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