I have broken my own bones, splintered them and placed them into bags, dozens of bags of me, and I have thrown them from the windows of speeding cars in hope that you will find me after the crash, somewhere where the good girls would never go, littered between back alleys in the dark parts, […]
The poet described the process, of something awful happening, without ever, mentioning it in name, that, is the creative agency, of the poet, translated…
I’d Once, Carried My Pocket-Full of Desires
Stood on the Pigeon Colored Earth
Fought Hard, Against the Blood-Colors of the Setting Sun
A Tree Walked Away, the Words from the Tips of the Branches
Came Out of Nowhere, the Wooden Roofs
With Nothing on and Around it, Caused the Snow to Fall
The Disaster Was, about to Occur………
The Awful of Life, Soaked Up, in the Wheat Processors
The Ducks, Squatted by the Ponds
Drowned to Death, by the Autumn
I’d, Held My Breath in, Swallowed that, Imaginary Sake Down
The Ghetto of 52nd Street, with the Fumes Rising Up
I’d, Angrily, Stepped Down on My Bladder, My Heart Which Were
About to Explode, Like How an Angry Child, Had Trampled on the Mother’s Face
With Anger, with Grace, Not Asking Anything in Return
The Elderly Beggar Approached Me Today
He Sat in My Shadow
Like a King, on that Black Velvet Carpet
Extended a Hand, with the Palms, Grasping at Nothing
But a Bundle of Yellow Roses
Making Me, Purified………
There Shouldn’t be, Too Much Discussion on Postures of Sitting
I’d Ordered Up a Coffee, Doughnut, and Cigarettes at the Café
Like a Healthy Insurgent
An Optimistic Enemy
I’d Even, Turned Myself into a Book
In a Warehouse, Telling Those Stories, Beneath
The Drunk’s Pillow
The Chapter You’re, Currently Reading Over
So, this, is what disaster felt like, there’s no concrete “evidence” of something bad that’s happened, but, with the descriptions, you can guess, that something AWFUL had, or was about to, happen……
There’s, that side of you, that nobody sees, but me, but WHY me, huh? Why do I have to be the one, who deals with that ugliest side of you, that you’d, not shown, to anybody ELSE? And, where was it written, that I must, take everything that’s BAD, that you’d, thrown at me, huh?
not my artwork…
The side of you, that nobody sees, because you were, too afraid, to show that ugly side of you self, to anybody else, but, you’d, shown it, to me! The side of you, that nobody sees, it’s, yearning, to get noticed, by others, but, each and every single time it tries to take over, you’d, suppressed it down, deeper, deeper, deeper, into the abyss of your minds. You’d, refused, to give that side of you, that nobody sees, any “face time”, because, you’re, afraid…of what? I’d, wondered………
The side of you, that nobody sees, I see him, and, strangely enough, I’d, accepted him as is, damaged, broken, incomplete, and still, loved that side of you, that nobody sees just the same, and because of my kindness, you’d, abused me with it!
Now, that side of you, that nobody sees, will, always, live in the darkness, it will, NEVER show itself, as I’d, stopped myself, DEAD in my TRACKS. Gotten THAT much-needed wake-up call now, don’t you know…
The metamorphosis of the mind, relating to one’s journey to the Himalayas, translated…
Finally, I’d, hauled that cask of the Himalayan air, back to Taipei.
I’d emptied out a fish tank, to give to the air to live in, and, sealed it up, I’d, fed it rocks, the pines, the snows, the sunlight, as well as the thrashing storms regularly.
At night, I’d, quietly, looked upon it with that scent of enjoyment, the air floating to and fro, I’d pointed to the air, said, “I think you’re ghostly, but, not in such resemblance, why do you always, carry that scent of hard-to-describe, blue, cold kind of pride……”
As I lay in bed, I’d heard the heavy breathes of the hikers, the drips of dew from the twigs and branches, the conversations of the animals, and there was even once, when I’d, heard an avalanche, that, shook up my house.
There was once more, that I saw, the snow lady in the Himalayan air, this daughter of the mountain deity, as she’d appeared, the fish tank started filling up with snow. She’d appeared in India, then, moved to Nepal, or, Bhutan—all of these nations, were the primary countries of the Himalaya, and, as the snow lady appeared, there would be echoes of the Sanskrit chant echoing throughout the fish tank.
Early one morn, I’d found frosts all around the fish tank, that the glass of the tank had the cracks on it, I’d followed the three cracks, and found, “is this NOT the origin, the Indian River, the Ganges, along with the Yarlung Tsangpo River of Tibet?”, I’d asked the air, “You missed home, don’t you?”…………there was, nothing but silence in my living room, to the point, that the air turned, dead, I’d paced over to the window, opened it up, the window pushed outward, wow, snow came falling down in Taipei, no, no, at this time, Bhutan was, outside of my window, because, there was, that sacred blue wildebeest, staring at me, in Bhutan, the wildebeest was considered, the animal of the country, called, “Tajing”, the head like the horse, with the antler of the deer, hooves like the ox, tail like a donkey, like me, unrepresentative, of anything.
The air of the Himalayas inside the fish tank, made three cracks, came out, and kissed my cheeks goodbye, with the lips on me, instantly, I’d become, this, round snowman.
So, this, IS the metamorphosis of the mind, or that the individual missed the travels to that sacred place of Himalayas, that is why, s/he is, taken aback to that place where s/he felt most comfortable, most satisfied in.
What sort of a legacy do you want to leave behind? Translated…
Before the Lights Turned Off for Good I’d Climbed onto the Windowsills
Started, Measuring the Droughts of the World, with the Echoes of My Nightly Pacing
now, imagine this, as the human psyche, doesn’t look good, does it???? Of course N-O-T!
Until My Insomnia Made its Escape, from Macondo
Until that Distant Small Black Town, Started Raining the Black Rains
Until Those Suicidal Rain Drops’ Songs of Unreal Reality
Became the Paces You were Making, as You, Hurried on
Inside My Quilt, Where it’d Started Raining the Black Rains
Until the Water Flooded into My Heart, I Was Finally, Able to Sleep Deeply, Being Drowned
Contemplating How I’d Waken, Unwillingly, a Couple of Centuries Later
In that Never-Ending, Boundless Morn
Your Kiss Was Away from Me Now, with the Cigarette Like a Psychosis, Stuck on Me
Becoming, a Wasted Tenant Inside My Oral Cavities
So Full of Spirit, Like the Maggot from a Wound
It’d Spoken, in Such Extinct Language:
That the World’s Seasons of Rain is You, that You are, the Seasons of Rain for Me
Becoming Wide Awake is a Boring Thing
The Desert with the Droughts, Built Up its Mirages
Before I Was able to See it Clear, There were Still, Echoes of the Ice Age from My Tears
Bored to the Point, I’d Started, Counting Up the Cracks
Like, You Were, Hidden Behind the Symbols Like a Prophecy
it’s going to take a whole LOT more than just a little rain, to quench THis “thirst” all right! Not my photo…
Several Times, I’d, Almost Severed Off My Own Head, Begging for the Downpour to Come
My Loneliness Danced that Offering Dance
It Seemed, Next to Impossible, to Get Rid of that Sense of Brokenness of March
But, I’d Become Willing, to Be, a Tearless Desert
And, Made up My Mind, Never to Return to Underneath Quilt, with the Black Rains Pouring Down on it
With My Dreams in the Swamps
Although Your Sense of Humor Still, Reflected, in the Black Dead Waters
feels a WHOLE lot cooler instnatly, doesn’t it??? Photo from online…
The Corpses of the Driftwood, Still Noted the Histories of Your Sound Sleep
So, Just Lay Me Out, Under the Scorching Sun and Blind Me Then
Until the Sun Baked Those Words into Gold
Until Time Fell, Out of Carelessness, from the Equation of Eternity
Then, I will Be able to, Relay the News of My Death, with
Full Expectation, in Your Dampened Path
When the World Became, Devoid of Meaning
After Centuries of Unimportant Means
My Inhale & Exhale Would’ve, Proven Meaningless to This World
You May Then, be Able to Hear, Those Cries Unrelated to Me
And, as the Pouring Rain at My Funeral Helped the Growth of the Green Long Hair of My Plains
Perhaps, You May be Able, to Keep Track of It, with Your Nomadic Footprints
So, this, is on the meaning of one’s death to someone else, it’s about, the legacy you wish to leave behind, and, it’s something, that we should all, start thinking about, because, we will all, eventually, DIE (that, would be a FACT!), and, what sort of a legacy do you want to leave for your children, grandchildren, great grandchildren?
Inspiring, isn’t it??? From the Newspapers, translated…
The Mennuo’s Hualien Center and Taoyuan’s Rotary Club yesterday hosted the “2017 Miracle Ride Around the Island”, yesterday morning, thirteen adolescent girls who were placed in the systems finished riding that final mile, a lot of the girls cried, especially for the one-armed adolescent girl, “Fatty”, she’d cried in the press conferences, her becoming emotional had, spread through the news conference.
The adolescent girl with only her left arm, “Fatty” as she was riding out, she’d often, lost her balance, and started wiggling left and right, and because she’d needed to find her balance, she’d almost relied on her lower extremities to keep herself going. The primary sponsor, Chuang said, he rode behind “Fatty”, and saw her wobbling from left to right, and so, by the seventh day, the inside of her thighs suffered serious abrasions, the leader of the troupe of riders, after evaluating her conditions, told her to rest up in the chaperon car, but she’d refused, and started doing her squatting jumps, to show that she was still with enough energy.
In the insistence of the team leader, Fatty finally gone into the car to rest, with tears in her eyes, after she’d rested for a bit, she’d still, insisted on, continue riding, to work hard, to catch up to her teammates. Chuang said, seeing her like this, it’d, made him cry. At yesterday’s press conference, he’d cried too, and, Fatty was so worked up she kept wiping her tears away. The manager of the Palms Learning Center, Huang stated, in the thirteen-day challenge, the girl with one arm, “Fatty”, was the clown of the group, at age eight, because of a car accident, “Fatty” lost her right arm, after she managed to pull herself out of depression, she’d, decided, to live each and every day happily, worked hard, to learn to ride a bicycle, to swim, she’s also, a good singer too.
The thirteen girls set out on the 2nd from Hualien, challenged themselves in the 13-day, 657 kilometers bicycle ride around the island, yesterday, they’d ridden from their last station of a local elementary school, and, returned back to the Palms Learning Center. The C.E.O. of the nonprofit organization, Chu said, the girls in the program were mostly from broken homes, and required professional company, and so, in this bicycle campout, the girls saw themselves for who they are, learned to express their thoughts, emotions, and, sought out the values of their own lives, and, she believed, that they will be able to, find the ways to solve whatever problems come their way in the future.
So, this, is a challenge that these young women embarked on, to test themselves, to prove that they can, conquer the odds, and they had, and, this, serves, as an inspiration to all, that although they didn’t have homing advantages, with their positive attitudes, their hardworking mannerisms, they are still, able to, beat all the odds on the trip.
On trying to fit in, with the environment, adapting to a life here, translated…
At my age, I can’t say, that I’d, lived long enough, but, I’d definitely, had had, a taste of everything.
Alice smoothed over the ruffles on the quilts, stuffed her head inside the quilts. When she was younger, she and her parents had, folded up the quilts together, she’d loved, to get in the middle of it, playing; she’d loved that scent of the quilt, from getting some sun in, the quilt soaked up in the sun, the heat, it’d, seemed to, be able to, chase away, ALL her worries.
ladies who married over to Taiwan from foreign places, photo from online…
She’d married over to Taiwan for a little longer than three years now, after that alienated feeling of arriving to this new place, what remained, was the days as they passed her by. It’s, as if, she’d, never aged one bit, but the time, it’d, frozen her stiff, in Taipei. It’s an easy thing, falling in love with this city, there was, this slowed pace of life here. On the weekends, she’d liked copying the older ladies who’d gone shopping at the local marketplaces, to get some flowers at the flower markets; she loved how she was, walking along, then, out hopped, a brand new shop, it’d, kept her in surprise.
Alice is the kind of person that wouldn’t reach out to other people on her own, but she was, more than willing, AND able to, put her thoughts in others, be a very good listener, to someone who needed to, pour her heart out. But, to those who knew her, she’d seemed, so open, so rash, so critical in mannerisms, like it was, a proof of her, working hard, to assimilate into living in Taipei.
Anyways, she’s the kind, that you wouldn’t realize to raise her brows, how she was, a bit, different from before, how she was, trying to cover herself up. When you asked her where she came from, she’d still openly stated, but she’d normally, NOT told anybody unless she was, asked, “Yeah, I’m from China”.
Or maybe, this is, a label she will never be, rid of, she couldn’t say that she didn’t care, after all, the China mentioned by the papers, the T.V., the radio broadcasts, was, her home country. But, who cares, about a nobody named Alice? She didn’t have anybody to rely on, so, she’d worked hard, to hide her accent, learned a little Taiwanese, wanted to, live comfortably, in this city.
As she’d felt the world was against her, she had, no place she can hide, she can only, drive around the city of Taipei, toward the Palace Museum, the Sun Yatsen Memorial, the Freedom Square, along with the old-style mansion in Shihlin. Anyways, those spots where the tourists from China loved going to. She’d stood far off, watching a tour bus, felt, that she’d, abandoned her home country, and, her home country also, deserted her too.
She’d loved watching those tourists from China posing for the cameras happily, and, as she watched them, it’s, as if, her own loneliness, had found, an exit too. It’s, those exaggerated poses, facial expressions, that are, so very, familiar to her! She’d watched as she smiled, felt, but felt, that it’s, reasonable, that it’s a good thing, that the tourists were really enjoying themselves, feeling proud, in the photos, and, felt, that her own statures became, out of place somehow.
Alice is, ambiguous like this, if one day, you’d, bumped into her, please do tell her, “Don’t matter if you’re from China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, or your ABC, or from Singapore, you are, Alice, you fool!”
So, this, is how hard this woman tries to “blend in”, but she always felt, out of place, she’d worked really hard, to assimilate herself into the culture, and, from the outside, those who knew her felt that she’d, “blended in” with the environment in Taiwan, but, she still felt, somewhat, out of place………