em batch

23 // seoul


There was a building, an old wool factory, that had half burned down in the eighties and stood until some years post-2000, when a former Olympic gold medalist who had moved on to the celebrity socialite dating circuit only to come out as gay ten years later on redeveloped the site into a swimming pool, in crumbling disaffect. I was a mostly distracted child, and, as was to become a pattern for later life, spent most of my time alone or with just one friend, whomsoever that one friend was at the time. Seldom more than just the one. At pre-school age, this one friend lacked corporeality unlike the latter, not as much slew, as continuous but slow dripping tap equivalent of a social register. His name was Jophus, a spoonerism of Joseph, which I believe was inspired by the derived musical, not original biblical story, “Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat” which I mistakenly referred to as, out loud to my mother, a closet Catholic and due to work commitments, familiar with the bible - in a kind of bible to Christ’s birth to Santa and Christmas to Dasher, and Basher and Prancer and the star of the show Ok, Rein It In Dear, “Jophus and the Multicolour Trenchcoat”. She found this, at the time, cruelly hilarious, and I, belittled, retreated, I believe, and granted Jophus a - layered - colourful - personality, as well as inner city tenancy.

seven stories~



Sneakers on the train

Yellow ones like mine with mud spatter on the front. Woman is sleeping.
Orange laceless rubber looking Nikes (child)
Mum with light blue new balance, some greying and wear on the right toe.
Both awake.
Royal blue with thick white ‘incisor-like’ rubber sole. Brand new.
Black and silver Nikes. Blocks of black and silver also look like teeth, only more molar.
Grey and red. Small delicate red elastic bands connecting loops of shoelaces instead of studded holes. Netted exterior. Nike. Layers of crimson and red on the sole. Vibe is ‘topography and sediment’.
Studded vans.
White converse, brand new.
Royal blue and green Nikes.

He wanted to remove Robert from existence. He knew he didn’t have the strength to remove Robert from existence. And he didn’t want to reveal any more jealousy. He just wanted it all to end.

—Paul Curran, Left Hand

Reading: Left Hand ‘Obscure Distortion Organ’

The author enters a metaphor as if it is a real place, but suffers for treating cleverness, emotion, images as reality. The metaphor invested with proper attention and credibility becomes enough an object reality to ask of its own likeness; reflection of a reflection, if the reflection were just an expression, not the face.

Metaphor as it should be, is evasive, highly personal and more tactile/subjective than recognisable. They should only give you a sense of something, delicate enough to shatter or entirely transparent if there is no found meaning, ‘momentary’ therefore more exact.

A metaphor at odds with change, progress, is fake. It is the opposite of what it does, a small ratio insane likeness, not ‘being’ the thing. Just momentary transformation of a thing, like a mirage.

I think if a poem, for example, uses a metaphor like a motif, pairing this story and that practice, the metaphor has already ceased its original work the moment it is entered, becomes something sick and twisted because of how it lies -advertises itself - and traps the writer, and if it were a real thing, if only it were, would act out the torture of its imagination.

The cut and dice nature of this part of the book means only the parts that are naturally meaningful to you mean anything to you.

I guess. I don’t mean for this post to be reductive. If anything, this has little to nothing to do with what I read.

The horror.

Here is a page I liked~ “A single body cannot hold a single thought related to a single voice”




"They’re made out of meat."


"Meat. They’re made out of meat."


"There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat."

"That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"

"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines."

"So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact."

"They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."

"That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat."

"I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat."

"Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."

"Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?"

"Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."

"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through."

"No brain?"

"Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you."

"So … what does the thinking?"

"You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."

"Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!"

"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"

Read More

(Source: terrybisson.com)

Experiment 4.1

1. Lie on your bed face up with your head toward the tail end.

2. Move your body to 1/3 of your back sliding head first toward the floor.

3. Put your arms above your head resting on the floor.

4. Feel the shift up.

5. Don’t breathe or think.

6. There is no item 6.

"Disjointedness seems to be an extensive internal behavior that is impossible to describe using paragraphs and sentences."

Rooftop story~