let it die

my mother believes in suffering.
she's that religious.
time has ceased to advance since 1986
and she is the conservative of 1986

she believes others should suffer as she does
because she believes that suffering now
the prize will come later

as long and as much as she has suffered
she should have had three mansions by now

i know instead
her head has got the best of her
she'll suffer til the end.

mother, don't take everyone down with you
i wish someone had been there
when you were still young
still alive
still volatile.

i wish someone had told you to live your life
not to settle
i wish someone had shown you not to suffer
i wish someone had freed your spirit

you were so beautiful mother. so beautiful
and now look at you
i love what you could have been
and now you're preventing me from having it
let us all suffer together then
and die with hatred and anger and bitterness in our hearts

kiss it, bye bye

i miss it.
the first sip sunk down the throat
the moment before inebriation
the smile that hits with satiation
feel it.
pulsating orgasm of intoxication.
i dream it.
light the cigarette
after the ice sits lonely in the glass
then to think of the man of the day
live a fantasy
then do nothing the next day
but sleep

on photography

i don't quite understand the art of capture
i have to train my mind that each snap of the lens
wastes negative space or makes it worth while.

there are moments when i hesitate
when i look through the view finder too long
and if i still decide to push down
i feel that the initial sighting was lost

i look through pictures and pictures, pictures.
and the ones that strike me the most
i find are the ones that resemble my mood.
a sort of isolation. loneliness. empty...,
and yet there's a play of light, a glint off of one object
or it's a plain picture, seemingly, clean, crisp
or maybe it's extremely blurred, or foggy or faded
why is this...()?

when the film is scanned in
i am surprised by what i took.
because the timid, amateur that i was
who snapped the picture
could not have captured this mood
but somehow...

i have yet to capture a stranger
maybe we'll connect
maybe we won't.

thrill

i need a new , exciting

o b s e s s i o n .

i need the shrill thrill of being alive youth.

not just a past time
not just a hobby
not just a(n) occupation

i need intensity

e x t r e m i t y

the boundless
danger


search on.

writing, drinking, smoking

i miss writing while smoking, and sipping on one of any alcoholic beverages i had periodically grown an obsession to:

white russian
whiskey on ice
whiskey and coke
cranberry vodka
brass monkey
zwack on ice
beer

first-most a writer
second-most a dreamer
last-most an actor (in all its meaning)

my life seems drawn to second-most now

은행 나무

내가 내꺼 은행 나무 찾알거다.

"who did this to you."
she cradles her legs and smiles.
"did your mommy do this?"
she nods her head.
"what happened?"
"mommy got angry with what i said and, and, and then she went somewhere... she came back with a metal thing, twisted it to make it...thicker and then wacked at my legs..."
"does she beat you ofte-?"
"and then she tried to strangle herself..."
silence.
"so i had to stay..."
"what? does she still beat you?"
"i love my mommy."
"does she beat you? does she keep you by force?"
"no."
she drops the baby voice and her face ages without time.
"i fucked up. i already killed them all... and killed myself. this right now... is the afterlife. and it's hell."