February 18, 2014

On a Station - haibun

On a Station

a young woman whose body and its language says she wants to be invisible more than anything else empties her bag on the bench and sorts her things after size with the biggest nearest to her she puts them back one after one from her skinniness I assume she's starving herself she has the complexion of yellow moonlight

the step before oblivion
is a matchstick girl

a young man dressed in new clothes following the fashion of his peers walks around in tiny measured steps following paths only he himself can see he seems uncomfortable as if he really doesn't know what kind of behaviour and gait goes with the image he tries to convey he walks as if he's afraid to touch the ground

all grey the rain the eyes in the wall in the crowd

they've recently converted to Islam these two Danish women in their early twenties they exchange experiences with living in a male dominated sub culture of quasi fundamentalists from their facial expressions it's hard I can see though they confirm to each other that it's exciting they adjust the scarf covering their hair one putting a stray strand back under the other's scarf they're sitting behind me on a double bench forgetful of how loud their voices are Ali does this Muhammed does that it's very hush hush

rushing from light to light (on time) our pilgrimage on Earth

February 13, 2014

Bones - haibun


The turning point in crime shows was when we began seeing the detective as a person. No longer was it the crime -> case solved straight line but we got to know a little about how the (imaginative) hero was as a person. Depths were added to the supposed reality of the genre. Nowadays it's standard.

What do you do, then, when you think the hero or heroes of a crime show are utterly uninteresting and superficial persons?

first snowdrops
the road goes on

(“You stop watching those shows, don't you?”

“I'm not watching. They're just there, aren't they?”

“Well, you turned on the TV ... I rest my case.”

“Bloody know-it-all!”)

February 07, 2014

Japanese? - a haibun

”What's with the chop sticks and the miso soup? You're not Japanese.”

”You sure? I could be.”

”No, you're not. You're born in Denmark and it takes more than flirting with a culture to actually be a part of it.”

”I can try, can't I? I mean, I'm taking lessons in language, brush painting, cooking and what have you. I'm thinking of going there as soon as I can.”

”When will that be? You haven't got the money and you're afraid of flying.”

”Man, you're always so negative! Can't you just be glad I have something that excites me?”

”Of course I can, but you won't become Japanese no matter how many courses you take. And besides, they would never accept you as one of theirs if you ever get to go. You'll be a foreigner for 10 generations or more.”

”Says you. What do you know?!.”

“I know they work very long hours and you haven't held on to even a part time job for more than 2 weeks. You couldn't survive in Japan. Not on the same terms the Japanese live.”

“Shut it! Have you seen the band-aids? These damn straw sandals give me blisters.”

cold fondue
what's left of the frog
the cat eats