Poem- Typhoon In recent, I have read a poem called “Still I Rise” , which was written by Maya Angelou, an African-American poet. You may find out that, themes about identity and racial discrimination are centered in the poetry. More or less, shall we say its heart begins from repression and end up release? In contract with Maya Angelou’s, it is as below a poor poem written by me. But just for my expressing about social issues after her inspiration. Typhoon Neon lights in midair are slightly dim A drizzled scene in wordless painted by wind's roars Its invisible figure on sea level from blue to green Perhaps resting before long, leaving weary seams and jars By its mighty hand bringing tall trees to their knees Politicians' portraits are falling out and swaying As if elixir lost efficacy, flying carpets flees But no blankets, homeless dogs in realistic woe are dying Treating all equally, outside the windows whispering low Where gaudy advertisements smashed An innocent passerby wounded by its colourful rainbow In an imaginable eye of waxing moon not shaded? Perhaps there is an incarnate stray bird comes down the walk Turn back, muzzled mouth points to a caterpillar With a cocooning thought calmly behind the room's door lock Released free wings, I wonder Eden of the creator

Starry Sky Within A Starry Sky - In the name of Hú Shì (胡適) Starry Sky Within A Starry Sky- In the name of Hú Shì (胡適) There is a lullaby gently hummed so swift, simultaneous gaudy fireworks to ascend whilst its fragile summoning hand in mirth, is going to scatter in vain Thro' the foggy grim ground smell of powdery time is sinking down unique endless starry sky an intellectual being preciously found start floating, candle like fishing fires surround Can it be an ancient inverted image with distance amid sky heaven and its yonder quarter of humen ? put a sight from water deficient mars so rare, fishing fires are non discrepant to effuglent stars Although my new poem is inferior, I still would like to thank Hú Shì (胡適) about his contribution on "Literature Reform" of our China. Who is Hú Shì (胡適)? He is one of my idol. Everyone has his / her own idols that maybe different to each other. I am just talking about mine. Also special thanks to TIME, its cover is really new and inspiring.

Dragon Soul I walked through a path to the public swimming pool with branches bificuated from trunks at two edges. Sunlight was even more blazing that moment, faces of passengers in front of me glistening with sweat. Like some leaves I thought. Human beings consist of two sides’ stories- one waxy side exposed in sunshine and the other shaded underneath. Was such imagery from some books I had read? Can’t remember but apparently I could not see through those minds of individual being passed by. Apart from a corner of externality- their behaviors or outward appearances, minds are internally hidden from view. A persistent thinking shortened the journey to my destination. So far I was at the entrance of the swimming pool. Today was “Sport for All Day” campaign in Hong Kong. Citizens were not required to pay fee enjoying the sport facilities of the government department from 2pm to 6pm. Well, I went alone since I would like to keep calm and silence during my swimming, as well as reserving a bit private time for communicating with “another me”. Those are not me may simply comprehend “him” as some of my leisure thinks. You can see there are so many people flocking on blue water with cheerful smiles. Whether some of them are small children and most are youths, adults and the elderly…… I sneaked into some conversations while my ears were in and out from the water surface. They were vague but in reasonless some were so completed in my mind, particularly for those the mothers teaching their children how to swim. An unexplained unison liked million voices as one. There was no more discrepancy of various lives. Backed to the origin, we were sleeping in the cradle of light swaying liquid.

Issues About Literature To many, literature is defined to be a kind of fictitious language with implied meanings reflecting what those authors had perceived from realistic environment, by subjective ways to a certain extent. However, it is still hard to give a perfect clarification about the fermentation of authors’ thoughts that inconsistently shows interlacing patterns in between individual’s outer receiving to collective sympathetic reactions. This is, while authors acquired knowledge from society like a breeding ground, they wrote mostly their unique experiences encountered in life and some deeply influence readers’ minds. Though some books were unpopular with contemporary society, they were admitted in next era perhaps. Furthermore, on one hand it can just be told authors are personal and private for their writing works but have delicate connections with the outside world on other. More complicated, no matter in various styles of the artworks, even the realistic one, they are all in fictitious forms. In other words, they are intentional alterations rather than stark depictions of reality. There is also another controversial topic about disconnection between authors and their readers. In recent decades some critics suggests and supports the idea about “the Death of the Author” supposing explanations of the writings should not be based on authors, said further by persons who read instead. The opposite side just disagrees with, maybe considering obliqueness and ambiguity of the writings.

A Micheal Chungani's article in the Daily It is a section in the newspaper for English learners. By reading his article, some scenes of Hong Kong living are shared as well as reviewing and learning some vocabs. Recently the topic was called "Line up to save $2". Its content is as follow: ************* Line up to save $2 by Micheal Chungani I live near the mid-levels escalator but I rarely use the MTR fare-saver machine there. That's because people are always lining up to use it whenever I pass it during rush hour. The line is the longest during lunch hour. I often see people with big stacks of Octopus cards hogging the machine. But, of course, they don't own all the cards. Workers in nearby offices take turns going to the machine with the Octupus cards of all their fellow workers so that they all don't have to go. It is a very innovative idea. Last week during lunch hour I saw about 25 people lining up for the machine, which meant the person at the end had a long wait. I had often wondered how much money I would save if I took the trouble to line up for the machine. I called an MTR official who told me I would save $2 but only if I travelled on the same day. Is it worth standing in a long line to save $2? Could I make better use of my time? I am always very busy so I can't take the trouble to line up for $2. But many people think it is worth it. Is it because of the widening wealth gap in Hong Kong, or are people just greedy? I don't know. If you put many cards together it is called a stack of cards. For example, you can have a stack of business cards, stack of playing cards, or a stack of wedding cards. If you are hogging something it means you are using it all the time without letting others use it. If your wife is always watching Cantonese dramas so you can never watch football on TV. You can say, “Please don't hog the TV." Fellow workers are the people you work with. If you take the trouble to do something it means you make an effort or take the time to do something. For many years I have taken the trouble to buy the Mark Six but it has made me poorer rather than richer. ***********

A Hunger Artist It is another Franz Kafka ‘s short story, probably about some expressions based on contemporary declining craft. Here I would like to try to make an introduction. I think the story is also moving for some readers because the hunger artist was born in conflicting to be fasts performing, which is a craft of “self-maltreatment” in most people’s eyesight. But for him, there would be nothing more satisfying than having been locked in a cage with no food for more than a month. It’s better than putting food in his mouth in contrast. Showing a persistent spirituality indeed. It even cannot exactly be told that his performance is either for money or reputation, just a kind of “libode” perhaps. Though numerous audiences would bring pleasant sensation to him, there was still no discontinuing of such performance when people were back to home and sleep. Of course, this is a woe for him in final since this craft turned from flourish to decay being narrated in the fiction. In between, there were many embarrassments to the hunger artist taken place, especially audiences or watchers regarding his act as a trick. The craft kept on declining whereas everybody was mostly attracted by the animals at the zoo instead. The artist yearned for a small poor conditioned place at the zoo for carrying on his fasts performance with fewer wages even. The manager eventually accepted. However, predictably the corner he was staying made no more audience paid attention to in result. Don’t know if it is a good or harm, the hunger artist had been breaking through a record over forty days later on. Being marginalized, even no staff would drop it down on the tattered note board nearby. One day the supervisor occasionally found that the cage seemed empty since the dying body of the hunger artist was covered by straw in total. Before his death, the hunger artist and the supervisor did conversation. Most impressive and surprised sentences were about the truth why the hunger artist kept on fasts. He said that it was due to no favor food of his around the world. If he could find such food, he would not bother and fully fed himself like those others done. Oppositely, there seems to be another implied meaning at the end of the story- the zoo’s supervisor asked the staff to clean up the cage and change a little leopard instead. So vivid, it had food delivered from the staff and seemed no yearning of freedom anymore…… in the cage, it pressed its wild roars and teeth and relucted to leave.

The Outsider It is a novel of Albert Camus in his earlier period. The main character named as Meursault, is a typical rebel person who owns incompatible thinking in contrast with those others living in the society. To represent this, the author had depicted a lot of Meursault’s behaviors in extreme outstanding and abnormal ways in a wide scope of his novel. Well, it may not be acceptable unless you are reading it absorbedly ecstatically trying to consider what’s concentrated idea the author was going to express. Not an ordinary plot- how dramatic it is!- it shows the main character smoked and drank coffee with milk in front of her mother’s coffin that was regarded by others as showing no respect and sadness to his mother’s death in the beginning. And even more, he had a sexual relationship with Marie a very day after the funeral. Later on, actions against legalism and ethics, he became a helper of his friend and neighbour taking revenge on their opponents. Further involved in the lawsuit, he felt no concerning about if he would win or being judged to be a prisoner waiting for execution having no right to persist on his smoking habit. He seems to be no heart to care about the judgment’s result, others’ discrimination or the one standing by his side and defend him in the venue, his attorney’s teaching. The end of the book comes to the execution of the main character. It is just similar to what the main character facing of ending of Kafka's novel, “the Trail”. However, seems to be more complete, “the Outsider” has such concluded lines: “As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself — so like a brother, really — I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.” And what it actually reflects in the novel? Just from my poor little mind, I believe nobody can tell the solid answers even if the author himself. After all, literature is not a way requesting absolute answers.

How to make a good expression that Hong Kong city has changed a lot for a relocated friend? As captioned, I just want to know how to make a good expression in the letter, should I write as below? Any grammatical mistakes please kindly let me know, thanks Sentence: When you are back, you will find there are a lot of changes of this city in sharp contrast to five years ago you had left.

Literature and Sylvia Plath It is not tropics of social norms or ethics. No matter a nightmare or a heaven it is, just be faithful to what you desire and build up another internal space out of the routine world by written works. It is literature in creativity. There is no ruler to measure absolute right and wrong. This is the viewpoint out form my heart. Of course, I cannot say I understand fully if all famous authors would have similar minds. But vice versa, I perceive a bit more what literature is from them, especially some super idols that I regard. Sylvia Plath is a great American poet, novelist and short story writer I admire so much. Whether in this world many readers having akin feelings like me? Or even million of others are not interested about hearing her name? Well, I can’t ensure. Suppose there must be in different opinions from different people. For me again, I know I somehow being obsessed by “the bell jar” she was describing in her only novel, as well as some poetic sentences inserted artfully. And by recollection, a scene is still vivid -A dead little body of baby dampened and trapped in a bell jar with preservative. It is hard to believe a female writer can be so stark to depict such awful scene. It is impressive that, Esther, the main charter in the novel, who was written to be trapped gradually under her depression of living like an invisible bell jar is a reflection of the author. She was sent to mental hospital and forced to accept electroshock treatments according to the novel book. Even so, no one would doubt about her literature reputation or her artworks’ values. Perhaps it is a bit ironic result that Plath had eventually sunk into her gloomy words and committed suicide in final. Literature sometimes seems not to be a mirror for social or functional values, I think.