Keep them guessing. You are a classical text in the emperor’s encoded vision—sour red berries reclining on a carpet of chicken thighs, jewels set in broth like simmering gold.
Hasti, from "Poem As Zereshk Pollo", pub. The White Review
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It’s been a longstanding headcanon of mine for Piano Man’s real name to be Saburo Moroi, after the famous pianist/composer who was a close friend of the poet Chuuya Nakahara.
But when I started researching Moroi a bit deeper for the sake of my Flags backstory fic (which I am still writing, shockingly) I learned a new piece of info that added some fuel to my cracked-out fire:
“During his third year at university, Moroi formed a music group “Surya” (the “sun god” in Sanskrit) with his friends. It served as an organization for performing his own works, and by 1931 seven concerts had been given there. His activities with “Surya” brought wider recognition, and it also became a society for young literary men and artists, including Tetsutaro Kawakami, Hideo Kobayashi, Chuya Nakahara, Tatsuji Miyoshi, Hidemi Kon, Shohei O’oka and Kenzo Nakajima, many of whom were later to become renowned literary critics, poets and novelists.”
So not only were Moroi and Chuuya friends and collaborators, they were also part of the same coterie of up-and-coming young men founded by Moroi himself, with a catchy symbolic name and everything.
So now I’m a little more convinced I was on the right track with the whole "Piano Man is Moroi” thing, and my crack theory has evolved into believing that the Flags are a sort of callback to Surya.
Anyway here’s the musical booklet I gleaned this from: https://www.chandos.net/chanimages/Booklets/NA7162.pdf
P.S. The recording is on Spotify and I highly recommend the last three movements. They are Moroi’s magnum opus and they go HARD
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fatima aamer bilal, from ‘being unwanted is a language’.
[text id: and it was never a surprise, / that in the deepest, darkest pits of hell, / as far as my gaze fell, / i was the only monster i could see.]
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The short film, I Walk With Ghosts, based on a poem written by me. It’s been around the world and is finally out and available to everyone!
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fatima aamer bilal, from how can i escape my mind?
[text id: i thought i had to be wounded to be loved. i can't be desired, but i can be pitied. / LOVE ME OUT OF PITY. please.]
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Heavy silence, sleep of frightening density.
No one can predict when or where such abysses will swallow people, or when or where they will spit them out.
After Dark-H. Murakami
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