A Mirror Floating in Water

Hiroshima, et Nagasaki

Taste mouth in fires, screaming fires, flames, thoughts of
Seppuku, dead dead dead, freeze-flame over-head, plane
Screething over-head, cloud in sky, not a cloud in the sky
Anti-city, you saw nothing, over-head, mon amour, you saw
Nothing of any sweet taste, you saw nothing of any total
War, you saw nothing of the Western winds, the tides ninety-
Thousand in a quick flash of thermal radiation, a light descending
From the blue sky. Mon amour, you saw no 90,000 laid out
Against the flat earth and sands with not a tombstone standing
No consuming breath from His nostrils, no center to return to.

Atoms in chaos.

天地不仁，以萬物為芻狗；聖人不仁，以百姓為芻狗。天地之間，其猶橐籥乎？
虛而不屈，動而愈出。多聞數窮，不如守中。



Disneyland

It was a ridiculous feeling of youth, upon the onslaught of Proustian memories which surged from the pleasing scent of the kingdom created by Late capitalism and fast-food stands. There were no monarchs and no gods, and thus no monuments to build in hommage to. And yet this hommage was more a hommage to the hommage itself. It was all fancy shadowed by its own image; a Baudrillian gallery of simulations. And yet, is it possible that the monuments, the buzzing lights, the plastic bags and toys, the moans of crying babies, the snapping bleeps from digital cameras and the rough smell of cigarettes seeping out from the smoking area, where all made meaningful by his own nostaliga. The burning touch of the Floridian sun was as pleasing as it was vile. An opening of memories past burst like a surging river and pressured his mind with the pains and joys of the passing of time and memory. The flashing images were as dreadful as the pains of Hell itself, a catechism avioded for years.



Unreal City

Un à un, the ants pile up on the road
As if to gather 'round the sweet-scented
Honey, which sprouts from grounds erode

The narcissistic city-dwellers, discontented
At the little bits of glass and blood, hardly any
And not enough for reporters to cry how this could've been prevented

Dante's Inferno my dear city, the people are many
As they phlegnatically tread down the street
And traffic-accidents are plenty

Unreal city, where I love thee suffocation and charming discreet
Thy lovely smoke stacks and yellow malaria lurking in alley-ways
Where rats scamper down and chrew on spit tobacco, which is so sweet

Let me count the days
The noises and parades
The personal cache

The clouds which I should evade
The people which gather 'round
And the times I think the army should invade

Knock, knocking at the windows as I confound
The ghostly figures for onlookers to a cage
A face which deducts all screams and fizzles to one sound

City's rage
Apathetic, weary and unengaged.