the-world-without-names

[the-world-without-names]

About Yu-Hsuan Wu’s creation

    How to keep those beautiful and profound existences? How to rescue those lost time? I studied painting for ten years, and then studied classical and contemporary literary works and wrote poems, essays and stage scripts in the Department of Chinese Literature at National Cheng Kung University in Taiwan. After graduating, I devoted myself to the creation of dance and movie scripts, actively using different media and art forms to integrate inner emotions and outer forms. For me, the duty of a creator is not to create, but to receive, to give a perceivable and aesthetic form to the world I receive.

    “Dialogue with artistic texts” is the starting point of my writing, and it is also my continuous pursuit of my spiritual hometown. From my first collection of poems Exchanging Lover’s Ribs published in 2012 to my literary review Longing for Infinite published in 2021, I continue to explore those complex spiritual logic and poetic states that are difficult to control by language. I analyzed modern poems in Taiwan and China, traditional folk poetry in Malaysia, novels by J. D. Salinger, Franz Kafka and Raymond Carver, and absurd theatre by Samuel Beckett and Jean-Paul Sartre...

    At the end of 2018, I was awarded the Taiwanese Ministry of Culture's selection of cultural talents abroad exchange program, and went to Santa Fe Art Institute for Artist Residency in the United States for three months. “Moving” allowed me to establish a double vision, looking back at the living conditions in Taiwan and the limits of my own creation. In order to practice the “conversational creation” that I deeply experienced in Santa Fe Art Institute, I listened to the life stories of local residents and travelers in Santa Fe Plaza, and then improvised a poem and gave them back. After returning to Taiwan, I published a collection of Chinese and English bilingual essays The Forgetting of Form: Sketches from my residency at Santa Fe.

    I still remember that I went to the Santa Fe Plaza to participate in the activities commemorating Native American Day. On the obelisk behind native Indian dancers used to be the words, “To the heroes who have fallen in various battles with savage Indians in the Territory of New Mexico”. Now the word “savage” has been deleted as if the history of the massacres too could be easily altered and deleted. People have proposed this monument be taken down but the native Americans maintained to keep it in its original place so that history would not be discarded. They said, “Savage may even be accurate as we have always been fighting, we have never given up our land”.

    The situation of the Indians made me think about whether the aborigines of Taiwan are also labeled “savage”? What did they fight for? What kind of transformation are they facing? How can they re-recognize their roots? How do they continue their culture? So after returning to Taiwan, I went to the aboriginal tribes to learn about their rituals about singing, making wine, curing meat, collecting wild vegetables, and worshiping their ancestors... I am trying to present contemporary aboriginal myths with words and photography, and I will publish I Set Fire In The Field After Sunset  in 2022.

    I believe that only those symbols that trigger mental states can capture the hazy and fleeting sense of existence. Therefore, I will continue to explore and revise, to find expressive symbolic images and to embody poetry in my works.

[the-world-without-names]

Feed

Calm all my fears

Bless me that I never

have a good harvest

never stop

at the end of hunting trail

 The deer on my shoulder

is still bleeding

it has left a mark for itself

to return to the forest

 The darkness was waiting for me

to turn back

 I stepped barefoot

into the sweet stream

 The darkness was on its way

 The leech coiled around my calf

cut me

with its jaws in its mouth

The leech swelled its body

collected my blood

 I waited for it

to be full and then

fell off

 The wound

is long gone

and so is the darkness

 Thinking of a part of me

left in its body

I must return to the mountain

as soon as possible

[the-world-without-names]

In Position

Free-range child

has no heart

He stares at the figure

on the water

no intention of moving away or

approaching

 Moment in place

The myth makes no noise

 Child takes off shoes

puts his feet in the water-

 My multi-layered dream is not clear

until the end

 The lost crowd come

and are about to call my name

 Too late. I stare

at the set with trees and waterholes in the distance

being turned upside down

 I fall back here again

Can't remember whose kindred or

sacrifice I am

 There's no noise

to guide me

 My empty heart

commands me

to guard the part that is not

revealed

[the-world-without-names]

【The List of Yu-Hsuan’s Published Books】

2022  A book combining photography and poetry, I Set Fire In The Field After Sunset

2021  An art review, Longing for Infinite

2021  Chinese-English bilingual combine photography with essays, Death is Dying

2019  Chinese-English bilingual combine photography with poetry, The Forgetting of Form: Sketches from my residency at Santa Fe

2018  Chinese-English bilingual combine photography with poetry, Escaping life

2016  Chinese-English bilingual combine photography with poetry, The World Without Names.

2016  A book combine photography with essays, Living in Nowhere.

2014  One book about cinema, Decaying Anywhere: 99 Love Letters from a Movie Fan.

2012  A collection of poems, Exchanging Lovers’ Ribs.

[the-world-without-names]

In our red brick house, the front door leads to the green hedge while the back door the blue yard. Wherever you go you are encircled. Before I left Taiwan I remember reading Don Juan’s description of how native Americans will go to the base of a cliff surrounded by rocks. Once there, they will slowly collect twigs and build a natural cage filled with wood, leaves and earth. They will lie down on the ground facing eastwards and spend the night alone.

 To bury oneself inside that circle symbolized cleansing oneself of the inconsequential. To practice centering and letting go at the same time so as to return to the mind of the warrior. The next day before leaving they will dismantle the cage and put the earth back where it used to be before scattering the twigs on shrubs and the leaves inside the circle to obliterate the presence of a human.

 During the three months I spend at Santa Fe as resident artist, I too hope to be encircled by nature and to separate from the world outside so I can nourish my own spirit. Thereafter I will cover up signs of my existence and return to the world I left behind like a new person as if I had never left in the first place.

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Out of the blue we have our first Chinese lesson. I tell them we should begin by giving ourselves Chinese names. The motivation behind learning a language is not to simply speak but to express who we are through that language. Through object lessons we experience our existence and only then move more intimately and omnipotently towards it.

 I have never given thought to how I would teach Chinese. The first thought that flashes through my mind is teaching someone a new language is giving them a new way to interpret and see the world. Language shouldn’t be used to feed the mundane but should be in response to the pursuit of meaning. Therefore I choose not to teach them “hello, good morning, goodbye”. I write three lines down on the blackboard, “Seeing a mountain as a mountain, Not seeing a mountain as a mountain; Seeing a mountain as a mountain again.”

 My English speaking abilities cannot keep up with the speed I think in Chinese so I speak in Chinese and ask Po Yun to translate what I say into English as completely as possible. The three lines mark the starting point of our dialogue in Chinese; I hope they can bypass these symbols and return to their own experiences.

 I begin by explaining the meaning behind every character in every line. I ask them what they think “to see a mountain as a mountain” means? How does one see a mountain simply as a mountain? If we view these three stages as states of life, what constitutes each state? If we cast value judgment aside, what causes the change from one state to the next? What is the difference between the first “seeing” and the third “seeing”? How do these three states describe one’s relation to the world? And which state do they currently see themselves in?

 I continue to ask questions for them to dwell on and probe: from seeing and understanding without prejudice to attaching meaning to what we perceive to wiping away personal judgment and seeing everything anew in its original state. What is ‘seeing’? How do we attach meaning? Do things actually have meaning? How do we forget the self? Under what circumstances can we forget the self? What is the relationship between seeing a mountain not as a mountain and creativity? How is poetry born in this state?

 When our discussion comes to an end, I ask them to find an object in this classroom known as the sunlight room that reflected their own current state of mind. Iku said she was the potted plant giving others oxygen. Lily said she was like the cactus, sharp and thorny on the outside. Danna shook her head and said she could not come up with anything. I tell her that’s okay as the challenge is not in the naming but in patiently waiting between objects and self, to continue looking and feeling.

 Before I dismiss them, I give them an assignment. They have to write down an ordinary moment that grabs them. They don’t have to care if what they have written is a poem or not. Danna asks, “How do I go about it?” I tell her, “Follow your heart and intuition”. The night before our second Chinese lesson, she sends me her first poem, not one character deviated from her heart.

[the-world-without-names]

I sit down under a tree as a street vendor. I dip a twig in water and write down these words,

 “Memories and hope ask us to commit to their future,

A poem for you to immortalize memory and hope.”

 A girl wants to know why I decided to set up stall here. I reply I have a feeling all walks of life could be absorbed by this outdoor plaza here without distortion. So I looked for a tree nearby and begin writing poetry. The girl asks me what I was hoping to hear from strangers? I tell her I didn’t know but no matter how insignificant it was definitely something that took up space in their hearts.

 The man didn’t say a word. He merely took a pen in each hand and began to draw me. I see my face begin to take shape under his rapid strokes. I begin a poem about his two hands. I write: “Two plume of feathers stir a breeze from deep within, they fly and fly without any thought of arrival. When they halt, we sigh softly as no utterance is possible when truth shows its face.”

 He smiles and takes out a new piece of paper. He continues to draw a map of America with his left and right hand. He draws each state and each major city. At the uppermost corner of the map, he draws a tiny triangle and colors it pitch black. He tells me he was born there and he had been flying everywhere making pictures just like I said. He says, “I want to continue wandering.”

 Another man comes over. He inquires right away, “If there is no common language between us, how will you know my story? “I tell him everything about you is language, your spirit can be conveyed through the look in your eyes. I write a poem: “While we are sleeping, language is awake. We feel closest to each other when we wake up and can’t remember our names.”

 I read it once to him in English. He asks me to read it again for him in Chinese. I read it character by character. He said he could hear something that transcended language in it perhaps something that is the most primitive and common emotion in all of us. I mention to him I am intentionally not teaching my child to speak. I hope at the start of his life he is not living in a language system already created by us. When we call a piece of paper paper we cease striving to know it. I hope my child can re-see the world at any moment without predestined thinking or language blocking him and the thing itself.

 It begins to rain. The man helps me clean up and asks me my name. I tell him Frida. He mentions he is an artisan from Mexico and the next time he sees me he is going to give me a necklace just like the one Frida Kahlo wore around her neck. Afterwards he crouches down and moves backwards as he waves goodbye with his two hands. My son Chuan runs after his two hands as if they are two butterflies. The two of them share the longest goodbye.

[the-world-without-names]

Danna and Iku’s poems both show how they penetrate the inside of nature in order to understand how it evolves. In response, I cite the last passage about the end of chaos in Zhuangzi’s “The normal course for rulers and kings”. When we say “respect for chaos” we are talking about seeing uncertainty though the lens of detachment as well as observing the clear demarcation between others and self so as not to interfere with the workings of another’s life based on our own good intentions.

 A month ago at the end of their all school council meeting, Moe came up to us and said with kindness, “This is just my suggestion, feel free to refute it!” We were already immensely grateful for the opportunity he had given us to teach at this democratic school, and why would one want to refuse dialogue that could bring about deeper understanding?  Yet Moe’s intimation clearly revealed his decency and his reflections to arrive at that sense of decency. It was grounded in viewing everyone as equals and truly respecting one another.

 After Moe confirmed that the freedom between us was intact with such sincerity and humility, I knew the Tutorial School guided by him and Iku had realized the true spirit of democracy. Here was a call, a call for each individual to pursue freely, to reject freely, to respect your own freedom and choices and not to be afraid of becoming the voice of dissent.

 I tell Iku that judging from the way they interacted with each other and what I witnessed in every corner of the school I could tell this was a humanistic school that respected chaos. Iku replied laughingly, “If you try to shape a child, the child will have to expend energy on resisting rather than focusing on finding what they truly want.” Moe and her have completely let go of the reins allowing each child to exercise their freedom as an independent being and not have to “dig seven orifices for the sake of chaos” as Zhuangzi intimated.

 On a whiteboard in the hallway it is written, “The more rules, the less freedom. The less freedom, the less happiness. The less happiness, the more crimes. The more crime, the more rules”. I believe that this was a redraft of Chapter 57 of Laozi’s Tao Te Ching “When there are many taboos in the world, the people are poor; When the people are full of weapons, the country is weak; When the people are crafty, strange things happen; When there are too many laws, thieves increase.”

 When this democratic school did away with all the top down rules governing the way they live and learn children found the freedom to slowly explore through chaos what is in the public good and what moral guidelines originated from within themselves. This place became a fertile space where the force of life flowed and could be re-created just as it states in the Tao Te Ching, “Let each of them go their own way, without possession or sway; To nurture all things and let them go yet on them you should not rely; You’re the leader, but you don’t control—This is the virtue most profound.”

 Yesterday during inspiration time at the start of the meeting, Moe mentioned, “The world is in a chaotic state… every person has their own unique path to pursue, here at our school, our goal is to help you find that path.” Right after his comments someone talked about the agreement on power usage in winter, someone else asked about the status of the outdoor survival skills course, groups discussed which trail to take on Thursday’s hike, some kids were allocating cleaning chores while others were asking the birthday boy what he wanted to eat…

 Just before the end of the meeting, a girl that had her head down drawing all this time suddenly raised her hand. She was ten years old, the youngest student at the school. With her baseball cap on backwards she remarked nonchalantly, “I have something to add to what Moe said earlier.” She picks up her drawing and with confidence reads, “Life is a diving board of inspiration, love yourself, throw it all no matter how hard it punches or how windy it is. Coz some people can’t love themselves.” After she ends, everyone breaks into applause. The chairman asks if anyone else has something to add. The chairman does not wrap up the meeting rather he announces, “Let’s be naked!” as if he is inviting everyone to jump from the diving board into the water without fear, learning to love ourselves.

[the-world-without-names]

O’keeffe said she wanted to find the infinite along the horizon or haul herself across the mountain to find it. Her house on Ghost Ranch faced the Pedernal Mountain which she maintained, “… is my private mountain, it belongs to me. God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it.” After she died, her ashes were scattered along this narrow mesa.

 The points of displacement are connected to form a line. Whether rising upwards or swooping down, the tip as the end or the beginning point of the two-line intersection move in one direction. When the Pedernal is flattened, our line of vision produces a sense of rhythm due to the anamorphosis of force. Resistance emerges from smooth lines being released from its tightly wound state. The loosened planes extend to become permanent relief.

 In her paintings, the Pedernal is held up by a straight line between steadily sloping contours. The flattened summit is in close proximity to the rim of the paper and the mountain sits almost stock center on the page, its arms falling symmetrically to the left and right so as to safely ensconce the sand and shrubs close to the ground. What fascinated O’keefe was not the stacking and collapse of force but rather its melding and synthesis.

 The older she became the less she cared about depicting gradations in the sinews and fold of the Pedernal; the mountain gradually went from dynamic to static. However what appears as randomly sketched outlines of the Pedernal faithfully capture the rise and fall of its angles and planes. The Pedernal with its single flat color and partial representation changes from mountain into a pure symbol.

 At this later stage, O’keeffe also pushed the summit down from the top of the page towards the bottom almost as if the horizon itself was slowly oscillating. Her eyes were no longer fixed on the pulsing of life right beneath the summit but rather stayed on the empty vastness above it in that realm buffering heaven and earth. Her one painting from 1945 resembled the Chinese character for “heaven” carved on oracle bone: the Pedernal Mountain was a person standing tall while on his head rested a circular ideographic symbol pointing to the infinite space above. What appears to be the peak of the Pedernal Mountain slowly exhales air that billows and spreads all the way past the edge of the infinite.

[the-world-without-names]

Once a month the Santa Fe Art Institute hosts open studio where visitors are allowed to visit. I go in to my studio first thing in the morning to decorate my studio. Nora comes over and asks me how I came to paint the pictures on the wall? I tell her I didn’t have to do anything, through ink in water they simply came to be. She says this gives her inspiration. She crumples pieces of paper and allows paint to just drip down. She finds a new way of displaying her work.

 The walls of my studio are plastered with drafts of my writing. In a few corners there are also clumps of purplish cotton thread I have been using in my stall at the central plaza in Santa Fe. Other than balls of dead end knots you cannot see either end of the thread. It felt like me. I decide to preserve my disorder and confusion by hanging fragments of my writing and photographs.

 I yearn for external stimulation so I leave my studio and walk out into the bitter cold. I run into a worker bending to harvest Mountain Sage. I ask him, “Where is your dog?” He raises his head and recognizes me. He tells me with a laugh “In that corner!” When he sees I am about to walk off he teases, “Why aren’t you helping me?” I walk towards him before he says “I’m joking.” He picks up a dried branch, puts it near the tip of his nose and inhales deeply. He asks me, “Have you smelled this? It is very fragrant.” I pick a stick from the ground and bring it to my nose. The smell of wild earth immediately captivates me. I grab a few of the leaves he cut off and thank him for giving me inspiration: My exhibition was in need of their fragrance. He breaks into a glorious smile and wants me to take it all. I turn back and yell I don’t need that much, a little will remind me of the whole wild world.

[the-world-without-names]

【Poetry and Poetic Installation】Wish

Who shovels fear and

puts it on the heart—

the ruined door and window?

who shovels sight

toward the room of the future?

Under the slanted sky

we open up our hands

the weight of a spatter of rain

just splits us apart with all efforts and

inserts us

at an angle into the earth

As if a nail-like eye

exposed

sees through the gloomy sky

with unspeakable fear

Fear falls down

transforms into human shape

becomes more and more affective while walking

When it is split apart

unable to make a wish:

who shovels the fear

in the heart

closes the eyes

in the room of the future

[the-world-without-names]

【Essays on Education】Promoting Democratic Education in Taiwan

There is no art greater than life. I am an interdisciplinary artist, I create between literature, Butoh dance and films. I am also an alternative educator, I guided adults and children in different phases to go back to their inner side, to develop their own uniqueness, to broaden the vision of each other, to activate the real opening of education.    

Now I am mainly working in the only one Democratic Education School in Taiwan called ‘Holistic’, we work hard in summarize our 20 years educational experience and give advice to the government and public, we also represent Taiwan to join the IDEC (International Democratic Education Conference). We offer an environment for students to have an equal share in the decision-making of a learning community based on equality and mutual respect. We believe that when students are empowered with the active ability and responsibility to decide on what to learn and how to do it, they make full use of their own potential and creativity. They are learning how to think and how to speak, our goal is to develop a critical and responsible citizen in the democratic society.

By the heuristic mode of teaching and reacting, students and I were in the adventure of trying errors, and we were learning to take over the burden of freedom, it would also inspired our imagination. Last year, I combined my creating experience and teaching practice in ten years, I come back to my home town Taitung for remote country education, the education plan called ‘Poetic enlightenment, becoming yourself’, I try to add drama and dance in the poetry education, I conduct students to cross the border of every system, to build their own living knowledge.

I was often invited to give speeches to high schools and universities, talking about how could each student being able to take their own path in life, and following their interests to develop into the persons that they are meant to be? In truth, we adults must attempt to revive our pure eyes, and find our inner child, rediscovering the world, beginning life anew. I wish myself to become a ‘moving school’, I will intervene in the society, disturb the society, like German artist Joseph Beuys suggested ‘social sculpture’, by public participating and interacting, everyone will shape their thoughts, shape their action and shape the world we live in, then ‘art’ would be a powerful social practice.

[the-world-without-names]

【Poetry and Japanese Butoh Dance】Masked Parade

Rolling into the parade,

All of my wishes became young.

On this long road, so noisy and bustling,

I encountered old friends.

We shed our defenses,

Saying: It’s been so long,

And they’ve missed me.

The sweat in my palm,

I squeezed into flowers

And tucked behind their ears.

It wasn’t until they turned and walked away

That I finally quietly said:

Forgive my never opening up,

Nor revealing myself in language.

Just pretend that I’ve been sick all these years.

And tomorrow comes along,

Wearing a blank mask and imitating

The looks of yesterday,

So as to sneak into

The lines of the parade.

With righteous indignation and sadness,

It dances with me.

[the-world-without-names]

【Poetry and Japanese Butoh Dance】Fly Over

Our mountains

have been climbed at times

and discreetly maintained at times

Remain unchanged through seasons

no flowers, no

leaves or fruits

we often lift our heads up

expecting a delicately carved bird

flying toward the sky

through the forest of metal

through the mountains

molting day after day

revealing its naked heart

Upon the heart

a gust of wind inscribed

howls through a wood

blusters all the sounds below

Gently covered by those sounds

needless to make any effort

we identify our own names

passing through the array of sounds

in reverse we

flutter our wings and fly over

[the-world-without-names]

【Poetry and Japanese Butoh Dance】Siege

It discovers the secret

of siege

is not being deeply besieged, but

opening up a whole world

without anything treasurable inside

[the-world-without-names]

【Essays on Education】The Agora of Revolution: The Practice of Remote Country Education

I am always looking for a receptacle, to load myself. At first, I found movies. Now, I find open fields in the nature.

After arriving Chishang town, I don’t cry as much as before. Since my ego vanished. Outside my window is rice paddies, behind the paddies is Coastal Mountains Range. I thought I am thinking usually, in fact I’m not. I’m just watching them, everything in front of me: sunshine, hill, mist, cloud and the rice wave. They live and perish so silently, they come and go as usual. I’m no longer be bound by others’ surveilled looks, I can watch peacefully when they born, also when they die. At night, I will lay on the rocky lane beside the fields, close my eyes gently, hearing the flow of the drainage in highly concentration. I won’t try to imagine where they come and go, only hold our connection tightly in this moment.

Living in the city, that would be hard to forget ourselves. We are located in the figure of human construction, taming every empty land by human purpose, which the land is visional, systemic and spiritual. We can’t watch things in reality. We are used to intervene, judge, distort and kill. We want to be higher than anything, control everything. Our ego exists in every moment. We watch, for colonizing this world under our will. We no longer rely on awareness of adventure, but wearing all kinds of prejudice to shut anything out. Everywhere is molding our will, therefore everywhere become the extension of our will. Gradually we can not watch life directly, also the death. When we can’t grasp something, we will cry.  

I am always looking, looking for a receptacle, as it is also a retreated path, let me distract from this world, back to my reality, no measuring and no plundering. At first, I came back to my hometown, only want to receive myself in it, and lead children in Chishang to understand their own limit through writing poems. After some days, I start to look for the receptacle besides me, the receptacle which more people can be loaded. The natural open field taught me: Do not leave the connection between the world and me so nimbly and easily, do not stand outside, do not cover this variable and mysterious world through definite language.  

It’s not we don’t speak anymore, but we learn to speak afresh. The tamed, should be release slowly. Every class in Chishang Junior High School, I also learn with kids, we respect our heart and will, respect change of everything, we are no longer bound by the same receptacle, nor relying on one solid meaning and perception. For understanding how a poet creates the way to us, and try to find the way back to him, after reading a poem, I will ask children: ’How do you feel?’ ‘Do you think what kind of person this poet is?’ Then we will get a new way of understanding life through reading. Besides absorbing, we also need transferring. The receptacle on hand, also need to put down. Then I will say: ’Take the scissors, cut out the words, make every word has no reliance to each other, only follow your heart will they find a home.’

It would be just these words, no more or less. Only with these words could force kids to deconstruct their original sense of language and mode of expressing, they have to enter a fresh relationship with language and open a new dialog with themselves. The real choice is always under a limited condition, and the freedom will begin at where the limit settled. Facing the words is just facing themselves. Every practice of getting close to themselves would start from denying what they don’t want. Learn to choose, and learn to be abstemious. So they can treat the words anew, consider the weight of every word again. Unintentionally, they give their heart to the vocabularies, and put meanings onto their own experience. After all, the completion of a poem, would just behind the timing when they meet themselves.    

During the limited time in class, I made most efforts on removing the rules they endured from school, I tried to release them, like Chishang released me. I ask them, who is ‘I’? What is ‘Love’? And what is ‘Death’? What nature taught me, I will also teach kids. There is no existence that we can not look straight to, nor a problem we can’t face. Kids will scratch their heads and answer these questions slowly. The answer is hard to speak, since the reality is always hard to face. I’ll keep waiting, make a brief question become an issue which can take long time to face. I won’t give an answer to stop their thinking. One class only has one question. No hints, no destination. The question will only be answered when the deepest emotion meets the most delicate moment.      

After school, I usually go to Grandma Apopo’s place, watch her and her four lovely kitties. Apopo made rice steamed bun and rice popsicle by her own hand, and she also create a little open square, some tables and chairs settled. Once I asked her why her store is not marked on the tourism map of Chishang? She propped up her cheek and said: ’I don’t want to join the sightseeing line of the County government! I will promote the idea of maintaining good heath by my own way.’ There is a white wall in her square, which painted a sketch of ecological cycle. And up the square a board hanging and written the word ‘Mother’. She often plays with the cat and whispers: ‘Nature is just our Mother, she gives us the richest and the simplest. The guests dine here would learn this class, just within a meal, they will know feeling the original taste of the food, is just tasting the sunshine and the land.’      

Apopo and her little square, just reminds me of Socrates. He resisted oligarchy, thus he stepped out of the system, as a public citizen conversed with other people in Agora (plaza and market), he was so brave to start the righteous action and life in his own nation. The open field in Chishang already gave me a pair of new eyes. I never imagined that I would meet a public square here. I wish I could be like Apopo, creating my own plaza. I will bring this kind of plaza and receptacle, loading more and more people. Just begins at every eye contacting and every meeting. I’ll revert any mind-sharpening class to a revolutionary Agora, step with the kids on the revolutionary road.

[the-world-without-names]

【Poetry and Japanese Butoh Dance】Chance

What is chance?

either when we have been waiting for so long

but nothing changes, or

when we have changed for so long

but are no longer patient with waiting

Day after day we

watch the surface of water splitting

the next moment

suturing voluntarily

nothing else inside emerges

except the light and shadow accidentally

bring us illusions

Still we are waiting for

destiny overlooks—

just like us

being dropped from the surface of water

the one who is tired of waiting

but never leaving

At that moment, we

stretch out our hands

pull him up arduously

sit shoulder to shoulder by the shore

watch the surface of water suturing

without any crevice

no one will attempt to ask

who each one’s chance is