the anti-aesthetic

Read a really dense essay on Postmodernism and Consumer Society in English. Now that I'm more awake to think about it, it's really interesting.

A particular section that I really liked was a poem called "China" by Bob Perelman. I realize I'm providing it without context, but a whole discussion is beyond me.

We live on the third world from the sun. Number three. Nobody tells us what to do.
The people who taught us to count were being very kind.
It's always time to leave.
If it rains, you either have your umbrella or you don't.
The wind blows your hat off.
The sun rises also.
I'd rather the stars didn't describe us to each other; I'd rather we do it for ourselves.
Run in front of your shadow.
A sister who points to the sky at least once a decade is a good sister.
The landscape is motorized.
The train takes you where it goes.
Bridges among water.
Folks straggling along the vast stretches of concrete, heading into the plane.
Don't forget what your hat and shoes will look like when you are nowhere to be found.
Even the words floating in air make blue shadows.
If it taste good we eat it.
The leaves are falling. Point things out.
Pick up the right things.
Hey guess what? What? I've learned how to talk. Great.
The person whose head was incomplete burst into tears.
As it fell, what could the doll do? Nothing.
Go to sleep.
You look great in shorts. And the flag looks great too.
Everyone enjoyed the explosions.
Time to wake up.
But better get used to dreams.

secret of the poem: It's not some political commentary on China. Rather, it's captions to a book of images the author found in China town.
This has something to do with photorealism.