WAYNE LIU / PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY
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I CAN’T FULLY DIGEST THE DETAILS OF THE WORLD, BREATHING ITS SMOKE & SMOG, & ALL THE PETTY WHISPERS & PRETTY LIES CIRCULATING IN MY LUNGS ENGULF WHAT’S LEFT OF ME, & IN NO ACT SHALL THE GNAWING SPACE BETWEEN US BE RELIEVED. THE NEGATIVE IMAGES PROJECTED IN THE DARK ROOM ARE MY SILENT QUARRELS WITH THE WORLD, IMPERFECT & PRECARIOUS. I SCRATCH THE SMALLEST SPECKLES OF LIGHT AGAINST THE DISSOLVING SURFACES OF FOGGED & OUT-DATED PHOTOGRAPHIC PAPER, ANTICIPATING THE BLACKS OF MY DESIRE TO REVERSE, LIKE MOTHS WITH THE LIGHTS OUT.
WALKING INTO THE QUAKE AFTERMATH & SEARCHING THROUGH THE ARTIFACTS THAT REMAIN WITH THE LIVING, MY PRESENCE SLIGHTLY FELT THOUGH NOT EFFECTING QUANTITATIVELY THE CONDITIONS IN SIGHT. WE EXIST MERELY IN THE MENAGERIE WE KNOW, & THAT IS ENOUGH, THE FLOOD OF CHANCE, THE RITUALISTIC FIRE, THE AFTERNOON SHADE, & WE MOVE ON, IN MINIATURE ALTERATIONS, EACH TO OUR OWN DISQUIETUDE… THE LONE HIT MAN IN ‘LE SAMOURAÏ’ EXITS THE ROOM, TURNS BACK TO GLANCE, THE CAGED BIRD IS STILL ALIVE. PHOTOGRAPHING IS LIKE CATCHING MOSQUITOES BUZZING CEASELESSLY IN ONE’S DARK ROOM
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ONE MAY CONSIDER CHONGQING IF ONE MAY CHOOSE TO DIE, EXIT THE CABLE CAR OVER THE YANGTZE RIVER, GULPING HER ANCIENT THICK SILT, AWAY PAST BOATMEN WITH CURIOUS EYES. THIS VERTIGO CITY, BUILT UPON MOUNTAINS & ENDLESS STAIRS & IN BETWEEN THE FOOTPATHS, DROPPING US INTO OUR NIGHTS, TRAVERSING FROM HOUSE TO PAVEMENTS SPACKLED WITH BLACKENED SPIT TO GROUND DRILLINGS FOR YET ANOTHER MODERN TOWER TO FOOT MASSAGE PARLORS (THE GIRLS INSIDE WATCHING TELEVISION) FILLED WITH GRILLED CHICKENS & TOSSED AWAY BONES, FUSING BELOW WHAT IS CALLED ONE’S HEAD, & HIGH ABOVE, VAPORS FROM THE RIVER SPIRAL FORTH TOWARDS AN UNKNOWN FUTURE THAT NEON KTV LIGHTS DISGUISE AS INTOXICATION
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THE ENTIRE 16 PAGES ARTICLE WITH THE PHOTOGRAPHS & TEXT BY WAYNE LIU ONLY IN THE PRINTED EDITION OF SOME/THINGS MAGAZINE ISSUE002 / THE BLACK BOOK