The artist’s used brush

From betwixt the secluded island abundant with giants’ pinecones, luminous arteries hike up their taut sleeves and stretch with all their might – as if to brush the watery duck-egg from below. Fire opals grace the spiralling pond with their pink flames. They lap the surrounding pond, painted murky by the artist’s used brush, rinsed clean with their fiery tongues. 



Fleeting moments

A blue tit skims a stagnant pool; for a moment longer, a thistled creature clings, snoozing upon a wispy blade of grass.

A bumbling bee brushes the golden weed; for a moment longer, golden dust speckles its hairy back.

A coffee laden spider scrambles over tangled grass; for a moment longer, the lanterns bathed in green breathe in, and breathe out.

A fly, wings amiss, wiggles antennae to the breeze of the wind.


A contemplation of ‘the three-cornered world’

My longing to become submerged in the depths of the grassland’s chasm, overwhelms and incapacitates me. Any ability I thought were mine to even shift in this cramped, precarious four-cornered microcosm (a paraphrased idea from the great Sōseki), has been shrouded by obscurity and defiance. Perhaps, I ponder, once (and also if -I laugh-), I reach the ‘three-cornered world’, tranquility will engulf me. I am without a doubt, however, that at this moment in time my being is far from adhering to such an absurd and splendid world.