Yesterday was Saturday, January 18th 2014.
By all accounts a seemingly ordinary day - an ordinary day, mind you, that was free of the acrid effluvium that has tended to drift yonder from the "factories of death" that mainland China kindly incubates at the behest of the Devil him/herself (itself?); which is to say it was a good day. I woke up twice. The first time at about 6:20. Two things happened : First, I blindly stumbled over to my kitchen island to find my 'scrip of pills to combat my aching belly (the result of minor food poisoning from a Wednesday luncheon with the CEO smh) and Secondly, just as I was about to lay back down the vibration from my year 2019 LG smart phone drew my attention to one of those weekend ruining text messages - the "you have to come into work on your Sunday for no apparent reason other than the fact that your boss has to come into work" kind of message. Shaking my head again I collapsed under my covers.
In an anxiety induced early-morning dreamscape, I literally demo'd the future most tits version of all video games. It went like this: I awoke in a realm that was identical to my childhood neighborhood save for the fact that instead of being an oval it was in the form of a square, perhaps because the scale was about the size of a single floor in an average, generic corporate office building. This magnified scale essentially meant that each house was a little bigger than a normal bedroom and instead of a grassy front yard there was for some reason (cover perhaps?) the equivalent of a counter-top. Also, some apparently seedy elements appeared to have taken over the upper half of the neighborhood while leaving my lower side intact (there was a visceral feeling of sunshine and happiness on the lower side while the upper side was wrapped in fear and a dark, foreboding cloud).
Of course I decided to take a stroll around my neighborhood and upon entering the limits of the upper side I saw I was about to be summarily jumped so I proceeded to sprint all the way back to my house while being pelted with threats like "we're gonna kill ya" and "our connections run deep" and so on ad nauseam. I actually felt scared when I arrived at my home because I knew someone was following me, but all of a sudden I had this revelation that I alone would have to take on the upper crust scum and fight for my life - so with a kitchen knife in my left hand and a pointed pair of scissors in the right, I squeezed both hands tight. When some goon entered I started off with some verbal sparring leaving him dazed, but still cognizant enough to let me know that if I were to put up any more of a fight I would face swift and severe retribution.
After said Nobel Prize winning speech concluded I proceeded to stab him in the face with the kitchen knife, and then the chest with the scissors partly opened. This later action sent him to the floor whereupon I dislodged the scissors with a *THWACK* only to slam them in his throat and after a little *SNIP SNIP* his trachea was in two. Knowing then that I would have to preempt any other visitor that made their way to me, I ducked under my front yard, err desk, and somehow without even thinking positioned the dream-cam(?) across from me where I could see what was coming my way from either side of my position. I saw one woman menacingly advancing towards my position from the left carrying a knife in one hand. Two things were certain: First, her name was Natasha and Two, I would jump up at the right time and simultaneously restrain the arm in which she held her knife and stab her in the face. It was then that I awoke for the second time.
Needless to say I took the rest of the remaining time in the world by the balls. I watched Heat (1995) for the first time, ran two and a half kilometers in the park across from my house - located on the side of a mother fucking mountain - and before I met my girl to go grab some Cuttlefish Mari (rice, soaked in octopus ink, spread across a square leaf of seaweed laver with 1~2 long, chewy slices of cuttlefish placed in the middle before all being wrapped up into a long roll) I casually read a bit of 孫子's 兵法.
That was my yesterday, how was yours?
2014년 1월 18일 토요일
2014년 1월 8일 수요일
Phillyish child-ish: Prequel 1.0
So let me take you back before the accident. But not before the drugs and excess. Or is it excess of drugs? Anyways, I was introduced to Thomas auspiciously one early autumn afternoon in the city. I had just disembarked from the R5 at University Station and was about to make my usual leisurely trek to Penn's main library to meet my dealer Jamal, when a familiar voice beckoned from behind.
"Frederick, brother? Is that you man?"
This guy. Turned out to be Patrick Rothman. I'm pretty sure everyone knows this type of kid : adopted, Jewish family, went through a "Black" phase, graduated from said "Black" phase into some kind of hybrid frat/lacrossey phase, only friends that he has steal from him when they get invited to his house, drug addict social misfit. Long story short, turned out good ol' Patty had come across some pretty strong K (a.k.a. Ketamine a.k.a. Horse Tranquilizer) earlier in the day and was just then falling into the velvet hazy K-cave of no return. Luckily, or unluckily for him, he was being supported by some helpful passerby.
"You know this guy? Then give me a hand and help me set him over there on that rank bench."
With a good 'thwack' Patty's head cracked atop the wooden bench. Our mutual burden absolved, I turned to head towards Franklin Field when I noticed my new friend was heading in the same direction. Having no agoraphobic tendencies I decided to broach the sphere of casual conversation.
Turns out he was going to meet the same Jamal to buy the same weed. Then, in classic Thomas-fashion, this sly-ass grin began unfolding across his face and he proceeded to reach into his impeccably tailored Italian slacks grabbing a fat wad of cash along with a veritable Halloween bag full of every pharmaco pill imaginable that he had snatched out of Patty's pocket moments earlier. We both took a knee - right there in the middle of the platform - and raised our pointed index fingers to the sky.
Patrick, it turned out, had been drugged by angels sent down from upon high so that Thomas and myself would not only meet, but have our souls welded together in what turned out to be an epic, narcotic fueled autumn afternoon of absolute debauchery replete with hookers, at least one potential case of grand theft auto, numerous misdemeanors, one dead hooker and the odd poetry reading (Blackthought if you must know). Needless to say it was from that day on, Thomas and I embarked upon our inseparable friendship. We were both 11 years old. And Thomas is a doll.
Previous Story :
http://kayageetheworld.blogspot.kr/2011/02/phillyish-child-ish.html?m=1
"Frederick, brother? Is that you man?"
This guy. Turned out to be Patrick Rothman. I'm pretty sure everyone knows this type of kid : adopted, Jewish family, went through a "Black" phase, graduated from said "Black" phase into some kind of hybrid frat/lacrossey phase, only friends that he has steal from him when they get invited to his house, drug addict social misfit. Long story short, turned out good ol' Patty had come across some pretty strong K (a.k.a. Ketamine a.k.a. Horse Tranquilizer) earlier in the day and was just then falling into the velvet hazy K-cave of no return. Luckily, or unluckily for him, he was being supported by some helpful passerby.
"You know this guy? Then give me a hand and help me set him over there on that rank bench."
With a good 'thwack' Patty's head cracked atop the wooden bench. Our mutual burden absolved, I turned to head towards Franklin Field when I noticed my new friend was heading in the same direction. Having no agoraphobic tendencies I decided to broach the sphere of casual conversation.
Turns out he was going to meet the same Jamal to buy the same weed. Then, in classic Thomas-fashion, this sly-ass grin began unfolding across his face and he proceeded to reach into his impeccably tailored Italian slacks grabbing a fat wad of cash along with a veritable Halloween bag full of every pharmaco pill imaginable that he had snatched out of Patty's pocket moments earlier. We both took a knee - right there in the middle of the platform - and raised our pointed index fingers to the sky.
Patrick, it turned out, had been drugged by angels sent down from upon high so that Thomas and myself would not only meet, but have our souls welded together in what turned out to be an epic, narcotic fueled autumn afternoon of absolute debauchery replete with hookers, at least one potential case of grand theft auto, numerous misdemeanors, one dead hooker and the odd poetry reading (Blackthought if you must know). Needless to say it was from that day on, Thomas and I embarked upon our inseparable friendship. We were both 11 years old. And Thomas is a doll.
Previous Story :
http://kayageetheworld.blogspot.kr/2011/02/phillyish-child-ish.html?m=1
2014년 1월 4일 토요일
Air & Pussy
I would like to speak with you for a moment, if you would kindly allow me, about this subject we both hold so dear to our lives; this air we breath.
It is getting richer. Not richer in the sense of those individuals or nations who, in pursuing ever increasing margins by either flouting more costly "advanced" methods or utilizng the cheapest (read : dirtiest) materials, are stacking massive reserves of foreign currency; but rather richer in the sense that stacks of cancer causing caustic particles are proliferating and spreading throughout the atmosphere. While the cross-border movement of capital is viewed as a positive, the later is decidedly less so.
Winter in Seoul has always been harsh. But, this harshness has always been tempered by the beauty of the high, open blue skies and spirit-warming communal engagement found within various market-places. No longer. Now we are on the receiving end of flagellation from not only Mother Nature but from our own hand; well only 30% of "our own" as in "Korea's fault" in terms of the carbon-dioxide emitted from the vastly overpopulated pool of automobiles that seem rather to prefer remaining stationary in the middle of freeways, perhaps due to their own misinterpretation of the meaning of the name of the road they roam that they apparently take to mean "free to stay in the way." Of course, the remaining 70% of the pollution that enjoys lingering in the winter skies of Korea being the bastard offspring of China, conceived somewhere along the course of that nations re-ascent to dominance and thrown away out of sight without even a second thought.
Lovely. Now we are the ones who are left gulping down the putrid, coal-blackened effluvium. And yet, it seems that no one is throwing up their hands at China demanding something be done to rectify this situation. Why is this? Of course there are numerous rational explanations that seek to provide some semblance of an answer - an answer, mind you, that provides no hint of a possible solution - but this is the rambling of an obscure blogger, so I will opt instead for an explanation of a controversial and comical nature. While politicians are often caricatured as being a bunch of Dicks - some more so (and less so) owing to their own, un-coerced disclosures - the current leader of Korea is a Pussy. Literally.
While Dicks may rear their heads in places they are not welcome, it cannot be said that they lack fortitude (unless they do, in which case they lose the title of Dick and fall into the category of Penis (of the flaccid variety)). Pussies on the other hand, well, they are known to just 'take it.' They take it standing up, sitting down, in the shower, and, whether they are conscious of it or not, when they are sleeping. Not to seem unfair or god forbid sexist, I want to make it clear that everyone in Korea at this moment is a Pussy. We are, in a sense, engaging in perpetual gokkun (look it up) with the pollution that China has ejaculated all over us; is still showering on us. Also, the 'pussy metaphor' need not necessarily conjure up merely negative associations; in our lives there are times we too must take it. For example, when we seek to console another in their grief or suffering, by virtue of the process that is sympathizing and empathizing, we very literally not only take the other's upset condition, but we take it upon ourselves. You see, 'taking it' is both a passive and active act, it can imply heroic virtuosity and effeminate feebleness; it is essentially both masculine and feminine. Interesting, huh?
For our case however, we are Pussies of the effeminate, feeble, passive kind. You know we are because everyday we are told how to deal with the micro-dust. We need to wear a mask. Right, just like pussies apply pads to themselves to deal with the monthly flows of menstruation. However, this proscription not only clearly illustrates the sarcastic point being made, it unfogivably misses the seriousness of the problem at hand. Save for newly constructed buildings that intalled energy-saving double paned, gas filled windows and top-end air filtration systems, which is to say no building in Korea, no one is immune to the infiltration of the micro-dust. Since the micro-dust is ever present in our houses, we are constantly sucking it down. On top of that, the dust lingers, if not in the air then on the surface of everything for days after serious bouts of micro-dust phenomena. Wind and other activities will continue to stir up the micro-dust until the natural air purifier that is rain occurs.
So, this is the state of things. Again to reiterate, I too am a Pussy. I lack not only fortitude but the authority to affect any kind of change to the circumstances we all find ourselves within. That being said, bearing in mind the fact that Pussies can take on Dick characteristics, we must not forget that if we all come together and 'take on' one another's burden, which is to say our own burden, we will become engorged in the masculine virtuosity capable of toppling empires. To rephrase John Dickinson's (pun intended) famous quote from 'The Liberty Song' I shall end this post thusly: United we can be Dicks! Divided we are only Pussies!
It is getting richer. Not richer in the sense of those individuals or nations who, in pursuing ever increasing margins by either flouting more costly "advanced" methods or utilizng the cheapest (read : dirtiest) materials, are stacking massive reserves of foreign currency; but rather richer in the sense that stacks of cancer causing caustic particles are proliferating and spreading throughout the atmosphere. While the cross-border movement of capital is viewed as a positive, the later is decidedly less so.
Winter in Seoul has always been harsh. But, this harshness has always been tempered by the beauty of the high, open blue skies and spirit-warming communal engagement found within various market-places. No longer. Now we are on the receiving end of flagellation from not only Mother Nature but from our own hand; well only 30% of "our own" as in "Korea's fault" in terms of the carbon-dioxide emitted from the vastly overpopulated pool of automobiles that seem rather to prefer remaining stationary in the middle of freeways, perhaps due to their own misinterpretation of the meaning of the name of the road they roam that they apparently take to mean "free to stay in the way." Of course, the remaining 70% of the pollution that enjoys lingering in the winter skies of Korea being the bastard offspring of China, conceived somewhere along the course of that nations re-ascent to dominance and thrown away out of sight without even a second thought.
Lovely. Now we are the ones who are left gulping down the putrid, coal-blackened effluvium. And yet, it seems that no one is throwing up their hands at China demanding something be done to rectify this situation. Why is this? Of course there are numerous rational explanations that seek to provide some semblance of an answer - an answer, mind you, that provides no hint of a possible solution - but this is the rambling of an obscure blogger, so I will opt instead for an explanation of a controversial and comical nature. While politicians are often caricatured as being a bunch of Dicks - some more so (and less so) owing to their own, un-coerced disclosures - the current leader of Korea is a Pussy. Literally.
While Dicks may rear their heads in places they are not welcome, it cannot be said that they lack fortitude (unless they do, in which case they lose the title of Dick and fall into the category of Penis (of the flaccid variety)). Pussies on the other hand, well, they are known to just 'take it.' They take it standing up, sitting down, in the shower, and, whether they are conscious of it or not, when they are sleeping. Not to seem unfair or god forbid sexist, I want to make it clear that everyone in Korea at this moment is a Pussy. We are, in a sense, engaging in perpetual gokkun (look it up) with the pollution that China has ejaculated all over us; is still showering on us. Also, the 'pussy metaphor' need not necessarily conjure up merely negative associations; in our lives there are times we too must take it. For example, when we seek to console another in their grief or suffering, by virtue of the process that is sympathizing and empathizing, we very literally not only take the other's upset condition, but we take it upon ourselves. You see, 'taking it' is both a passive and active act, it can imply heroic virtuosity and effeminate feebleness; it is essentially both masculine and feminine. Interesting, huh?
For our case however, we are Pussies of the effeminate, feeble, passive kind. You know we are because everyday we are told how to deal with the micro-dust. We need to wear a mask. Right, just like pussies apply pads to themselves to deal with the monthly flows of menstruation. However, this proscription not only clearly illustrates the sarcastic point being made, it unfogivably misses the seriousness of the problem at hand. Save for newly constructed buildings that intalled energy-saving double paned, gas filled windows and top-end air filtration systems, which is to say no building in Korea, no one is immune to the infiltration of the micro-dust. Since the micro-dust is ever present in our houses, we are constantly sucking it down. On top of that, the dust lingers, if not in the air then on the surface of everything for days after serious bouts of micro-dust phenomena. Wind and other activities will continue to stir up the micro-dust until the natural air purifier that is rain occurs.
So, this is the state of things. Again to reiterate, I too am a Pussy. I lack not only fortitude but the authority to affect any kind of change to the circumstances we all find ourselves within. That being said, bearing in mind the fact that Pussies can take on Dick characteristics, we must not forget that if we all come together and 'take on' one another's burden, which is to say our own burden, we will become engorged in the masculine virtuosity capable of toppling empires. To rephrase John Dickinson's (pun intended) famous quote from 'The Liberty Song' I shall end this post thusly: United we can be Dicks! Divided we are only Pussies!
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