And then in its turn, the journey entered the zone, and Hayao showed me my images already affected by the moss of time, freed of the lie that had prolonged the existence of those moments swallowed by the spiral. // When spring came, when every crow announced its arrival by raising his cry half a tone, I took the green train of the Yamanote line and off at Tokyo station, near the central post office. Even if the street was empty I waited at the red light - Japanese style - so as to leave space for the spirits of the broken cars. Even if I was expecting no letter I stopped at the general delivery window, for one must honor the spirits of torn up letters, and at the airmail counter to salute the spirits of unmailed letters. // I took the measure of the unbearable vanity of the West, that has never ceased to privilege being over non-being, what is spoken to what is left unsaid. I walked alongside the little stalls of clothing dealers. I heard in the distance Mr. Akaos voice reverberating from the loudspeakers...a half tone higher. Then I went Down into the basement where my friend - the maniac - busies himself with his Electronic graffiti. Finally his language touches me, because he talk to that part of us which insists on drawing profiles on prison walls. A piece of chalk to follow the contours of what is not , or is no longer, or is not yet; the handwriting each one of us will use to compose his own list of Things that quicken the Heart, to offer or to erase. - In that moment poetry will be made by everyone, and there will be emus in the zone. https://youtube/watch?v=JamGQOhCe_k
Posted on: Mon, 29 Dec 2014 22:56:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015