Ke Yang
Letters 1.
“your voice comes, separated by distant time and space” the left hand pressing the paper, with a heart-piercing force facing, in an instant, many a thing that can’t be recalled such as the tone, the intonation, pauses organic and inorganic even your heart murmurings, strong and weak “the incurable smells, and the body odours” the instant pain, the man writing characters hidden in the squares whose wind may be leaked by the characters if not careful enough putting the hand over the characters you had written the heaven-and-earth sweeping feeling, nearly striking one down the characters so energetic, with enough force to wound and kill “the hand over them could gain energy” so much so that i seemed to be hovering over a face or something else the most enticing part of it was to smell it, and you could taste the sun “the change in the skin of an easterner has a moving charm” the damned mosquitoes bit the arch of my foot “isn’t that as unbearable as licking someone’s soul?” by accident i swallowed a chrysanthemum so softly smooth and slippery that one “sinks” thought and “thought” sinks thoughts that emerged on and off, like drinking muddy water thirsty, then quenched, feeling so happy but the throat got stuck with mud thirsty again and quenched again, life jammed between the head and the body in the instant when hell was entered into, despair surging like first love no one could really bear the “strike” with happiness “it would be a luxury to die in happiness”
Cartas 1.
“Llega tu voz, separada por tiempo distante y espacio” la mano izquierda presiona el papel, con una fuerza que punza el corazón, afrontando, en un instante, muchas cosas que no pueden ser recordadas 293