October 20, 2004

The beauty of mystery.

'Biological, I don't know why I feel this way with you. Biological, I want you to be perfect.' Air's dizzy music.

Old familiar dizzy Air, but still mysterious. It's the dizzy touch gives the music the mystery as well as the blurry English, though the lyrics examines the 'flesh around your bones' and 'your DNA' one after another.

'In the dream, we are in green; awaken from the dream, we're still in green. People see us in black illusions, whereas they are not aware it's achromatopsia'— Preface. The Green Platye. Hong Ying. 2004
I m always puzzled by the literature attracts me. When I start reading many novels I read 5 years or 10 years ago all over again, I start wondering how could I fancy such works that much at that age. I can't understand most of them even now. Was it others' recommendation really had great impact on my young unconcious mind? Or was it the beauty of mystery being seductive?

The situation is exactly the same at that time as when I don't understand Air's intention on writing a song about a precise science subject with such dizzy tone at this moment.Same puzzles occur in my mind toward Hong Ying's preface as well: why they are in green? Why such colour is invisible to other people? Why I am so moved in such mystery of words? There must be some delicateness among the structure of the language. How could it fondle my sense otherwise? There must be a dainty feel that is shared between the author and I. I can hold it in my mind temporarily, but I can't reach the language to note it down. It will fade. Fading like the way I m losing my point at this very moment.

It can be the sympathy for love. The sensation shared between people is love. The sensation that would touch deeply in others' minds, is sympathy for love. The touch brings an urge to cry. It is a fist that knocking your mind repeatedly.

It is the sympathy of love. I know it's a love story, at least there is love in the story. The love is not shown, the love is shared by two lonely souls. Three or more perhaps, but not changing the fact of loneliness. This love blinds my eyes. This blindness leads me only to the beauty of mystery among the language. Mystery is a sense of blue. The sympathy shared by the author and me to the love is also the calling from my mind to be sympathised.

_'In what way
that I can see
My future,
the shade of the map
When you touch me softly
with your finger
on my painful skin

It exceeds the fragrance of sex,
like the best
Between you and me
Like the joy of the last moment
Left from
the journey of lights' sliding'_

—————— back page poem on The Green Platye

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