-A Link-

 ― Most things in this world are meaningless, aren't they?

A man trying to conceive a plot intones so.

He gets tired of gathering the threads of his new story.

He is about to give in to despair.

― Think about when you kept on walking, covering your eyes and ears,

and when you are destitute of help.

Then, what could you do

if there were a huge block,

if you stepped on a fierce wolf’s tall, and

if your legs were caught by the ocean of trees?

You know, you would go with the wind.

Alack…who will notice you have no guide in your life..

Who will find any meanings in such a horrendous hazard.―

***

Then, the man feels he heard a sound like slurping tea.

The man “sees” the one which has been listening to his words.

“…Uh-huh, so I could do nothing but depending on YOU, right?”

The coming new central character, a dwarf, says so blissfully,

in the corner of the man’s frontal cortex.

-Originality-

I was looking for a mind-boggling idea.

So, I put a leaf on my head 
and went downtown.

Then you appeared, 
pulling a ball over your face.

Isn't it outstanding?

You said so with your unclear voice.

NOT AT ALL

I said angrily.

After coming back home,

I soon looked for a ball like you had.
It's pretty damn good, I said.

I happily went downtown,
wearing the ball again.

Then I met a man with a leaf on his head like I had.

Isn't it outstanding?

I said so with my unclear voice.

Hum, he laughed, passing by me without saying anything.

I flung off the ball from my head.

And I slept for about thirty years.

When I woke up, there was a forest outside.

His leaf has become a cotyledon, a tree, a grove, and the forest.

I finally made up my mind

and lived, holding a chicken for the rest of my life.

-Criticisms Make One Stronger-

"   is  a     t   l    k"  

A woman says vaguely and sighs, looking at one of the scarce avant-garde works set on a wall. Her robotesque tone stops a critic-like man in a twinkle of an eye passing nearby her. The woman gave him a subtle smile, and it made him frown for a brief second. Ignoring what he heard, the man shifts his focus to the work she was looking at. He then eyeballs the painting and gets closer to it with his sullen look.

"Well," he begins talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to the woman, "just putting a plain canvas on a wall is very recondite, isn’t it?” He raises his brow sardonically.

The woman turns her face around the man, and again, says.

"   is   a   a t  ul    rk"

He pretends not to hear the noise from the woman. Instead, he still gazes at the white work eagerly. It is as if trying to establish his ideals with his ambition behind his eyes unconsciously.

"Well, no matter who made this work, he or she should have put some nature on this canvas." He criticizes it so like his mouth is itching for discussing how the man’s taste is marvelous.

"T is  s a   a ti ul  ork"

The woman says, with her lips a little bit wider, staring the man's side face. He returns her stare, but he doesn't recognize what she is trying to state.

"If I were the artist," he goes on, having a swing at a pencil held in his left hand like pretending to make some brushstrokes on the campus, "I would leave the history of colors like putting bouncy rhythms here." After displaying his dreamy painting, he slowly starts to realize what the language-disordered woman is observing now. Her eyes are being caught by the painting on the campus obtaining one's concrete ideas.

"T is is a b a ti ul work"

The woman says so again. The work now has a lush forest and somehow darkish sky. Yet the colors on the scenery are put lightly as if they dance. It reminds him of Van Gogh's original brushstrokes.

"....and if there were a street lamp and a person like me?" The man says to the campus wonderingly yet with some expectation. Then he sees the moment that the continuous work by something still attracts the man in astonishment.　Perceptively, some of the trees on the campus are being shone in a lamplight in warm orange. There is also a man with a frayed gray jacket and convex glasses, who is just like the critic next to the woman with her shining eyes.

Looking at the art work on the wall, the woman finally says staunchly.

"This is a beautiful work."

The man hears her words and nods in agreement automatically.

-Life Is an Assemblage-

-bark residue observing a part of one’s life-

-factory noise-

-mouses in abysmal condition-

-still mechanical shriek -

And -a cheese…*quintessential*-

"What are you doing my boy?"

-a plump mouse asking to his son, who has been nibbling at a piece of the cheese-

  Dad, I’m making. □□□

-the tiny mouse’s innocent eyes-

"What are you making my mousy?"

-patting the little mouse on his head-

-the adult’s plan scheme of praise for anything/ the father’s smother love-

-pat, pat, machine sound, and pat, pat-

□□   I, I….

-very short hand-

-trying to a construct some with the cheese, looking for a bigger piece-

□□□  I want to make a house.

-a limited floor space-

-dad: takes no notice of his son’s try-

-too softy and fragile materials-

-yet-

-the son's framing going on, going on, in order to make his image visible for himself…-

-You Don't Worry You Don't Worry Anything-

― Hey, why are you a person without credibility?

wonders a friend of an untrusted man. The friend sits on a bench and puts a hand under his chin just like The Thinker by Auguste Rodin.

“You ask me that? Mmm, I don’t know…that’s how it is.”

..　。...о,〇… ●

The untrusted man in a brown suite, with his white hair, answers so. He puts shredded tobacco in the pipe, then lights it and smokes it. A ring of smoke exhaled by him drifts up.

― Have you stolen some from our town?

asks his friend with a serious look, turning his face to the man.

“No, no, no way,” his deep breath creates another small ring of smoke, “I have never done it.”

..　。...о,〇… ●

His eyes follow a moving fume in in his head. Moments later he has the fag with keen relish. His friend after a moment’s reflection faces up rapidly as much as to say: "I found the answer!"

― Have you tell a lie? Any lies?

Instead of showing his confidence vitally, the friend asks so slowly like hell.

“Haha, I bet, I am the most honest soul in this town.”

..　。...о,〇… ●

The untrusted man, with a smoke, says so very, very, lightly.

His friend no sooner heard the sound of his voice than he closes his eyes, and His shoulders slumps. Although the eager friend knows he cannot reach the answer he could obtain, but still asks the last question helplessly and little in an abrupt manner.

― Have you failed? Are you afraid of it?.....damn, maybe I’m wrong.” His friend finishes his words by himself with a self-deprecating smile toward no one.

"Precisely," says the untrustful man, “I have never failed down or felt frustrated at losing.”

..　。...о,〇… ..　。...о,〇… ●    
                       

He creates two rings of smoke amusingly.

The poor friend scratches his head slapdash, and returns to the starting positing of the Rodin. The man with a pipe looks at his friend, and laughs.

“You are such an interesting person, aren’t you?” starts saying and goes on,

“I have never worried about ANYTHING.”

..　。...о,〇… ●

His empty laugh and smokes from his mouth would never ever reach his friend's ear.

-Accepting Others-

Who has a hard head?

― Right there, he never ever changes his thoughts! I have lectured him many times, telling him the same things, but he never ever listens to my greatest ideas!

Who has an unstable mind?

―　Well, I would say, she is, might be, the person you could be satisfied with… Maybe, I mean… sorry, I’m not sure.

And then, what will happen if those who have different personalities based on their different backgrounds and values meet up with each other?

―　WE don’t know the exact answer, …what? Yea, sometimes our answer is absolutely correct, but, yet, might be, and surely, when we are together….there will be something WONDERful.