Shanghai as a blossom on a withered cherry tree brought suddenly back to life on a spring day when the sun shines on a cavalcade of armed men, making their way to the Eastern Sea, lost in the thoughts of their homes, the warm beds and soft bosoms of the women, praying secretly that the rising tides across the seas will not fall upon their shores, carrying torture and mayhem and atrocities only forgotten in the passing of time, slipping away from us so quickly, like a cherry bloom, bright, full and then fading into oblivion, gone and gone.
posted by ferret at 9:21 pm
I want to make a concept album called “Amateur Band on the Verge of a Breakup”.
The track list will be as follows:
“No, that’s my solo”
“How could you say we sound like Radiohead?”
“Your girlfriend is getting in the way of the band”
“What do you mean you can’t make band practice?”
“A B-sharp is the same as a C, goddammit”
“I still think that we should all dye our hair blond”
“No, seriously, that’s my solo”
“You need to be more professional”
“Fuck you, I’m out (Fine, we don’t need you anyway)”
posted by ferret at 11:47 am
Shanghai0820: squatting in a dark alley at 11pm, looking at my iPhone, thinking about being anywhere but here
posted by ferret at 6:46 pm
As one of those who dares to call himself poet, I’ve been writing abstractly about “the heart” for a long time. However, to tell the truth, I never knew what it was.
I’ve made up my mind.
The heart is you seeing yourself. It’s interchangable with “spirit” and “soul” as far as I’m concerned. It doesn’t get deeper or more metaphysical than that.
But I’m surprised. Pursuing this alone proves to be about as deep and metaphysical as it gets.
posted by ferret at 9:57 pm