Thursday, February 18, 2010

Pareidolia (February)

What's this all about? See here.

[Some timely thoughts before you dive headfirst, or dip your toes, into the amalgamated fountain of my and Google's warped mind/translate tool:

What can I say about the Vancouver Winter Olympics? I watch it out my love for sport and competition first; my conscience's reminder that this only happens every four years and I might be dead before the next one second; and, since the games are in Canada (which is arguable because, like Ilsan, you can't be a city on Earth if you're populated by non-humans, Vancouver), a sense of strangely manipulative obligation. Complicating matters further is the conflicting allegiance I feel between my home strong and free and my home soju and kimchi. I want Korea to do well, better than they have at Games previous, yet I might commit seppuku if they beat Canada in the medal count. Why? Because I'll have my nose rubbed in it, blatantly and subtly, by my Korean friends and acquaintances. And I'm not sure I can take that. If it happens, I might have to pull out the big guns: At least the former leader of my country never killed himself by jumping off a cliff after a bribery scandal; Nobody knows or cares who the Wondergirls are, and Yoobin is fat; Our male athletes don't wear makeup in TV advertisemants (aka the Mariano Rivera).

Not that I would resort to such childish insults, but for whatever reason I'm feeling a sense of pent-up angst over these Olympics. Also, schizophrenia. I want Korea to get gold medals, but when Mo Taebeom placed second in the Men's 1000 meter/re speed skating finals I was both sad and elated, sad because I was genuinely feeling the Momentum, elated because his silver medal meant one fewer gold for Korea to gloat over. This is not normal, although I'm sure generations of multicultural families and expatriates the world over have felt the same. Identity? Hardly, at least not in my case. Defensiveness is more like it. I'm willing to admit that, as a sports fan, I don't take losses lightly. In my perfect world, Korea and Canada could combine their medals and gloat to every country not named the United States of America, and possibly Germany.

Whatever the case, I'm pulling for Kim Yeona to place first in women's figure skating, mostly because she's cute, but also because her coach is Brian Orser, who, like me, is a gay Canadian with ties to Korea.

This might not make sense, might not be logical in this global age, but thats sports and nationality for you.]


My mouth tastes like crap. I love it. All the bad food, liquor and tobacco and a mixture of fetid garbage, it's just, I can understand the smell of toxic products has accumulated. This is meant to be alive.

I can still taste last night drinking a dirty martini. My stool, tear them quivering like a guitar string is unstable. My hair gave me a confession of guilt, straight, obedient children are standing in a row aboard the train was rusty. I'm wearing upside-down undershirt, I crapped my pants, but just a little bit.

Time for breakfast: the number of spam messages to eat with a fork. Green apple soda. Budweiser. Life is full of simple pleasures. Good Day, Point Break will be shown on cable. I love fucking break score.

I'm hearing is impaired. But that does not mean that I ate. I'm just here while he sleeps, I'm an extreme amount of earwax, this condition is typically produced. The world is quiet, I wake up every morning. 04 across the street after 6, I started to think I'm evolving. I've beaten drills. My next trick: The B - 52 bomber flying at my apartment.

You're so beautiful, frilly blouse, and your mouth was like. I made a bet satin. I'm fine, I'm not? Your lips are glossy with shiny chrome on the bumper. Your eyelashes and you forgot to create a universe deprived of a blue iris and, whenever you close the curtains of dust in the sky are splayed. I told you, you're looking for a flexible skin, teeth bleaching, enamel. And you went to hell by the insurance ads.

Solictitors again, just my mid-morning nap, I'll jomhadorok. Militaristic outfit two sexagenarians. No, I'm, I'm fine thank you, I have a religion and the NFL, college football's, so I'm busy Sunday. Girl Scout cookies are sold, at least. Good-bye.

Former Soviet Union, is a hunting game. Elk. In the flesh and fur beoksyatyineyo blast holes. This is an adventure; this is what freedom means. I mean, I want to kill the statue cut off. I want to hail the fantastic colors of the spectrum, my epiphanies and drenching the roots populaces.

I wrest the Burger King himself at noon on a sofa and a large soda, go for the jackpot. On the way, I buy some gum. White grapes. One day before I was born, the earth's total population of self-deception is the belief in a particular grape, even though they're white is green. In addition, the "Red" is a Burgundy wine.

Now are you drinking coffee. Starbucks, if you know. Black like my soul. I'm a scorpion, but then I saw it crawling on my arm, I thought it was just opposite the tail wagging the dog saw me. Close call. I 2-minute couple fun vacuuming gotta sock, wrote clearly marked.

It's close to 4:00. 57 years old must be accurate. It is five years old, and I can not forget mundanity of the day we are the new expectations.

Down the mountain until it Humps big green moss itself is swallowed by the sun going down, look and sound beautiful, and a glance through my window crying, is the pumpkin.

6 o'clock is approaching.

1 comment:

Chicken Wire, the Harbinger of Heavenly Annotation said...

Thanks to the power of Google translation (and retranslation) we now stand before the greatest sentence in the history of the English language:

I wrest the Burger King himself at noon on a sofa and a large soda, go for the jackpot.