literature
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1. Parallel projection, Horizontal rejection: I lie Sideways on a muddy ridge-line Waiting for time to trip and fall. Come now: come, feed off me. I sit in the shower and wait to slide Down the throat of Time: I wait to be destroyed. 2. He leaves you behind as debris.
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The daisies, as the days go by, shed their delicate skin: their white satin dresses. Piece by piece, it falls, back to the dirty soil: a burial.
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1. Blinking fast to imitate watching an old film reel. As if to capture you I watch you burn de-li-be-rate-ly into the spaces behind my eyelids: a silent protest, against a vague sense of mono no aware¹. All come to pass. This is my personal Hiroshima. Before you crash and burn, leave your shadows on my wall. 2.
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Our love Is like the coffee mugs Left unwashed in the sink After a night of warm conversation. Our love: it’s like a corner, Folded in a book; Jutting out, of a stack of old newspapers. No, our love is a corner, gathering dust. No, our love is the cul-de-sac In the lives we had
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The stones by the river- where we once sat, and dipped our feet, in the cooling stream- have been dry for a while. It makes me wonder if you were a dream. Wrote a lot of poems during training. No access to a computer yet, so I’ll post them when I finally return home. Found
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“You can hide memories, suppress them, but you can’t erase the history that produced them… … if nothing else, you need to remember that. You can’t erase history, or change it. It would be like destroying yourself.” It’s been about 3 years since Murakami’s previous work, 1Q84, was published, and compared to its predecessor, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki
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The same-old, age-old, all-too-familiar facial movement: it’s like wearing a pair of old jeans. Same same but different. Likewise, the smile’s stretched out, stretched out to reach the ends of the world, and the teeth are bared- an impromptu dentist inspection, files of recruits falling in, trying to stay still, stay tidy, et cetera et cetera
ugly stage 