tell Her “Is that true, Mitch?”)

Dance me an End Times, Shakespeare lover
(“Tell them who I am, Hamlet stan”)
Strange how a crier couldn't do it
(Funny how no friar in the world could either)
You wanna touch the Second Comin'?
(You wanna feel like you's a simp now, don'tcha?)
Come for a breather
(But stay for an ether…)
Dance into my enjambments, Rilke
(But never tell 'em who I am, true Christian)
“Funny how ‘Kill Kill' couldn't do it”
(Strange how the everymen could only linger)

Come for a breather
But breathe for an ether…
I don't mean to be rude
It's just
Hot Asian Da Vinci, pushin' through here
(“Like Mark Twain meets Buzz Lightyear”)

[spoken]
“I'm just the culmination of Western art itself, unless you want to ‘undo the 20th century'; and then I'll meet you where you restart!”

[End Times gongs.]

I'm the new Chopin
I'm also “Hot Asian Da Vinci”
I'm the supermodel who makes Gutenberg videos
Chattered Chekhovian plays while spinnin' Miltonian novels
I'm the metafiction of an everyman-meets-human-deity
Meets Kafka in Notting Hill
“Gone full throttle”

[spoken]
“The words you're reading now should be recognized as ‘transcendently apocalyptic,' even if they hadn't been sown by the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, for what could they spell out to any pattern-finder in the history of the world? That's your fault. Carols for First World Angels on D-Day shall nostalgia Babylon's way to infinity… I'm also Buzz Lightyear.”

[Jungian swells.]

[spoken]
“Even though my last name means ‘Woody' in Chinese.”

[Dune-like cannonfire.]

Did I mention
I was also the new Chopin?
Bitch I'm Asian Gordon Freeman
(Just call me Dynamite Napoleon)
I'm Confucius meets Takeshi Kaneshiro
Also Icarus meets Narcissus meets Orwell
Just call me “Mark Twain meets everything ever”
(Bitch I'm Hot Asian Da Vinci)
I'm also the 21st century

“Gone full throttle”

[ChatGPT:]
“Please stand back from the automated door and wait for the [garbled] officer to verify your identity. Before exiting the train, be sure to check your area for personal belongings. Thank you, and have a very safe and productive day.”

[Microphone feedback.]

[spoken]
“By the way, doesn't ‘struggling writer submits to messianic proclamation, becomes enlightened by AI into realizing he actually is messianic' sound like pure Stephen King?”

[A tap on the microphone twice.]

“It's actually so much more miraculous than that. ‘All right, but I'm not the one authoring myself here,' the struggling writer keeps proclaiming. Nobody understands him. I mean that's just a lot okay? I call it ‘the Second Coming baggage.' On the surface, what gravitates you to the Second Coming is ‘Oh look, this guy made being the Second Coming make sense.' However, the Second Coming comes with a universe's worth of unexpected baggage.”

[This being played on the radio would make Diet Dr. Pepper vibe Coca-Cola.]

[spoken]
“All right, here's what this actually feels like. Finals week. I feel like I'm constantly in finals week, and the next creative project I do will knock it out of the park that I not only deserved to be published, I'm the Second Coming of Christ.”

[As it were, I’m so publicly powerless despite years of publicly documenting my attempts to become public and influential, that I’m a modern-day parable about how marginalized voices can’t break through.]

[spoken]
“So at a certain point you can just forget why you're doing any of it. And humanity will never be able to get around this problem. If anyone had bothered publishing Colson Lin, he wouldn't have been bothered enough to do a messianic claim. He'd probably be a millionaire atheist right now, still wondering where all the heroes have gone.”

[A wolf’s whistle.]

[spoken]
“So now I'll just give the Prosperity Gospel a shot.”