I am no longer interested in politics unless it affects my livelihood. The Trump administration is attacking my institution and my president. After trying to investigate our president without success, the Trump officials now demand an apology from our president over diversity. I am glad our school and our president are standing up to them to keep our independence. Please don’t budge. We are the last institution to fight against their bullies. Fuck them!

I haven’t blogged about politics in a while, which is a good thing. I just can’t follow the news anymore. It is too depression and not good for my mental health at all.

In recent weeks, I have come to the point where I just leave politics out of my social life. I have been hanging out with people who support Trump. As long as we don’t get into politics, we are fine. I don’t want to get into it either. If they are cool with me then I am cool with them.

I also avoid putting my head on the chopping block between the Vietnamese Americans and Vietnamese communists. I have heard enough from both sides. I don’t want to be part of the controversy.

I have too many things to worry about.

The name Vũ Thành An is synonymous with “Những bài không tên,” a series of untitled Vietnamese love songs. Because these songs were written about his past lovers, the famed Vietnamese musician and composer didn’t want to reveal their names. The first ten songs in the series had been covered countless of times by several generations of Vietnamese singers. The rest hadn’t been recorded much; therefore, I would like to put together a collection so the pieces can be read as poems. Even though the series has 112 songs, many of them are missing. I collected as many of them as I could find. For typesetting, I selected NaN Druid and Nan Druid Sans, designed by Anna Khorash and Reymund Schröder. Enjoy reading!

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish we were in my car,
and you’d shift the gear.
We’d find ourselves elsewhere,
on an unknown shore.
Or else we’d repair
to where we’ve been before.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish I knew no astronomy
when stars appear,
when the moon skims the water
that sighs and shifts in its slumber.
I wish it were still a quarter
to dial your number.

I wish you were here, dear,
in this hemisphere,
as I sit on the porch
sipping a beer.
It’s evening; the sun is setting,
boys shout and gulls are crying.
What’s the point of forgetting
if it’s followed by dying?

Joseph Brodsky

There’s a black bear
in the apple tree
and he won’t come down.
I can hear him panting,
like an athlete.
I can smell the stink
of his body.

Come down, black bear.
Can you hear me?

The mind is the most interesting thing to me;
like the sudden death of the sun,
it seems implausible that darkness will swallow it
or that anything is lost forever there,
like a black bear in a fruit tree,
gulping up sour apples
with dry sucking sounds,

or like us at the pier, sombre and tired,
making food from sunlight,
you saying a word, me saying a word, trying hard,
though things were disintegrating.

Still, I wanted you,
your lips on my neck,
your postmodern sexuality.
Forlorn and anonymous:
I didn’t want to be that. I could hear
the great barking monsters of the lower waters
calling me forward.

You see, my mind takes me far,
but my heart dreams of return.

Black bear,
with pale-pink tongue
at the center of his face,
is turning his head,
like the face of Christ from life.
Shaking the apple boughs,
he is stronger than I am
and seems so free of passion—
no fear, no pain, no tenderness. I want to be that.

Come down, black bear,
I want to learn the faith of the indifferent.

Henri Cole

I love you like ladybugs love windowsills, love you
like sperm whales love squid. There’s no depth
I wouldn’t follow you through. I love you like
the pawns in chess love aristocratic horses.
I’ll throw myself in front of a bishop or a queen
for you. Even a sentient castle. My love is crazy
like that. I like that sweet little hothouse mouth
you have. I like to kiss you with tongue, with gusto,
with socks still on. I love you like a vulture loves
the careless deer at the roadside. I want to get
all up in you. I love you like Isis loved Osiris,
but her devotion came up a few inches short.
I’d train my breath and learn to read sonar until
I retrieved every lost blood vessel of you. I swear
this love is ungodly, not an ounce of suffering in it.
Like salmon and its upstream itch, I’ll dodge grizzlies
for you. Like hawks and skyscraper rooftops,
I’ll keep coming back. Maddened. A little hopeless.
Embarrassingly in love. And that’s why I’m on
the couch kissing pictures on my phone instead of
calling you in from the kitchen where you are
undoubtedly making dinner too spicy, but when
you hold the spoon to my lips and ask if it’s ready
I’ll say it is, always, but never, there is never enough.

Mối quan hệ giữa chúng ta giờ đã chuyển sang một bước ngoặt khác.

Những lời ngọt ngào trao nhau năm xưa giờ đây nhanh chóng trở thành những lời đắng cay. Những cuộc thương lượng lý trí giờ đây chuyển sang những trận gây gổ phi lý.

Những cảm xúc năm xưa giờ đây chỉ còn lại những mối trao đổi. Giữa chúng ta giờ đây chỉ còn lại trách nhiệm? Mai sao trách nhiệm không còn nữa lấy gì níu kéo lại.

Tại sao chúng ta làm đau lòng nhau bằng những lời nói? Chẳng lẽ giờ đây phải đối mặt nhau như kẻ xa lạ để tránh né sự bực bội và khó chịu?

Những lời tâm sự từ nay đành khép lại. Ngoài những câu nói cần thiết sẽ giữ lại những nỗi niềm riêng. Dù trách nhiệm hay trách móc, hy vọng hạnh phúc không mong manh như lời nói.

To carry the child into adult life
Is good? I say it is not.
To carry the child into adult life
Is to be handicapped.

The child in adult life is defenseless
And, if he is grown up, knows it,
And the grownup looks at the childish part
And despises it.

The child, too, despises the clever grownup,
The man-of-the-world, the frozen,
For the child has the tears alive on his cheeks,
And the man has none of them,

As the child has colors, and the man sees no
Colors or anything,
Being easy only in things of the mind;
The child is easy in feeling—

Easy in feeling, easily excessive,
And, in excess, powerful,
For instance, if you do not speak to the child,
He will make trouble.

You would say the man had the upper hand
Of the child (if a child survive),
But I say the child has fingers of strength
To strangle the man alive.

Oh, it is not happy, it is never happy,
To carry the child into adulthood.
Let children lie down before full growth
And die in their infanthood,
And be guilty of no one’s blood.

Stevie Smith

I drank,
my arteries filled with fat;
the ventricle went lax
and a clot stopped my heart.

Now I sit
in St. Petersburg sunshine.
No whiskey;
wearing a girl’s heart.

My blood has adopted a child
who shuffles through my chest
carrying a doll.

J.D. Reed

On Sunday evening, I saw on Marketplace that someone was selling 10 pairs of used skis and 5 pairs of used ski boots for $0. The skis in the photos looked decent. It was too good to be true.

Nevertheless, I messaged the owner, but I didn’t get a response. I knew I had to compete with lots of people; therefore, I offered some cash. The owner replied. I told her I could come right away, but a thunderstorm was coming. Then we scheduled it for Monday. She told me that if I changed my plan, I needed to let her know. She had tons of inquiries. I believed her. That was why I offered some cash.

Now I have so many pairs of skis in my little shop. I am going to need to spend some time tuning them up. I still have the whole fall to do. Let’s see how far I get. With the amount of time I spent, I need to up the price a bit.

Selling used skis had been an eye-opening experience. I had never done any sales before. I make money mostly from typing on my computer. For this side hustle, I had to work with my hands. I had to shoot the video and photos. I had to write the descriptions. I had to reply to potential buyers. I had to meet with them.

Making money with your own hands isn’t easy. I don’t make enough profits to justify the time I spent on tuning, but it would be great for the kids to make extra money. I showed Đạo and Đán how to tune up so they could make some extra money, but they didn’t want to do it. Oh well, I tried!