Wine+christmas eves in Corea

Overextended grimy fingernails. I wake up. What day is it? I role over habitually grab my dick; i got a semi. Ask myself to wake, or not to wake. Tuesday. Overcast, like a today should be. Heartbeat reverberating in my temple, lifting myself from my death. Looking around I see my one room, Korean status room; gas burner in corner, crusted with overnight ramen packages, powder, noodles, gas nozzle left unclamped; shoes amuck, books and class printouts my carpet. Wine bottles, Stout, Grolsch and other beer bottles here and there but you shan’t call me no drunk. Chinky eyes, no racist, I think, “오늘은 나 뭐 할 거야?” and step the fuck out of bed.

Turn it on and start the bobbin of the head, put the glasses on, “turn it on Kweli,” up and then contacts poking my eyes out, or in? Grab my trampled toothbrush, not straightedge brush, lay the gel on and weed whack back and forth, but not enough for the dental hygienist; gotta floss, however, no ambition. Strip and grab the mini-size towel, place it on the knob in front of the shower door. Do the shower then hop out a shivering, it’s december, pre-christmas, sub zero, centigrade, no family just myself and dry the fuck off. Four hours sleep, slept in too much and stressing about it, but at the same time confident as fuck. The diary of an ambitious low self-esteem arrogant fuck.

Smith’s Wealth of Nation’s, 孟子, Rousseau’s Social Contract and Thoreau’s Walden stacked next to me. A few texts related to the study of traditional Chinese characters in Korean, modern Chinese and sixth level Korean fill out my winter semester curriculum. “이거 다 공부할 수 있겠냐? 그야 프라스(+) 공자의 《論語》그리고 다음 학기의 배울 이재훈 교수님이 맡으실 ‘고전독해연습’ 수업의 교재를 안 공부해서는 안 되겠다”라는 생각이 머리속에 떠올렸다. What am I? The future.

State of Things

At this juncture small, simple K; it's fate.

And when I say so I mean SK

finds itself prone and prostrate,

whoring it's mouth fellating A.

A, but where to begin with A but 'b'

4. Once prominent like a faith at its inception.

Legends, Greek and Roman; regular Minerva's and Bacchus'

it came to be wrapped in the gossamer of the 'new' lesser's envy.

Like Bob, B.A, CPA, A born and raised with his affinity

for p and o-cresol new age texts and maths come from it from Bristol

stupid as fuck Bob.

High Drunk Tweaking Horny Fiending

But what explains K and it's debasement?

Pencil-like twiggy agent orange phallus,

Mussolini-esque fur coat eclipsing grundle and anus.

With Adolf status stash pubic cut out.

No hand on it's head K Bobs and slurps.

A fingering his sphincter with 'Creation' Adam lefty limp dick index.

While its right writes a made for TV about a 1787

it traded for paper and derivatives; but not uppers, I know.

But Lo! what sooty behemoth doth approach?

Solar panel eyelids spitting crude.

Creeping creeping, ducked like a cherry picker

with his bed warmer at high noon.

Following it's gaze I I I .....{smokers cough}

It can't be It mustn't be what I see but tit is; PRC.

Once an opiate smoked to the heavens now it's sight on R for vendetta.

Went through K's estranged down-syndrome sibling still gaped;

feces seeping then down dribbling dribble on its inner thigh

K's fate's sealed; or is it?

For it will always be the bitch ne'er the top will it.

But I pose this to you the ___.

What be better? be hit from behind

your aggressor raw skinning you, after

blowing A's brains out bone frag and

a drop of it's death in your eye slumped

you look up but nothing; you've been

blinded.

Or to pry away the mouth at the sound of the rustle from the bushes.

Crack open a tube of that cherry chap stick,

treat those chapped chaps and

with a twinkle in your eye

call out, "Come out come out

wherever you hide."

Get down again on both knees and wait for the slide.

To be fellatia-ho for the imminent king

or not; that is the question.

This be not a lark, far from one.

This 'b' what it is today and what it will 'b'

4. tomorrow.

So pick your sides and pledge allegiences

At least another one time around on the anachronistic

merry-go-round we go, go, go...

문학의 중요성

文學的本質是有節奏的情緖的世界

문학의 본질은 리듬이 있는 정서의 세계이다

The essence of literature is the rhythmic emotion of the world.