9/13/2017 “I’m not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost.” – A.A. Milne Photography by Christal Yuen
Is this, due to the hallucinogen that I’d, “accidentally” INGESTED a short while ago??? I really can’t tell…
There are, elephants in this room, and, they’re, blocking everything up! Can’t you see them? There’s one, eating the plasters of the wall (and god DAMN it, I just, repainted that particular wall, JUST last week too!!!).
Elephants in THIS room, they’d become, totally, distracting, they’d, taxed out both our attentions, that we could no longer, focus on the most important thing here in our lives: our marriage, this family we’d, started…
and see how there’s not much room for ANYTHING else, after that elephant got SHOVED, into the room here??? EXACTLY! Not my painting…
Elephants in THIS room, maybe, if I just, ignore them, they’ll just, go away (uh, yeah right!!!), but, they’re, so enormous, they’d become, this EYE-SORE, they don’t even go with MY home décor, so, how can I just, overlook them, huh??? Elephants in THIS room, maybe, I should just, round them all up (like in a rodeo???), and, take them outside into the yard, or maybe, I should call in ANIMAL control instead, they’ll know what to do!
Elephants in THIS room, they’re not temporary, oh no, they’re, here to stay, indefinitely, until YOU start to communicate with me, but, you’d, SHUT down completely, and, nothing I’m saying, is getting through to you. It’s like, I’m just, SCREAMING, getting ANGRY AT the W-A-L-L here, god DAMN it, it’s so, frustrating……………
Elephants are no longer, in THIS room of mine, I’d, handed them the EVICTION notice, as I AM the LANDLADY, and I took back control over EVERYTHING in my GOD DAMN F***ED up life already!!!
Another poem, translated by me from Chinese…
Underneath the Imaginary Protective Covers
The King Kongs
Within the Fogs
Within the Fogs
They’d Given Off Electric Signals
That Bright, Shimmering Light
Broke Through the Darkness
With the on and Off Sounding of the Crickets
(The Songs Light, from the Intoxications)
The Fireflies Spread the Signaled Lights
The Weakened Women, Always Tend to Live Longer
The Heroes Tough, But Died Young
The Tree Frogs
The Old Toad
Played Together in a Band
The Thai Porridges
With the Sweetened Scent Bubbling
Endless Number of Nights
So, there’s, that peace and quiet from the nighttime, with no other extra sound by the insects calling, and, then, the light of day, with that alarm clock ringing in your ears, telling you, to stop dreaming and get back to life again…
Just put me out of my misery, I’m in so much pain, don’t know where this pain’s comin’ from, but I’m feelin’ it, 24/7 now! Put me out of my misery, please, give me some sort of a one-dose-FIX-ALL magical pill, to make it all disappear already, huh?
Put me out of my misery, I beg of you, please, please don’t subject me to any more of the pains in your lives, I can’t handle it anymore!!! Put me out of my misery, I can’t even, focus, with so much pain, trying, to get into my mind, my body, my heart, and my soul 24/7 without rest! Put me out of my misery, c’mon, you know, that stabbing me will give you that high that lasts, a bit longer, than all your regular fixes, so, why don’t you, just, put me out of my misery, huh???
Put me out of my misery, oh, I can’t, for I am, MISERY, and, wherever you go, I shall, tag along, like that god DAMN annoying shadow that refused to leave your sides, and, you had best, get used to my company, ‘cuz I’m all you’re ever gonna have in life!!!
Can’t put me out of my misery now, can you? Oh well, as I know, I’d become, too unsuccessful, putting you out of yours too, so, we’re, even now, right???
Questions of why we’re here, an existentialist, “crisis” if you want to call it that, translated…
The Alarm Sounded
Outside the Windows
There are Still Those
White and Fluffy Clouds
Chased Off by the Wind
I Too, Was, Hurried Along by the
Assortments, of Doubts
Why, is the Value of Chicken and Pork
Nothing More than Food
The Udders of the Cows
who, is reflected, by the mirrors? Not my artwork
Don’t Belong to Their Calves
Why is it
That the Existence of Humans
Is Merely, Creating Trash
Destroying the Natural Habitats of Other Living Organisms
Increasing the Speed to Which, the World Self-Destructs
We’d Put Up with
The Insults and Sickness
the true self, hiding within, ALL those layers, NOT my photo…
Preventing Ourselves from Thinking Too Much
Over Those Rising Doubts
Using Our Smiles and Order
To Keep This World that’s
On the Verge of Collapsing, Together
What sort a World Deserved, to Sound Off the Clocks?
a portrait of the self, NOT my art…
If There isn’t, a Pair of Bright Eyes
Staring at You
If the Sunlight from Between the Leaves
Can No Longer, Stop You in Your Tracks and Leave You in Awe
If the Scenes Up Ahead Had
Already, Been Viewed
What Versions of My Self are
Deserving of This World?
A Small Weed that Grew Out of the Cracks of the Walls
A Pair of Crows that, Nested Atop the Stop Lights
Wouldn’t Ask These Stupid Questions
Building Over the Sand
Erect, Over the Garbage
Built Upon, the Unworthy of All Conclusions
A Flower Can Finally, Bloomthe components of the self, chart from online…
Although, it Was, a Deformed and Pale Flower
Although, it Was, only, a Wave of Patterns
And, Amidst That Bubble that’s, about to Burst
There was Also, a Colorful & Eye-catching World
A Rainbow that Slowly, Ascends
Also, a Me
All My Doubts in that Certain Space
So, you are still the problem, in this philosophical search for your own purpose of existence, and, although, you may run into walls and dead ends, with this sort of inquiries on your selves, you will, eventually, arrive at the RIGHT conclusions, and carry forth, with that added wisdom you’d gained, from your own life experiences.
Dreamed, piled up from last night, they’d all, gotten, meshed up together, too tangled within one another, it’d become, next to impossible, for me, to groom through them one by one now…
like the train of thought here??? From Disney’s Inside Out, footage from online.
Dreams, piled up from last night, how much of it do you remember, huh? Were there, any, nightmares that haunted? Good dreams, that left you, with that smirk from the corners of your lips, perhaps? Dreams, piled up, from last night, they’d all, become, meshed, the boundaries between them became, completely, blurred, you can’t even tell when one ends, and the next begins anymore!
Dreams, piled up from last night, you’d not yet found the time, to sort through them one by one, as the day’s calling your name aloud, urging you, to wake, to start working again, and so, you’d, left the dreams from last night, piled up, along with the rest of those old and worn out dreams from before last, like those uncleaned dishes that were, left downstairs, in the kitchen sink.
like this? Not my artwork…Dreams, piled up from last night, what, can you tell about them? Were any single one of them too loud? One that got your attention? Dreams, piled up from last night, they’d all gotten, flushed down the drains this morning, as dreams only last for no more than eight hours (I’m thinking, that you had eight hours of sleep last night???)………
Dreams, piled up from last night, what happens now, huh? Are we supposed to just, wake up, and leave ALL those dreams, piled up from last night in bed, and just, go about our days???like this?
Another philosophical encounter that someone’s having here, translated…
I remembered receiving a letter from my reader long ago, I’d forgotten the contents, just remembered, that there was a passage in English on the envelopes: I will scream aloud, for the sake of hearing the echoes.
not my art…
These words kept me pondering for long.
About the mountain that’s before the poet.
Shapeless, formless, can’t tell the distance, if it’s tall, or short, and only through that scream that came from deeply within the poet, can you hear its, existence. Using the echoes to know this.
Hearing the mountains, through the echoes.
From the echoes, guessing at the shape and size of the mountain, what it’d, looked like, the expressions it wore. The truth, of the mountains.
So, the mountain came from, the poet’s mind, and, the poet tried, to make it out, but can’t, because it’s, not for real, it’s, imagined, by the poet.
Extending from the passage from before, the poet was, only a living organism, floating along, surviving, inside the echoes.
a version of teh self, from online…
Each and every poem written by the poet, was a scream aloud, a force of life and death, showed the final strengths of man.
As for that mountain before the poet.
The mountain needed to be tall enough, wide enough too, to make the echoes big enough, and fuller. To hear it more clearly.
here’s, another…not my art…
The only problem here is: what if, this mountain, doesn’t really exist?
So, this, is the poet, making troubles for her/himself, the poet got fixated on the thoughts of echoes, and, needed a mountain for her/his thoughts to be heard, by oneself, and, what if, there was, NO mountain, then, wouldn’t that mean, that the thoughts never got heard, that it didn’t, exist at all???