Minor

I've decreed that I shall live as a hermit this weekend. Not a lot of people. I've missed people, but often enough I don't know what to do with them when I have their attention anyway.

New laptop this week. I will soon have access to all of the internet at home. I suppose that will make this my last productive weekend. Say farewell to being somebody. I suppose that lifestyle casues too much trouble anyways. All appeal and no satisfaction. I wouldn't really want to be an important person. I just like to imagine it.

I'm starting to think I might have become too intelectual for my own damn good. Who has time for fun when I have all this thinking to do?

Is it really worth it?

To sit and think, to have very adult conversations with very calm people who drink coffe and read books? Does it matter that I write all my thoughts in this blog that probably almost no one reads? Is it worth it if I never run around in circles in the park until I'm dizzy and fall on the grass laughing?

And if my laugh is the only one I hear, did it really happen? I haven't laughed myself sore in so long. Nothing is that funny anymore. Either that, or I've lost my sense of humor to all this overthinking.

Is this what it means to grow up?

I try to cinvince myself that everyone feels this way. That used to make me feel better, but now? Why isn't it better? How did I become so bored with a world that is far from boring.

The woman who owns this restaurant keeps bothering me with questions.

여자친구있어?

아니요, 없어요.

왜? 여자친구만들세요.

어떻게?

Perhaps it's the absence of God, and I finally have the attention span to feel it. The joy of the Lord is my strength, but I am weak.

What is it?

Overthinking?

I've run all the way to the other side of the world, and still cannot escape my problem, because my problem is me. To the world I used to love: One of us has changed, and it isn't you.

I'm sorry.

I just couldn't think of what to say until it was too late.

Easter last weekend. Maybe He came to save us from the drinking, and cigarettes, gambling and porn, but I hope He hasn't overlooked my biggest sin.

I don't know how to love anything well.

Oh come Emannuel.

Mourn in lonely exile

Until the son of God



rejoice.

I always did like songs in minor keys.

I Want My Two Cents Back.

I like looking at time-lapse photography for the same reason I like reading books and watching movies. Everything happens faster. It really takes a lot of patience to appreciate the things in life that are beautiful as they are happening. This is how I know that God is so much bigger than all of us. It takes a greater understanding of life to be more in awe of a flower as it is blooming, or a sun as it is rising, soaking up all the hours, minutes, seconds and parts therof given it. That's another reason: These things don't just take their time. They take ours as well.

Seconds and minutes are our currency. Where will we spend them? We are only paid once.

This sun is rising, as it has since time began. That's what time is, after all. It's the room with all the frames. Time is the space given for all the pretty things to hang as they pass through, spread out yellow and orange on my skin. I hope it covers every centemeter, and I hope I'm on my last breath when it finally takes me.

I'm in church right now, on the far end of 대구 from my home, after breakfast with a good friend that I have missed so much, and a connection over and over with the people who love the same things I do. Things that exist outside of books and TV and the occasional sunrise to which we only pay a half-attention. You never see the things that are not given their proper space. I think I can almost see it burning through this insignificant window in an insignificant building insignificant country, tiny world. What more could I say about the eyes that gaze upon it as my friends prepare to spread themselves out in this place?

Everything orange and yellow. My heart is beating slower.

Was my life a waste up until this point, or did I never really stop? Can I see it? Will there be time left after I have spent it wrongfully for so long?

today, it seems as though all my questions are nothing more than a hole in my pocket, leaking spare change as I walk.

My Mess II: It's What's on the Inside That Counts

I've spent the entire day cleaning and studying (I'm taking a rather ass-kick difficult Korean class). Just like high school with the addition of cleaning. I have never been a very clean person.

I say this in a very general sense, meaning so much more than a messy room, or in my case, a messy room and a messy kitchen/living room and a messy shoilet (shower/toilet[my life is a bit weird these days]). It's a messy life, really. It's being overweight, and having no time becuase I've cluttered up my schedule with things-I-have-to-do-to-be-taken-seriously-as-an artist/adult/Christian/taxpayer/Borders Rewards card-holder. It's my torn, crinkled notebooks filled with half finished poems and "really great ideas" for novels and short films. It's the half empty (half full?) sketchbooks and canvases that encompass my "body of work" which will always bear the title "work in progress."

I've always seen myself as rather a work in progress anyway. I've been trying for so long to make something new and fascinating with it that I'm afraid I've lost my taste for fine lines and clean edges. My life is built up of tremendous possibilities, each one more astounding and breathtaking than the last. The beautiful clutter in my brain. I'll stretch myself apart if I try to grab at each one.

Oh well, another thought for another day. Tonight, my clean appartment makes me smile. Tomorrow...

...the possibilities...

Eye Contact

Another week. It seems like the days all blend into one massive stream, just like a river is made up of nothing more than little drips. Just little drips of almost nothing that somehow combine into this great big thing that is life. That takes life, if you're not careful. I don't know how I got here except that I was pushed by days upon days, all of them running after each other as those behind spill into their absence. That's how rivers are made, and that's what turns boys into old men. Will I be a wise old man?

God only knows.

I've come to this coffee shop in my neighborhood called "The Place to Feel Coffee." I was put off by the name at first, but in reality, the place is really about as cute and charming as the syntactic error that it is called by. The lady that owns it smiles at me every time and greets me in Korean. She doesn't try to speak English or ask me who I am or why I'm here. Most of the people here treat me like I'm some sort of celebrity, always pointing, gasping, or trying to ask me a million questions. I love that I'm just another customer to her. It seems like she lives a life of very simple ambition. I think that's where peace comes from. I wish I was a person of peace, but I've never been able to simplify my ambitions. She has a sort of plump face (rare in Korea. Everyone is apallingly thin) a bright smile offset by the plae colors she wears under her apron. If I was 10-15 years older, I'd be crushing hard.

The young lady at the table opposite says something about 왜국이 (forigner) and sneaks a picture of me with her camera phone. I am avoiding eye contact.

Recently I told a complete stranger that the curse of being human is to be continually stuck in the present, with no indication of how our story would end. All we have are questions and trust.

I am not very good at trust.

Am I moving, or are these tiny drips pushing me? If I try to stop, will they find their way over my head, and pull me down with them?

The Moon's Response

First off, an apology: This is something that was promised a while ago, and my camera is broken, so you'll have to make do with a camera phone picture. I would say that I've been hard at work on it, but... well without giving anything away (or implying that I am trying to say anything deep) I guess sometimes when you are waiting to hear back from some great big thing... you have to wait a while for your response. If any of this confuses you, oh loyal reader(s?) check this first.



Do you mistake me yet again,
this deep violet you call black,
and all the simple scurriers
scramble underneath
whatever stones could throw
my evening music back?

I no longer take measurements.
As though one were small
because it is not two.
Count the stars for me.
Dare to say
that they outnumber you.

I will not.

This world is made of tiny things
though few have noticed, like
the particles of light
that paint your body as we
dizzy ourselves with abandon.

The whole of darkness cannot hide it.

I am silence because of noise,
the winter cold because of fur,
and some are naked for the same.
Would you breathe a little longer
when I'm gone? Just like every
dawn follows it's inevitable
sunset, I will find you if you stay.

Yes, let us dance once more
into wonderful, wrecklessness, wondering
weather the night is cold,
and you are small, and I
am hanging by a curtain behind
the world, waiting to wake up?

A Sweater

I have had two glorious days of time to myself. Once, I was too insecure to enjoy time to myself. That's what we call loneliness. These days, I realize that alone is the hand I've been dealt for the time being, and it's actually not a bad place to be.

I'm starting to live like an old man. I go to bed before midnight and wake up before 8 no matter what. The crazy free spin of the weekends makes me long for the starched regularity of the midweek like I long for my morning cup of coffee. That's another habit I've taken to lately. Some days I don't recognize me. I'm not sure now if that evokes a positive or a negative feeling. I use to love not recognising myself, but I think that was because I hated myself. I'm currently developing a mild tollerance for me, that I am hoping will develop into a real friendship. Who knows... maybe a little something more...

I have decided that for as long as I live in Korea, I will brush my teeth while showering. Given the fact that my shower consists of my entire bathroom. I just think it's best to do as much as I can before I turn off the water. Otherwise, it's just cold and wet. Shaving is also difficult, since the steam from the water fogs up the mirror. I think I am going to grow a mustache again. This is my way of saying that I am going to be single for a while longer.

There's a grocery store that I have to take two busses to get to. It has a lot of the sorts of things that Americans expect their grocery stores to have. I am considering a trip there on the offchance that they might have some coffee creamer.

Spring is beginning to show its face here in Daegu, after what seems to be the longest winter I have ever experienced.

I am speaking in purely literal terms, of course. Don't mistake my ramblings for metaphor with any amount of depth.

Anyway, spring is a sort of new development here, so you never know when the weather is going to revert back. I don't know how to dress. I'll just take a sweater and hope for the best.

There will be a wedding this afternoon.

Meredith anf Kayoo.

A birthday this evening.

Tiffany.

I know what insecurity it is that makes me feel lonely, but what is it that makes me feel so strange during all this celebration and living that keeps happening all around me? I have only so much time to figure myself out before I miss it.

Day Of Fools

Today is a day for fools,who duck in and out of coffee shops, Chinese restaurants and libraries, shirking every work responsibility and sacred duty. I have decided that I am a fool, and I would do well to celebrate myself on this day, as a monument to the great inactivity that rests on the souls of such creatures as will spend a third of their lives dreaming.

And if their waking life appears to be no more than a dream? So much the better. That we could travel and attempt in this life for so long, and be at the end presented with our diploma: a blank page.

To have loved. To have lost. To have found because of loss.

Does God love us seperately from our lives, or can He love in spite of them? The very fabric of this world dangles by a delicate string, fluttering in the wind. How strong will it blow? Will we come apart at the end? Why so downcast, O my soul? We have only so long to wander as fools.