Caveat: Each body is in its bunker

August 17th

Surely I will be disquieted
by the hospital, that body zone-
bodies wrapped in elastic bands,
bodies cased in wood or used like telephones,
bodies crucified up onto their crutches,
bodies wearing rubber bags between their legs,
bodies vomiting up their juice like detergent, Here in this house
there are other bodies.
Whenever I see a six-year-old
swimming in our aqua pool
a voice inside me says what can’t be told…
Ha, someday you’ll be old and withered
and tubes will be in your nose
drinking up your dinner.
Someday you’ll go backward. You’ll close
up like a shoebox and you’ll be cursed
as you push into death feet first.

Here in the hospital, I say,
that is not my body, not my body.
I am not here for the doctors
to read like a recipe.
No. I am a daisy girl
blowing in the wind like a piece of sun.
On ward 7 there are daisies, all butter and pearl
but beside a blind man who can only
eat up the petals and count to ten.
The nurses skip rope around him and shiver
as his eyes wiggle like mercury and then
they dance from patient to patient to patient
throwing up little paper medicine cups and playing
catch with vials of dope as they wait for new accidents.
Bodies made of synthetics. Bodies swaddled like dolls
whom I visit and cajole and all they do is hum
like computers doing up our taxes, dollar by dollar.
Each body is in its bunker. The surgeon applies his gum.
Each body is fitted quickly into its ice-cream pack
and then stitched up again for the long voyage
back.

– Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

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Caveat: It was all good, til the world came crumbling down

Here are some pictures, minimal comments, leftover from my superfast trip down south over the weekend.

The view from the bus window – sunset while driving down there.

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My motel room.

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The view from the window – Yeonggwang, 630 AM.

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Walking down the street toward the bus terminal in Yeonggwang. On the right, about 2 blocks ahead, is apartment number 1 of the four distinct apartments I had during my year-in-Hantucky (they moved me around a lot).

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On the high street in Hongnong town, looking back toward the bus terminal.

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The county administration building for the township.

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My school where I worked, Hongnong Elemenatry, still looks exactly the same.

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We begin climbing the mountain behind town to the northwest and pass some overgrown graves, which are everywhere in rural Korea.

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Climbing higher, looking through the trees.

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Looking down the mountain.

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At the first peak, a marker with too many Chinese characters for me to read.

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A viewing shelter that was under construction the last time I was here in 2010.

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A bug disguised as grass. Really – look carefully!

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Trees.

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A good, if hazy, panorama of the town.

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More looking down – this time toward Beopseongpo.

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Small blue flowers.

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Andrew by a rock.

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Finding our way (and ultimately failing – we got pretty lost).

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Going downhill through the forest.

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A happy sign of incomprehensible meaning.

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Coming around a bend, first view of the beach.

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Looking back the way we came.

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Climbing some rocks looking at the tidepools.

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And then I was tired. We took a bus back into town and didn’t do much else before coming back. Basically, we went to Hongnong, took a 10 km hike, and came back. Was it worth it? I’m not sure. Just an exercise in half-hearted nostalgia, for me, and for Andrew and Hollye, it was, perhaps, just a kind of random, not entirely enjoyable adventure.


Today, I went to radiation. Later, in the afternoon, I saw Dr Ryu, who looked me over, and looked in my mouth. He pointed out all the little white sores I’m growing in there, and explained something of what was going on, which I appreciated. He said, “You need to stop eating spicy food.” Note that he said this before I had discussed with him my eating habits – something in my mouth tipped him off that I had been abusing my mouth in this way over the weekend – it was a kind of vaguely homeopathic undertaking, where I was eating spicy food because my goddamn mouth hurt like hell anyway, so what the hell, live it up, because at least I could feel something.

He said to stop pushing myself so hard. He’s said that, before.

I know.

I know. I went to work but stayed less than an hour. How’s that for not pushing so hard?  I still walked a lot today – a round trip to the hospital in the morning and a big quadrangle back to hospital and work in the afternoon. But then I mostly did nothing, since getting home. Half napping, half reading. Listening to music. Trying to sleep but not really succeeding.

What I’m listening to right now.

Cold, “It’s All Good.” It’s from the album 13 Ways To Bleed On Stage. The lyrics to this song never made any sense to me – I’m not referring to their meaning, but rather to the weird mismatch between the published lyrics and the words as I hear them. There is NO WAY they’re singing “It’s all good.” Maybe it’s that strange North Florida accent? My theory is that half the band is singing “good” at the end, while the other half is singing “fine” – and you get that strange “it waz aooo gaaiiiine” that seems to be in the song’s audio.

Regardless… I keep returning to this album. I can’t even explain what the album, altogether, means to me. It is the soundtrack to too much of my life, since I acquired it in 2001. I used to drive for hours, running errands or roadtripping or just driving to drive, with this CD on repeat in the CD playter.

The songs are quite dark – this one is about drugs and depression and contemplated suicide, for example – but my overall response to them is uplift.

Lyrics:

Take another motherfucking hit of LSD
Let all the love inside the world belong to you
Well I can’t understand just why you went away
Too young to feel the pain and bitterness of love
Well I can never understand a motherfucking word you’d ever say
And all the people that you hurt came down on you
Well I can’t understand just why you went away
I sat and waited for the day you’d come back home

Well it was all good
Well it was all good
Well it was all good
Well it was all…

Take a loaded gun and blow my fantasy away
Turn off the lights and shine the spotlight down on you
Well I could never understand a motherfucking word you’d ever say
And all the people that you hurt came down on you
Well I can’t understand just why you went away
Well I sat and waited for the day you’d come back home

Well it was all good
Well it was all good
Well it was all good
Well it was all…

You are my hope, my god, my love, my fear, my gun
It’s over, it’s all good
Til the world came crumbling down
Oh well it’s all over
It was all good, til the world came crumbling down
Oh well it’s all over
It was all good, til the world came crumbling down
World came crumbling…
crumbling, crumbling, crumbling

Well it was all good
Well it was all good
Well it was all good
Well it was all…

[daily log: walking 8.5 km]

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caveat: zap-o-matic number 15

the air is cool and fresh, a hint of autumn. perhaps one of the things i miss most about minnesota is the variety, changeabilty and unpredictability of the weather. korean weather is much less boring than in california, but its much more predictable than the midwest (by which i mean you could make weather forecasts using nothing but a gaze at the sky and the calendar). korea will never have an august day requiring a jacket, nor a september snowfall, nor shorts weather in january (all of which ive seen in minnesota).

that said, even if entirely foreseeable, the shift to cooler nights is welcome.

radiationwise, today is halfway: 15 out of 30.

last night, i felt morbid. yesterday, i was joking about the radiation with andrew: that we had gone to hongnong, hiked the mountain, taken a wrong trail and ended up along the high security fence in the shadow of the nuclear plants reactor dome. "i like the radiation so much i wanted to get a do-it-yourself bonus dose," i said. we laughed, while keeping eye out for mutant butterflies.

but in fact, im suffering deepy from the impinging awareness of the faustian nature of this undertakimg. ive lost all taste in my mouth – ALL. i had thought, before, that it was worse after the surgery, but at least i had some. this morning i had plain yogurt, some peach and some coffee, and they all tasted identical: taste of nothing. only the smells give them away.

the burning pain is always present, now. no breaks. my mouth is full of a vaguely bitter sputum that i constantly have the urge to spit, yet feels dry as a mouthful of dust, or like i have consumed dry, rusted marbles.

my mouth feels as if i have lain in a grave for a year. its long too dried out to be of any interest to worms or larvae. its a taste like death.

yes, i said the forbidden word: "death." i have known from the start. . . "side effects may include. . . death." it said it right in the form i signed. but last night i really FELT the truth of this for the first time. the visceral truth that this is a game against poison. this is not just medicine – it can kill me.

Caveat: Pushed Too Hard

pictureIt was maybe too ambitious an undertaking, this weekend. But I really wanted to take Andrew down to Hantucky. It ended up being a whirlwind – less than 30 hours round trip, including 10 hours on one bus or another and the motel last night and a 10 km hike up and down mountains today.

Here’s an observation: exertion seems to make the pain in my mouth more severe. By a lot. Yet isn’t exertion supposed to be good for you? I have a dilemma. I don’t want to turn into a slug – not if my body and soul are cooperating in staying more active. I feel very lucky to have as much energy as I do, these days, given what I’ve been through and what I’m going through with the radiation treatments. But is working out (i.e. hiking up mountains) a bad idea? I felt pretty terrible today, afterward.

I’m not really expecting an answer, it’s just what’s on my mind. I’m going to sleep. I have to get up tomorrow to face the raygun, again. If I get the chance, I’ll post more pictures I took on our trip, later.

[daily log: hiking 10 km – I was keeping a daily walk/run/hike log a year or so ago but then I stopped; I decided Sept 1 was good time to resume.]

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