Thank You

So another day in Korea is flying through my heart. I can't say that I feel particularly on key with the whole change, but I don't feel completely outside the loop either. Right now it's just a strange sort of shake of the mind. It rattles me for a bit then comes to a standstill. Questions come about what I'll do. Is it a painting? Another record? A comic book? Is it time for a novel?

I have no idea. There is too much shaking going on to see what's in the globe. The best that I can muster is a few rituals to create normalcy for my body. This means that running is now a key thing in my life. If I can make it to the soccer field, it's a good day. Endorphins and me are good like that.

If I can keep to this regiment, things will be kosher in a few. Then I will be able to see more clearly. In the meantime, I went out yesterday to see about painting supplies. I was curious what my heart would create. So far, it's the strange hieroglyphs you see in the pic above. I have no idea how it will turn out, but I'm excited to see how I will create the right texture for my sense of aesthetics on paper and wood.

I haven't painted on wood since my 2000-01 painting year. It will be interesting to see what I can muster. If the paintings keep coming, then I will stick with that for a while.

In other news, I will be buying my first electric guitar tomorrow. Word is on the streets that there's a place where I can get one for about a hundred bucks at some warehouse. At least that's what one of the musicians from Kim Chi Cowboys, an American ex-pat band, told me.

"Cort is a good Korean guitar," one of the members told me. "Just go to Dobong Gu station. There's a great warehous on the second floor."

I hope I can find it. Most of the time when I hear directions out here - it's in one ear and out the other. I'm not going to give up though. It's all about those baby steps. Today I will roll with "thank you." That's a good word in any language.

Korean Word a Day

Thank You = kahm-sah=ham-nee-da


Moksha says to give it time
"You're so American," he says.
"You'd hate Bombay," he says.
"You'll be a better artist," he says.

I'm not so sure.

I've been like this for a while.
I call it hide and seek.
All this looking.
Just to be found.

I figure most people got it easier.
They've got a someone or Coca Cola.
Kim Chi or a Hollywood salary.
Brad Pitt or Angelina.

Me, I keep looking.
Me, I hold canteens.
Me, I ride horses.
Me, I can't see.

Call it an indi-glo night stick,
A hooker's hope to quit,
A breakneck marine
who's running with the shits...


Honey taste on her toes.
Her lips the size of Gibraltar.
Loves herself in a canyon.
Turns barbwire into halters.



Walkie talkies side by side on a window by the cupboard.
He holds himself like a curtain.
moves in the night.
Camera operator
pans left to the fridge and dies.
A balloon rises alone.
It's epigram sung by children on walkie talkies in space.


Epigrams sung by children on walkie talkies in space


They held their breath.
They listened for aliens.


At two 'o' clock the next day, a Priest washed his clothes in an old, tin tub by the Church...

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