I do have a jō (short wooden staff) of which I’m fond. I crave books, but since I could care less whether I read them as paper or on a screen and gladly give any but those with long-term reference value away after reading, I don’t think they count.
Being fonder of ideas than anything material, I like the story about Diogenes the Cynic who, upon seeing a boy drink from cupped hands, threw away his cup in self-anger for being such a hoarder.
Knowledge can be a wicked curse,
Like gold coins in a sturdy purse.
Tied up -- inviolably pent --
To be rattled... but never spent.
I love thy music, mellow bell,
I love thine iron chime,
To life or death, to heaven or hell,
Which calls the sons of Time.
Thy voice upon the deep
The home-bound sea-boy hails,
It charms his cares to sleep,
It cheers him as he sails.
To house of God and heavenly joys
Thy summons called our sires,
And good men thought thy sacred voice
Disarmed the thunder's fires.
And soon thy music, sad death-bell,
Shall lift its notes once more,
And mix my requiem with the wind
That sweeps my native shore.
I collect experiences, but they are very slippery and will not stay in a row on a shelf to be displayed.
mama chicken
struts with great confidence
for one wrangling chicks.
A Horse’s Tale by Mark Twain
Maybe the first lines constrain the last;
Maybe ends insist on openings;
Maybe some truths escape all words;
Maybe dulcet lines tell no truths.
One may need to keep separated --
Beauty and truth -- to avoid wounds.
Inspect and haggle over each word --
Distinctions maybe finer than a hair;
Weigh each edit upon a scale;
Ensure each cut serves its purpose.
Original poem in Simplified Chinese:
或仰逼于先条，或俯侵于后章。
或辞害而理比，或言顺而义妨。
离之则双美， 合之则两伤。
考殿最于锱铢，定去留于毫芒。
苟铨衡之所裁，固应绳其必当。
