Coffee grounds

During a busy day, the minute/second intervals here and there find the soul caked with black coffee grounds.
The puppet of Shun-kin probably had cleaner veins.

This is to beliefs and thank you FGTorres

Today, I walked into a pole.  (This seems to happen often when I am speaking to good friends.)  Later, when the same friend and I were munching on cheesy goldfish and yogurt at 12am in the Family Mart, (꾸이꾸이 and 맥주 for her for 추석) an odd young man came in, plopped right next to me, and ate his hamburger and orange juice box--five minutes of chattering to self and happy chewing...

Later, thinking away the seconds, walking and waiting for cabs, crickets and the parking lot and more remembering----remembering that I can't stop believing (but sometimes one needs art so it can pour this unspoken energy out to you and you can blurt out your "whatever-it-is-inside-you-that-is-just-an-emotional-higgledypiggledy" and everything meets in the middle, and it is in that space you feel there is the answer and there are no limits).

And so, tonight, I'm looking at Felix Gonzales-Torres again.  (I feel like I must have posted this before) His art resonates so pure.  I couldn't need his artwork more than I do right now. Two people, from the outside, look generic---but there is always more to two special people.  Anyhow, I don't know what I am saying...but thinking about FGTorres...(here comes the sap, oh boy) 

Maybe, the best love is the kind that remembers the wonderful things about people, even when they go back to being generic clocks out there somewhere...because for a special time, they ticked with you and no one can take that away from a memory. (I can only believe)

미소

Viewed at 5 am at our studio in the World Cup Stadium, in the company of a good friend.
Definitely inverted some frowns---in the wee hours of the morning. About time!

<insert Arvo Part clip from Sounds and Silence>

Flickering

What am I doing here?

Wind Ripples

How things seem to repeat themselves. Autumn approaches --- or so the winds seem to say.  A time for reflection, the day submerged in the amygdala---a barrage of fragmentary images of people that remind me of jellybeans, ceviche I've eaten under a cerulean sky, Wordsworthian daffodils, etc. Does the wind have little fingers that push the replay buttons in our heads?