My vessels are closed, tighten into a dot; blood strings block at the zero point.

And when I look back to the Dr., with the warmest open arms and the brightest smile, standing under the street light, mumbling spells and curses, the cluster runs wide, accelerating to threaten my tiniest wish.

He stopped and took a careful look at the scared and startle me, ignored my crying and screaming, opened a new universe, fixed all of my smallest wounds, left the largest one.

When I become a lawyer, I think I’d come back to the street and put chrysanthemum on the invisible tomb, telling the absent one that the only person I’ve been judging for years is myself and my mischieves.

When I just saw alèthosphère, I know immediately it is about this. The splendid mirage memory built, from the very far away past to the near present. But you are not here anymore; but I am not here anymore.



It felt so far away yet so close.

I never thought that I’d go this far. Almost ten years ago, I’ve been told it winds up all of your consciousness and reasons, for once will lasts.

Until I feel it, I can truly understand.

The excitement, the fear, and the joy; the known, the need, and the NOW. This is how it comparable to the ideal, in terms of the form and everything goes with it. This is also how it is comparable to the non-ideal, since the missionary is not my priest.

The quiver, the shake, and the ache; the sound, the smell, and the speed. This is how it comparable to the insurmountable past, in terms of the montage and every scene come across. This is also how it is comparable to the non-stop, since the young wait already gets old.

This has nothing to do with sublimation; this has nothing to do with Freud’s art. I felt it without thinking, experienced it without articulating.


If you give it to me,
I’d wear it with my bare soul,
with my feet sinking into the sand,
with my view blinded by the sun.

If you give it to me,
I’d keep it with my flesh heart,
pumping the hell up to the above,
drifting all dirts down to the ground.

If you give it to me,
I’d kiss it with my grinning lips,
shutting those cries and whispers out,
forbidding harsh or inconsiderate touches.

If you give it to me,
I’d embrace it to fall asleep,
and even in my endless dream,
and even in my earth folded realm.

Keep driving

If you cannot see the world no more,
start from the lake to the ocean,
on sixty-six strip along the dream shore,
now and forever.

I cannot see the world no more,
back then hidden behind the pages,
on a ten to nine wise arrangement,
more at this moment.

We should go bending the rules,
in the bad traffic with some scintillating pianist;
we should do that hand in hand,
for millions of miles away from the house.

Our school has the worst registration pool,
put down names asking for the fool;
no need for sharks, foxes or street and steel,
it is the thrill lot five that enthrall.