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february 3, 2002 // silly pictures and poems that kill you //

i can't tell whether he's joking or not.  take a look at this picture and tell me "DMX" doesn't look like mos def. what a clown.  b.sia reminds me of sae-min. what clowns.  and i mean this in the nicest way. almost a compliment, really.

//

on to the sad stuff now. the girl likes the pretty boy very much. the boy is so heartbroken doesn't know what to do with himself. she's feeling nostalgic. and another boy is somewhere between heaven and hell. this boy is excited about the new girl, and that boy iis telling the nice girl to find some other boy. 

anyhow, i believe pablo neruda said it best:

"es tan corto al amor, y es tan largo el olvido." 
"love is so short, forgetting is so long." 

this poem is almost as sad as that e.e cummings' poem i love so much. 

....

TONIGHT I CAN WRITE by pablo neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. 

Write, for example, `The night is starry 
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' 

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. 
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. 

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. 
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. 

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. 
How could one not have loved her great still eyes. 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. 
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. 

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. 
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. 

What does it matter that my love could not keep her. 
The night is starry and she is not with me. 

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. 
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. 

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. 
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. 

The same night, whitening the same trees. 
We, of that time, are no longer the same. 

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. 
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. 

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses. 
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. 

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. 
Love is so short, forgetting is so long. 

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms 
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. 

Though this be the last pain she makes me suffer 
and these the last verses that I write for her. 

(translated by W. S. Merwin) 

....

and now the poem that really kills me. the poem that takes me back to those letter burning nights, with candles and lighters and the altar... is this:

it may not always be so; and i say 
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch 
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch 
his heart, as mine in time not far away; 
if on another's face your sweet hair lay 
in such a silence as i know, or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, 
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; 

if this should be, i say if this should be- 
you of my heart, send me a little word; 
that i may go unto him, and take his hands, 
saying, Accept all happiness from me. 
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird 
sing terribly afar in the lost lands. 

- e.e cummings

reading:

- sputnik sweetheart, by haruki murakami

watched:

- red sorghum, by zhang yimou
this movie was difficult to watch, in that "xiu xiu" way. why is that there's always rape, the threat of rape, or murder in these movies? it was worse this time: flaying. japanese has done so much evil... atrocities in nanking... the comfort women... and now, add flaying to the list. it really makes you wonder, 'what the fuck was up with the japanese? flaying? what was wrong with these people?' 

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