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Sunday
“leave the city behind” an escape. Shadows assuming one has a home an escape means an entrance all of this reduces down to the comparative paradox of knowing something through something else of which the paradox is a part, for a paradox depends on two things, and the other thing cannot be formed until it Continue reading
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Night
I look at the moon And think of the shadows, the Sun, people… ah! Me. Continue reading
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Kissa Tanto
The kitchen whirlsA scalding breath, stirs The pungent sauce, sizzling The rust-flaked pan, burnt. And then the stump of a cough,Corked and twisted,Stretches the hooked feetWith a clatter of images;The light breaksWith an apparitionOf traffic–The shades sheathe in shades. One must devise the ways To trail down the streetLeading… leading… The ground is not ephemeralThe Continue reading
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Tuesday
The wind…like a nothingness blows over me, a yawn, the voluptuousness of emptiness, of the repose of noon, warm in the shadows of the trees. Continue reading
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Blues
The sun creeps into the room,The sun creeps into the room,The dust sweeps the room like a broom. Sometimes, a shadow creeps along the street,Sometimes a shadow creeps along the street.Sometimes the shadow and I meet.But as long as it’s a dream, But as long as it’s a dream,That’s only the way it seems. What Continue reading
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Thursday
Even the most insensitive, numb human being knows that the repetitive sound of a word leads to a resounding sense that numbs the receptors and stagnates the nerves and their ability to absorb information. For instance, Poe’s “The Raven” with it’s “evermore” and “nevermore” is obviously used to emphasize the persistent haunting of the narrator’s Continue reading
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Sunday
I’ve lost so much of what I had by holding onto them, but sometimes I can hold onto so much by losing it… in short, to let go, which someone said that it is something unknown to youth–an age of agony. And the age suffers… And to get through this suffering, to grow up, one Continue reading
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Thursday
there is no such thing as silence. It is by imposing silence that one hears an abundance of other sounds, that there is no silence, and that everything is an association of something else, that an impression is an impression of more things. If I impose silence upon one minute, within this time, a number Continue reading
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Saturday
A day where nothing falls, happens, an emptiness not empty or absent, becomes fulfilling, like how the light falls on the glass which reflects, falls, and reflects again, in which I am trapped in this multitude of reciprocation, but which I do not become the object of reciprocation, endless, infinite, empty… I am finite, and Continue reading
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Tuesday
Almost two weeks since I’m in Toronto. Back in Toronto I should say. There’s so much to be happy about, so much to be sad about, but when you’re away from home, all sadness melts into a kind of happiness, of an ecstasy of sadness, melancholy, nostalgia. This summer, I’ve spent my summer well. I’ve Continue reading
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