共感で繋がるSNS
人気
Stupid
「Hello Everyone 💥It’s special night very very special tonight 💥Hey Mr Lowrider classic Joe Bataan💥Ken You appeared in sir Ridley Scott´s
Black Rain💥Joe，You &Ken should get along well 💥This Dead man Hahaha 💥Don Cornelius will be introducing 💥Joe Bataan💥sing Japanese song 🎶 Hmm Japanese is difficult
「網走番外地」well ken and me heavenly friend 💥Let’s go Joe💥「in the spring ，the flowers 🌺 are chased away No matter how much I drink，I can’t shake the gloom I’m trashed Fueked oh sorry why are we going For us，there’s only one path ahead That Place called Abashiri Extra address 💥Burning my body is at the northern tip Last name who？first name who ？Far，far away in the distance ，the Okhotsk…Red，Crimson Rugosa is looking at the sea crying Chased，Chased，in my home town
Sweetie took the fall for me I want to something nice 💥Now ，we can’t do anything 」speak Lark？因みに、高倉健は、英語、仏語が、話せる。空港で、揉めて、仲裁に入った親切な人が、ふと見ると「ええっ！高倉健さんじゃ💥」ってことがあったようです。因みにこの曲は、放送禁止歌🈲
網走番外地
3
jun😈💜
It strangely warms up to me, letting me give its head a gentle pat…
But then, out of the blue, its head slips down—
and when I look closer at the dangling neck, I see all these wire-like cords inside…
Right after that, it starts talking—and just as I’m frozen in shock, the next thing hits—!
突然 窓から美しい青い鳥が部屋に…
変に なついてきて頭をヨシヨシ…
するといきなり頭がズルリと下へ落ち
ブラブラしている首をよく見ると…
なんかコードらしき線が沢山…
直後 しゃべりだし驚いてると今度は!
I hear my mom screaming and my dog barking in a total panic…
I rush over, and just as I suspected—
inside the closet, my dog’s being chased around by this creepy toy-car-looking thing.
It’s moving like it’s alive, and it’s seriously disturbing…
母の悲鳴と愛犬のパニック声が…
駆けつけると,思った通りだ!
押し入れの中で
オモチャの車に愛犬が追い回されてる
生き物のようなやつで気持ち悪い…
I somehow managed to take down the thing that had been fighting back…
Feeling triumphant, I glanced toward my mom in the closet—
but both she and my dog…
were gone.
抵抗する奴をなんとかやっつけた…
自慢げに母を押し入れの中から見ると
母も愛犬も…
消えていた
That was the dream I had today.
今日僕が見た夢
#English #英語 #英会話 #夢日記
#ひとりごとのようなもの
443
カナタ
Chased temporary before revealing what’s permanent.
先日も取り上げた「永遠」を意味する単語permanentが出てきていますね。直訳すると「何が永遠か明らかになる前には、一時的なものを追いかけていた」という感じですね。
色んな人と付き合ったけど、最後には一人に落ち着いた、という話なのかもしれませんし、転職を繰り返したけど、最後には天職に巡り会えた、という話なのかもしれません。まあでも未来のことは分からないので、「今」最後だと思っているもの、それが永遠だと思ったものでも、将来的にはそうではないかもしれません。
そういえば余談ですが、どこで聞いた話かは忘れましたが、「変わらないものなんてない」ということの反論として「変わらないものなんてない、ということは変わらない」つまり全てのものは変わり続けるということが不変の法則なら、その法則自体が変わらないものである、という逆説的な話を聞いたことがありました。先日も話題にしましたが、永遠を表す二つの単語permanentとperpetualのうち、perpetual（絶え間なく動き続ける）の方に何となく似ていますね。
さらに余談ですが、何となく連想したのがザ・ブルーハーツの「情熱の薔薇」の冒頭の歌詞ですね。
永遠なのか 本当か
時の流れは 続くのか
いつまで経っても変わらない
そんな物あるだろうか
こんな感じで短い詩から色々と連想するのもまた楽しいものです。
#sixwords #6語の物語
13
なな
A journey across lands, within a heart.
I set off on a quiet journey, alone.
A soul in search—
for something unseen,
something lost within.
In Japan,
the soft chorus of autumn insects
followed the footsteps
of evening walks with my dog.
The air was clear,
crisp as glass,
and the rice fields whispered—
leaves rustling like distant waves,
waiting patiently
for harvest time to come.
Golden stalks, heavy with life,
bowed low,
as if listening
for the right moment to be released.
In the Philippines,
the sea shimmered in endless blue.
From Cebu to Malapascua,
then El Nido—
I chased the edge of the horizon.
I dove beneath the surface,
hoping the depths might answer me.
But what I was searching for
remained quiet,
somewhere beyond coral and salt.
Kalanggaman—
an uninhabited island
shaped like a kiss
between two drifting shores.
I whispered to the wind,
“One day,
I want to camp here with you.”
In Thailand,
on Khaosan Road,
I followed the map scribbled
in Lonely Planet’s margins.
Pad Thai sizzled,
foreign voices filled the air—
it hardly felt like Asia at all.
Or perhaps,
a Western village
planted in Southeast soil.
Like a scene from The Beach,
neon and nostalgia intertwined.
From Bangkok’s alleys,
I drifted south
toward Phuket’s waiting coast.
In Vietnam,
ao dai whispered through humid air,
pho steamed in quiet bowls,
and sudden rain
washed away even the noise.
I quarreled with a motorbike driver,
then laughed,
alone on a borrowed scooter
chasing the perfect bánh mì
through night markets
alive with spice and neon.
From Da Nang to Hoi An,
the road curled like smoke—
and the noodles I ate alone
tasted like courage.
In Bali,
the night chanted with fire.
Kecak dancers circled flame,
and I lay beneath a net,
dreaming in whispers.
I met my mother,
shared mint cucumber water,
and let time soften
what silence could not.
Spa hands pressed memory into skin.
Coconut paths led to Ubud,
where an amaryllis bloomed
quietly in a rice terrace—
as if it, too,
had been waiting.
In the Maldives,
spices clung to the air—
saffron, cumin, memory.
I wandered the morning market,
and in the mosque’s quiet breath,
wrapped myself in stillness
and modesty.
Malé felt too small
for the loneliness I carried.
Even land seemed to shrink
beneath the weight in my chest.
On Maafushi,
romance shimmered
just out of reach.
Stingrays in the shallows
played near my feet—
but the rendezvous
never reached my soul.
In Istanbul,
gulls cried over the Bosphorus,
and the wind tasted like salt and scripture.
At Hagia Sophia,
bells echoed in my ribs,
and a cup of tea
warmed something
colder than skin.
The bazaar twisted like a dream,
each alley a whisper
of spice and silk.
I felt both lost and found,
held in the hum of ancient prayers.
In Paris,
light fell gently
on bowls of pho
and broken mornings.
A stranger—madame—
offered me kindness.
When she said au revoir,
my eyes betrayed me.
Her kiss on my cheek
was the kind of goodbye
that aches for a lifetime.
At Sacré-Cœur,
I surrendered
to a grief I hadn’t named—
let it spill like stained glass
onto the quiet hill.
In Italy,
a single rose bloomed
on the table beside my risotto.
I watched pizza spin
in the hands of artisans
who touched the dough
like a living thing.
Warm laughter filled the streets—
a kindness without question.
In Spain,
tapas flickered beneath golden lights.
Gaudí’s stones reached for the sky,
and I coughed quietly
into thyme tea
as the sun dipped behind
Barcelona’s silhouette.
In Hungary,
steam curled from bathhouse tiles,
and friendship stirred
like the first warmth
after a long frost.
But fever came.
And so did silence.
I lay still in a guesthouse bed,
feeling eyes that saw me
as something other.
Even kindness
had a border that day.
In Morocco and Jordan,
I followed the scent of saffron
through souks that twisted like vines.
Tajine reminded me of home.
The kindness of strangers,
rooted in the Qur’an,
wrapped around me like linen.
In mountain towns dyed blue,
I shrank into myself—
then slowly breathed again
in the calm of dry air
and starlit nights.
What I searched for—
I never found.
Not in the oceans,
not in the prayers,
not in the heat or the hunger.
But in every step,
something remained.
The scent of mint and sea,
the rhythm of unknown tongues,
the silence after parting—
they live inside me now.
I returned
with nothing in my hands,
but everything
in my heart.
What was missing
was never meant
to be found—
It was meant
to be felt.
And now,
it blooms quietly
inside me—
like a flower
no one else sees.
3