externaldatabase lau mun leng

External Database | Lau Mun Leng
Writing~ 2008
>The wind rustled the dead leaves

                   The
poem
is
to

                             be
                            discovered
                            by

              the
              people
who read it.

Sounds in the morning, resemble

,
   ,
,
   ,
       ,
,
    ,    ,
,
    ,
,
      ,

/

/

/

/

                 My

beautiful

               winter.

            A                          kind
            of                       bird
             that             doesn't
              have          a
                    name.

                                                                                         He
                                                                                       does

not
believe

                                                                                        the
                                                                                 thought

but
is



                                                                                     still
                                                                            pondering

this
thought.

    *

*

        *
     *
*
*
*

   *

Berlin.
in
numerous
particularly
are
people
miserable
The

                                                                           Invisible,

                                                                 B
                                                               E
                                                              A
                                                             U
                                                           T
                                                           I
                                                         F
                                                       U
                                                      L

               In
                        May,
                     life
                      worsened,
                    dying
                       slowly.
                     I
                        have
                   lost
                           a
                    good
                         friend
                      and
                             I
                     must
                          return
                      to
                            my
              homeland
                             to


                                see

                                 you.

                                                  l       w      n
                           She likes    s                              her pace in the rain.
                                                     o        I       g

'        '
         '    '
   '        '
                '
     '      ' '      '
              '           '   '
        '         '   '      '      '

            '      '         '

                        Do you hear the sounds?

                                   In       the


                                      vicinity?

Right here is a crazy meeting
place.

                                         Are
                                 they really
                            willing to listen
                         to this music?
                                                   And,
                  if so, every day?

               She
               wants
               to up and
               leave to a far
               away country; an
               immediate decision.

                         that
                                              In
                       some
                                              sense,
                          we
                                              both
            experienced
                                              of
                 arrested
                                             time
                 moment

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A

profound silence'

    Everything
                          was so quiet and peaceful
                           in
                             the
                                 early
                                    morning,
                                        he
                                           silenced her with a kiss quiet.

                    The
                    snow began later,                       she
                                                                    has
                                                        composed


                                  "A magic night".

A
little
cake
        soaked
       in
   rum,
little
      by
       little.

have you even seen?

                                              Why


                                          did you die?

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

' ' ' '

"Maybe you can find some nice books, I did remember last week you had bought <Metamorphosis>".
"Yes, I did".

Presume collecting books for decades '

Foucault's Pendulum              Umberto Eco
Lolita                                          Vladimir Nabokov
Metamorphosis                        Franz Kafka
After Dark                                  Haruki Murakami
Image Music Text                    Roland Barthes
On The Road                           Jack Kerouac
The Trial                                    Franz Kafka
The Name of The Rose          Umberto Eco
A thousand Plateaus              Deleuze& Guattari
Why Read the Classics           Italo Calvino

(((((((((((((( ))))))))))))))))

The week after, I decided to begin collecting most of the books in fact I already had it many years ago.

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The mysterious murderer who saw stars vary in brightness.

Her eye become lost.

This

is

another

Memory

of

Italy.

In the mornings, it is hard to feeling refreshed.
wake

I
was confused
at that time.
This
was

confusing me then.

I return,
once more,
to the train;
today's
weather
is
not
bad,

on
the
train
people
are
obviously
very
energetic.

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            I don't
like
writing
on
   the
     back
       of
         a
          page;
             if
              I
               do
                 this,
                      I
                       will
                          probably
                             forget
                               what
                                  has
                                     gone
                                        before
                                           as
                                             the
                                                visibility
                                                    has
                                                      gone.

Text 1 text 2

The whole night

She touched the strings of the harp

A blank screen or missing part

They were stunned by her beauty

Drawing by TRW