i will remember going downward dog upon ribbed ceramic tiled bathroom floor so the maid could wipe my ass clean 

i will remember stuffing toilet paper in my underwear to feel like a baby again

i will remember to wipe my own ass

Within the first ten minutes towards freedom he rides back to his workplace to drop off the keys which had been mistook. Das Investment holds a cold one or two. Migrant workers, with their first coffees, they manifest the rules of their fatherland. German moustaches still asleep, he is all cowboy about the phone in his pocket.

眼高手卑

To wish to return

Our wish to return

Wish for the first time

Weather

I will remember

 Idly I sit at my desk with a pencil in hand which I start to tap against the linoleum desktop. a syncopated beat: tata-ta-tata-ta-tatatatatatata. 

This transports me back to 1994: sunny and foreign beach, white sand.

 when you drop the cigarette butt like the mic

born, not made

 Graffito

By the ocean of my weathered wallet, I said my existence is written on the margins, that, like theirs, it can be read in scribbles.

Youth of future, bury those memories in yous hearts.

seesaw

 whatever it was that i saw in the mirror, saw me

 You already know my thought before I think it.

The speed of your love is greater even than that of light.

 he refused to teach there, for the hearts at the ivy league were plagued with ambition

the volume had been baked well. The pages resembled and smelled like oven-fresh madeleine, their edges browned to sweet perfection.

 He wrapped her hand around his biceps much like an armband. He drank his milk from the glass, which left a white moustache in the shape of a ditto.

you spawn onto a verdant clearing. in every direction through a vast veil of fog see nothing but the trees in the distance. still air don't conduct sound. it's all muted. no sooner does the silence shoot shivers down your spine than you realize that you are deaf.

tripe-shaped clouds

gordal olives

cute vehicles of destruction

 you rolled your eyes to the heavens

autumn winds fleece 

the space foliage in sway 

the sun twinkles

inscrutable signals

 my love love who i will become

 each born

none killed

all dead

last  mosquito on thy lips 

 태평양 에서 보세

The desktop clock, which is shaped like a clock tower, has been around for as long as I can remember. Last fall when I last visited here it had malfunctioned, and he asked me to fix it, change the battery. 

The clock had all but stopped again; here again, alone, in my parents' home, I search for another AA. The second needle of this paltry clockwork starts to tick again after the replacement, as though his room resumes life. 

His desk faces out the eastern window. In the distance is the shore, where the sun or the moon sometimes rises. The view he loved so well. The many photos he took, posted, sent to me via messenger. I have a collection of these photos from throughout the seasons and the years.

Those who rely on the angels a little too often. I disembodied my father from his suffering body if because his faculty to verbalise his interiority had become irretrievable. Now the alternative timelines are as relentless as the toss and turn when the night befalls sleepless upon me. I am become the sea of remorse.

Stone the mirror of the matrices that have spawned my being into his life, as I am unable to rescue him from the confines of life support. Instead curse myself out of it all. To indulge in all the earthly delights that he is deprived of as he lies in hospital bed not unlike I used to the very first days on Earth. In a diaper with my spine against gravity, away from the sun, away from the cypress and the soil. Months since he had tasted anything but the sterile stench and dried disease hour after hour. The pandemic measures still in place; no visitors but the sole nurse, a duty I relieved myself after 30 hours, for my convenience and the livelihood of some unconscionable wage worker. 

Life without Music. Delicacies. Soothing fragrances. Without family. His last days were deprived of all that made who he had been. Nobility, mobility, sweet tooth, books, internet, eye for the celestial bodies, the voices of his own family. 

My striving for extraordinary life is now reduced to the lay and the vulgar. Like most of you, whom I despise for your indolence and poverty of touching imagination. I am become like you. And here my own narcissism dissolves into self-hatred. Fuck you, I shall collapse onto you, break myself down and drown you in saltwater. 

everyday becomes louder with cicadas in July

 Technology that named itself

Like their namesake the quotidian shapes culture. As jeans in particular are a timeless classic which makes an eternal return, they believe _______ expresses a function of their ambitious nature to become a new symbol for the past

 Deep-rooted, like teeth, canine or wisdom, beyond the order of men and of control.

 Survived by light

 보는 눈은 있어 가지고 

For the children

to be free

and graceful 

magnitude in which things get smaller just got bigger 

For the children

to be free

and grateful 

 either write it down or don't 

no need for colors to write

to do the things only you can do

Friends? You mean my masters.

 A grain of rice jumps in place

on a cast iron

like a startled flea

 Time scale of your work

 chinese flag without hammer and sickle but a bamboo

 Where Attitudes come from

You go into a restaurant, only to be subjected to lame interactions and sub-nutritional foods that are love- and passion- less. Walk out feeling OK, at best. Your hard-earned money, ruminate on the ramifications of its circulation through and atomization in our broken system.

 A digital sundial—the clockwise and seasonal movement of the sun—but a realtime map, its center your precise location and the virtual gnomon from which the virtual shadow of the sun is cast. 

 just because you can

synopsis: time travel to assassinate jobs before conception of iphone

New macbook (air) will smell like fresh copy of an actual book

 Fuschia and nuclear green, i lie in your dreams

Monday

And from e to a once the sun-kissed silver is turned to gold under a duvet of cloud ready to fall against the wishes and hopes of foolish prayers still we lay together half conscious on a raft, in mourning w fragments to be found on slow collusion courses. Fences divide, provide vision for touch, in place of embrace. But grace converts divisions into dreamcatchers.

Autumnal flowers in bloom are to be left alone, but exposed and collected as tokens of those to be discarded. This is the first and the final fall for spring, for in the future fall will be fall and nothing but fall.

And though i see you in everything, as any given day, today i am but two, in abstinence from everything but you

 The sky, does it blush from pride or shame of the day’s deeds

The world has turned

and left us here

in psychology

There are systems

There is love

There is quietude 

Dog days, overhead fans, halos, 000 000000 000000000 000 000 000 000 000

 Immersive disorientation 

You have but <i>that<i>heart

To cope with living and dying alone is not for children but a truth for adulthood.

Birds laugh and take flight into the night

When they are in season you have a bowl of cherries by your bedside.

Interview

Some of us come from dystopian backgrounds

Watching sunset clouds reflected on the phone glass 

I p ray for g od to kis s you

Blood sprayed onto the atm screen

Duchamp at mmk.

readymade is not about you

Evian off my fingers

Art of understanding material

Like how materials transfer or, like how they would bleed on one another 

 Ooze elegance

To the honey bees that kept busy among the spring flowers

You said: 

"You guys, It's Sunday; maybe work not so hard?"

Then the bees said unto thee:

"We are not working; we are playing!"

Bzzzzzzzzz...

"Y'all  mistake playing for working!"

"bees? We just 💤 z💤"

 Drone bee disguised as worker bee looking for the queen

 Hands smell like your dish soap

Chinese Literati Shoegaze Paintings 

In moonlight 

I am feral in a cage 

Feline in waiting 

For capture 

Find me 

Domesticate me 

I will maul your favorite parts

Feed your darkness

Maul your favorite parts

Again I'm not dreaming 

Tonight 

Japanese pictures, Paris Croissant

Cartoon characters

Golden ice caps

Green pyramids

Norwegian winter

Mornings and dull knives

Chaste 

When i choose

To feel more human

 My Lover, My Sailor

epitaph: 축하 할 일이 매우 많았슴

 Smell of fresh cut glass

When sadness tears your eyes open

Our cat Paco wrote this

 

당신의 화난 미소

 Conditions of faith

 a deal is a deal is a deal is a deal

In a farewell

Friend leaves

Behind their spectacles

u get up, remember thinking of pizza in bed, not the dream you have just dreamt. You leave as if dreams are meant to be forgotten, and start running, chased away by the thing you've forgotten, into the empty streets, another block, in the blue frontier, to claim this world your own

How one smells, naturally or like the scent they decided to wear, and the direction in which the wind blows now

She clenches her fist in the heavy rainfall. Her long fingernails dig deep into the palm, and blood, running down in the rainwater like a brood of baby crimson vipers, drips onto the flooded asphalt.

 Exposed rebars like a fleet of sundials

Picking at an orange nipple in the cold, which recalls our moon's most prominent impact crater, I feel my scrotum contract, harden like a walnut shell.

 At home, wearing your clothes

 Not enough for one

Though the mosquitos sucked the blood out of her in a dead rock slumber, they could not take her dreams away. For she was a tiger; she was an eagle. On antihistamine

The complicity between the subject and the executioner includes both reticence and abandon, day and night. The curtain of the bed, which she lifts up with her hand, marks the threshold between daytime and nighttime. At night they leave their century.

Crestfallen, i walk into the washroom, illuminated by candlelight, dancing alone

 "I will leave you now," he said.

guten=morgen

heute=nicht

Drop of blood in a body of water

when your body shakes but thinks it's the building

Having fetched your snack from an in-station bakery, you rush outside to catch the tram. A stranger stops you but there’s no shared language between the two. You try but communication seems impossible in the time crunch; you have to go and the helpless face of this stranger is imprinted on you

You wait outside the hipster coffee shop for your turn to enter and order. You’re up next and, while the two customers inside take their time, one of the baristas makes a knowing eye contact with you; you blink in response as if to say “hello”. When you enter, your flat white is already there, and you are touched. Smile at the perfectly heart-shaped foam

One day it’s more

Another day it’s less

Even when the red spots are painted over 

Oh it won't stop

Even at the smallest sound

Think I’ll shatter

One of the many flags 

Flapping toward you

You can't even pick one 

So here I am 

With my mouth shut as I toss my eyes to the ground

Counting dust in my pocket

Looming in the dark that faint smile of another new moon 

 His parents died when he was born blind and deaf

 look up 

u

h

ave 

made

ur

nail mark

in the paper

even

-ing

sky

a

    l

                                                                                                       e

                                           t

                                                                                                                                     t

                   e    

                                                                                        r

Our taste buds dry in the heat. Food is okay. Water, soothe those clenched fists in the mourning light. Look outside, how petals stutter and fall. Face painted with soil at war with the garden of stillness. Butterflies with hand-shaped wings clap or pray till dawn. When the air turns indigo, she says you have common knowledge. Like that switch on your bedroom wall, in anticipation of (s)(n)(m)ores

parole di giorno: domani

As distant as that was futuristic in the past

Sunrise, lower your eyes

plumes of soot like dark butterflies

Ping: it's my mobile, as I stand there and look, in the night-fallen park of the neighborhood where my parents still live, down at the paving stones I as a boy used to turn to hunt mole-crickets. In a reverie prompted by the new high-rises that were built in my absence, now towering over me and the park and the paltry memories of my childhood, I stand in place. Another ping: messages from a friend, from across the Big Continent, a hello and a link to something that can help with my finances.

Sitting at the desk in my old bedroom the next day, staring out the window. Against the blue sky, the crown of a ginkgo tree. I know that tree; neither the ginkgo nor I used to be tall enough for it to be viewed from there — where I used to do homework, or pretended to, and discovered masturbation. Leafless, the grown tree's bare greyish bones tremble in the wintry breeze. A magpie builds a nest. With a twig in its bill, this passerine hops around the trunk’s axis, scans for the correct deposit of her latest find.

I already know the end to this. But I don’t have a clear vision as to how it should get there. My eyes start to wet. As if steam rises from my chest to thaw the eyeballs. With even my vision blurred, I can see where this ends. And I remember...

We had stayed up all night just to chat outside her house. It was in the first week of June, the day I left China for good. So much that still lingered when we eventually did part. What’s heavier than the eyelids?, she quipped. I think I smiled turning away.

The pages in this book are vignetted, as they yellow from the outer edges. There's a glow around the gutter, the dark cleft that binds still blacker than the ink. The pages in this book resemble the shades of your skin. How yours used to beat against mine and softened me. The letters remain as black as I remember them, but appear softer now.

each and every freckle is a dead star they sang

imprisoned by emotions, to live in fiction, to die in reality stars moving at the speed of airplanes. How constellations change as we move through space. To desire not to procreate no not with your own race. To want to know: how one relates to their own face. To be in control of one's image. HALLO! ANIMALS, GERMS, AND SAVAGES! Press, release. MTWTF SS Beware! Human hearts get eaten in this story. Leave them nothing but memories to hold on to. Frankly, my love, I don't give a damn about the children Hearing them at the toilet, one could imagine the consistency of their excrement I want to know: how you relate to your own face. They say your body is a temple; come inside me and worship the lord The hardest routes generally come together through strength, focus and a memory for sequence. Landfills. World of Migrations, of war, and of shortage. Search results. Sugarslaves. Laissez-faire reproductive economy. Shortcuts. We all fight. Over curbs. Smell of not humans but the garbage they consume.

words for things words for feelings

no, to night sugar

Paris

Moving at the speed of an August sunset, still as we were in the eye of a tornado.

And so Allah said unto to thee trash the land of your benevolent host consume their products and blame them for your own childish actions ruin the planet which i have made for you

Black silk black nylon black wool black cotton black polyester

capitalization of ethics

problem inventors

in all manners that justified their freedom

Dad was a slave, no dead of night to bring him back Date flower, my leek-root grandmother was all that stood Mother expecting craved green fruit Adobe wind-screens, under oil lamp Black fingernails of her son Her father out to sea or the peasants revolt His thick hair and large eyes I take after So I was told It was the wind that raised me four out of five The world an embarrassment through and through Some read sinner in my eyes and move on Some read idiot on my lips and move on I shall never feel sorry Brilliance in the crack of dawn In the dew that pearl my brow Drops of blood Star or shade Like no hangdog with a loose tongue I’ve always come a-panting

진정하시오, 목소리에 날이 서 있는 그대.

O, C was sensitive, in an irritable kind of way, and, having an extremely acute sense of his surroundings, had the potential to be a most volatile prick, especially in the opening hours of his waking life. D was more messy, and noisier, one to litter with his traces and fill with sound the space he occupied, as if oblivious to their effects on the world, if not to demonstrate inflection of some kind that betrayed person freedom—something libertarian maybe. They lived together, sharing a two-room studio with shared entrance, which also happened to be the only path to the washroom.

G retained a certain elusive beauty that no camera seemed able to capture.

We had founded Eden of our own, our haven for corrupted innocence, around a well of joyous tears with which we anointed each other. Of secrets where nothing but our memory alone could gain access, not even God. I remember, how i kicked the trunk of a sycamore tree to release rain from its foliage and shower over us, how her face split open into a wild smile then—all teeth and gum—in surprise and ecstatic wonder, mirroring my own maybe. That smile, all of this, a memory that is now solely my own, explodes into millions of pixels, and I'm rent in all directions. I feel so dizzy I can hardly lie...

Strawberry dye

his spunk tastes like yours, but sweeter

With his face pinned against the ground, all he could see was a trickle of blood forming a pool beside his head. The sun seemed to melt into his wounds, setting them on fire.

salty soup

Tears drip spoons rise

Bugged  ear

Record's end crackles embers

Blood ran black beneath the moonlight
Cutting off the hands she used to hold
Ho oh oh oh oh oh old
Ho oh oh oh oh oh whoa
Ho oh oh oh oh they used to hold

On your body lands first fly of the year

Shadow flush

BPMs of newborns make Gabber

No boat left uncapsized

Only the label is real give a fiver

Dear Galilean moons,

They are rent with elation.

Peepcheepcheep

Nothing complete before death

Stretched narratives float in the ambient

Green mouse ghost 

The bat flew

No one

Through the back door that was left open, the breeze, like me, invited itself in. Sheer curtains billowing in the threshold, the children seemed to have disappeared. 

The snow melted their heart.

"i knew as we were walking across the bridge in the bluish light that this would be a moment i would remember fondly and achingly, if i were to find myself one day without ___. That, if one day I found myself in a dark grueling tunnel again, which i would know will eventually terminate, i shall look forward to another day in the bluish light, crossing a bridge with someone different, who too i will remember for as long as my sanity remained in the material world. "

Contesting the sated child, whose hunger at a raw smorgasbord was for security and praise, Anguis whispers: "May you always be lit by the fires of life, for being ignited is transformative. Nothing touched by flame remains the same."

How cows raised some of you

One continuous shot until the player finishes or dies

Death to full-ish cerebrations 

snowy tree cricket

If you encounter a snowy tree cricket, you can approximate the air temperature in fahrenheit. First count the number of songs given in 13 seconds then add 40.

The first sheep was special

The second sheep was special

The third sheep was black

The fourth sheep was a cannibal

The fifth sheep was special

2008-2012

뽀린 자전거의 질주 

불사 맞바람의 충돌

실눈의 칼 같은 결의 

이것은 너를 바라볼때의 

나의 영상, 너의 괴도.

입가에 울려 퍼지는 잔잔한 파도

그리고

그 미소의 대반향 

대체 어디로 향하는 거냐고.

뚤어지라 짖어대는 가슴의 행방,

난 그런거 모른다우

"이천팔"

그래,

이 세상엔 별별 사람들이 다 있구나

별별,

모두가 스타라는 뜻이겠지

텅빈 놀이터 속 따스한 달빛에 그을린 얼굴은 불타오른다

지금 나는 숨은 차다

동심의 공간으로 발을 딛으며

모래 속 덮어진, 그 투명한 기억들, 하나하나 애써 애무 해보지만

미래를 떠올리는 바람에 실상이라는 파도에 휩쓸리고

잔잔하던 옛 기억 하나, 둘 씩 떠 밀려간다

가슴에 남는 잔상, 그 자취의 향에 

현기증이 난다

슬픔도 아닌

기쁨도 아닌

정체를 알 수 없는 눈물만 들이 차

앞은 잘 보이질 않는다

Tract under sole

Turtles they shadow your steps
Shells beige they break under
The knowns the ones we've sown
Paintings and sculptures
Littered with your hands
I scream and water fall

Factories leaving workers

1. The breeze brushes you before i can smell you

Less than three to you two!

Oh what great misfortune: to see oneself watch others live in their own heads

Figures without surface

Fascism against monoculture

The level of focus she commands obliterates longing, beats even the short-term effects of the illegal stimulants

death to the poets that champion words 

unidentified tears

Her blinks shoot light

servus

"Where he's got an algebraic equation to solve in the blink of a bee's eye, and he does it, and in a way it's so poetic. It doesn't make the defenders cry, it makes them wear diapers."

Shadow of a magpie

Church closed on Sunday

twelve billionaires burst into pieces

‘‘You just work here, you don’t have authority over me. You don’t have a gun, so you’re not gonna make me leave. I’m gonna do this trick; you’re gonna watch. And call the cops in the meantime if you’re that passionate about it. But I’m passionate about what I do, too.’’

Sheep-like orchid clouds that shepherd men

Take stock

Warm Glas Cool Wasser

Animals are a gift that keeps on bleeding

Ultra violent light

Ultra violet night

visit once every season

Chocolate ingots for the child

"My family did just well enough so that I could grow up poor around white people."

01! 01! 01!

Innernational Coop of Radical Eouth

Fantastically monogamous union based on material socialism

Good friends, see those with good friends

Io ruminare 

Don't mind the speed as you travel in their slipstream

She cups a small moth in her hand, and says: Make a wish. Let go, he replies. She opens her hand, and the moth stays

To all orifices for all testimonies

The heavens flash the color of your bruises 

For Lovers of Self-Knowledge 

claque!

Chip

蟄

Take a deep breath the truth is within you

Underneath the skin the rest

Let them wake up, without yesterday, tomorrow

Picked lavender 

Neglected in pocket

Found six months later

The telephone at your parents' rings. No one else there, you answer. 

A digitally generated female voice—artificial, without lilt, and cold—speaks: This is an international call. Your landline will be terminated today. Your landline will be terminated today. Your landline will be terminated today. Your landline will be terminated today...

They die phone in charge

AGE OF CONTENT

Jokes and their attendant butts

Every porcelain shelf in the washrooms was crowded with empty glass bottles.

• You wake up to a sledgehammer crushing your chest. The sound of your ribcage fracture, then shatter, shards and splinters piercing through the heart, then beaten to its final splatter of grace. All shiny under the morning suuuuuuuuuuuhhhhuuhuuun.

Floating Period

                                                .

Sleeping in another orientation, falling in another order

Money * Love

Where is midnight right now?

Collagen

Salivation II

A coda to my mother's diary, her sole surviving item. Its leather-bound surface was charred by the flames, which, according to those who were present, resembled enormous cloven tongues rising up from the earth, licking savagely out towards salvation just out of reach. So I am told; I can imagine the dark heavy clouds in the vespertine sky, bloated with a brood of our economy, black and blue like my buffeted mother, the impending squall to bury in hail the serpentine orgy of spirits, just moments too late.

Oh the things I see when i close my eyes, he said.

Blood gushes over your face. It feels cold.

Some fortune, the value of this currency to equate the age of the universe.

How , ciao is round and endless

nㅏ ddㅏ rㅏ hㅐ bㅏoㅣ rㅓ kㅔ, ship say key yea

Devil had a big d

which he got rid of

Even the abyss in me is lit

Unending procession of impeccably dressed bankers on bicycles.

Mother of god

Father if god

Die sonne the daughter

Daughter named Paloma 

Insults make distinctions

The faucet a fountain

You pay for the shadow

Dr tremble

Game in which you are surgeon

So any plans so little hands

Hear the grandmother play keyboard in headphones

Listen to the rhythm

Let it guide your melody

Silent rain

\

Children on the Prices of Things 

The place is always full and runs with no menial tasks whose performers are not short of dignity.

Amid the morning peal, a meow

 Paper plane in hand, Young Friar tiptoes into the office of the Saint

Running towards the bus all ecstatic

"A total of 29,086 measures of barley were received over the course of 37 months.

Signed, Kushim."

Look at that red sky over there. Red in the morning, sailors take warning. That is bright.

hands and muzzle all red, they devour pomegranates at the adult's table

When a mosquito dies in a high five

With rain the smell of sycamore is redolent of your anus

In Tokyo

Dérive jusqu'à ce que tu meurs

Women of color take stabs at scaring birds.

One thousand pillows, gasoline, fire.

Deliver a blow to the hurt and say this shall pass

Cooking, the man calls for his cat.

"24 Hours!"

"24 Hours!"

"24 Hours!"

He sounds delusional, alone, unaware...

This goes on for a long while before the cat enters the shot.

A night away from the city, we lay down by a lake and stargaze in silence. At some point, making sure that no one hears me, quietly I spoke: "I give you ten seconds if you can hear me right now". Listen, when the count hit five, I swear, like a laceration that is healed as soon as it is inflicted, the brightest shooting star flashed across the sky.

Young mother on a bicycle with her little boy in the safety seat pulls over. In absolute stillness they watch a demolition site across the street. One block down, someone spray paints a beautiful euro sign on the trunk of a sycamore tree.

Accelerated EPM

At dusk an illiterate post-person burns undelivered letters, effectively immolating their lover at the stake

길을 나섰지만 눈엔 눈물이 들어차고 길은 보이지 않았습니다.

To vomit glitter onto a dead puppy

The moon shines the same

The drifting clouds

The fickle pollution

The fine dust

Make it seem different

On different nights

"There is no such thing as your own life. Your wish to end your own life shall (not) be granted."

"To grope toward a bridge that spans the yawning chasm between savagery and dignity."

Creature-shaped water

So like Ruby said to me love is attention and attention is time

I've brought you a bone to beat me with

To train animals to become vegetarians

A drizzle wets your clothes

The host dies for its parasites

The scorched rice at the bottom of the pot was mother's favorite, a golden remnant of life after the war.

Nervous fiddling of night insects

Systems of quiet love

The sibilant travel far

How Sugar Mountain salted the shit out of High Stick in St. Francis.

Everyday gets louder in the month of July.