[Drawing] the Break of Peace

[Essay] You see, the flowers have bloomed

When I was a graduate student in Maryland, I met a family of Wrigleys. Mr. Wrigley taught Eastern Aesthetic Theory in the University and Mrs. Wrigley was a writer of children’s books. I had many fond memories borrowing books from them and exchanging my reading list with theirs. The Wrigleys had many good books, books they carried back from Madrid, Berlin, Firenze, London, New Delhi and Beijing……I switched from full scholarship to half on my second year, and decided to move into a student’s apartment 5 miles away off the campus shared with 3 other international students. Seeing that I had a little teachable quality in me perhaps and was a quiet, not too unpleasant of a being, one day Mrs. Wrigley said, “don’t go. We have a spare room, and many books.” 

I stayed at the Wrigley’s for a year rent free since that September. Mrs. Wrigley worked from home. Apart from her skills of turning every ordinary daily event into an inspiring conversation full of bon mots, she was also an enthusiastic gourmet chef, and I, a passionate consumer of both. Through the year of 2002, I was fed with countless tasty home-cooked meals, cakes, cookies, pies of all sorts, and gained 5 kg in less than half a year. Mr. Wrigley used to write scripts and direct stage plays on the side. When his regular engagement broke off, he started his own little non-commercial troop, paying actors to play in his own shows. 

“You’ll just help me draw those posters.” He said. Therefore, I continued to stay at their house, read many interesting books, had loads fun drawing posters whist playing with the Wrigleys and their 3 ginger cats. Another September had come. I took on a research job in San Francisco, and some freelance journalism gigs with some local papers on the west coast. Days went by just like that. But I always went back to the Wrigley’s before Christmas, played with them and their 3 ginger cats, and gulped down Mrs. Wrigley’s home-cooked meals, cakes, cookies and pies of all sorts. They had a Winter-sweet tree at home that someone brought to them from China. It bloomed so well every Christmas and new year. One year, my flight was cancelled at the last minute and I couldn’t make to the Christmas. Mrs. Wrigley sent me a picture of the winter-sweet flowers – red, exuberant blossoms unfolding gracefully under the cold snowy sky. On the phone later that evening, she said “you see, the flowers have bloomed. We waited for you at dinner. Thought you’d be able to make it. You see, the flowers have all bloomed……yet you couldn’t come.”

In my life, I’ve met many good people like the Wrigleys. They treated me with such generosity it helped me immensely in cultivating my own emotions. Sometimes I think the word “charm” seems to have lost its all charm in comparison to such opulent tolerance and humanity. Even until today when half of my life has been left to memories, I’m still showered with and have much relied on the selfless acts many friends have extended to me.  And with that, many winters have passed with ease and warmth. 

[Drawing] Once Mate, Later Prey

nature over size

[Drawing] Fished A Cat that Fished A Fish

Just as sometimes in life
what you want doesn't come in the form you have imagined
A reality
no better
no worse
merely life as it is

[Drawing] A Bird's Meow

Cat

In the old downtown apartment
the cat had her own histories of life
On the red wooden floor she danced
Against the bedroom furniture she rubbed
on the window frames she touched and loved

she'd been to several places
looking for me

[Drawing] the Big Meow

So I was at Bar Centrale on Yanping Road yesterday afternoon, drawing this picture. There was an American man and a French girl sitting by the table next to mine. It seemed they'd just met as he was trying to get a hang at the precise pronunciation of her name and also in between conversations she was asking him if he'd got a dog. the guy then went on talking about how expensive it was to live in Shanghai these days and how it drove most people to realism and materialism, and the local Shanghai girls he dated had proved just so - I wasn't really eavesdropping but it was sorta hard not to hear - when you randomly sketch on a paper, your mind just naturally drift away and your ears acute, plus it was the rush lunch hour and everyone was loud in order to be heard.

So anyway, that's when I heard him asking: "are you material?"
then I heard her replying: "I don't suppose I am. A good quality none-branded bag often feels the same to me as a Gucci one."
"that's great." he commented, with an acoustic equivalent to a pat on the shoulder.
"But I can afford to be materialistic if I wanted to. So I guess the question is whether you have to be unmaterialistic or is it a choice?"

he did not know how to answer that.

I love her :P

[Poem] A Communication Problem (Xinlei)

A Communication Problem 

THE big Cole Pile is a small Cole Pile that THE small Cole Pile doesn’t recognize 

THE small Cole Pile is a big Cole Pile that THE big Cole Pile doesn’t recognize

Their smokes tightly weaving

Tangling

Merging

Finally disappearing into the thin air 

of this beautiful autumn

[Poem] The Last Day (Gu Cheng)

The Last Day 

The last day 

Is like every other day 

Morning belongs to the dews 

Afternoon belongs to the shadows 

Evening belongs to the stars 

The last day 

Is like every other day 

Only that 

There is no days after 

[Poem] A Poem I Once Wrote (XInlei)

A Poem I Once Wrote 

Ornament to the business 

Of life In its process 

Of delivery 

Celebrated

As much as 

Despised 

One who disdains herself

While looking down 

On others

Dramatized

Romanized 

Can't seem to stay true 

To the genuine essence 

Of a betrayal
realized 

[Poem] My Heart in Love with the World (Gu Cheng)

My Heart in Love with the World

My heart is in love with the world
Love, in a winter evening
gently I pleaded her, like a sheer of uncontaminated
wildfire, kissing the totality of the grassland
so warm the grassland, at its end
lies an ice lake, a striped bass sleeping at the bottom
my heart is in love with the world
she melted, like a flower of frost
melting into my blood, she
flows affectionately, from oceans to
tall mountains, flows, turned eyes into sky blue
turned the mornings rosy
my heart is in love with the world
Love, use my blood
to draw a portrait of her, a cute side portrait
the strand made of corns and stars shines no more
some people are tired, turned their head away
turned away, to appreciate an advertisement

我的心爱着世界

我的心爱着世界

爱着，在一个冬天的夜晚

轻轻问她，象一片纯净的

野火，吻着全部草地

草地是温暖的，在尽头

有一片冰湖，湖底睡着鲈鱼

我的心爱着世界

她溶化了，就象一朵霜花

溶进了我的血液，她

亲切地流着，从海洋流向

高山，流着，使眼睛变得蔚蓝

使早晨变得红润

我的心爱着世界

我爱着，用我的血液为她

画像，可爱的侧面像

玉米和群星的珠串不在闪耀

有些人疲倦了，转过头去

转过头去，去欣赏一张广告

[Poem] Never to See You Around (Gu Cheng)

Never to See You Around

two years we parted
the sequel of parting
is always to see you around
tonight, you are really leaving
really leaving, never to see you around
what else needed?
hands are cold, no handkerchief
is it letter? letter?
in that paper-folded world
a garden of ours
we used to play in
drawing patterns on the clean stairs
with them we danced
dance, forgot the sky was dark
the giant Mars turning around slowing
now, let the flame finish its reading
it smiles brightly
how warm
how I'd like you to look at me for a little while
But, No, the smoke is vanishing
leave, love hasn't burnt out
road can still be seen
leave, further away
when everything disappears in the cry of the insects
you'll see the fence of the sunrise
please open the gate of the fence
stand quietly, stand,
sleep peacefully like the flowers
you'll harvest sun in the tranquility
harvest sun, that's my wish to you


不是再见

我们告别了两年

告别的结果

总是再见

今夜，你真要走了

真的走了，不是再见

还需要什么？

手凉凉的，没有手绢

是信么？信？

在那个纸叠的世界里

有一座我们的花园

我们曾在花园里游玩

在干净的台阶上画着图案

我们和图案一起跳舞

跳着，忘记了天是黑的

巨大的火星还在缓慢旋转

现在，还是让火焰读完吧

它明亮地微笑着

多么温暖

我多想你再看我一下

然而，没有，烟在飘散

你走吧，爱还没有烧完

路还可以看见

走吧，越走越远

当一切在虫鸣中消失

你就会看见黎明的栅栏

请打开那栅栏的门扇

静静地站着，站着

象花朵那样安眠

你将在静默中得到太阳

得到太阳，这就是我的祝愿

[Drawing] A Self Portrait

[Drawing] Three Recent Drawings of Mine

[Poem] Half Finished Poem (Hai Zi)

Half Finished Poem

You are my
half-finished poem
half loved by heart
half buried by flesh
you are my
half-finished poem
not a word allowed to change

[Poem] the Indian Evening (Hai Zi)

the Indian Evening 

on the ferry road to the west secretly embarked the moon
the Ganges River, Buddha cave crammed with somebody else's teeth

stars and beads
a purple string between heaven and earth, a true string

eight feet high the blackness flourished
fiercely the gale howling

city, the little thing emerged only recently
like dessert that loves to consume plants and fishes

troops of crows under the moon
the self-conceited brides in black wedding frock

no one made them proposal
so they combed their own hair in raucous calls

the old man asleep in the storehouse
his shadow wandering on the hand palm, shadow is labor

facing the wall, facing the wall, there appeared the meditator himself
pleading the eternal beauty of wheat flowers

[Poem] the Little Silence Between Us (Xinlei)

The Little Silence Between Us

A secret fire
In the heart of a starless night
That burning heat
misty grey steam evaporates
In the cold winter air

A little glass of glittering wine
Made of red blood of passion
by the wooden window of a night tram
Its flickering shadow dances
In the fast disappearing scenes
Of a private human history

This morning
The blind fortune teller lost her calculation
on the sandy beach
The ragged fisherman cast his broken net
thunders afar, clouds near
All sailors gather
A fiery mix of twanging guitar
with relentless drumming
It's about to rain
It's about
To
Rain

The tension weighs on
And saddens me a little
Regardless the joyful sound of
A calming spring