a thought

dearest fellow ibyang employed by holt in eugene oregon and others who live in the house,

please do not think that i am standing in a place of judgement...

i spent about 28 years of my life believing i was white - wondering what the hell all those bitter adoptees were bitchin' about... denouncing it... avoiding korean adoptees or any one who looked asian... i didnt want to be associated with what i was not - i didnt want my identity to be mistaken...

and unlike all those bitter adoptees... i was not bitter... i was fine...

around 29 i began to suspect i wasnt white... and that maybe claiming asians and specifically korean adoptees as friends wasnt such a bad thing... slowly i began to feel less ashamed...

slowly i began to realize... it wasnt that i thought everyone whod already claimed their roots or who were outspoken against int'l adoption was bitter... it was that i was... ashamed.... of being ... of looking... like a korean.

and then ... i began to truly desire to return to the place that i had been born... id always wanted this but id tried to forget... id told myself that only the weak needed to do that... that i was already well adjusted... and sure... id had some rough spots in my coping... but who doesnt?

- i mean everyone drinks away a good five or more years of their life... theres nothing abnormal about being 5'2" and being able to put away 3 plus liters of vodka and a liter of whiskey a week 52 weeks a year for 3 or 4 years without any noticeable side effects... theres nothing abnormal with sleeping around for the sake of it and being completely incapable of admitting to how much i cared about some of them... theres nothing abnormal about having extreme internal panic attacks that id never see someone again when a friend would go to another room for whatever normal mundane reason (i.e. to get a glass of water, to use the bathroom, to answer the phone) - for them to be away for even 5 minutes and to completely convince myself in those 5 minutes that they had forgotten me and probably hated me and probably never really liked me... absolutely nothing abnormal about any of this... we all have shit to deal with... and i was just typical... i wasnt coping anyways... i was just living my life... and being adopted definitely didnt affect my mental or emotional state...

... and then it began to hit me... that maybe this wasnt normal... or at least maybe not healthy... that maybe these things were what the western world calls "coping mechanisms" ...

... and then it began to hit me that maybe... there was something to be said for the fact that to this day i still struggle with the fact that my first mental response when something feels too out of control or painful my first thought for how to deal with it is to go buy a few bottles... or go find some available person to take home...

... and only in the past months have i even been able to begin to fully address these things...

only in the past couple years have i been able to begin to start to want to change these patterns... and in doing so... looking at what it was i wasnt admitting...

and in that... looking at ... what i felt ashamed of...

i was ashamed of being korean.

i was ashamed of this body... this face... this skin...

i was so ashamed that i couldnt even let myself get indignant ... or acknowledge that i cared ... because if i did that ... then id have to admit to myself... not only my shame... but just how much... i have never stopped mourning the loss of my umma - my mother...

and to admit that would be to admit just how very human my heart really is...

and somehow the costs of not admitting were easier... pissing people off... offending them... making them think that i was disrespectful of what theyd asked of me - even when i respected what they asked i didnt have the ground to stand on to be able to prove to them that i was speaking the truth... i never lied to anyone... but i lied to myself a lot...

and so...

my fellow ibyangs... who work for holt... who think adoptees like me who believe that there needs to be a HUGE and DRAMATIC shift and change in int'l adoption policies and most likely be put to an end... those who think me... us... bitter

... i cannot judge you... because i spent most of my life living in "the house"... its only been oh so recent where i have decided to return to "the field" that i was born of... my friends can attest to this...

keeping me grateful for the reality and possibilities that evolution allows us...

... and all of this is only the prelude to what i want to ask you

...

how can you work for a place like that?

a place that has lied about so many of us in order to make money?

how can you work for a place that continues to deny adoptees access to personal background information?

is it because you think that if you do not you will be classified as bitter?

is it because you feel so indebted to a white society that raised us?

is it because you say as i once did "im not really korean... i just look it... im more white than korean" or "im not like those others - theyre so weak and bitter... complaining all the time - they dont get how lucky they are"

is it because... those in the field remind you of your precarious position in the house?

is it because you... (like me... like most of us... have been... ) ashamed?

is it because... this whole thing affects you so much more than your heart can bear? that you have never stopped missing her? that you have never stopped knowing just how much this hurts?

is it because if you admit to all of that... if you admit how fucked up this leaves you feeling... youd probably break down and cry for days?

is it because ... you hate how much it affects you... and so its easier to say it doesnt really matter and you dont really get it when others make a big deal out of it?

is it because... youre worried that if you admit this... you will risk hurting your adoptive parents feelings... and if you hurt them... then you risk losing them? and the thought of losing another set of parents... is unbearable...

is it because

unlike me and others like me - you never had a real addiction... you have only had healthy dating relationships... you have a wonderful relationship with your parents... youre not one to be so affected by the actions of others... you are never scared of being left ... you see no point in looking to the past... youre well adjusted and well educated... you are strong - you dont let your emotions dictate you use the brain you were given... you have god and the church... you have a good comfortable life... youre not the complaining type... you hate when people complain...

... whatever your reasons are...

its ok

... but its also ok you know... to admit... to yourself... that youve never stopped wondering or missing her... and at times hating her...

its ok to admit that maybe you feel betrayed by your country and your people so why invest into them when they invested so little into you...

its ok to admit that...

you think people should be applauding celebrities for adopting... cuz we all kinda wish that someone irrevocably wealthy had adopted us... i know i sure do...

its ok

that you like being in the house...

im not writing this to say you have to leave

... but i am writing this to say...

one day

if you ever decide

it is worth every piece of courage it will take

to walk out of the house and go into the field

because you will be welcomed home with open arms...

and when you cry...

we will cry with you

and when you rejoice

we will rejoice with you

and when you are confused

we will be confused with you

and when you make an ass of yourself due to bad coping mechanisms

we wont kick you out...

and maybe you will decide to return to the house

but maybe you will realize not only do you love this field

but just how much you have missed and needed this field

... - me

바다

"바다" she tells me

"baaahh dahhh" i repeat like a sheep incompetent

one year later and i sit staring at the same crayon drawing of the sea

reading "바다" and remembering

how we wrote chalk notes on the board

hello

hi

youre cute

youre hot

youre beautiful

how are you

... 바다 has brought me here again
for you
or me
i do not know

rainy day

today
(i am)
the sight
the size
the sound
of this rain

memories flash in dreams
somehow i still can speak all the words i have forgotten

god bless this lonely billie holiday
god bless this miles davis
god bless coltrane and all that jazz

even buses run more slowly

the coffee is black
and the shop just changed its hours for smoking indoors
its ok i could use the exercise...

god bless the first kiss
the first touch
the first moments of uncertainty
something of the rain reminded me
what thats like
all that nervousness
and skin full of tremulations

... god bless the poet wordsmiths the re-inventors

... i like to keep my life close to me
like to have it all within reach or short walking distance

umbrellas pass by so slow... ly

i like the sound of rain
its like the sound of sitting in the dark of hannah's flat in long beach
brown carpet
california pacific air
jumping on the bed

its like the sound of oregon in the summer

its like a thousand seven plus sounds lived before

all sheeting down so slow as one long swipe across the city pavement

never seen

only heard

somewhere in the distance

... i like this wooden spoon... perhaps i'll take it home with me

but first now to exercise by stepping out beneath the awning

to watch the rain and fill the air with what my lungs are taking in...

none of it really makes any sense (at all)
what is... would have
could have
been
better
for each
and every
one

of
us

i did not want to go to julliard
because i knew it was not
possible

but you
wanted
what was possible
because nothing said it could not be

and so we both sat dreaming the impossible

so i dont know now what it is /
is
not
better

to have been here
or there

but still we share one thing

loss.

and i cannot forget

how much we still want

and youre this
this
this
julliard
and i
i
im this
romeo'd

its how the story writes itself

every cliche is true tonight

and no ones gonna come outta this happier

we're just gonna end up

honest.

anyways thats all i really ever wanted.

i could never go to julliard

that is where the rich go

but we like to dream this coulda/shoulda

just like how i dream here

and am hurt each and every day by letting go (of) my own coulda/ shoulda

cuz there is none

there is

neither

and its ok

cuz what else is there?

save cept but for a buncha broken dreams

save cept but for a buncha broken wishes

... and anyways no one reads this
save cept but for the dreamers

and what i want when 5 down under plus
is only exaggerated by the five and plus
when really all i mean to say is

- i dont know.

i never will.

she didnt want us

she had different ways of showing it

and now shes happy sending kimchi

like the tears of cabbage is a remedy...

then again...


maybe


it is ...

the hope of flowers

and maybe the flowers will tell us today
if we just ask the pavement
"where is she?"
perhaps the leaves will answer
"we saw her over there on our way down to this street"

the sisters behind barking dogs and closed gates
chant
"we dont know go away"
the churches turn their eyes towards god too busy to help

so maybe the flowers will answer
maybe the persimmons will whisper
"she stands gazing here each day at noon come back here tomorrow"

the lazy policemen do their best
giving rides to places we've already looked
the cat with the skin off its back just stares

wounded... we are all so wounded
3 lost girls
wandering the streets
trying to find absolution to the heart wrenching questions carried for one small lifetime
- where is she
ask her maybe she knows...
maybe he knows
the man with the patch o'er his face
maybe he can tell us
where she went

mumbling phonetically "mah-chee-so" "mah-chee-say... mah-chee si... mah-chee si si-yo"
she breaks the moment with a pair of socks
knee high
we smile
for the absurdity of the moment

wondering
- will the flowers tell us?
do they even know?
i doubt the birds will speak
when even halmunis amble off
and god's workers are too busy lighting candles / saying prayers
if this were america i would tell you that the policeman was fat and sitting behind a desk chewing on his bakers dozen donut...
but this is korea
so instead he was average height and weight and giving us vitamin drinks happily chattering on about his son and how neighborhoods get re-assigned and how he should do better at his job

if this were america i would tell you that inbetween the search we got id'd for beers
but this is korea
and we chewed thoughtfully on fried dried squid ordering a second round of something new - something blue...

i do not know if and when the trees will choose to speak
what they and they alone know the answer to
for they were there at birth
and are witnessing the return with seeming utter indifference
only caring about their own seasons
with little time to answer us

and the cat seemingly deaf to its own horrific wound just stares
and the policeman returns home to call his son
and we smoke cigarettes behind vans to not be seen
to take another taxi
to walk another street
to wander counting numbers - knocking ringing doors

the half full moon turned yellow
is telling us the answer

but we lack the language
muttering only phonetic repetitions of new words learned
gurgling like babies

meandering like sheep

some look on with suspicion others round the corner looking for the tv host and fame

the flowers
maybe they know

come now... take my hand... and we'll all three go and ask them...

dangsan morning

and morning comes
and we are here
we are here

upon return

so im re-instating this blog now that ive moved (back) to korea

... just that statement... is fully loaded

move to

or

move back

... wrapped up in the conundrum of being korean born western raised

leading to thoughts and questions of

- how exactly am i perceived here

korean americans"kyopos" - which is to say those who grew up in the states with korean parents who made a choice to leave korea - tend to not view korean adoptees as being korean...

korean adoptees often do not see themselves as being anything but white

... theres a lot of writing going on right now about this whole identification and its evolution

today i read something that struck a chord

to be an ibyang - an adoptee

- you spend much of your childhood identifying as western and white

and then for many (not all) around one's 20's/30's - there is a... beginning... in which reclaiming ones "korean-ness" begins
and so as the writing stated - this is often perceived by others as being... "wishy washy" - when really it is a slow evolution that is ongoing...

... it is often believed / thought amongst ibyangs that "korean koreans" (those who were born and raised in korea) - see kyopos as ... traitors because they chose to leave...

ibyangs... we believe ourselves to be perceived differently because it is understood in the very definition of our label that a choice was made for us without our consent... before the age of consent...

... but the truth is... i dont know if any of us really know how "korean koreans" perceive any of us...

maybe they see us as we see ourselves... but i dont think that is likely... seeing as there is no way to explain what it is like to spend the good part of your life believing yourself to be white and quite often doing things to ensure that the rest of your social circles perceive you as no different than them

... who knows... maybe we are just another search/reunion tv show to be watched by ahjumas and halmonis...

maybe we are... these strange outsiders that no one really knows what to do with - and its not like any of us as individuals can help because we're so busy trying to figure out how we see ourselves as individuals...

... in a sort of egoism that is wrapped up in trying to understand my own identity... i cant help but look at my "korean korean" friends and think:

"how exactly do you see me? do you see me the same as any other foreigner? do you see me like a kyopo? do you see me as someone to be pitied? do you even really care that you - you my korean korean brothers and sisters have lost over 200,000 of YOUR own people to international adoption and that there is a 1 in 68 chance that you or a family member knows a korean whose life has been directly affected by adoption... do you feel this loss?"

... i think a lot about... how choosing to search for my umma... was also an unknowing commitment to the possibility of insanity...

since finding her for all the amazing good... how exactly do or could i ever explain what it means to be almost 33 (34 korean) and have your entire sense of self flipped inside out... and for the months that have followed since to still feel so uncertain of what my reactions will be to any given situation...

situations that i used to be able to predict my reaction to

... and im not sure exactly when it is that i will re-discover this ability to predict my own reactions...

... and i have absolutely NO idea as to if/when i will ever feel any true sanity about having found my umma

... on one hand yes - the story of finding is akin to a fairy tale - and i remain mindful everyday of just how fortunate i am... and how i NEVER want to appear to my fellow ibyangs as complaining when i know so many would give everything to have this... to have even just a name or a photograph...

... but on the other hand... it is the most lonely frustrating uncertain thing... there are no role models for this ...

i dont know how im supposed to react

... and to live in that inbetween of being soooo happy to have her in my life again and to feel her happiness... and yet to feel constantly that i remain her dirty little secret...

... i dont know exactly why i am here in korea... why i decided to move

what i do know though is that ever since i was a small child i promised myself and whatever kind of god i then and now believe in - that if i ever found her and if she wanted to know me i would do whatever i needed to - to move here

so this is a 3 plus decade old promise...

... and yes... i do feel a sort of resentment - that i have to give up so much for the person who for whatever valid reasons lacked a courage and continues to lack... i do not know if and when she will ever fully claim me as her own... yes i am her daughter and i am her eldest... but im not allowed to say her name aloud... im not allowed to reveal other potentially identifying family history... in private behind closed doors with trusted folk - yes... but never in public - i am not allowed to claim this... to say what most any other child can say without hesitation to anyone - "my mom's name is.... i have this many brothers/sisters/none" etc...

but i also feel the freedom of choice... i made the choice to look for her... and i made the choice to move here and to get to know her... and i made the choice to do this on her unspoken conditions...

i also made the choice to be a part of this evolution... to move here

to live in this very peculiar inbetween for which very little if any precedence has been set... if anything i think that it is our generation of ibyangs (meaning those of us adopted out in the 70s and very early 80s) that are the ones who are setting ... a sort of precedence... a precedence that is based largely on the fact that there will never be any real strong set of rules or standards or guides for others to look to... because

because

how can you set a standard for something that is so messy

that the more we seek to untangle the more we discover the amount of strings and strands...

i dont know how korean koreans see me... or us... and if they will or could ever see us as what we are - which is one of their own...

because i dont know if we ourselves will ever be able to see us for what we are... which is... one of theirs...

... because the very nature of our existence and our returning is also a reminder of a shameful secret... not just for ummas but for the government and the korean people - each time we appear we are a reminder that the land and country that is so full of beauty and pride

also took part in something so...

abhorrent

... and so i wonder

maybe its easier to keep us at arms distance and remind us how we dont know the language or the food - whilst neglecting the very true reality that there is a reason why we dont know the language or the food and that these reasons have absolutely nothing to do with a choice that we made...

maybe it is easier to only focus on all the things that make us "not korean korean"
to focus on the exciting reunion stories of ibyangs who find their ummas
to ignore that every korean korean has benefited in some way by the selling of us - because we netted profit not just for the agencies but for the korean gov't...
to ignore that not just a few - but many of us were stolen/kidnapped or coerced out of our umma's lives...
to ignore that there is always a possibility that your cousin or brother or sister was sent away and for whatever reasons someone in your family didnt do anything to stop this...
maybe it is easier to instead remind us of just how korean we are not... and how ungrateful we are if we say that we are confused and sad and angry and grateful and

because then all the shameful things can be ignored
because then no one has the responsibility to make sure that the rights of unwed mothers are protected and that those in impoverished circumstances are taken care of...

it means that you dont have to look at me for who and what i am

- one of yours who for reasons that are so messy and complicated was sold to another country to another culture... for money for profit... and no one here did anything to stop it

and no one stopped the selling of 200.000 korean nationals who were sold from their people as babies/small children...

....

yes

it is more than good to be back here

and yes when my korean korean friends refer to me as "unni" or accidentally turn to me and speak korean... that feels so good

... and it is those little things that i hold onto

and that is how i intend to reclaim what was taken

little by little

bit by bit

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

the river

the river
it runs deep
wide
and
dry
splitting the earth at its seams
filled with the unshed tears of
200 plus thousand ummas who weep in buried corners of their hearts

this city
country
so beautiful
cracked down its center
by a shame so deep
its own people
have dug to bury
labeling its own
"foreigners"
sending us away
oh how the world has failed its ummas
how the world has failed the children of this earth

secrets that run back to the shilla
secrets that run back 5 plus generations back
crashing up onto the highways

and i
i walk down this riverbed
sinking in its mire
few will stop to help
most will turn
blind eyes
most will say
"was not me"

whilst i point my finger saying
"i love you but you could not love me"

father forgive

riverbeds
are going to split this land
till ummas are allowed to stand heads public -
wail
and
mourn

father forgive this land
how i love it
my body knows it
i am born of it

born of this riverbed
mire
waves
shores
gutted farmlands

we're the stains
that you cannot wash or wipe away
you have denied the ummas all their tears

i am of you
i am you

purest form
that i could ever be

and in each finding
in each tear finally allowed to flow

the riverbed
begins to heal
this
land so beautiful
and its people
so

i lay down my hand
pull in my fingers
and can
no longer
blame

can only
join the ummas
and howl the tears that they were forced to send away

3 weeks to the day

last night i
held her sadness in my arms
-she wore it like a cloak

tonight i cannot sleep
because
because
i do not know what tomorrow holds
do not know if on saturday i will knock or run

last night i held
the sadness of 200,000 ommas in my arms
even though she was not one of them

i cannot sleep
and i need sleep
i am hours deprived
but what ifs are churning
what ifs are the steady drip

and so tonight
i will go out
to forget
just for a moment
how last night
i held her
sadness in my arms

i will drown this coffee and its grounds
i will spill life onto the streets

will watch the sun rise

my feet
what will they touch upon

and will my body
remember anything?

last night
i held the sadness of my mother
in my arms
in the shape and form
of
her.

II.

the women chit chat pitter patter in their english
call me
nice things
tell me just how much an artist i must be

buy me samgyupsal
pour me shots of soju

want their pictures taken with me

want my number
want my email

want me to come back

"welcome home"
they say

"oh yes youre definitely korean" (in some ways)

they tell me everything ive waited 32 33 34 years to hear
(lunar calendar has increased my longevity by 2 at this rate)

... "no no this is special we dont usually do this"
they chirp
buying me dinner

treating me like i used to dream about

its the simplest smallest tiniest things

"your english is so good"
says one

"its cuz shes american"
another laughs

"but is korean"
another smiles

"your style its so individual"
they chorus

and i think of minneapolis
and friends

and i think of all those days months years in europe
and friends

and i think how
i cried all the way from here to oregon

and i wonder bout the weekend

and i think about how i am here

i am really here

"what are your impressions of korea?"

they smile when i tell them with my tired eyes

they smile satisfied

they smile with "of course you do"

when i tell them

with clipped english

touching hand to heart

"being here. i feel so good. so happy."

and then i touch my hand to my stomach
sit back
sigh

"no no no im full"

as they offer me an after course of

noodles

...

III.

"i need you"
i cant refuse those words

to be needed
HERE?

after being sent away

and then told
"need"

after being so not
needed
at the beginning

this need
to be
needed
here

it runs deeper than i knew

i saw her

i saw her on the metro

shes the woman with the plush velvet crayola deep blue green jacket
- prim and proper

shes the woman smiling at me - kind face kind eyes

shes the crazy ranting woman muttering inanities to herself - clutching her fisherman's cap...

shes the women learning english "we have a peettie teacher"

... shes the one inviting me to eat

- (its the need to know that will undo and redo)

shes the fish seller on the street

the woman dishing kimchi

shes the one im talking to telling her "your love will not go forgotten... your courage will save her from my state of loss"

shes the one i cant keep staring at

the one i cant stop looking for

shes the pitchforked halo spinning o'er my waking sleeping

last night i dreamt of five

five women sent away

by a minister

and we

we

i

were the ones to bear the mark

the minister

he had

no shame

... shes the one

who visits without appearing

shes the women on the metro

on the streets

in the bars

serving food

learning english

asking me how much i weigh saying "no less"

... shes the one in need of all this:

redeeming

yoo-min's bday at goowol on 6 dec 08

this is for
every birthday never spent
every candle never shown

this is for
every present never given
ever party not invited to

this is for being sent away
for
all the photos that my albums do not hold

this is for the life i could have
should have
lived

this is for
32
33
an invisible year lost
now reclaimed

this is for
every mamma who dared
every child still crying
"i want my mommy
no my REAL mommy"

this is for
every friend i never made
every lover never met

this is for
"you think you know so much
think you can read between my lines
you dont even know the half of it"

this is for
every ahjima whose lying
to protect her hidden secret
every father who does not know
does not care
drunk on soju with a wife tapping on the kitchen clock

this is for
do i stay
or
do i go
either way
there'll be trouble

this is for
every cake i never saw
every clap never heard
every k-pop song i cant recall

this is for
every racial that is trans
every man woman whose still torn up inside

this is for
loss loss loss
re-gain
re-gain
re
gain

this is for 15 bottles of beer on the wall
that we kicked down one autumn night
outside aldershot

this is for the conversation that i may never get to have
the words i need to speak
this is for telling
someone
who at least is somehow more a part of her
than anyone else ive ever known

this is for
every birthday party
i never celebrated
in the place that i was

born

unravelling

a ball of thoughts wound tightly
loose strands
and im not sure which one to tug
pull
at

am i pursuing only out of the innate suppression of some long forgotten act of becoming?
(tell me someone! is THAT what THIS is
about?!?!)

that the need to satiate my seeming insaisiablility is all due to
a first bond gone missing?

is that really what THIS is
about?
and why my hand feels somewhat less forlorn in a moment
even when touching trouble?

as if somehow the devil may redeem
what god (him/her/it) took away?

as if an embrace
will make right all things wrong?

(dear god am i really so simple and base?)

is that what i came here to realize?
that in a way she was so wrong
but another oh so right
when asking me
stating that
"u are here for that"

and yet not
and yet
maybe

i cannot help but run towards
any open arms
not when here

cannot help but take each word spoken
and feel the need to memorize
to set to skin
with ink

to make indelible

strings and strands
of words

tonight i am going to put on a tie
wander down the breath-y streets
walk into a room
mutter smiling "anyongs"
and mumbling
"ka sam nee da's"
half embarrassed for my own lack of abilities
half smiling to be taken in
in a room full of strangers
who are glad im there

ones who this time
do not send me away
but instead say
"stay. i havent kissed you yet"s

radio interview

(camera phone photos from TBS... will eventually post a couple more that end up on tbs's website)





audio of my radio interview on tbs radio in seoul (http://tbsefm.seoul.kr/) - many many thanks to julie for the recording...

scot higgins who my beloved grandmother used to take care of and who in some odd way feels like a family member because i know that we both share(d) a deep love for her and my grandfather and continue to share a deep love for my (AMAZING) aunts - kathy and pat... is living here in seoul and working part time as a writer for this station... so he "hooked me up" with this opportunity... and it would appear that i will have the chance to do more with the station...

funny... thing... my life... yesterday i will have been here for 2 weeks... and already so much living has taken place...


audio below (not the cleanest recording but its fine and im appreciative to julie for having the foresight to record this for me)



---

im not quite sure of the how or when
of all this
this
this that is before me
transpired

not quite sure how it came to be
if in a dream
a wish
or some kind of
child-hood longing

but here i am
days from 33
(though here it would be 34)
and
i have a life that is
mine

a life lived well
wretchedly at times
but well

and full
and good
and odd
and beautiful

or maybe i am the fulfillment of her dreams
of his wanton ways
maybe i am simply the incarnation of
their
unfinished hopes
some ancestors sleepless nights
- i do not know the answer
- i only know
the
questions

how is it that my life has turned out so
well
so...
very

good?

two weeks and a day
so much living has
taken place
both wretched and divine
i am an angel with demons wings
cannot help the imp in me
but still i can ascend

and more and more i believe
of who it is i can become
who it is i will become

dear god
zeus
susan
or whatever your name is
- the river is deep
the river is wide
something in me is so cleansed

thoughts before sleep

silence of this city
that is never still
and i wonder on this life
this life that is mine

"how much did you write today?"
"you write everyday?"

living is informing
being is compiling

the calm of this now-ness

how is it that i came to have all this?
how is it that i am here
on this grant
doing this thing i once dreamt as a child
is there really so much power?
is it really so?

and will the phone hum tonight?
or remain like this day
silent
still
unafraid

tomorrow will be two weeks
(only)
(really?)
so much living has transpired
a wanton wish
is truth

fantasy is now a bunch of emptied bottles
hazy memory
and heavy sighs

and what i wish for next
the question now has changed not to
"will"

but

"when"

6.30am's

eating pork wrapped in sesame leaves
just one more shot of soju
i dont know if this is breakfast lunch or dinner
when its
4
5
6
in the morning
when sleep has yet to be a thought

i may prostrate my (written) words at the feet of beauty
but never myself
cuz i am too proud to beg

and i need a night that ends before 1am
and a morning that has no groggy
i am walking a thin line
that worries me of lithuania

but everything is beautiful
and everything so lovely
and heels click against a wooden floor
and bottles smack against the counter tops

and its 5.50 at night and i have yet to stretch myself from weary pjs

and the 'morrow brings a radio interview
"live from seoul
i shall ramble on about
(f)art"

and bukowski had his bluebird
and i have my tattoos
we are kept sensitive by reminders

im in need of a shower
a fresh pack of smokes
a fresh change of clothes

oh youre so popular
and im so pretty
and my phone is quiet

soon i shall look out upon the sea
a sea that was once hers
i am made of brine

and if she answers the door
i will run and hide
because seeing
will bring
salt water from the shores
into my eyes
and collapse me in some tidal wave of
too much

so its easier
to stay up
and
out
doing things my mother would not approve of
doing things that i sometimes wonder if these things come from him
- cuz someone had to be the artist
but someone also had to be
the
"izer" of the "woman"

so ive been slamming it down
and taking it in
and misbehavin' in every good bad way

and at 3 minutes to 6 at night
its time to turn the water on
and cleanse myself
from the stench of
my lovely
sins

a day in hongseong

- spent sunday in hongseong - about 2hrs south of seoul... went for a 10k marathon... correction i went to WATCH a 10k marathon... ended up being a most serendipitous of days - after the races (which included a dog and small children and grandparents - if i actually cared about exercising then i would have felt much shame at the reality that i probably would have collapsed within the first half of a 1 k. ) - we then ended up catching a cab to find a folk village that we never actually found... instead we ended up with a cab driver who ended being our tour guide and personal driver for the day taking us to a gorgeous architecture museum with 5:1 scale models of famous temples in korea and japan (pretty much astounding woodwork and artistry - to the point that i even found the cracks in the door tinting to be beautiful) ... and then to a temple... which was grand as id hoped to see a temple whilst here and now that i have seen one that part of my tourist list is checked off and the only other tourist thing i care to see is the war museum in seoul... (but that will serve more as research for my writing as the adoption of korean children was a direct result of the korean war - specifically all the "wonderful" american servicemen who came here fathered children and left them behind with their korean mothers ) - anyways... the temple ... the architecture was breathtaking... ive much appreciation for intricate detailing and for design that considers its environment... enhancing as opposed to creating some monolithic eyesore (i.e. the mall of america would be a better place if its rooftop actually took into the consideration the sky above it... sorry another tangent)

anyways... twas a really nice day... was up at 5.30am... catching a train to head to hongseong ... got back around 7pm and ended up being out till about 6.30 the next morning with new friends...

i cannot complain about life here... the worst thing i can say about everything right now is that my burts bees lotion was confiscated in the mpls airport cuz i for some reason wasnt thinking and forgot to put it into my luggage... so now i am burt's bees lotion-less... seeing as thats the worst thing about being here... well id have to say that life is pretty fabulous right now

a bit about hongseong for the geographically culturally inclined via wikpedia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hongseong

the marathon - last images are of su-yoon's friend jueh who ran the 10k and came in 4th - thus crushing the egos of many men



























random images from the marathon - something so wonderfully silent about a roll of tp flitting about in the breeze




the coffeeshop in the midst of nowhere... transporting me back to kavines in lithuania... i need a sociologist/anthropologist to explain this to me




architecture museum - textures and images of models and replicas...
















Sudeoksa Temple

http://eng.buddhapia.com/_Service/_ContentView/ETC_CONTENT_2.ASP?pk=0001449559&sub_pk=&clss_cd=0002203526&top_menu_cd=0000000750&menu_cd=&menu_code=0000008789

photographic memory

last night i
took a thousand photographs
and stored them in my
heart
and
head

hands as soft as mine
a crash course in ordering
and blood types

stumbling down jagged streets
5am

this
this
this is right

in the alleyways and back streets
id once believed where id been left behind

walking down the stairs
telling me
things
walking long the streets of hongdae
walking up the wooden stairs
drinking beers
and learning how to really pour
telling me things
of why
true or not
(skin as soft as mine)

telling me things
of how im seen
of how my name
my first name
how it sounds
what it means

how im perceived
and ive heard it before
but here
the words have more weight
and for the first time
i am able to believe
that this is truth

this is right
this is the first time
this is how it should be

skin as soft as mine
no need to justify or explain away
just is
just right

just good

i memorized the night
i did not need a camera

2 boiled eggs in my pocket
carrying them as a walking nest
drunkenly smashing them against a wall
drunkenly smashing up against a wall
happily
drunkenly
stumbling
tumbling
pushing
pulling

with skin
as soft as mine

some days

some days
i dont wanna stand in line
i just wanna eat eel

some days
i dont wanna drink the "oh my god its so cheap here" soju
i just wanna know the answer

some days
i dont wanna be a pacifist
id rather break their windows where they advertise us for sale

some days i dont wanna find the peaceful way
i just want to let my anger flow

some days
standing in a line
i wanna crumple to the floor
(my hands here feel the loss of hers)

some days
all i want is to drink soju
eat pork and kimchi
and fill my brain with useless chatter
on an arm pressed into mine
after one too many shots of
tequila
and a dare

some days
i wanna know the next day
cant wait here in the present
just want the mirror to tell me
everything im not seeing

some days
i wanna hug the baristas
the fish mongers
the dukbokki vendors
the ahjimas
the men in bad suits who snort loudly
the small children who make me feel my heart
the shoppers
the sellers
the window dressers
the girls who put make up on whenever they have the chance
the women who gather underground
the cart pushers
the mobile phone kiosk workers
and tell them
"i never meant to leave you"

some days
i wanna be returned
to her
want holt to stop hording all our information like its somehow theirs
- thats not just some days - thats every day

some days
i wanna watch movies
go see shows
walk the streets
eat after eating
drink after drinking
love after loving

some days
i want my native language to return to me
without all this effort
i wanna remember everything embedded into my body

but no matter what the day

just being here

is the sum of

all days

last night at the b-boy theater in hongdae

went last night with tara to see the infamous korean b-boys ... though the actual plot and execution of it were beyond... "lame" (the art snob in me could barely handle the lack of smooth transitions and beyond cheesy sub-plots and horrible multi-media work...) - the fact is... when the b-boys were popping or breaking... it was pretty much amazing...

and theres something beautiful about being in a theater on a tuesday night that is completely packed... for korea being a culture that is not immersed in hip hop... well the turnout wouldve put any breakin' event in mpls to shame... and to see ahjimas with their hands on the air... now that made the bad acting worth it...

---- as for the photos that ive posted... i dont know i have a thing for movement in a photograph... at first glance its just the blur... but then like so many things in life - if you look long enough you can find the point of origin solid as ever and teh motion fades to how a body moves the air...

i thought of my breaker friends and acquaintances in minneapolis and wish they could have seen when he spun on his head with a chair around his legs... and i thought how they would be encouraged to know that this show is basically sold out everyday and night of the week...

about the show:

http://www.visitseoul.net/jsp/english_new/culturalevents/culturalevent_4_02.jsp?info_id=4010000019


... a more "serious" blog to follow

inbetween

i keep looking for her
(i cant help it...)
every woman is a possibility

which tree is mine
and have i walked by it/her a thousand times
without knowing?

inbetween the shots of soju
and the eel
inbetween the samgyupsal
and dong-dong-ju
inbetween the vendors stalls
and cobblestones

i am waiting
looking
searching
for a
certain kind of beauty

everything else is simply

... inbetween

a day in hongdae

once again first some facts and images about the day (yesterday which was sunday 23 nov)

tara arrived into seoul... got coffee and food.. wandered about hongdae... drank coffee... looked at some art... drank some sangria...







i dont know "why" i just like this band "dear cloud" ... went with tara and su-yoon to their 2nd cd release in hongdae... and as opposed to last time when we saw them (last winter) we didnt have to sit... instead we got to stand... proof once again that its the little things in life that count
















and of course everything must be followed by eating drinking and photo-taking





------

its this funny... juxtaposition... of being so much a part of so much a "i'll never be a part of" feeling...

youve got your toothless hag ahjima's who turn you into a spectacle by silencing the cafe with their refusal of service who cause your face to burn with rejection... and then you have the baristas at the local coffeeshop who smile and stamp your card up with extras saying something that you know is kind... and you know its ok that you cant communicate beyond a head nod and pointing...

made me think of russia ... how goopie told me when we were there "ah kimmo you know... half the russians want to kill and steal from you but the other half will do everything they can to protect you from that other half so i dont worry about it"

looking at what i have or what i do not have

more and more its been a lesson in looking at all the beauty that is in front of me

and yesterday? it was beautiful...

hangul and the toothless ahjima hag

FIRST... some facts about today...

su-yoon went to the gym and i who gave up exercise for art years ago went to a coffeeshop (ok i went to caribou cuz it was close to where su-yoon's gym is) ...

went there and began what i think will be a rather arduous journey in trying to learn the basics of hangul (korean) ... there is something quite disconcerting about having such a mental block with learning the language that is actually the first language i ever knew... as in the first 15 months of my life were spent immersed solely in hangul... and now to have to sit with a book called "your first 100 words in korean" and create flashcards just to learn the alphabet... its... bizarre... and even more bizarre that at this moment my german and lithuanian far surpass my korean language skills... in fact my polish is better than my korean and i could never claim to even know the basics of polish...

so i find myself back at square one... and i have mixed feelings about this whole thing... and its embarrassing to my ego that when the barista shouts out that my drink is up it takes a good five minutes for both the barista and i to figure out that the drink that is up is mine...

still ... the fact is... i am quite aware of the fact that i must learn the basics of the language or else i shall be doomed to spending the next 3 or so months living off of soju - dukboki - and dunhills... as these seem to be the only things that i can communicate my need for... that and im appreciative of my fingers as they allow me to point to things that i think i may want... that and ... a head nod gets one quite a ways when youre not quite sure how to say "yes" or "thank you"

... i am more than ever grateful for ann marsden's gift of my nikon d100... tis the most beautiful of cameras to own right now... and makes the whole taking photos of myself whilst studying quite a bit easier ;-)










then met up with su-yoon ... got some dukboki and mandu... thought of julie and how she would not be happy about sitting eating and staring at a giant bowl of intestines stuffed with blood and noodles... but that the dukboki and mandu woulda made her happy...

went up to a "traditional" coffeeshop - stared down on the city... studied korean... and then headed off to a "thanksgiving meal" hosted by "MIX" - a group of bi-racial/mixed koreans living here...

and then... well thats what the whole "prose" bit of this blog is going to be about...








... one more fact...

tomorrow (sunday... well technically its already sunday as its 12.23 in the morning right now) ... my childhood friend tara will be arriving... we met at the age of 9 at holt heritage camp... up until i met julie 3 or so years ago... tara was my only korean adoptee friend... she was the one who i could talk with even when i pretended like being adopted didnt affect me... we used to say that one day we would return to korea together... 23 years later we will finally meet in the place that we began... this fact is beyond beautiful to me

... and now to blogging:

there is
something about
being kicked out of
denied service by a toothless hag of an ahjima
all because i have tattoos
i feel my face turn red... and i think of
every swear word i could say to her
"you no good goddamned toothless old hag how dare you kick us out -
maybe if you and your people had had the balls to actually look after your orphans
if youd not been so self serving and sold us out to the west so that you could buy your dingy-ass shithole of a kavine...
then maybe i wouldnt have these tattoos
maybe id look like all the other girls
maybe id be in here with my mother
but NO
you had to kick us to the curb
and youre kicking us to the curb again
ive put up with racism
for most of my life
and to take it from you is the biggest insult
and i dont want or need to 'suck-it-up'
cuz how fuckin' dare you deny us service
all cuz i have tattoos
and if you knew even the smallest thing about me
well then
youd know how soft these tats are

(i later tell su-yoon
"i should get a tat that says
in hangul
'im a pacifist'.")

and i want to blame her for 55 years of 200,000
i want to tell her
"yeah whatever at least i have all my teeth and even at my most haggard im better looking than you cuz ive got all my teeth you stupid stupid prejudiced woman how dare you treat your own like this"

but then 5 minutes later we're drinking soju at this sweet little place
and i just cant
or dont
or wont
care anymore

cuz she's a toothless ahjima and she'll be re-paid by forces stronger than me for her
no good hate

and even i know
i cant blame her for what has happened to us all
(even though id like to)

but this was what id wanted

to know the truth

to know the ugly with the beautiful

and tonight i met a part of ugly

not for toothless
but for her
narrow-minded hate

but somehow it hurts more than the spit of skinheads in lithuania

cuz we share the same face

return to beginnings : nov 2008

and so it begins again...
everyday is "day one/begin again"
and i
i am
home
a stranger in my own land
... (i do not look like the women here...
do not dress like them...
do not know their words)

and you would think that i would just remember
the language
that somehow hearing it would be a return to memory
or
familiarity
instead of the irony that i can say more in german than in my own native tongue

and yet
and yet
this is my mother's land
and i am keeping my eyes open for her

walking into the coffeeshop by su-yoon's
"cafe 22"
low table tops
coffee grounds in the ashtrays
hot water served as a complimentary drink
jet lag making my head swim

but i cant stop smiling

and all the things in minneapolis
that were plaguing me
are now
an ocean
a continent
away

and for the first time in months
i found myself on the bus from the airport to hap jeong station
for 15 minutes devoid of any thoughts that had to do with minneapolis
and i breathed a sigh of relief
as the river pulled us along

cover your mouth when you laugh
speak from behind your hand

i enjoy this kind of quiet excitement
no loud voices
just happy
curiousity

and i am home again
in the strangest of ways

i know
full well
that the past will make my present more palatable
but it does make my future that much
brighter

... i am returned
i am beginning once again

i am drinking warm water
my coffee finished
fully present

small yellow flowers in a wooden vase
are the texture of my
heart

naked stages 06 : timeline autobiographia: everything that is... - written and performed by kim thompson

timeline autobiographia: everything that is...


5 excerpts from the show i wrote for intermedia arts naked stages 2006 programme. solo work by kim thompson with directorial advising by BESSIE and OBIE award wining artist: laurie carlos. 19-21 oct 2006 at intermedia arts. "timeline autobiographia: everything that is..."

about this day about this play

set in real time
some kind of evolution for a stage
unfolding with each waking
... some lines come whilst drinking coffee
others whilst lying in bed dulled out on fog
... and even some in the form of electronic
mail.

the words?
they come from dreams
they are the chest i build
they are the structuring of me

last week
or the week or month before
i fell in love
all over again
with
my friends
and in them i find words
and arms strong enough for my own weary
ways

i have been stepping back from so much
in order to step forward into this

im now on page 25 or so
maybe 27
probably more
i will know when the words must take a bow

though i can speak the most daft of words
in my writing is my heart

something which i used to justify
something that i now say
"deal with"

she is calling me
from beyond
the place of where i sit
i am linked to her
by a knot
i am linked to her
she gave me my heart
both literal and
literary

this play impending
set in real time
real life
proof of my beliefs
proof of my
existence
a filtering of thoughts

it is how i make my sense
when so much is chaos
and how i create my sense of
order

im going to re-arrange the furniture
sweep words out from beneath this futon frame

i am going to keep dreaming
i confess now
i miss her each and every day

if i move the chairs about
chances are i will find clues

each day is its own act of faith

some days full of fumbling
others full of rising
more still of floating

i am creating my own sea
in which to
drown
and immerse
re-born
like the baptists say

words weigh more than water
paper is good for giving flight to
paper
rock
scissors

all of this
seeped in breathing

i have done
and
said
things i carry much regret and sorrow for

being human is both boon and wretched

i am fixing me for her
i am fixing me for me
i am fixing
so that one day
i will live as the wise

omma
i have loved you always
in a way that only
i can love a ghostly phantom

we are based in real time
stream of conscious
words strewn about a page
the way a heart beats
the way a heart
weeps
and
sings.

i see your face at the bottom
of this mug
i see your face
in the ones that i have loved

i will call you into being

and maybe

just perhaps

you will hear

and come

running.