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.
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Korean Word a Day

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

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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...

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

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14
2
1
8
4
7
7
15

Walkie talkies side by side on a window by the cupboard.
Whisky.
Man.
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.

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Epigrams sung by children on walkie talkies in space

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They held their breath.
They listened for aliens.

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