five-word message

this is a poster in my dining room. the original ones were used during the world war two to influence public opinion. there were no television and internet back then. poster was a highly effective medium to steady public's resolve and maintain morale. and the five-word message sums it all. in today's context the words are still relevant somehow. keep calm and carry on. nothing ideological. just simply british.

time to cook

perhaps i shouldn't treat academic homeworks (essays, dissertation, presentation, etc.) the way i do poems or fiction stories. i mean, not substantively of course, for certainly the two categories do belong to different baskets of qualification. but more in terms of how to craft them.

lately i came to discover that i spend quite a splendid amount of attention and time in trying to make my homeworks tasty and delicious, which is nearly impossible. there is just not enough time to do that. it's like you can't cook a real good fancy food when you have less than five minutes.

i guess there is an appropriate limit of time to be allocated for each work that we do. circling around one single job for a long time may give you the advantage of seeing the details. but this benefit comes to you at the cost of losing the opportunity to tap the other possibilities.

i know i can not always choose what i want to do, what i want to write, or read. or eat, or cook. yet i try to be wise in administering my twenty four hours a day, so that i can remain intact and still can escape my room in the daytime to breath the fresh air outside. i can read what they want me to read, even if i disagree with the material that i read, while i also can read books about china 's foreign affairs which are compulsory for my dissertation. the same with writing.

if only you understand what is expected from your text, or your work, it will be simpler to finish the job. perhaps not necessarily easier, but at least you can focus better and accomplish the mission sooner.

nightingales

midnight birds, what are you doing out there. i can hear your conversations from my room. after everyone in this house is asleep, except me, you and your friends are still singing in the park. why?

do you discuss something out there? i believe you don't have essays to submit this week, do you? so what do you discuss, tell me please. in english if possible.

are you cold, or scared? are you a bit drunk tonight? or are you just having a late night picnic at the wellington square? is it a bit hungry that you feel? would you like to have some bread? or are you just being touched by loneliness? it must be dark out there, isn't it. i hope you are not lost.

i'm sure you're not afraid of darkness. i hear your's is a lovely song. it seems as if nature speaks through you in this midnight hour. even though to me it's a bit odd to hear birds singing at this time, i admit your cheerful music bring a sense of spring into my mind. so please carry on singing. tell your stories to the stars, or to the wind if it's a cloudy night... and i will sit silently right here, in my room at the basement of this old house, guessing what is the meaning of your sweet song. if you wouldn't mind.

---

"...i built my house beside the wood
so i could hear you singing,
and it was sweet and it was good
and love was all beginning..."

- nightingale, l.c.-

antidote

he is just trying to remain intact these days. because it feels like standing in an open field and four strong winds try to drag this grip away. from all directions the questions come, freezing and hard, embracing the youth that resides within him with their arms of ice. asking him for his time and his name. he gave them both. they still want more. the rest. oh he guessed only the red twinkling lamp attached to the rear of his bike would really give him protection from behind.

if he squeezes an hour of his time, he will get five to ten minutes of it as the core of that hour, the essence of his concentrated work. the summary of the sixty minutes. because the rest are but a story upon which he dwells to get to his ultimate quality. a story he presents to the world, with his name on the top of it as its title. when the clock is ticking, the heart is beating too, and the evolution goes on. dark, bright, ever changing of seasons. the progress, or not really, simply the movement, continues to make sure that the ship reaches the land. now look at the waves, and be silent... ah, and he knows it's the time for the swan to float on the english river.

scattered on ice

mexican food, fierce snowball fight, unfinished work, slippery streets, broken sketches, sweet lemonade, cold nescafé, unwanted bike, green photograph, wet pair of shoes, cold freezing toes, no banana, pink usb, untuned guitar, ukulele, iced lamb and flag, series of dream, rock and roll gear, white wedding gown, mega pixels, known history, february, antarctica.

foreign affairs, black blue and green, baia mare, light lone moment, swollen handle, distant phone calls, unexploded, one two and three, clean fresh laundry, d destiny, fair election, pure poetry, red pagoda, last slain dragon, absolutely, lost strawberry, piccadilly, chinese new year, unrhyming words, scattered on ice.

snow storm

on monday we had snow storm. it created quite a lot of problems here. many schools were closed. my teacher couldn't make it from london to oxford. lectures canceled and many more stories about it...

but to me the coming of snow was a sign that i could sleep more soundly. true, it was a cold day. and that's exactly what made the warmth of blanket and bed a luxury. once i went outside, i rejoiced my heart at seeing the whites all around the town. their brightness and softness, came without noise, like a nice surprise.

today the snow began to melt. they went and i don't know when they'll be back again.

until the day of the snows return, i'll have to content myself with the pictures i took.

"dam, dididam, dididam, dididamdamdam, dam... minä lähden pohjois karjalaan...!"