Friday, November 4, 2011


if i ever become a vegetable (or handicapped - neck down) - here it is stated - please euthanize. Thank you.

in the event of my death, please cremate and ash my ashes driving cross country towards the setting sun.

lisa jihyun kwon

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Ha Ha Ha

I should feel more "blessed" than I should
because of how excellent I do in school.

and then I realize how I'm only doing this for my parents, still.
and fuck that shit. i'll get A's for days
and then middle fingers, tower high, if the world is still alive,
and i'll be struttin' out half superman
and half dip hip and stride



life DOES NOT EQUAL school

in fact

LIFE is so FAR from SCHOOL

it's almost comedic

how school is made so significant

in its (non)respect ---

and then again, there lies the tragedy...


past - nov. 4. 2011

wow, i don't recall ever... writing this post... but it does sound like me

Sunday, July 31, 2011

"please lord, don't let me be misunderstood"

(true stories)

Most people don't know the episodes of insanity I have experienced and how I cope w them as a drinker though I cry alcoholism, I am not one- I drink responsibly now for the past two years, but in all honesty I have never quite been a drinker--- I'd rather stay focused than drink...--another topic


I have seen my mother try to kill herself with a brown extension cord. Oddly reminds me of what I should have done while she was pushing me out of her womb.

I have seen myself want freedom yet my mother go insane my father do nothing but hold my mother back and my sister curse me in front of them and they not reprimand her for using such language as punishable before

I know what is left

I eat a plateful of shit everyday

And I refuse to eat anymore, not even a whiff
So if I hurt others in this time it's bc you have given me shit, big, pungent rotten back loaded explosive shit

Excuse me for hurling it straight back

Thursday, June 2, 2011

life is too short to be anything
but a joke

Monday, May 30, 2011

is it?

has it been? will it be?
will we see it when it comes,
whatever it may be?

Thursday, April 21, 2011

jungle boogie

in your jungle basement,
two bartenders mixing the better potion...

Two snakes wrapped up like Caduceus.
You slither your coarse against my smooth,
in this jungle room.
Leopard spots,
elephant tusks,
zebra paintings;
delight in the shag-feel,
coated ground.

I know you watch me,
want me. The prowler
with a growl.

My eyes closed,
taking each second
as its own before it dies
like fallen domino.
I already see the last one
hanging off the precipice,
before it's there.
Sometimes, a hand will wait
below to catch it,
but that domino will never know,
until she lets go.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Kienholz installation “The Illegal Operation”, 1962
He regarded his viewers 
by their garbage. 
He fabricated material life
holding up a mirror to still eyes
in denial at the horror of truth
like a living photograph.
Burlap sack punched raw
laying like a burnt slab of molding meat
hoisted atop a shopping cart
that’s missing its cage.
Its wheels overused,
no longer able to move.
One can smell the rust and taste it
as though a child were in the seat
looped wires cradling
as it sucks on the handle
where mama’s hand had been.
Burlap sack sweat-stained
vomiting out its torn orifice,
split like cruel lips
of a motorcyclist
with a mouthful of cement.
Purging what poison that let grow
within, pulsating
now dead, half covered in a pail;
a forgotten guilty conscious,
a redemption for shame,
existing only in
mother’s waking nightmares,
her cold perspiration against
the cool moon's stare; a reminder
of the surgical bright light
that casted a pallid yellow glow
on seemingly sickly skin.

Collecting together, many years
later, little knotted plastic black bags
holding the little bones of the 
little ones, discarded
in the wasteland.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

2-line poetry

(basis: little to no abstractions)

i am but a simple mechanism taken advantage of
invented by a dead corpse with a name


smoke-laced conversations under fading bulbs
whiskied souls floating down the river Lethe


broken fragments of a wine glass glittering under wide eyes
a pair of cocks, beak to beak, vying for the cry to the rising sun


shit grins from within a toilet
chagrin to desire to dig it back up


hair that stands on end and pricks when the skin crawls
under coverlets that should protect the mind's wit