YuHeng's blog

The last day of the month. Which month am I living in. The dog bites on log whether fire or not. I’ve lost my thought. Well, nothing feels long enough because I’m never into it–that is, I’ve led a toothless life, I’ve never bitten into anything (Sartre). Or something like that.

You see, my fish is dying today so I went to the pet store on lonsdale and the girl was quite friendly to me however keeping a cold distance which I couldn’t tell if it was out of a concern for Covid or just because of something more…. I found out that the ph is way too low, almost by ten fold. Well, the fish should recover because I got gravel and plants and medicine and…

I’m rethinking about structure. And a way to pulverize meaning. Structure. Apparently, form is nothing but a hokum. Because with or without it, people (poets) will cling onto it like it’s worth more than their life. Why? Other poets determine their value through their relation to them. One applause pomps another and the mediocre poets inflate themselves to an absurd act. They uphold the name of poet and soak in its eloquence till all things that are poetic are forgotten and left with the deafening tone of excess and vacuum.