today...

all this feeling
exhaustion
joy
fullness
memories of there and here
people in my heart
people to sit and cheers with
images to remind
4 months here
forever over there
every little thing is making me happy
even the rotten mouse
- ok no... not the rotten mouse
but every other little thing... brings a smile
and its all like one big dream
even when it happened
especially when it happened
like nothing i have known before like nothing i could ever know again
... and all these friends here
hugging from the heart
telling stories that make julie's eyes roll
and unkle pat me on the back
and josina chuckle
and tricia ohhh

and it just feels good
right
that now is here

that now was there

that there is still so much more to come

i miss korea
because i love her

but i love here
because i missed here

my heart is not torn
but rather
built
expanded
bigger
than before leaving

and so i can be polygamous in my loving
loving here and there

and i can still love just only one
whilst loving so so so so so many others

this is good
this is really good

it was good
it was really good

...

ends as it begins

and it ends as it began
and it begins as there is no end
not now
not yet

i go from love
to love
i go

what i came here looking for
i found beneath the moon
"that which was lost"
now
now
... is found

glory be to something high
glory be to something large
glory be to something small
glory be to trinity's in pairs

... i go from love
to love

i go from home
to home

i go

what i came here looking for
was behind two doors
- never shall hope for finding cease
in september i still will knock
in september i still will seek

but today
i go
to return
to another life
- a flat without pets
- a car with leather seats and sunroof named "juma weeps"
- a neighborhood that ive dubbed gayborhood
- to friends
i return
to
friends

to tell them stories
of how even the bad has been good
of how even the loss has been a painful kind of gain

but mainly
just to tell them stories
without saying anything

"kim!"
they'll shout
"you fucker!"

and i will smile
smile at them
call them
- by their names
- hey quasian!
hey lp!
ahhh unkle!
... blowpop... dude...
PUUUfuuu
gayborrrrr!!!
seoullll... little one what it do yo?
tricia ricicia bicia smicia icia delicia!
EVE!!!
josina
arrriellllll
vic!

- oh youre the ones i love
how did i the orphan child get so lucky? was frank o'hara writing poems for me?
how did i the one born to nothing end up with so much everything?

theres 12 of us tight
13 if you count me
... who said it was some unlucky number
... its the most blessed one
we're like jesus and his 12 - only each of us is deified

... yeah my gayborhood
yeah yeah my loves
and still theres more... the list
the list
how did the hiding one
end up with such a list?

... and then theres here
all that remains to be discovered

i go from love
to return to love
to love
i go
from love
i
go

aeigo!

... and you i came looking for you
and there you were
in a leather jacket
your lines i have memorized
... and i came looking for you
and there you were
calling me by name


and you i wasnt even looking but oh how you have appeared each one of you - some of you as friends... some of you as friends to be... some of you as fun time lovers... some of you as ones to down the drinks with... some of you as laughter... some of you as hazy in morning light... some of you as ... fashionista compadres... some of you as... distractions for a late january early february ache... some of you as... everything bright and beautiful... and some of you... though i would not wish it... lost gone away with the falsity of allegations... but even then... even then... you remain... something more than nothing...

and one of you as my forevers till death us do part and even then we will be together even then ... for love... ... for love... for love will not be torn asunder even by corrupt traffickers of children
and another of you ... i do not know only that i have known since first meeting that you were one to always look to find... like a magnet to links of alpine forged metal....

these circles
completing and beginning

this is not the end
it never was
this has always ever only been
the next part of beginning

and ... so i go

from love
to love

i go..

aeigo
go i...

a she who sins
a 시인

go we i
together

april and september are full of love goodbyes hellos and glory

this is how the night it turns to day

walking on the top of time

... and the boys shout kim
and the girls pull out bucket shots
but tonight
its an empty glass
empty bottle
- so much living takes place in such a short amount of time
like how love and light get in
like how...
the night
it always ends in a certain kind of
still

and theres so much to say
so much to tell

but everything that means

... im the present future remembering the five second ago past
already mourning
already
longing
already
hoping

and god
he
she
gives no
signs

cept this song

... always

theres a song

... i love-a-you who does not love-a-me
not like that
whatever thats supposed to mean
cuz me
i (just)
know
what it is i came here looking for

and you know what this poem is
cuz its for you
and everyone else applauds saying
"bellisimo more!"
whilst my heart falls down my sleeve

... cuz i love-a-you who does not love-a-me

and this is how the light
its been getting in

and one day
i'll get drunk enough to smash the windows of those liars
(goddamn she came looking
and now i know that there is a hell)

motherland
birthing land
youve returned my tears to me
dried beneath the florida palms and grapefruit trees
resurrected before the spring of cherry blossoms

oh how i love-a-you that does not love-a-me
but how i am returning

soft feet padded like the fall of leaves
memories of shouts and hugs dimmed

only you

you alone...

remain luminous

walking towards (the) time

walking atop 구월

ugh

so he says to me
"sounds like... "

"nah... no... really?"
says i

"god no cant be... fuhhh-k"
i mumble in exclamation to his
"uhhh yeah it is"

"so whats the point...
cuz you see im the kinda person who
likes
needs
always has
needed
lived by
HAVING A
POINT"

... meanwhile the fat-ass cat is licking the inside of my favorite
one of favorite
pairs of boots
- ass-hole - i yell at him
to i realize that
i dont speak kitten
and the thing isnt a "he"
but
a
"she"

so what good does any of this
do me

"makes you human
time will show
and tell"

meanwhile
my postbox remains
EMPTY

meanwhile
my bed
ok its not MY bed its my friend's that im crashing on when shes outta town
meanwhile
this bed
its stained with
trying to recouperate
trying to move on

and im gonna get in trouble for writing all this stuff out loud

and my ex
who i swore
i never wanted to
see to
talk to
not once
not ever again
after that kind of humiliation
lack of genuine respect
- is the first i can think to say
"UGH"
to

and i dont KNOW what to DO
with
what it is im realizing
as if
hand-written letters make anything better
as if
leaving

god and then i look at a photo and realize
- it is that isnt it

and just hearing that come out of my mouth before i can restrain it
is exasperating enough
cuz its me admitting what would be so much simpler to just
DENY

... and no amount of swear words are gonna help me
and no amount of antidotal wisdom
(the word wisdom within brackets)
is gonna help solve change
the one thing that one sided flea bitten
fuckin blah blah blah
cant
change

so yeah maybe
maybe thats what it is ive been feelin'

but i wouldnt know
cuz i mean look at me
im not the type to admit to

anything

'sepcially not
about
the stupid lame-ass word called

love

what we call in

and i dont know
how this story ends
or even where/when
it
begins

but i can tell you the first day
was re-birthing

and i called her from the page
or she called me

saw her in the upper back right row

and she began to answer

she gave me her
desire
kept it safe in
d
n
a

and now

... i unwind
rewind
stop stop stop
go go go go
begin again
again
begin

lights
audience
stop
begin

and the curtain was not falling
the rope was not cut
she called her baby into being
i called my umma into knowing

and i did the thing i said id never do

stretched limbs
let go
and
danced
without
holding back

told her my whole story
and in the middle of the writing
she calls my name

(oh the irony)

... tell me laurie

did you know this all along?

musings on 4 months

and she says
"whatd you come here looking for?"

accusing me of wanting
something

cuz everybody
wants
something

... "to create the world with you"
is what i want to say
but its only the 2nd day
so i just say
"nothing"

cuz the kind of something that shes asking
isnt about
creation
its about
- something
else

speed the streets ahead
traffic zooms by
and she no longer asks
a
thing

and we joke
eating
pork wrapped in sesame and lettuce leaves
how everybody choose their alias' now
cuz
"we know we're ending up in the book"

"the book"
like im bout to birth the bible
like im bout to birth the next best great thing
(maybe
i am)
but
(maybe
im not)

for 32 years 362 days ive dreamt that sea
and now im safe inside
from its crashing
safe
because now
ive seen it

and in the inbetweens of late night drinking
the sentences are forming

and in the late night inbetweens of acting out of lusts
the paragraphs are being shaped

for i have memorized your lines
can recall them in my fingertips
can feel still
your hands covering my ears
protecting me from the sounds
of
pre-recorded
calls for
goods to buy and sell

and you?
you were only ever just an excuse
to move on from
what i want but cannot should not have

and you?
you were just a hand
against my flesh

and you?
you were
well
you were there
to prove i have no high ground for some kinds of
morality

but you
you
its always been you

the you who five years later maybe the story could be different
but we met
when i was wearing blue
and no matter all the bad
so much still
is beautiful to recall

you
you are my favorite
from this time
i didnt just come here looking for her
i also came

to

see

if you would
say
"stay"

i have my whole life ahead of me
its begun again so many times

have seen and met
the most interesting of all things

the goodness of my life
is not lost on me

but that will never change just how much more i want...

... "i dont write love poems" i tell her
"yes ... you do" says she
and then lets me pretend that i just dont

she turns her back when i leave
but thats ok
i got exactly what i came here looking for

i saw her smile when no one else was looking

so i can go out into the last days here

and write the kinds of things it is that i write

a small wondering

what is it
diamond shining in the sky
octagonal
over city scapes
and this night compels
and this day it maintains
and i am black toque'd
i am grey jeaned
hair pulled back

leather jacket
bound

and youre the one i dream of
when awake

do you know
just how much i have seen
come and go
in a time so
brief

4 months
and i have seen the rises and the falls
thrown money down upon the tables
been slapped with the backside of your hair
saying
"go away"

come back
is what i whisper

and you are now mine
forever and a day

i have lived so much
in just months
and watched circles large and small
fall in upon themselves

watched winter fade
stood beneath slow snow falls
outside the cafes of hongdaes

gained and lost
lost and gained

in such a short space and span of time

and still this one circle
small to others
large to me

i wonder
if thats the diamond that i keep seeing in the sky

wonder if thats
the thing thats been blinding me
from
focus

... cuz i just
cant stop looking

up

(the) cherry blossoms

i want to
see the cherry blossoms with you
watch them fall
down our cheeks
see sky cry
cry the sky pink
cry the sky that ive been dreaming on the big screen
not geisha
but gisaeng walking proud
looking upwards

and the women are not here today
and i dont care what it is he has to say bout finite resources
i just want to dream in the rain of blossoms

and for all my wanton ways
my heart it believes the softest (of) things
can be sent fluttering at the thought of pink petals floating
can cry for things not seen
but felt

and even if
i miss you everyday
i will not speak it
instead i will stand stalk tall silent
and let the tears of trees encompass
everything that im not saying

i want to see the cherry blossoms in the spring with you
days before leaving
but because i cannot
i will go with others

and i will cry for memories
of the circle that we started
but cannot yet
complete

for we like cherry trees
both come from something

proud
and
heart breaking

letting words drop from our
soft smooth limbs
that sends the wind into
the woods

and leaves us
bereft
of
winters
cold

calling forth the start of
yet another
year

beneath the sky that is
kissing us with
pink
and
pollen

what they say

and they tell me
"youre sooo korean"
when i say how much i love
gobchang
and they tell me
"youre soo korean"
when i say
"hell yes i love dried squid... especially with mayonnaise"
and they tell me
"youre soo korean"
when i tell them samgyupsal's a favorite but gobchangs even better but no matter what
there must be

soju

... and then they giggle when i cant even say my own mothers name right
not just her name
but
her title

mom

and thats when i go back to being
western
waygook

(damn those g.i.'s were stupid
thinking migook meant "me gook")

and then i go back to being a western waygook
when
i cant order off the menu
or tell the taxi driver slow and broken
"wenjok... juseyeo"
but it sounds
(coming outta my mouth)
more like

"when-joke joo say-owe"
and everybody snorts a laugh

and thats when i want to punch
and
kick
and
scream

bout how
"well maybe i could say these things correctly
if youd just taken the time
to
i dont know
KEEP ME"

but then they clap and smile
say my name
tell me it is beautiful
and just how korean i am
cuz my hair is black
and my waist is thin
and i love gobchang
so damn i must be korean
cuz i love the makkoli man

but ive met white girls more korean than me
and all us ibyang can barely say our korean given names
the other day she corrected me on my own name
and i blushed
cuz maybe she was right
but (sometimes) i dont trust the ibyangs
much more than i trust
the agencies

and they tell me
when theyre not speaking
just how korean i look
but then again i know words that only insiders know
words like
"iban"
and thats something just the ones who give themselves new names
know

and i announce to laughter
the laughter of koreans
"thats right - im an ibyang iban"

like we all know
something

and maybe youre my sister
more likely somehow so my cousin
cuz my halmunnee's descended from some place high
and im your bastard relative

and anyways
im not korean
and im not american
i know europe better than i know here

and they tell me everything of who i am
cuz of what i like to eat or drink
as if soju makes me more korean
as if the entrails of farm animals give me right to kinship
its in my blood
its in my dna
but i know ibyang who run from sight of fish
does that make them somehow more
midwest?

"you know nothing"
i wanna yell
whilst glancing black hiigh heeled leather boots that pin prick along concrete floors
leaving echoes the way that ghosts leave sounds behind

"i love nachos too does that make me mexican?"

but here its different

here its like
the acceptance that i never got on pre school playgrounds
when white boys would sit atop the big log tunnel taunting
"chinese japanese"
(i know now even they did not know what they were saying...
father, forgive their parents for raising such small white beasts)

they tell me how im so this or that
in europe it was the same
canadians mistaking me
me
for lithuanian
in a land of lily white

mistaking me for always being what im not.

well,
ive got a white mama and a white papa
and a tall white bro
but that still dont make me white

and i know where my generations come from
im descended from the mountains and the sea on the east coast side of this continent
ive the seen the waves and soil

and the one im looking for
finding her has changed everything and nothing
cuz i still can wake up
broken hearted crying
for the lust i lost the night before
for the lust i cut off just months ago
for the friends i miss
for the girl who has to think before saying hi to me
so none of that has changed

but all the wondering
that whole thing looks different

but the questions remain just as dumb

and they tell me
just how korean i am
just how american i am
just how european-ized ive become

and i wanna tell em all
wanna scream it shout it when everyones just busy with their day and drinks
"you fools
im not just
im not so how
im
an
iban ibyang who loves gopchang soju nachos cepellini seour cream svyturys words by kerouac and asian american beat slam poets
im the latest trend
that hollywood stars are showing off
hybrid cross culture gay ass korean born american raised european lived iban ibyang kimchi eatin' dunhill light-uhh hybrid poet writer
gluttonous lustful womanizing
but still i believe in love


artist

who
got lost
and
found
15 times
along the way"

decompression for the days

oh korea
drunk and tilting
bodies writhing
passing out on bar top corners
coming to for another shot
tongues wrestling forbidden fruits
korea's slanting on a hill
outside the walls the words read
large in white
"EAT ME"

... dirty man covered in foundation
oggling me like im his future twink
and im sipping cass

so many times like these
when thinking

"how-m-i ever supposed to write home 'bout this?"

oh korea

everyones gonna get the wrong idea

like this is all that we've been doing

watching people down their drinks
and sandwich dance on white blocks

(cuz even then
the light
it still gets in)

so much happens in four months
so much happens in a night
a day
some weeks

closeness gained lost gained and lost again

how is it that letting go is just a form of clinging?

i dream with henry miller

how one day

this will just all be different

... i think of jack
young
like me

old
like im becoming

i refuse to die of rotted guts

but some days after nights like last

i wonder if with every single act of redemption - im not just on my road to hell

in the middle of the day
in the middle of the night

i chant your name

hoping
for words to change what wishing does not

... even inbetween these lines

im whispering

inbetween the bodies writhing on the makeshift stage
inbetween the passer-outers at the bar
inbetween the wrestling tongues
inbetween the cards turned over

cuz the light

it never leaves

so maybe one day somehow

you'll look up without knowing

and say my name too

and we'll wander paragraphs together

like writers do

blah blah ramble ramble one of many more

and when distraction ends
and life begins
theres the uttering
and muttering
to retrieve
to make kind what was once cruel

and the distraction of the dumb
is habitual
returning
(me)
to the truth of
honest
true
desire

and the distraction of the less than
is not to fill
but to forget
if even for a moment
of why it cannot be
even though
i cannot help
my heart

and the weeks that have now turned to months
to life that is
everyday living
i now must begin
to face a truth
one too many

of everything thats been so easy to
cover up
replace
with
wanton
less than stimulating
moments

just like television
sometimes the brain kill
is necessary
to find where it is that
(my)
heart
begins

and my heart is with you
and my desire is with you
and my wish is for you
and my missing is you
and my dealing is you

and the objects in my hands
im setting down
the paper dolls that ive been dressing up

and i can hear my friends a whispering
i can hear their voices in my head
and how they save me daily
and how they bring me back to mine

last night i dreamt of chocolate cake
and somehow it tasted good
inbetween the headache that was waking me
reminding me in sleep
the truth of
reality
and
the
fantasy

and one day i will write this thing
that is gestating
and wonder where it will take me

oh lover of words
oh word lovers
godots of my daily
i dont want the hyperboles that are whizzing round my head
i want the fruition of my sentences
the same fruitions
that brought us here
that keep us here
that will not let us go

we are made of water
and everything between us now
is just
steam

just before the dawn

and this is korea
young and drunk
stumbling on the streets
from midnight on
up until

just before
the dawn

and this is korea
reeling in her own secrets
unravelling truth
bit by bit

just before
the dawn

and this is korea
not knowing her own family
meeting secret in the alleyways
and side street restaurants
downing soju

just before
the dawn

and this
this is korea

wretching in her own lies
pummeled in the gut
to spill out the things that shes been hiding

just before the dawn

this is when we meet
irritated by denying affections
and a propensity for filling space and time
with candlelight

this is korea
stewing in her family marts and buy the ways
la mein slurping
gophchang gorging
mek ju guzzling

just before the light gets in
just before

the dawn

this is korea
sending us out into the hours
just before the dawn does break

taking breaks to drop defenses
and letting all our softness show
and then running
without moving
pushing
without
touching

kissing
without
tasting

this
this is korea
just before the dawn

just when the end of darkness and beginning of light do meet
in a sort of truce

before the streets are washed down
from last night's reveling
just before the first shop door clatters up
when even buses roar more like a whisper
and the subways tunnels are barren for a moment

this is korea
just before the dawn

this is me
before memory
in a makeshift carrier
packed prepared for export
in the cover of pre-dawn

so that korea
can sleep peacefully
ignoring all her sins

whilst ummas mutter secret prayers
for redemption
and their children wake to see the day
not knowing
never knowing
how before the dawn
their father spawned another
how before the dawn
their mother was once young
and single
scared
and
in dread of a morning light that may never come

this is korea
speaking truths in halves at most
saving face
burying in orphanages and catalogues - those who might one day bring family disgrace

this is korea
young and beautiful
high heeled in high black leather boots
long black haired
chic and squared

this is korea
skinny jeans
three men falling
girls arms linked giggling

impervious to none and all

baby selling
soju drinkin
garlic roastin
kimchi eatin
ajuma weepin
ibyang searchin
secret hidin
drama makin
soft heart breakin
drink down fallin
beautiful high heeled wearin
fashion settin
us as one
out into the early morn
korea

just before the dawn

morning gestations

(camera phone photo of sinchon at 10.46 this morning...)


-----


everything's still wet from its morning washing down
concrete with a glossy surface

itaewon
sinchon
bustling in the late afternoons
quiet as innocence
before noon

its a sort of stillness
that makes me wonder on
kerouac's san francisco blues

like somehow
here in seoul
i can hear his thoughts

... light morning drizzle
reminding me of my grandmother's garden in corvallis

... the sidewalks swept clean of last night's cigarettes

even the fastest moving objects seem to move more slowly at ten forty six aye em

not lonely
just
quiet

the kind of calm that poets love
the kind of innocence that writers wonder on

like everything is tangible

like each one of us at our most honest
no walls
no facades
moments that we rarely show

just pure

like a morning kiss to the forehead

tenderness without wanton lust

... seoul in the morning
is not the seoul i know at
night

and i
i

i love her two extremities

for both are truth

truly
i was
born of her

this is how...

this is the way the light gets in
this is the way the
light
gets-in

through the window sqaures of goshiwans
through the bedsheets borrowed
through the truths spoken between the darkness of false allegations

this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
shines
through

through the unexpected things that bind two people into 3 then 4 then 5 then 6
through the moonjas that set phones spinning
through the arrogance of shyness

this is how the light gets in
this is how the story does begin

from the opening of a door
from the recognition of a heart
from the sobs howled in the kitchen in the farmlands mountainsides ocean coastlines

this is how the light
keeps
getting in
hear me now
this is how
the light
gets
in

through a memory of asking questions
and the dropping of your defenses
to the resurrecting of your walls
through stumbling along the streets
to avoiding everything that cannot be ignored
or drowned

this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
does glow

through the nights of 15 shots too many stolen items and forgotten moments
to the two sandwiches in the fridge

this is how the light
its
getting in
this is how the light
gets
in

through her 56/33 years of secrets
to her 65 years of deterioration
to the need for peace when there can be no
"happy ending"

this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
seeps through

through the shit and the fuck
through the hosed down jagged streets
and mopeds sonic roars

this is how the light gets in
this is how the light moans through

inbetween the dining
inbetween the cat and dog hair
inbetween the extremities of silencio and raucous rousing

this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
gets-in

this is where the begin again keeps taking place

this is where
this is how
this is when

the light

it keeps getting in

one small square
and a city view
can turn luminous

just open up the shutter
and you'll see

(that)

this is how the light

keeps getting in

this is how
this is when
this is why
this is where
this is now

the light its

getting in

and i

inbetween the sound of trains and a city that just begins to move at five at night

i can hear the light

its getting in

and ive got

my camera

ready

things i dream of

sitting in a coffeeshop dreaming of a day
the day

living in the days when dreaming of -
might not be so
seemingly
far reaching:

i dream of the day when
korea will stand up and say in one collective voice
"no more will we send our children away. no more will we sell our children for profit."

i dream of the day when
governments, systems, celebrity collectors of other people's other country's children, and money hungry agencies will no longer strong arm parents into giving up their children when all they want to do is raise them...

i dream of the day when
ibyang and their ummas will raise arms side by side without shame without secrets without lies without separations...
throw back their arms and cause seoul ... busan... daegu... every small village in korea... every white family in the west - to see their hearts and for all to say "no more. no more can we do this. no more can we separate"

and for holt and kss and every single agency existent and no longer running to take all the millions that theyve earned off the selling of korea's chidlren - and give these profits to open shelters for single ummas who want to keep their children - who will put the money back into impoverished families who do not WANT to have to give their child up but dont have the income to keep them... to put their greed back into educating the people... for agencies to apologize to us for what it is that they have done... to fall prostrate at the feet of ummas and say "forgive us" ...

i dream of angelina jolie and brad pitt no longer being celebrated on the covers for adopting children - that instead they'll take their millions to help support the countries that they say that they feel so much compassion for... that they will work to enable parents in the 3rd world to be able to keep their children

i dream of the day when people magazine will lambaste madonna for stealing a father's son

i dream of the day when no one will call these dreams - impossible... when one day it will be a reality

i dream of the day when our place of origin will never be foreign for another child turned westernized adult

i dream of the day when... assimilation will cease to be the goal... when korean born western raised men and women - boys and girls will never look in the mirror saying "my skin is such a lie... if only i looked as white as i am inside"

... i dream of the day when single ummas in korea who kept their children - will be given every laurel wreath accolade that they deserve - will be given the support that they are owed... that they and their child will never want... that they and their child can be... can become... all they wish to be... for their neighbors to lift the ceiling - showing sky

i dream of the day when... words like these will be celebrated for the(ir) fulfillment... will be looked back upon as oh so distant past

i dream of the day when the loss that each and every 200.000 plus carries - will be washed away... will be filled with every joy calm and peace that comes with just knowing who it is you look like - where it is you come from

i dream of the day when 200.000 rise up from the sea - onto land - plant feet - and discover the(ir) roots that have been whispering for them all along

i dream of the day when...

children do not have to apologize to adoptive parents for asking questions - when chidlren do not have to say "thank you" to adoptive parents for being "saved" from "the orphanages of korea" ... when the truth of every single orphan and adoptee - umma - when OUR truths can no longer be ignored... that the rising up will be so great... that the volume of our truths will be the thing that causes every man woman and child in korea to set down the objects in their hands - crane necks... join us on the shores... bring us into land... and close the doors for good of agencies...

take our hands

and

reclaim us

take our hands

and say

"never again will we ever let another one of ours be sent away"

- i dream of this day

i dream of this day

this is the day i dream of

and this day

it begins with me

it begins with you

it begins with each one of us

to let go the self

and dare to dream with full passion

... so that this

this thing

this thing that has been done to us

has happened to us

will never

happen to another

to work towards this

to strive towards this

to

dream towards this

dust ...

(photo from last yr - seoul at night)

and flesh it turns to dust
burned down in the flames
ashes

only our souls are worth their weight

particles
seeking
other
particles

we're just a giant mass of
stuff
with 21 grams of
real

and the girl
the boy
the man
the woman

theyre just molecules

and to do
or not

to be
or
not

thats just a dust storm
rising in this
bowl

thats just the chaos of
scientific theories
speculated on by other bits of dust
- dust contemplating its own composition

made from nothing
made from dust
- dust the excess flaking of the skin
- the skin excess bits of flesh
- the flesh thats shaped of excess dust left over from the earth and its departed
filled with light
so easily distracted by other dust-ly shapes
ignoring our own
21 grams of
weight

ashes to ashes
dust lusting for other clumps of dust
to huddle with
to find comfort with

forgetting
that
21
plus
21
makes
42

and 4 plus 2
that makes 6
divide that six by the 2
and youre back to

some kind of

coupled
dusty
trinity

21 grams
and one too many pounds of kilos

dust forgets its one
it
only thing
that matters

and my soul
looks back
to see
what it has gathered
and what it will
shed
as
excess
unimportance

and one day
another
shall be comprised
of my
excess(es)
feeling self important
singular

parts of a day

I.

jesus
god
and the 500 saints
that refuse to get up for breakfast
singing songs in a temple

5 rotten tomatoes
no
9
no...
too many too count
its too early
for me to number things
in my head
but
not too early
to stand with fingerless gloves
drinking coffee
from paper cups
smoking dunhill "light-uhhs"

monday morning
and who wants to go to church
let alone
sunday school class

last night dreaming of chests
smothered in
tattoos
and
suntan
lotion

last night dreaming of
wagging tongues
and smiles

the only way i know
how to tell you bout
how im understanding you
is to tell you bout
how im understanding me

and the anger
it runs deeper than a river
she is both the
weakest
and the
strongest
part of
me

and for this i both
love
and
resent
her

and you wanna talk betrayal?
ive met my judas
and shes kissed my cheek
whispered in my ear
telling me
"i lub you"

and its monday
one day after sunday

and jesus is asleep
and jack kerouac is
"on the road"
and im a
"dharma bohmzha"
and the book cover is cobalt sky blue

orion sings at night
whilst the saints do sleep

bukowski's in his resting place
hughes is dreaming beneath a pile of raisins
festering
and
emily dickinson's
dresses have turned to
ash

i will fall in love with a star
i will fall in love with her dust
maybe i should learn to love
ugly that is beautiful inside
instead of
beautiful that is ugly on the inside

but im lecherous
and cravenous
one time too many

and my inbox is full of spam
promising me things
that i pay fortune tellers to predict

and god
and jesus
and the buddha of this temple
smile on from books and paintings
whilst children
run amuck

and i write you letters
bout absolutely nothing
write you letters about absolutely
everything

and this joy and anger
are biting through the morning air

i should go buy some gloves with fingers
but i like the rag tag
like the rag tag all too well

and i dont want just either or
thats always been
my problem

i want the beautiful that is gorgeous inside
want the star that shines from inside out
want the saints to wake
angels to gather on the beach
call up the sun

and bring tomatoes
back to
ripeness

and give me nights
that wake me
full of

words like these.

how a 시인 is redeemed

* caution to the wary - this is a ramble on... headed no place particular cept where it pauses and concludes -

dont know why... it just is this kind of delight

when words have double meanings and double sounds

some love children

some love animals

me?

i love words

care for them in the most tender insane way
will fight for them
do fight for them

arrange them in my mind the way that florists give thought to flower placement / combinations

one meaning can enhance another

one meaning can - delineate - another

one word when placed beside another has the power to bring out more color from the ones around it - and yet the ones around one word can serve to illuminate that certain choice

its a love unexplainable
a delight
that escapes the confines of a sentence
or a
paragraph

even dictionaries cannot contain the meaning
some invent with what exists
writers write to exceed drab banalities

words can make the hearts of women
swoon
can inspire the ambitions of men
can win back what was lost
make singers worth listening to
and others
worth
ignoring

its not just "love what you do"
its
- love how you do what it is you do

- yeah true - anyone can write anyone can draw anyone can paint cuz everyones an artist
'cept wrong -
"everyone's got creativity" is how it should be written
cuz artist - smith - poet - writer - author - playwright - musician - etc etc etc
- those are the ones who arent just touching on their "creative side" - but striving to master... striving to perfect... striving to strive... and creativity is a tool within all the other skills

and some like to say - youre such a snob
to which i say:
what so elitist about loving?
whats so nose up in the air to fall at the feet of a word well placed? a move well crafted?

just cuz you own paint
doesnt mean you are a painter

just cuz you can spell
"dont make you no writer"

... and theyre gonna lambast blast me for all of this
-cept maybe the sinners who get called "시인" (oh how i delight in the similarities of sounds words and the play of go-between)

and yes yes yes its a well known fact that i have this sometimes way of living that makes others smack their heads
but
i have another way that goes deeper


and it brings this smile to my face to think the phrase in meaning / sound "that bar is full of 시인's" ... say it say it say it - good god that is greatness in the most word nerd of ways

... and you think you know me?
chances are
you know one thing or the other
ignoring combinations

cuz its the spaces inbetween that say the most

words - they are the best and worst of me
alliteration onomatopoeia annunciate
(sometimes slammers have only that and that can be so beautiful in its own without content kinda way
dont get me wrong i cant slam
but only few can slam with great poetry
and i fall prostrate wordless beneath their mics)

and here's a random inbetween

- sometimes i forget that i did not just live
but that i LIVED
in lithuania
that i know how the lights of klaipeda feel
that i can still feel the bitter cold from the baltic sea
that i can taste bambola's pica in my mouth
hear kurpiai jazzing in my head
that the cobblestones of here remind me of the ones along the gatves there
that i have 2 plus years of memory
and with those memories come
... feelings
that could never be framed by words
... only fragments
... and only those who were there ... well i could say one word and theyd know the full novella
like

- kretingos gatve
- maxima
- yellow submarinas
- karklu
- kranai
- the spit
- 12 chairs
- svyturys
- peda
- jocelyn
- 4th floor
- 11th floor
- degtine and the sky

... and in those words are hours.... days... months... years

and in those words
are people

and this

this

this is why i love words
the way that some love
loving

cuz loving words
is loving people
loving words
is loving memory
loving words
is loving music
loving words
is loving every single goddamned good/bad moment
loving words
(for me)

it is to live

and yes

i am a 시인 who does sin
but i am also a
"시인"
redeemed
by
words

love note to 한국

(photo from last yr)

i love her back streets
the way she juts
up and down
rises
falling
with
and/or
without
me

i love her alleyways
her smells
her
vendors
and her
buyers

i love her lines
the way she has been
excavated
dug so deeply into
red line
green line
blue line
go
with caverns still to
explore

i love her exhales
that steam up
from her crevices
crevices
created
by
men
and
women
trying to find her
center

i love
her exclamations
that tremble through the walls

love how shes so tender
so unpredictable
so one day settled
next day wild

love how she pulls and pushes me away
will not let me go
how she is
my beginning
and now my middle
how even so long from her
my body could not forget her

how music falls from her highest places
to her most lonely corners
how
shes the one i could never leave
even when she turned her back

how my blood is of her veins
my body from her limbs

shes my constant joy
my constant geography to discover

i could trace her lines a thousand times
and still only just
begin to know her

raise my fingers to her
swollen
body
bursting in the upper
the place where i am most at calm
in the center of her
chaos

love her ragged edges
how even the ocean cannot conquer her
how other men have tried
but still she has remained
true
to her
chosen

she has not just one
but many

she was made for generations
to be adorned
with their triumphs and their sins

i do not know why it is i love her
she has wronged and betrayed
lied to worse than any lover could
sold me to feed her self-serving flesh
and yet i love her
because she loves me too
calls me by a name forgotten

i love her in the way that lovers cannot stay away
mumbling
"dont know why
just something about
you"

love her in the way
that sleep is torture
and every taste
is to know her

i love her in the way that
i have yet to love a person
love her in the way
that i cannot deny my own heart
when with her

love her in the way that
only those whove loved
can

know

love the city where i was born
love the country from which my dna is traced

love her knowing how crazy she can be

love her because

when mumbling to self

the words repeat

"korea... seoul...
there's just something about
her"

to the shoes upon my feet which i do wear so carelessly yet carefully

waking feeling soft
memories of the sounds of
silk 침아's
making time stand still
making even natives
stop
and
stare
rendering
an alleyway
silent

and we've been everywhere together
my chucks and i

"youve helped me remember something id forgotten"
- (heard that line so many times from so many "hers")
(when now will i be able to forget all that i am
reminded
of?)

and they're rotting
rotting at the seams
weary soles
weary threads
hole driven canvas

you know how i dress
so then why am i so excited about the colours
of this
한복 ?
(the silence that it renders
the time it makes to
stop
will be for the
oddity
and rarity
my hair's too "mussed"
to render that kind of
homespun
beauty)

i keep waking
these past 2 morns
to the softest inner feeling
like everything
is just
around the corner
that im about to
'round

stare down at the ground
to my worn out weary
much beloved
scuffed to the soles
1950s cons
chucks

think of all the places that we've been together
how memory wears down rubber
and dirt
sleet
snow
mud
earth
can eat through canvas
and time
can wear
not just flesh
but
sailor's cloth
so thin

look up
take a photo
think of morning
recall the sound of
silk

and say to self

"ahhh now
this
this here now
is

love"

morning lovesongs of want

coffee comes slowly
churning out the veins
spluttering in the lungs
whilst smoke drifts in

and the preacher man
he's behind his sunday aye-em
pulpit
whilst all the sober people bow their heads
dreaming of coffee
and
praying for the
smokers

morning is the end of night
and i have one too many tune-less songs to sing

drained my well textured mug of its deep mocha black brown
beans from guatemala
tobacco approved by HRM ERHII
"designed in london made in korea"

me
designed in america made in korea
approved by holt
jeans from someplace obscene in that urban hipster kinda way

"to be so satisfied
and yet so full of...
anger
and
confusion"

"to remember why it is you came here"

"to remember
remember
remember"

fuck remembering
id like a mug of fermentation
and forget everything for a few more nights

"to be the one who captures your own loneliness and fill it"

fuck me having to fill my own anything
i want
a houseload of servants
a harem
and a bar that never runs dry
to fill whatever
whenever
i just
think it

and i want
a
house

and the income to own one

but the morning
is full
of sounds

su-yoon washing out last night's container of rice
water makes so many sounds

i want to be thigh high in snow
watching the moon rise in the alps
when everything is so beautiful
(full of beauty
beauty that is full)
that kind of fullness of beauty that leaves you so
aware of just how
in tune and
singular
you
are

i want a cat
that i never have to take care of
that never sheds
that only purrs
and places its paw upon my chest
and tells me that i am
perfect
without a chesire grin

morning is full of shuffling
of bags packed
ready to flip out the door
time away that i dont want
but
need

to re-order
re-pack
my chaotic
insane
fragmented
jump from thought to thought
word to word
random tangent
somehow all strung together
good god-damned lovely
hectic
ways

and return to
the way that morning is...

one bird singing
another in response

no sounds of traffic in a 12 million person city

hearing this

i cant help but think

having filled myself with guatemalan beans and nicotine

sitting behind my own literary litany of pulpit-ing

preaching to no one but myself

the shuffling
the 270 sounds of water
the 2 birds in conversation

and just for a moment

i am in want of

nothing

with 15 minutes to spare

and a love for my own word truncated : "insatiabilities"

remembering reminding

(on the way from nakpoong-ri)


oh the ocean will not hold me
and the rivers cannot bend
everything is brighter
darker
than the days before arriving

and in the midst of chaos
is a comfort of
familiarity
is the comfort of
the past

and i can no longer run from
what ive been running towards

and the world
i cant find the way to pause it
cant find the way to stop it
so then
how (do) i move in
through
and
with
it?

oh the waves theyre not crashing in my dreams
as they have for 30 something years

and these 3 decades plus of living
arent like id imagined at the age of
12

confusion laps up onto more
and its not about you
not about her
but about
what it is i came here for

though some day i find negligent acts of avoidance
to be the only way to hit this pause
though all that does is make it all spin faster

and i dont know if i should
or
should not

to move from letting go to
frantic holding on
to utter indifference

i am the ocean
that cannot contain
my own
moon pull
my own
gravity

and the waves
though they will wash
crash
over

they will not
cannot drown
- this much ive dreamt before
this much i am assured of

and beautiful is beautiful
but crazy is too much
and i cant play the push and pull away
even though ive been pawning in this for one too many years
even though i always throw in my cards

oh its a go stop
stop go
flip switch
quick trip turn around
of becoming

and eventually
the rose petals
will stop swirling

it is the settling
that i am waiting for

it is the sea to calm
the rose petals to lie upon the earth
the crazy beautiful chaos to turn to
deep sigh peace release

it is
to find the middle ground
and not all these everyday extremes

i dream now
of a sea with waves
that do not crash up onto the highways
but instead
lap upon the coastline
with a sky brighter blue than i will ever show you

this
this
this
is what i came for

to look into the mirror
and see the sea has
calmed

II.

let fade what must
let shine what will
let shimmer what can
let die what needs
let live what does
let be what is
let go what does
let let what lets

i cannot be the one
to make the sadness go away
cannot be the one
to bear the brunt of self destructive hell bent intents
only to be called names

let rise what cannot stay
let stay what grows
let grow what yearns
let yearn what hopes
let hope what remains
let remain what moves
let move what rises

one year later and now i understand her meaning
one year later and now i understand my own mis-understanding
one year later and two things once just dreams are now bittersweet known realities
one year later and now i know
one year later and now i wonder if i still wish to know

let all be does is all the may might must can could should would

be.

(two) tin cans

its like that game
only without the string
so everything's just hollow noise
reverberating back into our faces
and the rope thats knotted at my stomach
wont fix the lines
of
understanding

some wasteland of
tinned sentences
canned for a later season
preserved for
preservation?

everything is
frayed at the ends
jeans
shirts
hair
even my chucks are frayed

i cannot heal her whisper
saline bleeds this city dry
saline digs paths into her eyes

i will be her first wrinkle

we're repeating words into these tin cans
making earthworms moan
into the earth
at our vain repetitions
like if we say the same thing enough
suddenly there'll be
translation

like if we keep saying the same three sentences
that the string will re-appear

like if we keep saying the same words in a different order
that one of us will find the meaning

so we stand
silently
saline
tin can in hand
tin can to mouths
not saying anything
just making
noise

this re-beginning
is every day out of body
every day new feeling
every day same sentences
every day picking up of cans
holding them to ears
collecting all her

water
that might drain her body

dry

a sort of essay on a sort of return to simplicity written in a fragmented format

the complexity is dwindling
to something less
... than intricate
dwindled down to one word
understandings
like:
"아니 "
"동생"
that leave a smile

but thats two more words than before

even a
문자
of being called a
"바보"
can somehow bring delight

like for a moment foreign is just a bit less foreign

and when she says
"안녕"
on the phone
and i give the wrong response
of formality
im no longer 33
or 34
or 35
depending on the calendar
im back to 5
lying on the carpet of my parents bedroom
asking my mother
"well what if...
what if one day..."

suddenly shopping for clothes has taken on new meaning
suddenly
just walking in a certain way
brings an odd kind of
delight

i
we
are the oddest mix
native born foreigners
having to claw our way to figure out
our
mother tongue

if statistics are to be proven right
then
im close to half way through it all
and yet somehow
these days

im back to my beginning

and the salvation that the preachers preached

ah now

finally now i know

what it was that they were
ranting on about

sinner turned saint turned sinner

re-turned to being

human...

just being in a car
thats not driven by a taxi driver
diving down the hectic streets
even that

even that

feels good

and i dont know if i just wrote the wrong word in hangul
but the attempt
was honest

so much has taken place
in so short a span of time

so much living

in a just a matter of weeks

and there is no way to return time to its infant stages
some things
are just gone

but now i know
that theres a whole lifetime
to
be had

and so today's comfort with a couple words
and the other day's joy of being in a car
and tonight's times of gesturing out yay or nays

eventually will turn to
fluency

but for now
for now

i am happy
with

this return to complicated
simplicity

just like how this beer

it tastes

so good

christmas in seoul

tis a (relatively) well known fact that i am not a fan of christmas... not a fan of all the "things" of materialism and religiosity : "buy me this buy me that and let's remember 'the reason for the season' "

so i quite quite quite enjoyed xmas eve and xmas day here... as the only point of these two days is to meet up with friends and either go out to eat or eat at someone's house... fortunately i was able to do both :-)

my seeming lack of blogging as of late is due to having a rather constipated mind and heart... which is good... but is resulting in a lot of churning over of words and thoughts inside myself... to be spewed forth at a later date

... anyhow

life is good

and basically as my fb status says at the moment:

"there are two ways to look at the world: as if everything is a miracle or nothing is a miracle." albert einstein

(i believe the first... )


... i thought a lot about xmas in lithuania last night... and found myself missing sirvintos and the salatos.. and led zeppelin at odd hours...

ahh its the simplicity and quiet that i like the most about christmas... and have always done my best to seek it ... and thusfar have been quite lucky in finding it - be it in lithuania, austria, the chappelles of so cal, korea or where-ever else...

24 dec 08

at sangsu station on the way to an (overpriced) dinner in itaewon with sora and anja and others...





25 dec 08

at kim yoo min and chan-hwa's

turkey, mashed potatoes, and of course the necessary all important pickles and radish kimchi