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Dressing Stone: A Post-Postmodern Picaresque

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Scott Feero

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“Wagons rattling and banging, horses neighing and snorting, conscripts marching, each with bow and arrows at his hip, fathers and mothers, wives and children, running to see them off-- so much dust kicked up you can't see Xian-yang Bridge! And the families pulling at their clothes, stamping feet in anger, blocking the way and weeping-- ah, the sound of their wailing rises straight up to assault heaven. And a passerby asks, "What's going on?" The soldier says simply, "This happens all the time. From age fifteen some are sent to guard the north, and even at forty some work the army farms in the west. When they leave home, the village headman has to wrap their turbans for them; when they come back, white-haired, they're still guarding the frontier. The frontier posts run with blood enough to fill an ocean, and the war-loving Emperor's dreams of conquest have still not ended.”

WThe More Things ChangeApt
Author:Tu Fu
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“El idioma imposible era la negación del vulgar dialecto de la vida, añadir más música a la música: invención, una sombra más verdadera que la luz; formas de vigor que, en mi caso, ascendían de Pepito el Yeyé, y su derramar ficciones urgentes sobre mágicas salas de baile en una Nueva York figuración idílica de su barrio. En ese cielo de parquet la muchedumbre alborotada perdía de vista las miserias del mundo hasta el límite, hasta lo radiante. Pepito y Elsa, cada uno a su modo, tendían a que sus historias fueran agradables, pero también importantes, como una revelación, la Idea misma, divinamente inútil. Quisimos ser ingenuos por segunda vez, para perdonar y perdonarnos, y eso nos partió por la mitad, estampados contra la roca de los tiempos, mientras en el aire brillan cristales marinos.”

WEl Día Del WatusiVolver Con Tu Ex
Book:El idioma imposible
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“tell me even though lies soft words it was about to kill me with you that statue i still in the art of love a baby between us seas and mountains you still can't understand that all men are babies so if i stood before your love quietly then quietness in the love is love our words in love are killing our love and letters are dying after they're said love stories may drive you crazy cause its all full of fantasies love is not a story,my dear where the stars marry each other by the end its to get hot blooded for anything silly it's our misery, it's our killing doubting it's this hand that assassin us and we accept that hand that assassin”

W
Book:عاشقانه های نزار قبانی
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