world-weary, by Odysseus Yong

Though years of separation stand between,
You and I, dear, are not hopeless.
We are not a little broken, no, only a little,
resigned — and too far away.

Distance is factor, you reckon,
One that most certainly will
Render our passions impotent:
Scarlet sails furled in closet,
Curfew imposed on our selves.

We are, dear —
just slaves to schoolboys’ maps.
Silk Way’s withered with tracks of your tears.



lovers at large, by Odysseus Yong


how would you know
that planet earth, the home,
is beautiful not for its life
but for your living on it?

what came after the flood,
how life rolled before it,
is as unimportant as the sound of
our future lawnmower’s blade.

your eyelashes call tornadoes,
the tears overflow the penitence,
your tight embraces are gravity per se
what say you to our flying together —

over the roofs; and flat hats, we
with eyes bleak as moon’s shades,
will utter remarks claiming to be
what we are utterly not.



“Oh, you haven’t read it? But you just have to!”

Do I have to? Does it really worth reading? And, of course, is it required? No, don’t get me wrong, I love reading and I read every day. But the more I read, the more I understand that such thing as required reading does not exist. Every book is a challenge, every book shapes you and makes you a better man. For me, the moment of picking the new book is so magical and sacred: what could be better than browsing through the Kindle bookstore and, finally, pick the right one? For sure, not downloading the one you’ve been told about.

It is like the medicine prescription. You don’t say: “Shit, man, you haven’t tried Diazepam yet? Maaaaan, you have to! You just have to!” It’s not working like that. When you think about it, it just doesn’t make sense. I don’t want my friend to give me a mind-blowing reading when I just need some funny short stories; plus I am not sure if I can trust my friend’s taste. Another problem: do they really mean it, or just trying to be a highbrow? Usually, it is the second one. Nowadays society makes people look and think the same, they even imposing a rhythm of life: finish the school,  get a degree (preferably in the field of Law or Economics), start a family, etc. So, every time I thing about “a required reading” I already have some doubts about it.

Few days ago I met an old man in the restaurant in Vientiane, Laos. Soon I figured out that he was a writer. Now, I though, I will have a good book talk. Although… it didn’t work out because we just couldn’t find a connection. Well, we both have read Camus, Sartre, Dostoyevsky, Hesse, etc. But it just wasn’t enough for it is well-known anyway. See, I am not surprised if somebody knows Shakespeare, but I am pleasantly surprised if he can talk about Christopher Marlowe. Does he have to? Not at all. Neither he has to know/read Jorge Luis Borges, Geoffrey Chaucer or François Rabelais. I am not judging him for what he has read, but for what he is now.

Bookworms like to have fun of super religious people (read – fanatics) for they try to find all answers in just one book. Bookworms forget, though, that they do the same, and, what is more, they even try to humiliate others for not knowing books and authors they adore. And THAT sounds ridiculous. Now, if you ask me: “How many books should a man read, and what are the books?”, I would have to say either all or none. Both answers are impossible, so calm down, get some fresh coffee and find a book YOU like.

And if you still need an advice…hm… I would say, cappuccino is the best choice.




I am facinated by the sea. Every salty drop, every wave and splash – it all excites me. Cool evening breeze and winter storms – what could be better than that seaweed smell in your nostrils?

The sea is different every day, it can be calm, but you feel the unlimited power in every wave that breaks on your chest. The idea I get especially excited about is that no one knows what’s under tha water. Scientists explored a lesser part of it, so there is still a room for dreamers to guess what’s going on down there.

Recently I’ve finished reading one of the greates book of my entire life –  “The sea, the sea” by Iris Murdoch. Honestly, I am deeply impressed not by of the plot itself, but mostly by incredible description of the sea. We can only wonder what does every single wave bring ashore. No matter what happens with us…

Impartial noon patterns the sea in flame —
That sea forever starting and re-starting. (Paul Valery)


The sea, the sea