A cold urban desert landscape, the sun setting
Shall it ever rise again?
The nighttime, criss-crossed wires overhead, buzzing faintly with electricity
That goes where? That does what?
Why is the way not illuminated?
What if the sun, then,
Would not rise unless we lifted it?
Took it upon our hands and backs
Our palms and fingertips scorched for the effort
Nighttime giving way to sunrise
The way illuminated
Burnt hands, sunburnt faces, eyes near blind from brilliance
Throwing off the false gods with their faint passive buzz
The sun was never supposed to set - let us lift it, accept a heroic scalding
So all might bask in sunlight, oh too long has it been since the sun rose
I often work at 7-11 in the nighttime. In Taipei, a number of 7-11 stores have some nice tables. There's free WiFi, and while it's somewhat limited (you need to get a login that expires after 30 minutes, and you can log on only 3 times in a day), my phone has infinite 3G internet and tethers to my computer.
There's a 7-11 a few blocks from my place, so it's my de facto go-to place after the cafes in this sleepy little area are closed at 1AM.
After being here on and off for a few weeks, I've come to be impressed by the industriousness of the nighttime clerk here.
7-11 has managed to have one man cover the majority of the general service of customers who come in, preparing microwaved food or other things that need preparation when customers order them, stocking the shelves when the delivery trucks arrive sometime between midnight and 5AM, doing general maintenance and keeping the store clean (sweeping, mopping), and -- and this was the part that struck with the need to write this -- make repairs and maintenance of long-term fixtures like the fans, appliances, and refrigerators.
Tonight, he disassembled all the fans that are embedded into the ceiling, and the genius of the system became apparent. The fans were made to be assembled and disassembled with no tools at all. They're made of some lightweight material, and easy to logically take apart. They're held together by some sturdy plastic screw-like things that can be easily hand-cranked on or off while using the other hand to support the main weight of the fan.
The child with the dog on the edge of the electric town
If I were a painter
could my picture be crazier than our life?
And for even I’m not a poet
can I make your deeds shine by words