Fourth Dimensional Poker

BAM! or BOOM! or whatever sound comes to mind...
After the stars come crashing, and all is silent.
And then all the lights in the apartments open up their secret spaces.
Something that makes one remember that this is all one anthill and you just happen to be one little ante in your own game of poker.  I think, at these moments, life becomes excruciatingly trapped in the fourth dimension.

The Truth

Your own feelings aside....you should never have to be afraid of asking the one you love if he/she loves you back. For some, it starts and ends with the rain. And for others, it is a universe that always existed.  That may be how it is.  So, do not fear.
(...We all say to ourselves)

A dream in a dream in a dream in a dream...

In a dream, or in a landscape, I look out the windows and it is raining outside. The trees outside are aquamarine and shivering or are they shimmering? The raindrops glide down the glass and inside each is yet another landscape and am I looking out the windows there? And the trees are shimmering or were they shivering?

* PS. In a dream, we would dream of a dream, and in that dream, we would continue to dream. How wonderfully human is that? *

An artist's solitude; A musician's ...

When I was a little girl, my mother used to drop me off at the San Jose Museum of Art for art classes.  I don't remember what time of day it was, or exactly how old I was, but it was always cold and dark in the cathedral-like rooms (why are museums and churches sometimes so similar??).  I'm sure there were other people in the class and teachers with their weird perfumed/paint smells, but for the life of me, I only remember being there alone---as if the finger-paint miraculously appeared on my fingertips, the conte crayon smudges just my sweat stains, the bumpy watercolor paper in rolls like butcher paper, yadda yadda.  Ever since then, I suppose art has always been connected to inherent solitude--at least, the act of making it.  This includes the intentions and all the factors that go into why we do the things we do when we make art or music, etc.

Anyhow, for all this babble, which came from an idea that was organically swelling in my head, and which I tried to summarize in a paragraph, and which now I will just conclude with an overly simplistic statement that will probably have no apparent meaning to me tomorrow morning (afternoon, hehe)  when I wake up and forget where this train of thought had led me, it seems to me, at 4am in Seoul, on a September day, that musicians are lonely and artists are alone.

Da Da Da. Just Humdrumming (ratatat)

So, the particulars:

1. (thought about in the shower) Thinking about Secret Sunshine (밀양;영화), I just didn't want to have any bad blood with anything--- Just wanted to wipe everything clean.  For a split second, was thinking about how this NEED to clear the slate would be a nice thing to write a song about next..daydreamed about the images I could play with---something graveyard based, and something left unfinished that is just so jarringly annoying, like over-toothpicked raw gums that just seem to need just a little bit more agitation: let those things rest on the grave. No sake or wine for you. No flowers. 

In any case, the perfect meandering for the hair conditioner to actually do its job.  

2. I pick up a pencil to write a poem, a story, etc. and then I think it would be better to update my blogger site but am also thinking, even now, that I should be writing on something tangible.  The ease of technology has won again.  mwahahhaha evil eye.

3. Going back to the themes of the pencil and the computer, I have "hypnosis" on the lips.

4. FB made me think of Cheever's Enormous Radio...and at the same time, telescreens. 

5.  9am-10am feels like 3 hours.  9pm - 11 pm feels like five minutes.

Doors for sheep

We face the sun as we walk, with the light in our eyes--and at the blurry end:

We learn to come back.

Paradoxes of worries

Every night I see this moon;
it is a moon I'd like to see.

Contrapuntal Wading

I've never wanted so badly to take off my shoes and find that running far far far would lead me to a cave that would, in turn, lead to a beach.

Lately, music has taken a wonderful turn.  For the first time, i feel a wonderful counterpoint. You walk in the darkness and on the other side are the hues of the day and the tiny crystals in the wet sand.  You turn around the corner of a cliff, and the sun beams in on you as you jump into precarious waters.

In the end, I run my fingers through wet sand----feel water pass through my toes.

When it rains, close your eyes

When it rains, it is often nice to find that you can close your eyes.  You can follow the sounds without having to see and your body can move with improvisation.

Today, I worked on music all day.  The raindrops outside felt like millions of amplifiers sending out the sounds----Or liquid crotales resonating...

Oh, i was just sweating sensitivity from my eyeballs...

How does one control this flood of emotion that radiates from some unknown core?
Language began to fade into murmurs and buzzes; jokes were stabs of "why can't you understand?".
Slowly, translucent walls grew labyrinthine around me.  I could see out, I was there, but I was apart.

and so i perspired, out my eyeballs.
and there is just no proper deodorant for sweaty eyeballs.

W.A.N.D.Y

We are not dead yet.

Sparklers sparkle to fill a whole

Dear :
the lights are always volatile
and shatter
into electric icicles
over and over and over

What am I saying?
Ah, in hopes
that it always goes to one.