Finding solace in the words, the words that spoke, directly, to me, it seemed, that the writer really, knows, what I’d been, going through, my whole life!
Finding solace in the words, this, is what we all want, to make that connection, to feel, that we’re not, all alone, in this world, that we’re, currently, experiencing, ALL the, bad parts in right now.
But, we’re, ALL, alone, separate, entities, standing on, our own, by our own, selves here, and, NOBODY can, take these, pains away!
Finding solace in the words, I’d, tried, so very hard, to find some sort of a commonality of our, experiences, and yet, I kept, coming up, empty handed, but how’s that even, possible, when we’re, almost, identical, in our, experiences in our, separate lives?
like, this…
found online
Finding solace in the words, yeah, I’d found EVERYTHING in these words that I’m, currently, writing out, and through the verses, the passages of the books I’d read, and I don’t need, NOTHING (and your point being???) more.
Got everything I will, EVER need, right here (don’t ask where “here” is still)!
Finding solace in these words, you’re in need, of, too much comforting, and I can’t give it, ‘cuz, I ran out, and, you can’t get what you need, nor what you want, from me, as in, E-V-E-R, and that’s, that!
Note: this is still NOT (why am I repeating myself here again???) directed toward ANYBODY who CAN read, and if you can’t read yet, and you understand this article, do give me a call, I’d loved to meet ya…
Grateful for the subsection of the UDNPapers, that’s brought us so many knowledge, shared memories, and a ton, of wonderful things, to enrich our daily lives, translated…
I loved reading the subsections of the paper like a book, especially the D2 sections of the UDNPapers, there are the writers from all walks of life that were printed on here, and, an assortment of contents, naturally. I’d recalled that one time, the editor’s office asked the medical staff members to write the stories of the giant white towers, it’d captivated the readers’ attentions, making us want to read, reread, and reread over, over, and over again. The “Secret Headquarters of the Car Wash” that got started this year is also, attention-catching, the writer can tell how the owners of the cars he’d washed and repaired lived from the cars that were dropped off, this was totally, magical to me.
something to do, EVERY, day…
The other four columns that were also my favorite aside from this one: in “Animals on Stage”, I’d felt the strong emotional connections the writers felt toward the animals they have. In “A Treasure Map of Memories”, I’d noted the different ways of life the various age groups of people have, and, they’d offered a fun comparison to my own life experiences. And I’d loved the seasonal writers who’d written for the Youth Column, they’d used their words, recorded down the lives in their own separate professions, although these are smaller in sizes, but, covering a wide spectrum of topics, eye opening, truly. And for the “Topics of Discussion” columns, although these came in smaller passages, they are all, eye-catching. The same things that’s happened in the lives of various people, produced, different stories, with the different enlightenments from their separate, stories.
That’s how this subsection of the paper works, like a professor with a wide spectrum of knowledge, fulfilling my curiosities every single day, enriching my life, adding more fun to my ordinary days.
I’m grateful for the editor of the subsection of the papers, to allow the readers, to read in their, separate corners, to know what’s going on all around us, to get soaked up in the wonders, of interactions of words of exchange.
And so, this, is a sort of a thank you note this writer wrote to the subsection of the papers, and, surely, this subsection of the papers, offered a wide variety of reading materials for those who are interested in finding out new things they want to find out, it has the experiences of others we can borrow from, and, it’s just, an amazing section of the UDN papers here.
Noting and knowing what you wrote, that got printed, touched a reader’s heart, that was, enough for you, as a writer! Translated…
As a person who works with words, I’d been writing, for decades to date, and, I’d been, submitting my articles to the papers for over a quarter of a century to date. Like the sediments accumulated in the riverbanks, left behind, the pages of my, drafting papers too, and I’d recalled what a writer once said to me, she didn’t know where her readers are.
It’s also these couple of years, I’d met some new friends on FB, they’d read my book, I can see what they looked like too, knew the goings on of their lives, but, through the responses forwarded to me from the papers by my readers, there were, only, two. (both were sent to me by the editor of the Family subsection) One was an email, the other, a handwritten letter, with the postage stamps on the envelope, passing through the back counters of a post office, separated, along with the mail carrier’s sweat, and finally, arrived, at the editor’s office.
What was odd was, included, was a pack of black beans, and Mexican primrose-willow, for my cats. The woman was Ms. Liu, at a time in her life, she’d read my articles which I’d written on my cats, knew that my cats started urinating blood out, recalled how her own old cat once had kidney disease too, and from someone else, she learned that drinking the water from black beans and Mexican primrose-willow can help that it could heal, and it actually, did, for her cat, and ever since, she’d, tried helping the cat owners she’d come across with such a problem.
In her letter, not only did she introduced the origins, the sources of the herbs, and described in close detail how the items should be cooked, how to keep it, how to feed it to my cat. The words were so genuine, as I read, I saw her heart of, compassion, leapt onto the pages, alive, and warm.
But unfortunate, I was living in the U.S. then, and got the article printed out on the papers after my cat had died, and so, I’d, not made used of that pack of remedies. The editor of the subsection of the papers sent a photo of that package of medication to me, asked me how I wanted to reply back? I’d thought for a night, saw that there was a phone number listed, I’d decided to call to say thanks, and, if the individual refused to take my call for any reason, then, I can only, write my thank-you note to the editor of the paper’s subsection, and have him pass it along.
like, this???
photo from online
Ring~~~!, the following day, I’d gotten the phone going, then, about to talk to a strange reader, I’d felt, a bit, nervous. The call was, picked up, “hello!”, it was a woman, with a full-volume of voice, I’d quickly stated my name, and told her why I’d called, and, worried she might thought that I was a scam artist. And immediately, she’d, believed me, and, I’d, asked her permissions to allow the editor to give the remedies to someone else in need, which she’d, gladly, agreed. An overseas call, a short conversation, and yet, the balloons of goodwill, started, soaring high, underneath, that sunny sky then.
This time, I’d known since I was younger, that I was going to, be a person who makes a living off of my words, and finally, I’d, become, just that too. with the blood of a word cooker, word lover inside of my veins. And although, I’d become stagnant, and caught dead, in the solitude of the literary, but quickly enough I’d discovered, that so long as I can still breathe, my feelings are still, flowing, the words shall, never die in me. As for the readers, I’d come to believe, that the readers are, quiet, and, maybe, they’re, outside of the realms of the kudos I’d received. Just as I’m also, a silent, unknown reader, to another’s, work too.
The internet is a brand new world within the world, a poem, an essay, a novel, met and mingled in the vast oceans of various medium, sinking, floating, drowning, dying, or, stand out among the rest. Whether or not I’m noted, I know, that the only thing staying with me, would be, the words.
Then, I shall, keep on, writing then. Yeah, the final line of my favorite novel stated it that way: writing, the journey, continues on.
And so, this is through the interactions with your readers, and knowing, how what you wrote gained a response, from that, certain someone else, you KNOW that your writings had, had an affect in someone else’s life, made her/him, response, and it didn’t matter if you’re an acclaimed author, with the books published or not, you’d, become, fulfilled, knowing, that what you wrote had, had an effect, on someone else’s, life.
The Wavelength that Passed Through the Collar of the Asteroid Belt of the Aging Dog of the Astronomer
The Blue Whale’s Lowered Whispers with the Trashed Submarine
Gave the Bay a Glow
I Lifted My Head up to the Darkness
Who Was it
That Forgot, to Turn the Lights within Our Bodies, Off
On the Shoulders of the General
That Invisible Kitty, Pounced on the Firing Squad from Before He Was, Still, Living
(The Songs of Sorrows from the Beginning
The Assets Immaterial in the Very End)
These Stanzas of the Poems, Shall Get Beyond What’s Been Destroyed Between You & Me, Sailing, All the Way, into, the, Skies
And so, this is on what’s left, after everything go, BOOM! What remained, of the love, of the life that’s, gone, what is taken from the examples of these lives, lived………
The philosophies, from an everyday, encounter, translated…
“If you stand beneath the fig tree, I’ll, see you.”
“If you see me, then, I shall, go with god.”
“Do you believe?”
“I absolutely, DO, and I absolutely, DON’T, either way, I shall have my, freedom.”
“There are too many places that squirrels buried those nuts, and the worst case scenario, if a squirrel forgets, then, a walnut tree will start growing from the ground up.”
“I shall go with God to the walnut tree.”
“How can you believe what I say?”
“Because you’re, smiling.”
“I’m not smiling, I’m, a flower.”
And so, this, is how easily, you can, be fooled, into believe something that someone claims, because you lacked that strong sense of your selves…you start following that “leader”, with the blindfolds on!
And so, this showed, how the pen IS, mightier than the SWORD, the words touched people, even AFTER they’re done, getting spoken out there, and the influences of words will keep on carrying over…
Zeng Shen once said, “Before a Man Dies, His Words are Kind”. In the decades of life, been sucked, into endless moments of guilt, of dirt, and, only in the moment when one is about to pass, one can finally, let it all go, and can finally, say the words of kindness that came from the heart, leaving behind, the last scent of beauty for this world.
And still, it isn’t so in the real world. The elders wanted their offspring to inherit their “last wills”, and the children always wanted the inheritances instead, and so, the last will will always be debated on. The children from the rich families would fight each other in court for the inheritances, get the paternity tests, that’s nothing new already. Emperor Yong-Zhen from the Ching Dynasty, is still being debated on, with NO end to it.
In the detective novels, after the last wills are left, the cases start. The assortment of the last wills, not only are they filled with mysteries, they’d also make people feel that strong “scent” of death. The historic “Island to the Gates of Hell”, is probably the weirdest case of all: a soldier who’d returned home after the war, had gotten infected with something serious on his trip back, right before he’d passed, he’d told his comrade, Inugami, “if I couldn’t arrive home, to inherit my great inheritance, all three of my sisters will be murdered.”
But, this was still, a spoken well final words. More than common were, the deceased was murdered out of the blue, and, before they’d died, they couldn’t mumble their words out, all they could do was, use their final strengths, grabbed onto something, even, using her/his blood, and wrote the illegible writings, to leave the hints as to who’d killed them. Naturally, under these circumstances, there’s NO way that the person about to die can write legibly, “Mr. Police Man, my husband murdered me!”, and, even IF the deceased was able to write legibly, the handwritten words would have gotten destroyed by the murderer just the same.
“The Words Before Dying”, was like a signal that came out of the blue, the deceased couldn’t use the elaborate schemes to write out the final messages, nor could the person write for that long, the person can only use hints, to try to tell others about her/his murderer’s identity. By the same token, the detectives must also have an active imagination, to piece together the crime scenes, and, to understand what the deceased was hinting at.
The British master, Charles Dickens also wrote a couple of detective stories, his final work, “The Mystery of Edwin Drood”, was only half way written, then, he’d died, of a stroke, in the end, nobody knows who the killer is (or rather, why the victim had gone missing). In the end, a lot of writers, critics critiqued this halfway finished work, found an assortment of explanations, of them all, the British writer, Peter Rollins’s “The Case of the Missing Edwin Drood”, even had Sherlock Holmes, to sort out the case.
Every once in awhile, the Japanese writer, Yoshimura Tatsuya, died of stomach cancer in 2012. The year before, he’d just planned to finish a series of a hundred volumes of “The Mysterious Creatures”, in the end, he was only able to complete three volumes before his death. On the day he’d died, there was an obituary written by himself on his official website: “Hi everybody, thank you for supporting my work. It’s really suddenly, that I actually died this time. And, the identity of QAZ, and the truth of “The Mysterious Creatures”, after I’d had my funeral, there would be a more detailed notice later on.”
Yes, I must remember, that as a detective story writer, telling my readers who the killer is in my final work, is the most important part of my last will. And, if the onset of death is sudden, then, you MUST “leave a final message before your time”.
And so, this, is the matter of life and death, the last wills, the final words, from a detective novelists’ perspective, and, you don’t know when your time is up, and, there’s NO way of preparing for it before hand, all you can do, is to make sure, that you do everything you’re supposed to every single day, and the rest, there’s NO way you can make sure!
There was the label, “Made by the Universe” on my shirt collar, the style was Galatic, the material was of ordinary values, every Wednesday, I’d worn it to the nightclubs, and, drank down my own loneliness.
And, that just shows, how ALONE we are all feeling, in this VAST universe, because we’re desperately longing, for that connection with someone else, and that, is still because, we are all, too caught up in the pursuits of things that are of NO value whatsoever, the emptiness of modern man’s soul is seen here.
Behind the cameras, you took up, your hiding place, thinking, that so long as you keep on, having that machine (the camera???) in front of your faces, then, the world will NOT notice you, but, you are, DEAD wrong!
You’d hid, behind the cameras, never getting yourselves exposed, not even for a photo op, and that made me wonder, WHY? Do you have something you’re trying to hide, from the world? From yourselves?
Behind the cameras, it’d become, your way of life, you’d gotten used to being invisible, with people, going on and about their busy lives, and NOT paying an INKLING of an attention to you. Behind the cameras, you tried to hide yourselves, from getting exposed, because, those photographs, shows you, WHO you really are, that, is why, you never liked your pictures done as you were growing up, and, maybe, it’s partially due to the Inferiority Complex (Adler, anyone???)
Behind the cameras, I’m staying, besides being camera-shy (uh, yeah right!) I know, the end results, of being under that spotlight too long, getting BURNED, anyone???
The world looks, different, when I look at it, from this side of Goldie’s (the goldfish???) tank, everything seemed to be, submerged, under water, with that blurry effect.
The world looks, different, when I’m standing, on my hands, with my feet up in the air, it looks, funny, and smiles became frowns, and frowns turned, into smiles. The world looks, different, and, it no longer feels the same today, as it did, yesterday, I wonder why! Has it, changed that much? No, the grasses are still green outside my window, the moon, the sun, and the stars, still high in the skies, during the day and into the nights.
The world looks, different, but, nothing has changed, I’m just, older than yesterday, or, a second ago that’s all. The world looks different, and I can’t make everything stay the same, and, the thought of losing things just hurt, very awfully bad!
The world looks, different, so, what’s changed, is it, me? Is it, you? Is it, how we got along together? Remember that fight we had? Are you still mad at me? The world is changed, again and again, and, this feeling of not being able to, hold on tight, to the things that matter, well, it just hurt, very bad. The world not only just, looks different, it IS, different, isn’t it? What’s changed, that trash can is still right where it was yesterday, that dog still barked like crazy when I passed by, people’s yards still look so very green, so, WHAT, had changed, that makes the world, feel so different today, compared to yesterday???
Mirroring the World 
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