Below are some of my writings from the years.
I hope to write more in the future.
I also want to think about ways to
combine my drawing and writing.:)



Somewhere, there lives a boy who has never seen his own face.

With his right eye, he loves to see the greatest and the smallest things, in so many different ways, with so much obsession, for such a long time. He likes to see things as they are and as they aren’t.

With his left eye, he loves to dream. He dreams of various timelines. He dreams of different dimensions and spaces he cannot reach. He dreams of himself. Inside himself, outside himself. He dreams of women, men, girls, boys.

His right eye sees something beautiful. It does not speak. He thinks about its past. He gives it a name. After all, nothing is beautiful in quite the same way.

It knows itself well. It probably does not know others too well. But why not give the others names too?

His left eye travels far away, to a place in the sky. Somewhere, there must be someone who can see the faces of these beautiful things. His left eye travels higher and higher. His left eyebrow rises higher and higher over the years.

What happens if you keep dreaming and dreaming?

One day, he meets a girl. The girl feels the way shapes change around her. She feels the change in the boy’s strange face. She can see his dreams in his face, his eyes, his eyebrows. There is always enough room in a face for dreams. She thinks that he dreams like something beautiful.

She thinks, ‘What if you had lived without dreaming? What if you had seen your own face just once? Would your face be beautiful in quite the same way?’


The rain in summer plays an unusual song.

A melody of white on white, hiding. It beats against the windows in a pattern I once saw on a necklace of black beads. I pictured it on a tree and on the clouds.

Sometimes, I think I am closer to the world where the rain enters every building through windows without panes.

Its song enters my body and spreads over time.


You are sitting in a black and white world. In the middle of a lake stands a metallic sculpture. With an instant camera, someone takes a picture and shows it to a person with white hair, who had once waved to you from behind tinted glass.

When the sky grows dark and it begins to rain, your strongest sensation is underneath your bare thighs, pressing against strips of faded wood. You feel the pressure equally now.

Wood, air, wood, air.

In the rain, you look curiously at a window, whose mystery makes it beautiful. A person inside longs for the same sensations, staring at the wispy curtains all day long.

You are both standing in a black and white world. Your hair has grown white and the lake has frozen into metal. Behind your closed eyelids is a world of white lines that follow the way your hands trembled. In the same way, I find myself traveling, but thinking of you, my heart trembling.

You say, ‘Don’t come near. Don’t touch this,’ your arms pressed against your eyes.

While you stare at endless white lines all day long, the ground beneath your feet grows green, and the air around you glows purple.


At 3 A.M., a dream comes again. It is about you, drawing a dream. It is a dream of horses, a river, and a window. A wooden window of a wooden house. Nightmares live inside.

In the center, you see me lying naked inside a large bathtub. A bathtub that glows golden, an island in the middle of the wooden nightmare.

We draw together. I say, ‘I want you to see what I have seen. I want you to dream what I have dreamed.’ You tell me, ‘There are some things that you shouldn’t say.’

I keep drawing. It is a promise to you, a person in a dream. A drawing of you.

It is complete – I feel it. One day, when you find yourself drifting in a dream, come to me. I will show it to you.


I look back at the road I walked to see what I have seen every day and look back again and again to see if, from that reality, a boy would appear and call to me.

But you are only waiting for the music to stop so that you can ask me something casually.


Under the bathroom light, the spaces grew larger and the jewels grew denser. Do you remember how they shone with their blackness on his white fingers, how they made him melt for hours and hours, his eyes like red roses, and he ate nothing, became less dense, while inside each jewel, a universe grew? Where was everyone during that time? Where were you?


A particle found glass palaces reflecting themselves infinitely. They were the upside-down teeth of a beast that had just cried.

The particle watched the palaces until the sky discolored at 4 A.M. It thought, ‘Hey, I think that is what I have looked for all my life. Now the mystery is gone; things just happen. I will become a snowman, center of the world. It’s too easy. What can this mean to me?

‘How easily I play a song, with countless variations, when the melody is burned in my heart!’

The particle lay down beside the beast and studied the stars. The beast cried again. Tears flowed up and the particle flowed with them. ‘If my world turns upside-down,’ it thought, ‘I will find my palaces again.’


I walked home to the sound of diamonds. It invited thin strings through my ears. I don’t remember, but the backs of my hands glowed purple.

I tried to escape the mess of lines that surrounded me. But my hands burned, and for a moment, I sincerely wished to sense what I could not. What am I without my hands? My mind turned to itself to see what was there.


I didn’t want to think about things that made me happy or unhappy for a day. I wanted to find a feeling that I could carry forever. Maybe I saw that you reached this another way – but this is not what made me cry.

A delicate hand that turned green and purple with time and temperature, to know that you have touched this hand and known its presence for a long time. That is what I wanted to keep forever. Always, that was the dream!

How do you grow up? The beauty I felt from the music, from the way a friend said good night, could not give me answers...