Don’t tell me
about your unrequited love the one you’ve been pining for I’ve heard that shit before.
Spare me your tales of childhood rape
father’s rage mother’s fear as if you were the only one who suffers I don’t care about your existential tragedies
Come to me naked or avoid me altogether:
Leave your facades for those who think in words. Show me the silence behind your mouth and body language
We are in a room
too small for movement Dance me with your stillness or shut up
‘If you take tang poetry to press, at least half a jin of wine will drip out.’ —— Luo Fu, Taiwan poet
is the new normal.
Yes, I get out of bed
But only for very good reasons:
Peeing, pooing, but not farting.
Brush my teeth twice a day.
Make that twice in a row,
every other day.
for special occasions only
Christmas, but not New Year
Because there’s nothing New
about the New Year.
It’s the same uninvited guest
with a plus one this time
A re-run of last.
Same resolution to
lose the same five pounds
Run the same 10k, only slower.
The same year,
But for a hotter summer,
a colder winter.
The Madness of Steve Jobs
Because I decided that I will not pollute my inbox. And also because I can’t seem to find anything as easily as I can on a blog.
Tried Evernote, Momento, DayOne, GoodNotes…. Go figure.
Good ol’ WordPress seems to be the most visual, and the categories and tags are the best taxonomy-organisers for me.
“Our bodies are apt to be our autobiographies.” — Frank Gelett Burgess
The way the plovers cry goodbye.
The way the dead fox keeps on looking down the hill with open eye. The way the leaves fall, and then there’s the long wait. The way someone says we must never meet again. The way mold spots the cake, The way sourness overtakes the cream. The way the river water rushes by, never to return. The way the days go by, never to return. The way somebody comes back, but only in a dream.
Mary Oliver died