Shane face

This is a photograph by Andrew Suryono called "Orangutan in the Rain" and the orangutan is holding a banana leaf to keep dry from the rainfall. I am drawn to the expression on the orangutan's face because it reminds me of a face my brother makes quite often.  (Isn't this a silly reason to like a photo?) Instead of looking at photos of my brother to be reminded of my brother, I am looking at a picture of an orangutan.  In any case, were my brother to have this expression, I'd probably be passing by him as he is staring at something, and say "whatcha thinkin' Shaney-ios?" and he'd respond with a grunt or maybe if I'm lucky, a cheerful goofy noise.   Maybe it is because Shane never really gave me a straight answer that I can remember this face of his.  

Ingenue

It's okay to be one...I think...(tell myself to believe) 

Old Wicked Songs

I was listening to Schumann's Dichterliebe, Op. 48 Im Wunderschonen Monat Mai (Heine, Lyrical Intermezzo No 1) and then was trying to recall the theater piece I saw when I was young that introduced me to this music and lo and behold... bravo Internet! 

Old Wicked Songs

Zone out

What I would give for a day that I could  idly spend watching cookies bake.  And then take a nap.  And maybe write a few songs. Zone out with a purpose.

Filters

"Music is Math" by Tatiana Plakhova

 I wonder, more and more, how much of everything is filtered day in and day out.  What I say in Korean, which is perhaps gibberish, is translated somewhat into something that I can't perceive, although I've studied the language and have adjusted myself to life here.  And even when people speak to me, I may be listening in with an automatic subtitle system set up in my brain.  When it comes to the simple messages that are universal, words don't seem necessary.  I am content.

But then there exists a whole new world of things to say and convey -- of remarking that the clouds  this year in Seoul were sublime and ethereal and how this proved to be contrapuntal to the dark nimbus clouds which gathered inside -- and how oceans at high tide gathered in the soul and escaped as tears in the most awkward moments.  How do I say these things without thinking about the words and how they should be formulated in a language foreign to me? And if I were to say what I think is right, how could I really know how many filters have hidden the want for a bull's-eye?

And sometimes, I wonder how much of me is left after having to translate myself -- "the me"--- and translate others and think with a limited vocabulary. If only, I could just look beyond the penumbra...I just know I'd feel some catharsis. 

The Sea

All throughout summer, I wanted to go to the sea. Now it is autumn and it wouldn't be the same sea. But then you look at the water flow from the tap and swirl it around in the sink, and voila:
I can actually imagine the water going into my nose and the fish wriggling away through my fingers.
(just kidding. :P who gets automatically transported to the sea via tap water?)

Today

재명 종민 석 남규 진실 : 6년동안 재일 힘들때 함깨 같이 이겨내고 있어줘서 고맙다 ^^

YES!

A final chapter in a very long book

See Tuesday February 21, 2012.

Dream drool dream on

Our album is nearly done!
(and so are summer intensives!)

and so let's dream!

Happy Mother's Day

Ive always followed you and listened to your every word. And was always sorry for who I was and what I wanted because it never seemed like the me you wanted. But you told me once, when I was in tears over something silly, that whenever I wanted to cry, I could------because it was me. ("아무때나 울어도돼--그냥 막 울어도돼. 참지말고 - 너니깐") I hope you live forever to see a perfect world and I love you with all my heart.

Favorite Snacks and the Smell of Sweat

Lately, I'm at the studio quite often, and the engineer likes sour gummies, so I have been taking a few packs of gummies each time I go.  (Once I brought watermelon flavored gummies, but he hated those.) I also discovered that the other engineer likes a brand of Lotte Sand Cookies, so I will now take some of those along as well.  If there were five more people to bring things for, then I would be like the mother in Heckedy Peg, who went to the market to buy a specific item for each of her seven children named after the days of the week.

In any case, people have little things that they like, and it is fun discovering these things!

Ahem. Now, what does this have to do with the smell of sweat? It is spring! The name of a song! And a song that has been on repeat. (Why does it remind me of David Bowie in Labyrinth?) 

Cello of the woods

It rained today and I raged in class. And now, in the aftermath, there is only nostalgia. Listening to Shapiro and various other cellists, I miss my warm full-bodied cello. (I say this because my cello was stolen, and I currently use an electric cello - which is not the same) I think I took for granted all those moments that I hid behind my cello during concerts, in practice, to take a rest, to cry, to disappear for a moment (ostrich in the sand, yes yes).  I hope one day I can find my cello of the woods again. 

A dreamy day to blend into a dreamy weekend?

Even though most days, you don't really notice yourself, and frankly, probably feel meh-neutral - there are some days, you just feel genuinely happy in your skin. (No need to reminisce about neat experiences, pat pats on the back, how many wonderful friends there are--- that sort of thing)

Hoping this continues through to the weekend. (Note to self: do not forget that your first true romance/love was with life.)

Night: a time when thoughts can smell

Oftentimes, I cannot sleep at night, and so stay up, and am not productive. But I love these these silent moments that balance the amorphous noise that chatters on in our heads.  You don't have anyone to talk to, so without that pressure, thoughts can go skinny dipping, take different forms, become monsters, become creatures, become ghosts, blobs, whispers. And they start to smell like things you can't pinpoint but that you can recognize and feel so connected to. Nighttime seems to awaken a million of these thought-scents - exploding with energy. You can't really describe a scent completely, (hence it is the perfect medium to transport memories);  you can't help but to feel your thoughts at night. Fuck yeah! 

Thank you for so many good movies

I don't do this sort of thing but he always seemed to remind us of who we really were. What will the world do without someone so brutally honest? (Lester Bangs' "You'll meet them all again on the long journey to the middle" (Almost Famous)) How many raw tears fell alongside yours? Anyhow, rest in peace, Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Something (Sarychev Volcano)