The balance of things

to do it all over again...i said this a while back to myself--or rather, I say this to myself at various points in my life--in love with the Gatsby in all of us that wants to stop time, accidentally push the clock off the table.

AND YET...I am pulled forward by this equally intense positivity (that drives me crazy at times, especially when I am drowning in some sort of meta-thinking of everything...yay, thank you Amherst College)

Gosh, there is that balance that is created in aromatic hydrocarbons, or the contrasting spins of electrons, or the moonlight created by the sun, even though both are always there, or the sweetness of silence after the greatest sounds...somewhere in the middle of all those doubles (that aren't always double...) THAT's where I'd like to be.

Maybe in that space, it'll just be like the after hours of a long night out...the quiet mornings sipping resuscitating soup, everyone in murmurs, tired but happily sore...and then the real day begins again. 

Heart locked in a Gran Turino

The world is nothing more than all the tiny things you left behind...

i am a plant because i like the sun

Plant-self: All in all, I am free.  No place or clothes or money defines                 me. I trust in you because you are free to be.

Self: cool~

Self-Self: yeesh

Self-Self-Self: meh

Self-Self-Self-Self: Gumpos Gooferamus

Rumblefish

There is a Francis Ford Coppola film I really liked in high school called Rumblefish. Then, I think I liked beta fish--you know---that they fight only in captivity being so poetic and all. Pathos resonates from the film.

so it is all about rumblefish...maybe.  (insert ten minute pause here as I stare at the screen, knowing what to say but it looks like a blob and to write, my pencil is a carrot).

this is a blog..(insert another ten minute pause...a sigh) and i didn't want to post on twitter. because I'd know that more people would chance to see it.  the irony.  here i write for public something i don't want to publicize.  but i think it's because i want to scream and this apartment in Gangnam has walls that are too thin. i wonder how many people behind thin walls must be wishing the same thing...

the other day, it was not this; i walked around Sinsa, and Plaid's White's Dream from the Tekkonkinkreet soundtrack on repeat. Looked at the moon and tweeted some nonsensical babble about how the moon is always there.  But what I felt then was complete and utter gratitude---that even when things were going to shit, I could look up at the night sky and see something so beautiful and seemingly serene.

In any case, I suppose the solution to this want for tears is just to go outside and look at the moon again and maybe cry a little...  I would like to call my mom or my brother..but i know they'd just worry more. Rumblefish. rumblefish.

Interlude.

went outside and the moon was not there. or sleeping with a grey blanket. wanted to wake it, but didn't want to seem so needy. so what now?  back to the mantra --- the moon within, the moon within?

rumblefish.

a scream was here.

Replay

At a table---to sit. The sun is shining in through sheer curtains.
The butterflies continue to flutter within.  Water drenches parched throats.  Soft cotton towels insulate the skin. Reflections of conversations on the tabletops.  

The Doppelgänger's Bath

Slash and menace at a doppelgänger---
you can.
(She listens and absorbs)

Long ago and far away,
the original remained intact,
for you.
(Listen to her and absorb)

That is how it is, love.
Without hate, without pain,
the doppelgänger bathes its wounds.
(Cleansed by belief)

A ticket to the heart is a nonrefundable jewel,
and lies waiting for its chosen hand.
(Carbon dated by memories)
.

Jelly Beans

With jellybeans, there are sometimes too many colors and too many combinations.
But without jellybeans, it is sometimes hard to smile.

Taste bursts from Jeju

A while back, I received a tangerine from Jeju Island.  It was in my fridge for a few days, and the other day, I decided to eat it, thinking it would taste like an ordinary tangerine.  I don't know why I am prompted to write about how sweet and juicy this tangerine was, but it left its taste imprint in my mouth the whole day.  I walked outside to find that the winter clouds had disappeared and there was sunlight everywhere.  So many coincidences that give us signs and symbols.  In any case, I guess, in the end, while I ate this tangerine, I thought to myself, if I had another tangerine, I would give it to someone else to try.

(Excerpt from Yann Martel's "Beatrice and Virgil")
VIRGIL: The taste of a good pear is such that when you eat one, when your teeth sink into the bliss of one, it becomes a wholly engrossing activity. You want to do nothing else but eat your pear. You would rather sit than stand.  You would rather be alone than in company.  You would rather have silence than music.  All your senses but taste fall inactive.  You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing---or only as it helps you to appreciate the divine taste of your pear.

BEATRICE: But what does it actually taste like?

VIRGIL: A pear tastes like, it tastes like... (He struggles.  He gives up with a shrug.)  I don't know.  I can't put it into words.  A pear tastes like itself.

BEATRICE: (sadly)  I wish you had a pear.

VIRGIL: And if I had one, I would give it to you.

(Silence.)