"Studying Murakami’s protagonists, we may detect that most of them suffer from separation and loss in one way or another, which makes them question the limitations of Knowing the Other, and the extent to which we can say we truly know someone. In this regard, Murakami invents new ways to make reaching and understanding the Other possible. Despite the imposed reality of absence and the impossibility of communication, communicate as a form of intimacy, he creates another form of connectivity that enables the subject to enter into a vortex of connections with the Other, making this connection a hinge to the self itself. We can observe that for Murakami, it is this longing and search for the Other that leads to the self ; in the sense that the Other functions as a key element to unwrap the dark secrets of the self, and hence, of the shadow. Indeed , this connection happens through the well. The well here functions as the passage (territory) through which Okada enters into connection with."

I overthink.I overthink. Do you?Do you feel sick of how much your mind think?Do you have scattered thoughts, you could never stop?Do you not? I can tell you about it, if you want.It is like-, no, not a straight line.It's like a loop, a never ending loop.You will think it will halt, but dude you are honestly fooled. And yes also doomed and maybe screwed.Your mind will keep dwelling on the same thought until you cannotTake it anymore.You will scream stop, but it will never click pause.You will beg please, but it will never ceaseIt will never let you breathe. It will never leave you in peace.You will distract yourself, meet some friends, that will let you forget. That's a relief.But it will only be brief, until it comes again. I mean.It's how it works. I know it hurts. But I wish I had words that can curseit away.Anyway. it's okay.Right?There will always be light somewhere in my mind.It's quite dim in here, but I can feelThat liberation is quite near.Do you feel it too? Well, I hope you do.

She walks in silence, like a lapping wave

As the sun sets on a beautiful summer evening, Anna sits on the porch swing with her grandchildren gathered around her, their eager faces illuminated by the soft glow of twilight. With a tender smile, Anna begins to share her story, the story of a journey through darkness to light, of hope and healing, of love and resilience."My dears," Anna begins, her voice filled with warmth and wisdom, "I want to tell you a story. A story of a young girl who once felt lost and alone in the world, who struggled with her own thoughts and feelings, who didn't know if she could go on."And as Anna weaves her tale, her grandchildren listen intently, captivated by the words of their beloved grandmother. They hear of Anna's struggles and triumphs, her moments of despair and moments of joy, and they come to understand the depth of her resilience and the power of her love."But you see, my darlings," Anna continues, her eyes twinkling with love, "even in the darkest of nights, there is always a glimmer of light, a spark of hope that can lead us back to the path of healing and redemption. And I want you to remember that no matter what challenges you may face in life, you are never alone. There are people who care about you, who understand you, who will stand by your side through every trial and tribulation."As the night falls and the stars twinkle overhead, Anna's grandchildren gather closer to her, their hearts filled with love and gratitude for the wisdom she has shared. And as they drift off to sleep, their dreams are filled with visions of hope, of resilience, of a future filled with endless possibilities.

Ears are breaking for time and soundAnd I'm here to listenMouth pining for poison and shoutsI'm hers to rest inI am here for lover and mountThey're there to creep inI, in holier time than allAm giving inI, in guilt I swimAnd gloat inI, in greater atmospheresWrite nothingI, when fired from seven skiesPuke rhythmsI, afraid of the soundAm crawling from withinI am running to the timeWhen she , the ultimate, was hiddenI, my muse dances every roundAnd tastes like fire down throats glisteningI'm grievingI, lost my holier than thou faceAnd I listenTo demons inside and heavenWhen will a want endAnd need beginWhen will I contend with simply just living

My soul has left the carcass I was guidingI looked at my corpse lying there all alone.Thinking, will someone find me?I've isolated myself from all those who careWill they see me?I looked beautiful and serene, as if I had gone to sleep.How didn't I appreciate what I saw when I looked at that bloody mirror?I hear the bell ring; I am surprised. I go to open the door only to have my hand go throughThat's rightI am alive no moreI look at my friends through the door.They haven't given up on me!Oh how I wish I'd done more for youThey knock with no replyI hear my phone ringingThey hear it too"we hear you, open the door, let us come through"No reply.Over the days, I keep watch over my corpse as it decaysMy phone keeps ringing with no replyI wish I could pick up and say:"I miss you, I'm here, I wish I could stay"It hasn't been many daysThey manage to open the doorI would say I'll not forget the look on their facesBut I'm not sure what's waiting for me when I goIs there an after,Or will I swim into oblivion forever?The shock, the horror, the tears"Come back"I wish I could.I try to wipe their tearsWith no successThey carry me softly to wash away my sinsThis is the last I will see the flesh that carried me.I am draped in whitePeople cry and laugh remembering mePeople I don't even know came to see meI think in my heart "Please remember me".And as they carry me to my graveI start to fade,I'm not ready to go.But at least I know, my memory will live on.

My path nascency

White DeathAs we rise from the ashes;A Valkyrie and an Orpheus.I can see us taking on the worldWith nothing but our plain words.I wonder what history will call us.What brands will be ours?What symbols?Regardless, I'm glad I'm not alone.So you be the Ginsburg:As you shout out your poems and metaphors,Your graphic scenes and daring questions.Infest this cured society with your ugly truths.And I will be the Dickinson:Writing down my thoughts,On scrapped papers,Behind closed doors,Hiding them under my pillow.And I will await my deathFor the infested stink to come out and join yours.A plague for the century.A white death for the country.And by then we'll be together, with the gods,Dinning and winning and getting high on each other.I will await my death as you will await yours.And when you're six feet under;In a closed wooden box,Or wrapped up in a white sheet-A present, for me-Know that I'm on the same side-A present, for you-.

Breakdowns

August 18th

He is one of a kind; lovely and deadly. 

“Why would you write a poem about me?”

Poem: Twenty-six