Pathway to Japanese Literature

Bulletin (Ultramarine I)

At that time I was walking. At that time.

Was the coat hung on a branch—white beside the birch?
That alone was so harsh—in the midst of winter, on the plain.
What became of that? What became of that? I howled.

«The bloodshedding north—here, fiercely—deepens its density»

«Northern regions—detached from anywhere—desolate—toward the depths of Ultramarine——≫

Grew dark and darker—protruding a tongue from a black hood

Haphazardly flapping—unidentified faces—that plunged from invisible madness—crows and time and—the aftermath.

Sagaren’s blue-tinged ribs and—at that time—I violently

Was it with a malicious laugh? And was it peat?

Was it a horse? The thing being dug up from the ground—you know—was a faint black dot.

In the wind, the rust-corroded aura of the Maritime Province had soaked in fiercely—

The edge of the wilderness was a prison—beneath the warped roof, heavy—in the sea of iron bars, almost nothing was visible.

Hands like tangled firewood—and beneath them, a face—and a great fissure of pain was there.

Tormented by pain—finally exposed to a cold wind turning to sleet—

I was one targeted from every vantage point.

That violent wingbeating—was that the final hallucination?

Had the bullet wound already begun to live as a bullet wound?

Obliterating my body—was that the depraved vision?

Ah—in the receding edge of a dream, distant beacon fires rose, an infant ascended to the sky.

In the midst of drifting infinite rebellion

At that time I was walking.

At that time I was baring my teeth.

Without being bound by love, in the depths of spreading terrifying dementia,

I couldn't handle my own—

Within time's edge, I saw

evil sentimentality and Leitan and a rogue's life—

a prisoner with a twitching jaw—the sneer that looked upon me,

that which lurked in all emaciated bodies' shadows,

those things bound to the origin of perpetually desolate evil—

«Faces of the north, desolate and detached from anywhere—Ultramarine's piercing gaze»

toward the depths of Ultramarine——≫

No truth, no scenery—what else could approach?
Now I know the tides and silences of the sea into which I plummet.

兇牙利的 (Ultramarine II)

A Reitan wind swept through.

There was a person with disheveled hair sleeping fitfully.
They had not seen the sun in some time.
Was that chattering in some corner merely an echo?
I struck a broken chair.
What remains in my bloodshot eyes?
Isn’t it lonely? You still refuse to engage me.
In the outskirts visible from the window, someone kept calling out.
That being had become only a face yet persisted—Hatsuha.
I wore an insolently soiled coat.
What exists here worth drowning in?

There was violence. There was winter. There was prostitution.

Only those who hurled wicked despair

Only those who invoked wickedly

Ah—a cold wind swept through.

My body now reflected a fierce duel.

Death and Phenomenon (Ultramarine III)

Beneath mica, the horizon line

The self-abandonment of exposed bones
There existed something death-like there
There existed a rigid breastplate of breath choked by gloom
≪Glass wings, glass blood—winter that succumbs to this emotion≫
Things spreading through transparent depths—things seeping inward
The thing eternally targeted at one point of machinery
Ah—merciless eyes that fill and overturn this world!
Can you see? Can you kick away your own mad encounters?
That malarial love flooding your core—still seasons leave their stains

Ultramarine’s wind plummets.

At the site where Ultramarine’s violent heat erupts—

At last it combusts.

What lies collapsed in sudden fury deep within those desolate vistas?

I feel the coal-like arduous purity—its firepower.

I knew the bearing of defiance—like a seal—and now
Winter pressed its forehead against rivers that wounded those things
Within northern lands' crackling atmosphere slid its harsh shoulder
From the sinking train’s edge at world’s end I would measure distant clouds

★

Is there not savage violence?
This moment of gazing upon myself is terrifying—
It transcends mere pain—yielding to the wind—where does it go?
Living where cause exists—deepening irreversible delusions—to life’s violently collapsing depths

★

The upheaval of an incomparable parabola—the shoddy geography and station flowing away.

In this oppressive space hangs suspended—O bloodshot face!
What manner of extreme poverty would this be?

In a corner of the tilting black train—there were no dreams there.

I address you—do you merely smile while looking away?

December—beneath mica, the horizon line like iron: that was
an expressionless back turned—heaven-sent cruelty
an exposed song
Bustle—
teeth bared in dew-laden slumber
astride death-like, frozen upon this great avenue’s roof
Without a word, flee the house—without a word, keep fleeing
Those spiritually dilute—those flattened by melancholy—those pitiable without sentiment—sweep away the poison of their sorrowful emotions
At the brink where one treads upon glittering madness’s entire body—let boundless folly be applauded
Always being within that—transcending experience and cognition—they ceaselessly reached the zenith of loquacity

Circling the roofs of the main avenue—those flying without wings, drop that unbearable burden.

The sea blocked by a single sheet of paper—agitate! Seek laughter in my spleen.

From the rust-eaten iron trestle—scrutinize the merciless posture of the storm petrel’s plummeting overturn.

Become hooks that shadow flesh’s reflection—permit rebellion’s and vanity’s terrifying silence.

Drive the main avenue’s arrayed tools—may your flight know freedom.

Will the stars return? The stars—erasing horizons’ demarcating sight.

At the instant when timed combustion blazes—burn!
For your joy found nowhere—the primordial origin’s eruption—upon that great tree’s riven trunk—array your glorious breastplate!
Let life-bearing ones sing—those sleeping with dew-bared teeth!
Breed millennia within your orbital vaults!

Ah—bending to the raging wind—prosper!

The song laid bare

The ravaged windbreak forest

Crows scattered along the river

From the targeted winter streets we were soaked into beast-blood—
From that piercing scar’s edge—in disarray—me and you—
Even at the distant shore where a fleck of cruelty lies prone—there throbs—
Aren’t these rasping hallucination fragments being hurled toward us?
Seething—choking on magma’s reek—this road suddenly—

It plunged down into our very chests.

Sakashima’s windbreak forest—the crows.

Pregnant with winds frayed to a rasp—chained to water—this frozen—

Who could comprehend the landscape—the unwanted command of a line that churns and agitates?

Encircling the atmosphere—the arrogance of vertical and horizontal—freezes creakingly.

Ultramarine Depth’s Arrogance

Who in the midst of merciless Kyōgari Hijō?

Who is it that blows the trumpet?

★

To the beloved question of nothing but taking

What watches you from there constantly?

The rushing Inferno’s—the dew on the ground becomes boundless.

To live is to break through the endless mesh and depart

It was departure—
A desolate expanse—the place where one stood.
Wordless cold-blooded scum clenched saltpeter-jowls in their jaws.
The scorching undergrowth—against my unquenchable brow—the mind already grazed.

Summer and autumn were severed in gloom—
the song of a dreamless season flowing into heaven dammed—
what manner of violent trampling violates this very self?

★

None yield to despair

Exposing the scarred sustenance behind the ground

Ah—the north-northwest that rages through lifelong detours and betrayals—where rarely only the airflow’s course flickers profoundly—lurking around this entire body.

Izanagi of the cliff—I know that which swirls.

Oh Haruka—setting fire in the abyss where trees swarm densely

Violently churning up the subterranean twilight—its ribs.

At my raging neck, thirst as radiance draws forth—the line of hopelessness.

Winter’s draft is shrouded in beast-blood—violently foaming and surging onward.

Cage

They swung the whip.

Bedrock scorched with vines.

Where eyes fixed their gaze, they set beasts running.

The day-to-day’s—the year-to-year’s—disturbance that bound the body.

The sand entangled in larch trees grew agitated—they kicked me awake.

To the bottom of the distant atmosphere—were we falling even to the malice of his stagnant flow?

★

In days of gnawing tongues

Upon unblown hair

They climbed the cage—froze at its edge—a dusk-stained vista.

Summoned beasts amidst grasses of sorrow—Oh—they rent asunder.

Within iron bars—upon their own limbs—relied on choking beast-blood.

In Inzanni, the ruts deepened—the limits of self-annihilation intensified and surged onward.

What did they lie in wait for—bearing that discomforting ravine at their backs?

What were they welcoming—would they twice inflict the whip upon themselves?

Panting, smoke filled their innermost being—ashen.

The collapse of what they call cirrocumulus clouds

In the song of hopelessness still sinking into the spine, winter does not sleep.

Winter does not sleep—in the midst of a chilling smile—I lie sprawled.

★

From north beyond north to north

They slaughtered the horizon

Larch’s
On the verge of bristling hair—the heat—

You wretch—flaunting that shop of endless squandering—yourself!

Piercing through my eye’s depths to stir chaos—it was precisely you who forever resided in that northern firmament.

Fierce firmament

Winter ravaged particles of

the rocky crag baring fangs at the Milky Way’s

grandly surging—the vortex of dread—blinded glare’s shattered fragments.

Ah—the rawness of death discharging even into a glassful of air

A single black streak of sulfur powder trailed—O season of tyranny!

The unceasing moments layered over millennia—our view

eternally from this fierce firmament—bare stalks thrust out their exposed roots.

They committed coastal refraction—splitting the blazing wind arrays.

A vertigo like a sword’s spine swirled.

The existence that truly—as though living—lay at the depths of that blazing inquiry.

The world was filled with fearsome things—of this world—
From every corner—what bore arms and called out to us?
Suffocating malice of heat—O it was you who lived
≪From the depths of a throat black as a stab wound≫
All those gypsum casts screaming sudden laughter—
Torn asunder and cast away—both arms dangling like a trumpet’s
Ugly and broken—what foolish repetition was this again—

O rusted wheel’s futile spin!
O fern of trembling that dappled the clouds!
From this unbearable boiling landscape—suddenly—an extraordinary detonation tore through.
At the sole edge of life—steel had to touch.
Seething, something ferocious churned through the bloodstream.
Without the adornment of hunger that twisted the neck—wings broken in idle brain matter—I, of my own—
Bearing this infuriating weight—let me soar to the limits of distant vision from this fierce firmament.
Trampling through the raging field of vision—Kyōgari struck by thunder—a leaping like water’s rampage.

What is a dream but that very thing?

Unidentified migratory birds flocked—the shadow of a cold disturbance flowed—

All madness was ignited—it burned fiercely only through downfall—

The depth of the east-north warping direction—from the collapse that swallowed breath—

Ultramarine surged upward against the current—

Eyes strained wide—affection surged—I was the spine of chaotic phenomena—

I pushed through shamelessly even to demons—

Beheld where wantonness took form—the celestial sandbanks surged unclouded across firmament.

Winter-ravaged particles of

Eccentrically warped transparency’s

Within my own laughter，I received the ultimate rejection.

Bering

——To my beloved G.B.——

Sleet fell.

Heavily tilted.

Beneath the roof—the darkness that listened intently to the white elm’s cry.

A time of melancholy—I was sickly drunk on it like thorns.

An ashen light rises and envelops—you already hold the wine cup.

Do not falter—rise up—look at me
The pallid Bering that encroaches upon us
Malice can no longer hold its form
Throw open the door ≪O futile siren≫
Strike ≪the eternal tomorrow amidst falling sleet≫
From my wretched indolence—merely
The ice sea that occludes visions of days when pure blood flows
Wearing away my entire body toward Donran, I crumble
Ah—this fleeting thought of dusk
Your cold bright eyes bearing an eerie smile

That which sharply gouges foreheads—what manner of evil could this be?

Was far from the disarrayed chairs' positions—from refractions where iron bled through.

The boundless expanse of salt spreads out—now at last—

Bering is a frontal blockade.

Sleet falls unceasingly; night becomes.

Raw.

The all-night boulevard undulated slowly, strangely, and as it undulated, it sought to sink toward the dark halo at the edge of the freezing cathedral.
The road ended far along this single path—the haze of land and sea, and the ash ritual dance of humans.
Amidst darting stars cascading down, surges of murderous intent, and the fire-like loneliness detonating from them all, I attempted to cast away a life scorched by cross-shaped flames.
Oh, eye of accumulation!
The end that had become a sleepless river and seized me was now mercilessly exposed on the muddy tidal flat beneath a boundless season—but when I tried to challenge it, I myself stabbed empty air.
At whom was I to laugh—trying to grasp in the depths of a chest frayed by years of wandering—this unbearable holocaust of dreams.
The trivial designs of appearances had become things of the old days.

Away from those hands called gods, here lies a fatigue as coarse as hemp.

State new hopes—who calls so near?

Burning azekura-style sorrow upon northern roofs eroded by ice fog—now that I perceive this tawdry delusion alongside a slaughtered body’s shadow—how utterly terrifying it must be.
If both eyes—pierced through by original sin’s virile imagery—hold deep distortions across ice fields without flinching, lying secretly barren—then purity… I can no longer return to that heart.
The dream of gelid cold whetted icicles as wind began circling through surroundings like seeping gusts.
From within—bitter blood-surges—scorching droplets shrieked—this body could never evade them.
Bravo!

Human struggle continues still.

Fanged Portrait

Ⅰ

In days past—what trials must they have undergone?—they burned strong liquor upon their wounds, released bristle-backed wild buffaloes to wander aimlessly, and split harsh delusions like firewood.
Announcing a bitter migration in their hearts, devouring herring-like creatures frozen from within, each day straying further from lawless streets without song—they feared those moments of unyielding drunkenness brought by winds from iron-like distant currents.
Chewing the tangled stems of noxious weeds everywhere, their bodies drenched in unruly vines and creepers, they moved from cultivated fields to inner plateaus.
Struck by midnight's fierce afterglow, they abandoned plow-like implements.
"Mocking clouds and compasses—the coldness of that murky visage." Once the doorway was violently shut, the tilting view made horizons settle like thick sediment.
False flowers and provisions lay scattered; on floorboards, traces of gears rusted vainly.
Now clad in tatters, interlacing ten fingers, they added amber to Diza-nii's desiccated sheaves and prayed for pure death and belovedness.
Water flowed across wild tables.

Water flowed.

Could this be the fruit of single-minded rapacious harvest?

From ever-descending cobblestones came that shattered black wedge of a doorway.
From clamorously collapsing turmoil—from those petty histories—tearing away my own captive flesh and blood—I became a three-year-old infant.
Who could know that unending ominous lightning bound to creaseless linen sheets had awakened me at this unsightly cradle’s depths?

Ah—the memory passed hand to hand of last persons—mottled shadows lingering.
Was that autumn?
“Water shattering all constricted arrogance!
Deluge untimely for season!
That very collapse of savage stars”—limbs splayed—mouth stubbornly shut—mercilessly nailed—arching through creaking atmospheric whirl while cast adrift in autumn’s ruthless blockade—that memory burned vivid.
How should I have cried out?
There—in cobblestone corner cut uneven—when I learned how salt-clenched chins of those descending plateau’s edge from city outskirts tightened like beasts.
Through that inexplicable glance—I saw pale northern route starkly dragged forth.
What slipped through gaps in back roof’s sharp ribs? A keen sickle gleaming wanly through west wind—already hook-curved—shadow clinging to their foreheads.
A moment’s solitude.

The reeds’ call sounded.
The form of a corpse along the bay current, its far side long forgotten.
Sleet began to gather around its neck.
Loneliness came into view like a plummet.
Were they now awaiting the time to equally join in the fire without moisture, at the edge of land where density grew fearsome?
In an unfamiliar settlement, they burned animal hides and deepened wheel tracks.
I starve, and furthermore they will starve.

Ⅱ

Everything was a vast flock of crows—temporarily moored to the bay window grilles of back roofs lining the desolate river basin. A flock of crows, their wings tangled with seaweed, rustlingly chased their own shadows across the traces of lost farmland. From that metallic stench—splashed by some unknowable beast-blood—they collapsed naturally, gradually filling the view. Alone—upon my forehead struggling at the cradle’s depths—would even lightning eventually cast a cross? Now I listened to this single ferocious song surging in roughly. The song, mercilessly intoxicated by fire, seeped into the round eyes of a three-year-old and instantly invaded their waterlogged innards. Ah, the merciless song assailed from the boundless din resounding within my body.

Break a branch
Those who pass by, beat your wings.
Graze the savage waters and beat your wings.
Awaken them with a stone
That which thins in the portentous autumn
Slaughter the beast
Live the mercilessness of a single strike

……………………………

In your palm

Those who pass by

Seethe the blood to bursting
Under the wingbeats of savage radiance that shower down
Those who adorn wild flowers
Offer up your flesh and blood
To the uttermost, burn your mercilessness.

……………………………

The singing voice grew hoarse.
Winter’s mica showed violent fissures now.
Floodwaters slid down darkened fields stripped bare; winds along the horizon howled, while distant dwarf trees churned like tattooed chaos.
What remained here was my three-year-old self and the rest—
purity’s covenant, hunger, and the rest.
In this residual street where black wedges lay scattered, did I mistake their laughter for my own face?
Iron bars warped by fierce resistance hung at a ruined doorway—the fanged portrait itself, adorned with idiotic designs, lay exposed to desolate glory.
Were these fanged portraits not endless revelations of delusions binding them and me?
Behold: those who pounded desks in glee yet choked on thoughts of barren harvests.
A red-ochre-painted adulterer steeped in gloom.
A transaction ripe for mockery.
Schoolchildren threw stones to probe beneath roofs; when blue-grit ash began shrouding all sides, trembling at last unfurled a linen sheet.

The white gaze of twilight drifted upon the great sickle’s blade edge.
The call of reeds across; along the bay current lay the utterly forgotten form of a corpse.
Upon the descending stone pavement, a siren had wailed intermittently before falling silent; from their bitter expressions that deciphered nothing but cruel acts, from the agitated dwarf trees, within that clamorous laughter—I alone heard the execution of defiant spirits.
Everyone would be gone.
Soon sleet would come.
Who would notice that a genius had perished in the depths of this wretched cradle?
Had the time come to depart in a brutal sweep?
I armored myself with hunger against the flesh that tore away again—one who fell into a moment’s sleep.

Midway

Cracked

An even more cruel outrage and avarice—

The scrubbed-raw abrasions of this world held in hand.

Releasing shady props in reckless abandon.

If crafting illusions had become my daily routine—
I set fire to them,
dredged the abyss.
Anyway, just laugh as loud as you can—that’s what they said.
Before you dared condemn this as insincerity……

But don’t speak now.

O gliding flies

O swaggering masks of honor

If deeming this ‘life’ be folly’s apex—

I’ll lodge not one grievance more.

This body kindles in dark centuries’ tumult—still it presses onward.

The journey harbored not a single regret—
the journey cried maliciously, cruelly, and with terrible force.

In the windless moment, like a street thug’s spit in the current—
The landscape was wrung taut.
For a long time, each person’s thoughts had scattered in disarray.
Eyes that glinted as they passed each other, flashing a glance this way.
What a commonplace yet sorrowful greeting.
Walk and walk—they came crossing.
As long as there was nowhere to arrive at—to love and turmoil and death’s delusions—
Scorched deeds too—
Even more so—the likes of loneliness glimpsed from a nun.
A moment becomes eternal—formless as pulverized leaves, they say.

Pierced by an unreachable force.

Glinting, turned rust-colored, laid bare to the windblown exposure.

That would never be enclosed by any darkness.

While being separate, they burned and burned among themselves yet drifted apart.

Strange were such eyes of that ilk.

Having come all this way, I could hardly explain this.

Before you dared condemn this as insincerity—

But don't speak now.

I didn't even know what you were trying to collaborate on.

I ponder why the world has repaid me thus.

To hold the cosmic hound’s dream—

I often try to slip free even from that dream.

But someone prompted me dubiously.

"Is this silence—neither pity nor its absence—in fact your customary stratagem?"

Apparently even that seemed meant to cross-examine the hidden aspect of those dreadful eyes.

With a heavy clang of brakes, it halted.

After a faint commotion, all reverted to primordial stillness.

No—I’m fine just like this.
Licking the bitter thing at my lips—
There’s no way to sing.

Farewell.
Soot streams into a field of mottled snow.
Protruding from the line of black train cars.
Monstrous.

The land just goes on and on.

At the Brickworks
Disturbing the water’s foam, conveying the parabola’s cruelty.
Twisting through the sky—the ship’s sorrow sinks away.

Throwing myself against the burnt-out brickworks, I listened to thistle flowers and sunset, to time's violent transference.
Struggling against air currents crashing earthward—the blackness of migratory birds traversing cross-sections of instant upon instant.
I deepened my own decadence within those detestable palms while galloping freely through clouds.
Would death eventually sweep me into celestial foam?
Even if this were but a defiant posture toward infinity—at his brickworks I would leave one drop of plasma.

Ah, now in the sorrow of the rearing ship’s hull—precisely in its seeping depth—I swear matrimony to the most cruel will.

I will throw these rejected two hands.
Disturbing the water’s foam, I will convey its cruelty far and wide.

“Friend,
I will strike you and depart this place.”

Greatcoat.

The grasses underfoot were cold.
In the mud，he leaned against an acacia and drank water.
Repeating an irritating scale in my mouth，to the wind clawing at the distant gloomy inlet，I cast my eyes mournfully.
What possible reason could there be?
He didn’t know whether he had wandered into this desolate hill country.
His gray Baldwin.
With the collar of his terrifying greatcoat raised，Northern Hungary’s tempestuous wilds.
Displaying the wounds on his chest in all their vividness，he turned his face this way.
In a corner of the deserted tavern along the riverbank，I had been waiting for so long.
The oak treetops rustled，and a distortion of endless melancholy spread through the air.
Head lowered，and yet with force，he approached.
A black emblem on the glass door.
A fly and sand.
The passing time fluttered its wings upon my shoulders.
My throat was parched，my tongue twitching... ≫Yes—the laughable trajectory of his life had embedded its fragments throughout my flesh.
But when I considered his harshness assailing me with hostility and sneers，wasn’t I rather the one raising a wine cup in calmness? Casting off the servile struggle，now I awakened.
And I started walking again.
Through the muddy hollow.
Through the felled acacias' edge.
Repeating a clumsy scale over and over，he descended toward the inlet.

The cold's severity between teeth.
The low sun inverted.
Let the sun stay ever cheerful.
Deeming things unworthy of loneliness lonely—how this world brims with laughter stripped of humor.
About this deranged mind's brief trajectory—I could no longer think.
Was I not the strangest one?
Before winter's assault, while autumn lingered still—to his turbulent city I would return.

There lay discarded iron tools, shattered limbs, scattered incidents and such. The air was faintly tainted with yperite, and the gamecock’s ribs lay jaggedly exposed. The spring’s rusted secrets and shrieking paint. Someone would undoubtedly say. ≪Was it an ordinary slumber?≫ ≪Leave your bed early and wash your face.≫ ≪Put on the blue glasses.≫ The obtuse friends reflected deeply.

They dashed frantically through simple street corners.
Caught in midnight’s ferocious upheaval, who could forget to laugh?
Ah, I would return to the turbulent city.
I alone would feel desolate shame and likely aim for heaven’s collapsing corner.
Becoming a villainous boy, I would crave great bankruptcy.
Anything would do—once more, the gray Baldwin, the specter of the greatcoat.
The very moment we met again, I would cruelly carve open his wounds.
...The grasses at my feet were cut by the wind, and through the hill country’s dawn, I still continued walking.
I descended toward the inlet.

Terminal Station

Let me hear.

From the depths of eyes where tree leaves fly

The black oak organ shattered.
Your fierce music—
A tone like driftwood, the sound of a chipped blade—
When I parted from your averted expressionless face,
Winter came thudding down from there.

Outside the colossal out-of-season gate, leaning on a signal battered by hail.

Oh person of the rebellious, decadent terminus!

They clumsily aired cotton
from the harsh drought’s land’s edge—
underneath hundreds of freight cars
bearing wire scars and asphalt, we who had passed long ago.
Clumsy cobalt miners swiftly departed.

Ah—even this wisp—the meaningless shapes of clouds?

Frozen to the wheels, the mountains were low.
They melted away into the jagged thorns behind.
The pack of wounded wild dogs seemed to be charging forward.
They barked in sober ferocity.

Now flowing through two people’s midst—
cold blood like wire froze—
in thinned wire glass your smile saw itself for the first time—
welling from feet—time’s aqueous hue—
in that terrifying hue wild delusions piled beneath—

straddling raw stumps—
I thought of Garshin—

when I rubbed my cheek they said fire and water-color mingled—
isn’t that alone love filled to brim?

let me hear—oh terminus person!—

piercingly—as ice layer laid bare—

Soundlessly splitting—like lightning.

Again fading through the eras—your music.

Your face where tree leaves whirl—swiftly tilting westward.

Winter glows with aqueous light.

From beyond the rattling great door—as if something sang.

Daga-kun keeps collapsing endlessly.

A hail-battered signal remained.

The black oak organ lay slaughtered beside it—terrible.

………………………………………
Be granted fire

Summer stabbed with spears of light.

The slaughtered great beech tree’s visage resembling a face—

Choking madness deepened, glaring fiercely.

The transparent storm winds of the mountain regions blazed upward—the hall of atonement torn apart by great tempests.

Foaming black and green-gold layered that terrifying surge endlessly.

The spikes of poisonous wheat were pressed and stretched inversely toward the crucifixion stakes in the heavens.

From the distant world below

The cross-sections of augite and olivine—

The field of fire's screams scour past.

………………………………blaze upward.

Blaze upward to its edge!

At Teppen's great ultramarine edge, they surge upward!

Vortexes of bottomless piercing storm air swarmed—the instant deep muddy light's mesh tore asunder!

A thousand small birds turned to gravel as they fell.

This time of intoxicated terror had to be lamented.

When starving, they hoisted people onto their own corpses.

The frolics of horses and chickens lay in futile waiting.

What should we shout? Blood spouted forth only to be swept away.

Blindly persisting through black cultivated fields—ah, were they to breach the distant celestial fence—

The sporadic surges—the terrible poisonous wheat's dark—

The blazing ceaseless song rode the great scythe and galloped.

If one straddled the great scythe, the heavens spread utterly, drunk with self.

Within the desolate shadow of the crucifixion stake, they scattered all manner of baleful seeds.

Behold here, Friend!

The clash of black and green-gold

Summer stabs with spears of boundless light.

Layered transparent storm winds coil in pure midst.

It is precisely in this drunkenness that I cleanse the days of raw meat choking on foul blood.

Baring my chest with a bang, let them strike the harsh beech.

I shall receive the spray of flames.

The Merciless Sea

The swell blackened into depths of ultramarine．
The keen-edged airflow fell flowing downward，drifting．
It calmly held its breath，then surged up in an instant．
Shattered，scattered—spiraling into chaos—and all anew．

The swell coiled quiet dread’s vortex anew—recollected—cascaded down into the abyss—surged.

Ah—the defiantly surging expression of primordial darkness—this was endless flesh.

Visible to these eyes—the anger unseen yet seen sprang from eternal possession.

The dewdrops of myriad hands stepping forth formed their connection.

Exposed nakedness to the saltwater—now in endless dreams and struggle—
Awoke to the glaring clusters of spearheads
While still not fully roused, he tried to rise and confront… but…

The surge came heaving in with crude scrapes from the scorched horizon.

Ravaging the land without mercy.

God’s dog

The creaking rocky shore’s sky lay dead as far as the eye could see.

The blazing celestial canopy of particle swarms awoke.

Time’s flow cast shadows in bellows-like breaths.

A thousand clashing branches let blood drip

Under the poignant restraint of snow, they merely lowered their gaze forward.

The impression of flowers on one’s back and the chaos of blazing ash—

Having forgotten to bark

Ah, solitary hound of God!
A savage mass of dreams,
Now moving like embers knowing no means to stir.
Withdraw and endure.
Eyes must be immersed in saltwater.

Pour oil upon the unyielding pelt's grain

Let fangs cradle that undevastated wasteland

Bathed in glistening marble dust—single-minded—

At the blazing season's root, align your blood

Stir the dream once more

Upon the great ceiling of a harsh rocky shore, an endless struggle is quietly reflected.
Is this another terrifying flow of time?

Song of ecstasy—torn by the wind.

Ember.

Having stemmed steel’s towering sorrow and allure—I who had ceaselessly fought while dwelling among ruthless fiends and endless decadent intoxication—
Ah—yet again illusions arose beneath this scorched skin—an ocean dragging chains northward in reflux—
Oh arc of blade wreathed in dark green spatter!
That itself must be rawest struggle.
Had the present—stripped bare—now ruthlessly sliced through steel’s nest to bear countless spears upon raw flesh’s sole delusion?
But desolate—could this have been entire consciousness falling through infinite carnage?
—I burst into laughter.

While impaling myself on barbed wire from the throat down, a single crow lay at my feet.
Those hollow eye sockets with strands of blue-tinged blood clinging—the jet-black feathers, torn asunder by the backhand of cruel light, blazed up.
Is this not the smoke signal of pounded raw flesh—stirred by scorching heat, trembling—a shadow with no path of return?
Burn, blaze up—kick open his great dome’s doors with abandon.
Gathering thorns chaotically in disarray, dragged into the deep dread of high noon at death’s threshold—the raw voices of slaughter now receded into a boundless roof.
Arbitrary—listen to it.

Parched yet parching—the branches of cypress leaves.

Ominous hour steeped in marshes where three-cornered bulrushes cluster—this season of youth!

Within drunken, entranced postures—in the ignorant reactions of each fleeting moment—carving shadows from every conceivable illusion, where immorality, dreams, and arrogance stood blocking the way: this season of youth.
Roughly grabbing my own naked body to pull it upright—what could be thinning those still mournful words?
At my feet—oh—embers disturbed by swirling and intensifying heat: this momentary love of my own.
Like bitter beast-hide, grappling with death’s dome where alcohol and stars tear apart—sinking into the edge of quicksand.

Hand.

As if applying heavy oil

Something coldly clinging to secrets

This hand gripped a pen shaft trembling ceaselessly—

Bitter ink poured into the sea’s presence

Sinking at last into dried-blood depths.

The sunlight did not reach this hand.
This hand did not scream; it endured within itself.
Nadir’s at the brink of boiling—

Beneath the great rotation

Lay prostrate in suffering’s shadow while turning pages haphazardly—but—

The color of water drifted ominously—salty and foreboding.

Savage, like sown insects.

At times when that immense emptiness swelled into a curtain and cascaded,

In the mottled net, a merciless shark flickered in and out of view.

This hand that tried to dispel shadows would itself soon be lost.

Family of Flies

Do not chatter and scatter love.

Drench your chest with water as hard as you can.

The axe was struck into midwinter’s visage; build a nest there and it resounded in ranks.

Circling behind the rock-mounted iron crutch,

the season of cold winds whipping soot—

for its sake, the locations of all dreams froze over.

Winter was

a steel mechanism,

winter rather stood fiercely amidst the disgrace of all people.

It was I myself—filled with regret and rage—who had to be torn away.

A scattering family of flies.

The road was covered wherever roads existed.

In the distance, the footbridge gouged into the terminal station stood black.

I am smeared with blood.

Moving clouds and trees—
The poured water overflowed...
Winter's nest shattered with a crack under the iron crutch's strike—
A faint blue-green chorus streamed
A single strand of sorrow bristled inside the chest
Suddenly violent light churned through chaotic turmoil—
I immersed myself in and witnessed winter

Evil Spirit

With the wasteland behind him, the boy sat astride an unsaddled horse.

As glaring dye dissolved and endless scorching heat approached, the wasteland howled.

Heralded by that congealing inferno,

thirst whirled upward with the wind.

In the infinite undertow—the hush of all adrift.

When a whip-crack dispatched the savage shadow into dust—

upon the boy who slid from the bare-backed horse, derisive laughter clung with redoubled cruelty.

And though he once heaved himself upright—

the futile, bone-white wind engulfed him.

Violent Act

This dawn—
Violated by autumn’s glaring brilliance, the exhausted winds and lights with their harsh rustling called from within faint uneven depths: ah, it must have been the black pines.
The detonator-embedded rocky ridge was carved into the low horizon, and when burn-scarred clouds scudded overhead, the violet-blue sky deepened fiercely ahead.
Scattered from the colossal despoiler’s hand, motes now transformed into waste steam of uncanny transparency and sank down upon the river upstream I traversed.
The reflection drifting on the water’s surface—even while devouring water ferns and reeds—was it being woven into the turbulent communion of things awakened upon the earth?
Upon this river—old yet new—where violent acts had always been perpetrated, his breath laid bare the traces of human history; ah, the ferocity with which he imparted it to himself!
Autumn crossed a skeletal gravel bed and listened to the voices of gods parched and exhausted at the river’s depths.
I had to laugh derisively.
What they called gods—the water’s surface flipping in capricious turmoil—the erased delusions would surely gather again here like bolting plants.
I was an accomplice to this desperate season.
Retrospectively measuring within my chest the surge and ebb of uncanny glaring brilliance, I lifted my brow and twisted into this body a potent intoxication—like love, like a coarse rope.
As the festering intoxication intensified, the panoramic vista conversely split open with frigid clarity, piercing through tremors where winds and light—wrapping these limbs—resounded; there at earth and sky’s boundary, upon the black-pine rocky ridge—he of insubordinate profundity—stood revealed in splendor: the despoiler who righteously swept away soot.
The sincere words that captured him, gazed into him, and departed from him were spatters of atoning blood raining upon us—though we were fated to be scourged by the final day; when I considered myself and you, what hollow futility lay in our wretched comprehension.

the multitude of falling visages,

the shadows of sentiment abandoned to heartless trampling,

In that ink-smeared despair daubed with mourning

the flies of life's lust and single-minded delusion—

suddenly swarmed roaring, surged up—the flames of Asura's

hands engulfed drowning in a vast pool of blood—so they claimed—

Imagined themselves thrashing there—so they declared.

While dwelling amidst the lawless mob

They proclaimed their conceited creed joyous—

Ah—the cruel boundless expanse—bodies scorched by the magnet's ferocious pull,

Arise, all who walk the path of strife!
Each one strikes at fierce self-love.

In this dawn, the children who open myriad eyes—crossing roof upon roof, racing across the dark horizon of undulations cascading toward the sea—what will they sing joyfully in their days of growth?
Be shot—raising derisive laughter that has lived in their own deep wounds—they must shed blood like anguish upon the thousand-year iron bars.
Above the river—a frenzy of glass shards.

The despoiler’s whereabouts.

I still went on retrospecting.
Eternity—ravaged by wind—the days of violent acts prospered.

Untitled

Winter having come, the path lay beneath Ultramarine.

The bark of the trees froze solid like wax.
The trees were all split asunder by cold flames.
The trees trembled with rage and roared.

The Battle of the Trees

Shadows hung long on the residual snow.
I tried to pray for something—yet was unable to pray.
Though I knew not where the path ended,

Summoning a vigorous time, the trees were drenched in light.

One day, lamenting the silence,

Mounting a beat-up bicycle,

Crossing Ōtobashi Bridge,

Buffeted by the Chichibu oroshi,

The setting sun glinted sharply.

With dangerous whiskey, my tongue gone numb,

In the cold rice field, a prostitute staggers.

Dark and dark.

On the low roof, crows cackled.

The glass shattered with a piercing crack.

The sky over Jōshū freezes into a shrunken state.

Shinpei’s face was nowhere to be seen.
He mounted a beat-up bicycle.
A beggar lay sprawled on the concrete.
He wanted cigarettes so badly—so badly—
It grew darker and darker.

Blue Blueprints.

A

When I opened the window, you bastard dashed down the stairs.
The sun had rusted away completely beneath the battered crane.
Under the electric current's effect, the crowd's foreheads instantly blanched.
The red blind gut flooded the interior of consciousness.

You bastard ran to the crumbled street corner and kept calling out to someone.

I held the blueprints and firmly closed the window.
A single gunshot rang out somewhere.

B
When I was thinking at the bar, you bastard smashed the mirror.

From beyond the wall, a thick neck bellowed an overbearing claim.

In the streets, countless beds were swept away like beasts.

I and you bastard turned toward the terrifying direction and smiled.

At the end of the tree-lined street, the shadow that parted with an unnecessary lover had already vanished.

Ah, the reality lurking behind distorted architecture.

Annihilate autumn’s cruel expression sliding along the distant canal.

Autumn’s Blockade

I raised my hand. That bastard prepared.

The city already tilted coldly into autumn’s blockade.
Under that colossal iron, all reeled like radio waves.

Men with only ribs feebly coiled pipes．
All that truly existed here tilted even to the sea’s surface．
Overflowing with a gloomy accumulation that sought to pierce itself．
Shipbuilding chewed through gray-green skin at the street corner．
Sensing the secret of a terrible substance，they exchanged its weight．
Living beings were almost howling about ghosts．
Artificial flowers shed blood across the expanse of paved stones．
Ah，distant autumn hues surged forth—
Red bricks．
Muddy boots．

Death.

The clouds were rolled up high like Western paper.

That which crept in secret peered at the viaduct.

Light rays were conveyed in countless strands; dogs that did not bark grew sparse.

The anchor had already dissolved; a million clocks went mad in the asphalt.

≪What the hell is there to say?≫

I raise my hand. That bastard prepares.

Glasses.

Swarthy men ran toward Itsusan.

Swarthy women ran toward Itsusan.

Nature withered all at once.

The factories blazed up all at once.

What a vicious contraption of glasses this was.

Swarthy men collapsed toward Itsusan.

Swarthy women collapsed toward Itsusan.

All glasses had been slaughtered.

Ah, this sorrowable world’s silent midst.

In the distance, the storm was violently summoned.

This iron bridge was being fiercely battered.

Swarthy collapsing ones piled upon Itsusan.
Soon the overcast sky would come crashing down.
Old general.

Standing at the edge of boundless encampments—
Turbid miasma swirls, frost scorches
Through surgical excisions of flesh amid shifting mountains and rivers
Even desolate inner dreams lie utterly numbed

As scion of the Last Man, years I stood exposed here alone
To unsparing misery's end—I alone bear witness

O light—would that amidst this plain transparent fusillade
My grief—having coursed through marrow's wild emotion—now thirst

Even on the morrow of desolate days he smiled gently.
When lashed,the whip left only hollow shadows trembling through their faint resonance.
Struck once more by swirling yellow dust,

They confronted the labored breath of distant unyielding mountainous waves.
When gazed upon, the mercury chloride sky's depths forever cherished a colossal abyss.
Must I curse?
Should I become prey to the erupting beast, then so be it.
Though I had countless times sympathized with the sorrow of wicked scoundrels,
Now I lusted to pierce through something drenched and vivid.

Gunpowder smoke borne aloft by wind threatened to vanish at the gale's utter extremity.

Into fire’s camp blended death dyed uniformly black.

Mixed nothing further.

Even so, there will be none who join me.

Harbin

Port District Pekarnaya

Where house numbers fade into obscurity, autumn’s hues grow deep.

The stone pavement crumbles wild—what spikelets spill forth?

They line up on the fence rusted by wind and rain.

For the turbulent world’s delusions lie wounded,

No words remain to tell.

Rooted in the vast land—if there be sin, then so be it.

Countless strands still verily detest passion’s fierceness.

The reason for being remains unknown.

I apprehend every place solely.

And thus, my shattered goblet—is it too about to be shattered?

Lamenting such days with pity's visage upraised
Conspicuous tenderness, heartrending

The girl’s name was Kazeshiba.

Kazeshiba was her name.

Death’s yellow cruel light surged and crashed

Though there were no shadows of those making noodle malt, Pekarnaya.

For a spell, the westward-blowing winds clamored wildly.

Hailar

It was a day of ferocious wind.

What ceaselessly trembled on this day?

For it was a day of resounding eclipse.

It was like chewing wild chives—

The solitary rage of sweat was felt.

Truly, the harshness of the station where I had alighted.

A sorrowful thread—proof of unacknowledged might?

As if biting into void, he kicked the platform.

What emerged floating in the unceasing flow of blood—

What passed through when one closed their eyes for an instant at Daxing’anling’s solar plexus

History be.

Tattered flames be.

The will of sweat that could never be extinguished be.

風の日※（木＋草）飛び 祈りあぐる

Oh, if one spurs their horse through the smoldering dust at land’s end,

The chill-hued Rikimoku Ryokan tilts.

Aseyama

A boundless expanse.
The lines were not carelessly drawn.
Barga's horizon.
To survive—
That which would scorch the earth—
Dew became magma's dream unseen by this world.
Alas, drunk on reed wine.
The old Mohe blood too had dried completely,
Now resounded the wind's vertigo.
――Yamase means Xing'an Mountains in Mongolian――
Rehe
Thirsted for cold blood.
The rocky crag—something fibrous.
In that fathomless place—shipwrecked in the blazing abyss—my two hands.
Disrupted brambles—dark ditches, figures, and death.
The wheel tracks of hill frog madness.
A single bubble stretched and dreamed.
Ah—struck down by a gust of coiling hot wind into a field of sand and inaction.
And the torment atop it all.
Dragging down retinas pierced by heat—what immense journey could this be called?

I am the only one.
Baring fangs at my own scorching incandescent end, I come to know the ruthless scrutiny of resplendent dreams.
O pit of impossibility! O unknown sun!
From the horizon's whirling antipodes—is this not a delusion targeting myself?
Tearing through viscera, ravaging—antelope-hued motes violate.
Now I must not grow arrogant even in this realm where benightedness turns to dew.
Without affection, without sustenance.
In my palm—the final poppy crushed abrupt; blood plasma blackens; rust creeps up the neck.
Exposed between shrubs and a dead horse.
Blinded vultures—in soaring heat's depths—I listen to all breaths of being.
Spreading turbulence rides upon seething multitudes and seasons' cries.
On the parched plateau.
Amid steel accumulations.
At cloud's edge—is this not a collective rending?
Is it not in that thunderous course that Rehe River violently overflows?
Through Tachikuramu's haze—in friction never extinguished—entangled with thorns, I tremble rising.
The rocky crag—summer thirsting for blood.
The iron vehicle's wheel tracks.
The noxious weeds.
Does the still unfathomable vault yet seethe?

Untitled

Hoist the great hawser

As my anger prepared to erupt

Now, though the unceasing sea of disturbance was ominous,

The howls roared incessantly.

The unseen, unknowable path of innocence

Winter Buruki entered between the clouds.

The heartless friend hanged himself on the final day.
At such times, hidden within the boundless haze of day.
Some entity seeks to assail me now.

Untitled

Entrusting myself to a delusion from which I cannot awaken,

the deepening of my starvation—

The day had already been stolen.

Truly terrifying—these watercourses leaving no trace.

The iron fortress of winter would become a wisp of cloud if grasped by hand,

and grasping it thus—my hunger too would turn to ash wrought from blood.

Thus once more,

Should I continue bearing days from which I cannot wake,

With what shall my song be sung?

Untitled

Summer rends resplendent flesh yet makes no sound.

I am but a creator of illusions.

Though even numbing water once raised a limpid flame,

if bitter blue-green light pierces through the eyes,

alas, I cannot even find drunkenness.

The swift wings—nay—are about to plunge into the distant whirlpool at the edge.

If one pierces within the flesh, there is chaos.

Day after day, I sing only of emptiness.
How pitiful are those who madly run in the terrifying thrall of its dream!

Untitled

Autumn tempers steel to water's hue yet

Through my shadowed eyes cinnabar ranks cascade

Like some crevice-staggering jackal

How this fury burns unquenched through endless years!

The sun's boundless advance—do all creation's shadows quake?

My flesh—tainted by souring grasses—sinks perpetual through azure depths.

I know not—where do enemies lurk?

Through the raging flow of the wind

Black—the ailing light of chiseled-ground batteries.

By the banks of the Amur River

Amur lay frozen.

Now silent, it sank into voiceless dark-green depths.

Far away Onon—the source of Ingoda remained unknown.

The extremity of some entity's ferocity had stagnated.

As a prison of irrepressible emotion, it remains silent.

Truly, the irrepressible anguish—
The panoramic mountains and rivers contained all—
On this day, in winter's fierce midst,
Light shattered into dust
The wind subsided.
Only the permeating blue of the sky assailed my entire body.
Ah, upon his withered roof upon roof within shouting distance—
Why did the clouds I bear not drift?
In accordance with history's ceaseless transference
Mournfully, the great river’s workings passed by.
Amur now lay frozen underfoot.

Grandeur

May an even greater thawing time come

May spring draw near to my Tartar Sea.

Where heroes arise, the land is sacred

If one sees a tornado swirling to the right
invariably believe it to be the work of demons

When it swirled up to the left,
this was called the coming of God.
Such innocence and primordial cultural state—
the extremity of that boundary—
to the west, stretching from the Gobi through the northern reaches of the Yinshan Mountains,
there existed a great shifting desert that never ceased to move.
Riding the southwestern wind, it became billowing flying sand,
violently driving an axe into all creation.
Having come to a corner of Arid Asia,

He cannot help but love this land.

In his eyes floats a quiet smile; he stammers out words.

When heated, thick fingertips are drawn in midair

It was already the time when the afforestation design approached its true form.

He was young and brimming with vigorous energy

Joys and sorrows

appear to be together with the life of the trees

The trees encircled his broad chest.

The trees all inherit his love and reach upward.

Truly, love seeps like water.

He was bathed in violently scattering light while

And then, leisurely, he entered into the windbreak forest of the cultivated fields.

I, together with him, am one who believes in the sacred bond between exceptional people and hallowed ground.