Spoiled brats bound to become doctors, dentists, lawyers and other kinds of thieves.
So sure their luck will last forever.
Their fortunes run on high-octane arrogance.
Is it better to be the worst of demi-gods, fallen down to Earth...
...or the most noble of animals, promoted from the blood and muck?
Integrity must be a sort of fungus, because it grows best in shit.
And pride is a fine champagne that long improves with age,
then suddenly turns to piss.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Vichara
Who am I?
Mist and breath.
Who am I?
A ghost in a shell.
Who am I?
Hey!
Who's asking?
Don't know: neti, neti, neti.
Whoever it is, he's some kind of crazy painter.
Hey!
Who are you painting, there, Michael?
I once asked a Sunim: what's the sound of one hand clapping?
"Don't tell him, Subha."
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
Seoul
Downtown Jinju on a Thursday night.
Floating down the sidewalk.
Looking for A/V cables.
Who built this city, claustrophobic and dirty?
A vision of Seoul, two thousand years ago:
Han river people.
They are bamboo and grass.
They are Sun and Earth.
I must go to ancient Seoul.
Floating down the sidewalk.
Looking for A/V cables.
Who built this city, claustrophobic and dirty?
A vision of Seoul, two thousand years ago:
Han river people.
They are bamboo and grass.
They are Sun and Earth.
I must go to ancient Seoul.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Morning
Oh lovely lovely world there is no hot and no cold and full of colorssymbolsshapes and meaning that has meanings for real for real for real and I am the start, the end, the star the actors, the stage the lights the lighting and the ocean forever forever forever moving swaying, glimmer and glittering so full so full but draining draining draining and I know what's coming.
I'm waking.
Mind is coming.
Me is coming.
Body is coming,
Oh no.
I'm waking.
Mind is coming.
Me is coming.
Body is coming,
Oh no.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Silence
Silence is a song.
Listen close, and you can hear the singing.
A thousand angels combine their voice
like weaving silk with golden thread.
Listen close, and you can hear the singing.
A thousand angels combine their voice
like weaving silk with golden thread.
Friday, November 11, 2011
City Life
My job destroys me a little more every day,
but it's easy and the hours are short
and it pays the rent to the tiny basement suite
that I share with my friend who is not a friend
who smokes pot ten times a day
and stares into the video screen ten hours a day
that dominates the 500 square foot common space
and outside there are nothing but roads roads roads
and sometimes a hooker standing in the cold
and when I walk to the bus stop, I wonder
how there can be so many people driving by
one after the next after the next after the next forever,
and I can't even afford a car let alone the gas or the insurance
so I cannot get onto that road and drive far, far, away
from the anxiousness I feel every day
and the soul-crushing job that I swore when I was young
that I would never do, but I do
because it's easy and the hours are short
and anything more would kill me.
I must
remember
to breathe.
Breathe.
but it's easy and the hours are short
and it pays the rent to the tiny basement suite
that I share with my friend who is not a friend
who smokes pot ten times a day
and stares into the video screen ten hours a day
that dominates the 500 square foot common space
and outside there are nothing but roads roads roads
and sometimes a hooker standing in the cold
and when I walk to the bus stop, I wonder
how there can be so many people driving by
one after the next after the next after the next forever,
and I can't even afford a car let alone the gas or the insurance
so I cannot get onto that road and drive far, far, away
from the anxiousness I feel every day
and the soul-crushing job that I swore when I was young
that I would never do, but I do
because it's easy and the hours are short
and anything more would kill me.
I must
remember
to breathe.
Breathe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)