The First Blog

When the night falls, and everything turns purple and dark blue. She has nothing in mind but the urge to go out and to swim, to swim in the dark cold water, to heart the soft murmuring of that colourless formless liquid by her ears, to feel the tender touch of the dying heart of that falling sun. How about I drown myself? She thinks about Emily’s poems
Quiet and tranquil I am in the pond
Hearing the small buzzing merry go around
Sometimes vague, sometimes clear
Sometimes away, sometimes near
As the waves moving about to and fro
Tangles my hair around the white little throat
Like a lotus blooming at the dark night
No blessed infant can ever sleep so tight
Beautiful must I be in nature’s eye
But why, should they so sadly sigh and cry?
Leaves grow, they green, they yellow, they wither, they fall. Eternal circle of going around. Where we begin, where we end.
She hears the murmuring of night.

Bliss
She suddenly feels the heavenly revelation on her. What are these? She begins to ask, What are these surrounding, drowning me? Rubbish, they are all rubbishes! I’ve found the meaning, no, not yet, but the rough road, the vaguer blue print of my life. She looks around, ignoring the rubbishes…who are those people busying themselves like ants around me? Say, who are you?! What have you to do with my pleasure, my happiness, and my life?! Oh, you cannot enslave me; I am free now, free as avian, as air, as ghost! How lightly my heart beats, she feels she can fly, she can simply jump off the roof and fly, like a bird out of the cage! Away, you busy ants, all away from me! She dashes through the room into the street!
What a beautiful day!
She stay dazzled for a while…it’s the blue sky, the deep profound eternal blueness of the sky that devoured her. She skips on the road, jumping like a young deer. She feels a strong urge to sing, to dance, to laugh, to throw her head to the sky and shout aloud. She stretches out her arms, and hugs herself passionately. It is just the intimacy, the strongest love. Oh, I am even in love now! She strokes her hair and feels her hand trembling with gentleness and caress. This is the bliss, the revelation. She knows it when she was young, the feeling of all weight suddenly shifted away and a new life begins. A new life…a new life! now she can no longer restrain the tears in her eyes. After this storm of happiness, now she only wants to lie naked on a land covered by the greenest grass and twist and howl and weep, weep till all my tears are dry and my heart empty.

It is his old routine to have a sound long sleep every Saturday afternoon, especially in such a season when the sunshine just sheds mindlessly on the floor through the thick dirty window. The whole small room then is filled with a scent of listlessness and emptiness—too nice a place for sleeping. Yet it is not actually normal sleep, the thoughts in his mind are dancing too fiercely and loudly to call it a tight baby sleep. All strange sorts of dreams happen in day time, among which the strangest one is trying hard to wake up. He likes these dreams most, because in them he has the choice to do all kinds of things after wake up, and do them so heavenly well. He will dream that he wakes up and suddenly goes back home and owe a little quiet cabin in that remote town, or wakes up and goes out bravely to straighten all the messes in his life and speak loudly what is in his mind, or wakes up and has the courage to slap those whores and pimps right on their faces, or simply wakes up and sits on the edge of his single bed and enjoys meditating. But he never wakes up, no matter how strongly the spirit in him calls for that. He will only open his eyelids wearily and stare curiously at the ceiling with the pale smoke-like patterns of the reflected sunshine and lose sense of time and space and fall asleep again until the sun disappears and the room becomes totally dark. Then his will get up, feeling like just been pulled out of the marsh. Sitting on the edge of the little single bed, he will brood confusedly for a while but finally stand to his feet and go out for a shower, remembering nothing but wild pictures that means nothing to him.

He moves lightly and deliberately, watching his shadow flitting on the street. He tries to step on the fallen leaves, enjoying the sound of cracking them under his feet, like stepping on the ground covered with deep snow.
This is winter in autumn.

Having Eating a Seed, accidentally

At the age when I still made stupid spelling mistakes,
I had a grand mom.
She has a big big nose,
a pair of eyes that are always closed.
She has hair that looks like the waves on the spring awaking pond
at the back yard of her magical garden,
where bees and butterflies and snakes always have a nice time.
She knows a lot,
for instance,
she knows there use to be 10 suns on the sky
they were the naughty baby birds of the grand god,
they made the earth insufferably hot
then a hero shot 9 of them down,
so we have now only a sun
and weather that's temperate.
Also she knows on moon there lives a lonely rabbit,
poor little devil has only three carrots to eat.
Gee
you have to be so old in order to know so much
I wonder.

In her magical garden lives a old orange tree,
as old as my grand mom,
but she gives us orange oranges every fall.
"Be careful of the seeds in them,"
grand mom always says so,
"or it’ll grow in your little belly."
"Really?"
"Of course, and then it’ll grow out of your mouth."
"oh? Will it grow bigger and bigger and then give us oranges?"
"Certainly, if you let it grow."

If you let it grow.

No matter how careful I was,
still a seed managed to get into my belly.
Oh, how hard I cried.
No, I am really afraid of trees,
but just imagine
a tree in my mouth,
in spring it blooms so I must be aware of the bees and butterflies
in summer I have to water it and keep it out of the beaming sun,
oh, how I wish the hero come and shot a half of it down,
in autumn when it gives orange, I have be careful with the stealthy snakes.
And I have to walk slowly
to speak lightly
to drink a lot,
to eat a lot,
no longer tree climbing,
nor fish catching,
nor frog hunting,
because the little tree in my mouth is so fragile.

But think about the oranges,
I can bring it to my grand mom,
and say it proudly,
“see, it's my orange!”

So I told no body and waited patiently.
Winter comes after autumn,
then Spring Festival,
during which I let another apple seed in deliberately,
why not make it two?
Spring comes,
It's always rainy, so I have to drink a lot to make it rain inside,
But
But
But there is no sight of sprout,
the sunflower I planted for the class has grown as high as a ruler,
but there is no sight of sprout,
the flowers of the pear tree is now blooming as white as snow,
but there is no sight of sprout,
the tadpoles in the little pond have grown little hinder legs,
but there is no sight of sprout.
Then I am ready to go to school in our little town.
So I started the endless journey of learning,
So I left my grand mom's little garden
The seed in me?
I don't remember when I forget it.
How easily people sometimes forget and how quietly dreams slip away.

Grand mom died when I no longer believe in her tales
she died sleeping,
she may still live in her ancient world.
When I go back to her house every April,
I look at the blooming tree, under which she lies peacefully,
it is always blooming, with lots of bees and butterflies buzzing around,
and how I wish I could have a orange in hand,
I'll keep all the seeds all to myself,
And I will just let them grow.