I often follow the news from back home. And by "back home," mostly I mean Minnesota – I listen to Minnesota Public Radio streaming. I guess it's pretty cold there, these days.
What I'm listening to right now.
The Rural Alberta Advantage, "Coldest Days."
[daily log (11 pm): walking, 5 km]
July 4 – January 4.
Half a year ago ago this evening, I emerged from 9 hours of surgery. The tumor had been removed, my tongue was reconstructed. I was still alive. At the time, I was very happy about this.
I need to remind myself, sometimes, when things get frustrating.
What I'm listening to right now.
Jake Bugg, "What Doesn't Kill You."
Lyrics.
Step out the door 2 AM yesterday
Me and my friend keeping the night aflame
And as we're walking in the clear night blind
Two guys come up and take him out of sight
All I know is one thing they hit him hard he doubles up
They takes his money and they run and all I can do is watch them go
His hands are round his nose
His blood is on his clothes
What doesn't kill ya
What doesn't hurt
Sometimes you feel you're up against the world
What doesn't kill ya
What doesn't break
This life it seems
To bring you to your knees
You try you bleed then finally you breathe
She was the dream that kept me up at night
I couldn't face the world without her eyes
I never knew it till she disappeared
My life would be a bunch of souvenirs
All I know is what it is her heart she doubles up
She packs her bag and then she runs and all I can do is watch her go
I've lost all I own
What doesn't kill ya
What doesn't hurt
Sometimes you feel you're up against the world
What doesn't kill ya
What doesn't break
This life it seems
To bring you to your knees
You try you bleed then finally you breathe
What doesn't kill ya
What doesn't hurt
Sometimes you feel you're up against the world
What doesn't kill ya
What doesn't break
This life it seems
To bring you to your knees
You try you bleed then finally you breathe
This very weird video appears to reveal the structure of the universe.
EyesDown (Machine Drum Remix) official video from Anthony Francisco Schepperd on Vimeo.
At least… to me. Unrelatedly:
"If cats had wings I bet they'd still just lie there." – internet
[daily log (1130 pm): walking, 5 km]
Today is the six month anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. It happens to be Christmas day, too.
That makes it a good day for a rant about food.
Food is a part of the Christmas theme. My relatives ask me about how it’s going with my eating. My coworkers cannot stop offering it to me. My friends invite me out to eat.
Every day, I eat three meals, and each one is a kind of torture.
On good days, I just say, well, forget food! – it’s a luxuriant distraction anyhow; I can find satisfaction in other things. “Gluttony is a sin,” and all that.
But… food is so core to everyone’s social world. It’s what friends do together – they go out to eat. It’s how relatives show love or concern. It’s what coworkers do together. It’s how the boss rewards us. It’s how the parents of my students show gratitude. It’s what strangers first offer….
So by having these “food issues” that I am having, I end up having social issues, too. As an introvert and someone with social issues already, it’s the last thing I need or want. But I’m stuck with it.
In fact, sometimes I speculate that there is perhaps an aspect of karmic payback to this whole “food issue” that I’m suffering. To have this kind of problem, centered around food, is probably “just desserts” (haha get it?) for a man who has struggled with both anorexia and obesity in his life, at different times.
On bad days, I feel like my “deal with the devil” to stay alive and survive this cancer wasn’t even worth it. Will people just leave me alone about food? Please? I’m sick of it. Sick to death of it.
I can’t eat comfortably, but I can eat to stay alive. I prefer to eat alone, because the joy I take from eating, these days, is similar on the pleasure scale to the joy I take from vomiting – as such, it’s not something I want people to watch me experiencing.
I’m tired of being invited and pitied and queried and being-concerned-about. Food sucks. It may never be a fun thing for me, again. So that’s life. But frankly, I’m going to go live on a mountaintop alone, and eat my soft noodles in quiet-suffering-solitude, if all you people don’t stop bothering me about food.
No, I don’t want to go out to eat with you. No, it is not fun for me to sit and watch you enjoy your food. No, not just a bite of that cookie or cake because surely it’s not so bad as I say, thank you. No, I don’t know when it will get better. No, I don’t want your advice anymore about how to make things more palatable.
OK. That’s the last I’m going to post anything negative about food. When people ask me about it, I’ll point them to this post. If I have good news, I’ll share it.
Enjoy your Christmas. Be thankful for small things, like good friends and good food and… ah. Whatever.
What I’m listening to right now.
Santa Hates You, “Raise the Devil.” This is not an anti-Christmas joke. Santa Hates You is one of those German gothic-industrial groups I sometimes listen to, in my darker moods. They have a somewhat intellectual posture, within the genre.
Psycho.
What I'm listening to right now.
MC 900ft Jesus, "The City Sleeps." This is basically a song from the point of view of a psychopathic arsonist. I'm not endorsing that, but it's an interesting piece, from early 90's.
Lyrics
Stealing down an alley on a cold dark night
I see a halo in the rain 'round the street light
I stop and look, and listen to the sound
As the raindrops penetrate the silence all around
Alone, I gaze into the glistening street
The distant thunder echoing my heartbeat
Urging me on to a secret goal
Away from the light from this lamp on a pole
So I turn, slip away into the rain
Drifting like a spirit through the shadows in the lane
Clutching the tools of my trade in my hand
An old box of matches and a gasoline can
Darkness envelops the scene like a shroud
A veil of emptiness hangs from the clouds
Filling up the cracks in this desolate place
Cradled by the night in an icy embrace
Moving to the town like a ghost in the rain
A dim reflection in a dark window pane
Blackness beckons from every side
Creeping all around like an incoming tide
A broken window in an empty house
I slip inside and begin to douse
The whole place with the fuel that will feed the fire
And push back the night, taking me higher
On out of the darkness in a defeaning roar
The match in my hand is the key to the door
A simple turn of the wrist will suffice
To open a passage to paradise
I pause, I think about the past and the gloom
The smell of gasoline permeates the room
Everyone has a little secret he keeps
I light the fires while the city sleeps
(Like the 4th of July)
The match makes a graceful ark to the floor
And time stands still as I turn for the door
Which expoldes in a fireball and throws me to the street
I hit the ground running with the flames at my feet
Reaching for the night which recoils from the fire
The raindrops hiss like a devilish choir
Dying in the flames with a terrible sound
Calling all the names of the sleepers all around
But then in the arms of the night, they lay
Their dreams sprout wings and fly away
Out of the houses in a gathering flock
Swarming overhead as I hurry down the block
I make my escape with the greatest of ease
And safe in the darkness, drop to my knees
And the lightless window, my hand on the latch
I reach in my pocket, and pull out a match
(Like the 4th of July)
[daily log (11 pm): walking, 5 km]]
As is typical these days, I ended up falling asleep into a weird, deep-sleeping nap not long after getting home from my Saturday classes, always getting discombobulated by the shift to the morning schedule on the weekend.
As is increasingly common, these days, too, I dreamed of food. My waking life’s efforts at eating are still uncomfortable and unfulfilling, so my traditional love of food finds its outlet in my dreams.
Specifically, this evening, I dreamed of eating Harold Fried Chicken (which is advertized with an apostrophe, but I never heard it referenced in speaking except as Harold). Harold is a Chicago fast-food chain that became near and dear to my heart when I lived in Chicago in 1985. I blogged about craving Harold while doing a Buddhist meditation retreat and then getting it after it ended, [broken link! FIXME] here.
The name Harold always makes me think of Harold’s Purple Crayon, too. That was true even in the dream, where I seemed to meet Harold of the Crayon while eating Harold Chicken.
That is a great series of books – not to mention that Harold is the emperor of epistemology for the preschool set.
What I’m listening to right now.
[UPDATE 2023-11-27: video removed and not replaced, due to “link-rot”.]
Niki & The Dove, “Mother’s Protect (Goldroom Remix).”
[daily log (1100 pm): walking, 5.5 km]
This is an aphorism from my aphorism book.
업은 아기 삼년 찾는다
eop·eun a·gi sam·nyeon chat·neun·da
carry-on-back-PRESPART baby three-years search-PRES
[Like] looking for three years for the baby one is carrying on one’s back.
This is about the same as “cannot see the forest for the trees” but also is about that tendency we have to look for things we already are holding, as when I’m looking for my glasses while wearing them.
Unrelatedly, what I’m listening to right now.
Smashing Pumpkins, “Disarm.” Michelle hated the Smashing Pumpkins, yet this song is strongly associated in my memory with our first full year together, because it was on the radio constantly during my drives to work (at UPS in Northeast Minneapolis) or class (at the Univ. of Minnesota).
[daily log (1100 pm): walking, 1 km – everything was so slippery, so I gave up on my walk]
I have posted a minimum of twice-a-day to my blog for almost 2 years now, and I'm going on 4 years with a guaranteed once-a-day blog post. But as I've been predicting, I've been plunging more and more into work, and I just confirmed a new, post-내신 [naesin = middle-school exam time] work schedule that has 30 teaching hours per week on it. This will be the new normal, I suspect. Consider that anything over 22 hours is considered full time, and the only time in the past when I had 30 hours was a) when I almost quit my job at LBridge in Fall, 2008, and b) when I filled in for Grace when she went on a trip for a month in Summer, 2011.
Anyway, given that, I'm going to scale back my official "twice-a-day rule" with respect to this blog. I'll still try, and will still keep a once-a-day guarantee. A lot of what I end up posting here is pretty trivial or "light" or non-personal in any event, and there are plenty of other blogs doing that.
What I'm listening to right now.
Cee Lo Green, "Forget You." This is the "clean" version of the song – the version we've been using for our CC classes with the kids. The original version is "F@$% You," which is easy to imagine.
[daily log (1130 pm): walking, 5 km]
This track below, "Mojave," is from Antonio Carlos Jobim's 1967 album, Wave. I think my parents must have acquired this album not long after it first came out, because I distinctly remember seeing the black disk playing on the turntable when I was age 7 or so, and thinking it was the grooviest thing imaginable. At age 7, following my parents' taste to some extent (minus the classical, which seemed too "slow" to my childish sensibilities), I was mostly interested in Simon and Garfunkle, The Greatful Dead, the Beatles, Cat Stevens, and suchlike. And then there was this. My parents were not into jazz, typically, but somehow this album was in rotation.
When I played this album for the first time – still with fondness – for my college roommate (a music geek if ever the was one), his reaction was simple: "That sounds like elevator music." I had never thought of this before, but I took it with pride – as if I (or my parents) had discovered the genre of elevator music before it became "popular."
I think having this track on my mp3 rotation these days means it's one of the oldest continuously-listened-to pieces in my life.
What I'm listening to right now.
Antonio Carlos Jobim, "Mojave."
The video is weird – I rather like it, as it appears to be archival footage of a 100-year-old train trip. But my brain rebels against the idea of an Edwardian British train trip being accompanied by 60's bossa nova. It's painfully anachronistic. But… anyway. It's the version I was able to find via quick googlification.
[daily log: uh oh – I became lazy]
Time for an internet holiday. Turning everything off. See you later.
What I'm listening to right now.
José José, "Lo dudo."
Letra:
Anda y ve, te esta esperando,
Anda y ve, no lo hagas por mí,
que al fin y al cabo, somos solo amigos…Anda y ve, te veo nerviosa,
Anda y ve y que sientas con él,
lo que en su día tu sentías conmigo…Pero lo dudo, conmigo te mecías en el aire,
volabas en caballo blanco el mundo,
y aquellas cosas no podrán volver…
y es que lo dudo porque hasta veces
me has llorado con un beso…
llorando de alegría y no de miedo,
y dudo, que te pase igual con él, igual con él…Anda y ve, te esta esperando,
Anda y ve, no lo hagas por mi,
que al fin y al cabo, somos solo amigos…Pero lo dudo, conmigo te mecías en el aire,
volabas en caballo blanco el mundo,
y aquellas cosas no podrán volver…
y es que lo dudo porque hasta veces
me has llorado con un beso…
llorando de alegría y no de miedo,
y dudo, que te pase igual con él, igual con él…
I'm always so tired on Saturdays. It partly is just that it's the end of the long work week. But I also think having the odd schedule on Saturday makes it worse – normally I work afternoons, but Saturday I work mornings instead. So when I got home today and it was still light out, I just crashed. My brain was disoriented.
I woke up at around 8 pm, rested but now discombobulated, schedule-wise. I cleaned up my apartment a little, and at 9 I left to do my orbit around the Lake, and by going counterclockwise, I could stop at the HomePlus (Tesco) on the way home and buy some various things I've been meaning to buy – instant nurungji which they don't sell in the supermarket downstairs, some kind of non-fake-seeming cheese… etc.
Now I'm home, and trying to decipher my headache. Is it too much exercise, lately, that's leading to the headaches? The seemingly slight restoration of some of the nerve endings I thought maybe I'd lost forever in my left neck and lower cheek area? It's easy to get paranoid about symptoms, now.
What I'm listening to right now.
The Who, "Love Reign O'er Me." From the album (and movie) Quadrophenia.
[daily log: walking, 7.5 km; running, 3 km]
I came out of surgery for tumor-removal five months ago this evening.
Quality of life, compared to 6 months ago, when the tumor in my mouth was rampant and as yet undiagnosed? Marginally improved. Less pain, overall – by quite a bit – but a lot of annoyance around the eating issues. Although slow, however, I do think there are small increments of improvement in that situation over time. So I look forward to returning more to "normal."
It was very foggy this evening when I did my circle in the park around the lake – so thick that the lights from the buildings in Ilsan were invisible from inside the park. The fog had that vaguely smoky smell that makes me wonder whether I'm inhaling toxic chemicals that have drifted across the Yellow Sea from China. Ah well.
The fog makes me think of my hometown of Arcata. Go figure.
What I'm listening to right now.
Kate Bush, "Hounds of Love." This song is old. It makes me think of cold winter days in St Paul in the mid to late 1980s.
[daily log: walking, 7.5 km; running, 3 km]
This song title is interesting to me linguistically – the translation “I don’t need a man” isn’t really accurate, although it certainly captures the same spirit or attitude.
남자 없이 잘 살아
nam·ja eops·i jal sar·a
man not-have-ADV well live-INF
I live well not having a man.
I like how the -이 adverbial ending works here: literally, it ends up meaning, “man not havingly well [I] live.”
What I’m listening to right now.
Miss A [미쓰에이], “남자 없이 잘 살아” [I don’t need a man]
가사 (with bad sound-it-out-as-you-go-but-definitely-don’t-try-to-be-consistent romanization courtesy the internet):
This is for all the independent ladies
Let’s go
나는 남자 없이 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal sara
그러니 자신이 없으면 내 곁에 오지를 마
geuroni jasini obseumyon ne gyote ojireul ma
나는 함부로 날 안 팔아
naneun hamburo naran para
왜냐면 난 I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
wenyamyon nan I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (진짜?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (정말?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jongmal?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man
나는 남자 없이 잘 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal jal sara
내 돈으로 방세 다 내
ne doneuro bangse da ne
먹고 싶은 거 사 먹고 옷도 사 입고
mokgo sipeun go sa mokgo otdo sa ipgo
충분하진 않지만 만족할 줄 알아
chungbunhajin anchiman manjokhal jurara
그래서 난 나를 사랑해 (hey)
geureso nan nareul saranghe (hey)
부모님의 용돈 내 돈처럼
bumonime yongdon ne donchorom
쓰고 싶지 않아 나이가 많아
sseugo sipji ana naiga mana
손 벌리지 않는 게 당연한 거 아냐
son bolliji anneun ge dangyonhan go anya
그래서 난 내가 떳떳해 (hey)
geureso nan nega ttot-ttot-he (hey)
Boy don’t say
내가 챙겨줄게 내가 아껴줄게 No No
nega chenggyojulge nega akkyojulge No No
Boy don’t play
진지하게 올 게 아니면
jinjihage ol ge animyon
나는 남자 없이 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal sara
그러니 자신이 없으면 내 곁에 오지를 마
geuroni jasini obseumyon ne gyote ojireul ma
나는 함부로 날 안 팔아
naneun hamburo naran para
왜냐면 난 I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
wenyamyon nan I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (진짜?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (정말?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jongmal?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man
나는 남자 없이 잘 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal jal sara
잘난 체는 안돼 딴 데서는
jallan cheneun andwe ttan desoneun
통할지 몰라도 너만큼 나도
tonghalji mollado nomankeum nado
잘나진 않았지만 자신감은 넘쳐
jallajin anatjiman jasin-gameun nomchyo
그래서 난 나를 사랑해 (hey)
geureso nan nareul saranghe (hey)
내 힘으로 살게 딴 애처럼
ne himeuro salge ttan echorom
부모님 잘 만나 남자 잘 만나
bumonim jal manna namja jal manna
편하게 사는 거 관심이 없어
pyonhage saneun go gwansimi obso
그래서 난 내가 떳떳해 (hey)
geureso nan nega ttot-ttot-he (hey)
Boy don’t say
내가 너의 미래 나를 믿고 기대 No No
nega noye mire nareul mitgo gide No No
Boy don’t play
나를 존중할 게 아니면
nareul jonjunghal ge animyon
나는 남자 없이 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal sara
그러니 자신이 없으면 내 곁에 오지를 마
geuroni jasini obseumyon ne gyote ojireul ma
나는 함부로 날 안 팔아
naneun hamburo naran para
왜냐면 난 I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
wenyamyon nan I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (진짜?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (정말?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jongmal?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man
나는 남자 없이 잘 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal jal sara
매일 아침 일찍 일어나서
meirachim iljjik ironaso
하루 종일 바빠서
haru jongil bappaso
밥 한 끼 제대로 못 먹어
bap han kki jedero mot mogo
하지만 내가 좋아서 한 일이야 돈이야 작지만 다 내 땀이야
hajiman nega joaso han iriya doniya jakjiman da ne ttamiya
남자 친구가 사 준 반지 아니야
namja chingguga sa jun banji aniya
내 차 내 옷 내가 벌어서 산 거야
ne cha ne ot nega boroso san goya
적금 넣고 부모님 용돈 드리고 나서 산 거야
jokgeum noko bumonim yongdon deurigo naso san goya
남자 믿고 놀다 남자 떠나면 어떡할 거야
namja mitgo nolda namja ttonamyon ottokhal goya
이런 내가 부러워?
iron nega burowo?
부러우면 진 거야
buroumyon jin goya
나는 남자 없이 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal sara
그러니 자신이 없으면 내 곁에 오지를 마
geuroni jasini obseumyon ne gyote ojireul ma
나는 함부로 날 안 팔아
naneun hamburo naran para
왜냐면 난 I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
wenyamyon nan I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (진짜?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (정말?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jongmal?)
I don’t need a man I don’t need a man
나는 남자 없이 잘 잘 살아
naneun namja obsi jal jal sara
[daily log: walking, 7.5 km; running, 3 km]
América
I.
Although Tía Miriam boasted she discovered
at least half-a-dozen uses for peanut butter–
topping for guava shells in syrup,
butter substitute for Cuban toast,
hair conditioner and relaxer–
Mamà never knew what to make
of the monthly five-pound jars
handed out by the immigration department
until my friend, Jeff, mentioned jelly.
II.
There was always pork though,
for every birthday and wedding,
whole ones on Christmas and New Year’s Eves,
even on Thanksgiving Day–pork,
fried, broiled or crispy skin roasted–
as well as cauldrons of black beans,
fried plantain chips and yuca con mojito.
These items required a special visit
to Antonio’s Mercado on the corner of 8th street
where men in guayaberas stood in senate
blaming Kennedy for everything–”Ese hijo de puta!”
the bile of Cuban coffee and cigar residue
filling the creases of their wrinkled lips;
clinging to one another’s lies of lost wealth,
ashamed and empty as hollow trees.
III.
By seven I had grown suspicious–we were still here.
Overheard conversations about returning
had grown wistful and less frequent.
I spoke English; my parents didn’t.
We didn’t live in a two story house
with a maid or a wood panel station wagon
nor vacation camping in Colorado.
None of the girls had hair of gold;
none of my brothers or cousins
were named Greg, Peter, or Marsha;
we were not the Brady Bunch.
None of the black and white characters
on Donna Reed or on Dick Van Dyke Show
were named Guadalupe, Lázaro, or Mercedes.
Patty Duke’s family wasn’t like us either–
they didn’t have pork on Thanksgiving,
they ate turkey with cranberry sauce;
they didn’t have yuca, they had yams
like the dittos of Pilgrims I colored in class.
IV.
A week before Thanksgiving
I explained to my abuelita
about the Indians and the Mayflower,
how Lincoln set the slaves free;
I explained to my parents about
the purple mountain’s majesty,
“one if by land, two if by sea”
the cherry tree, the tea party,
the amber waves of grain,
the “masses yearning to be free”
liberty and justice for all, until
finally they agreed:
this Thanksgiving we would have turkey,
as well as pork.
V.
Abuelita prepared the poor fowl
as if committing an act of treason,
faking her enthusiasm for my sake.
Mamà set a frozen pumpkin pie in the oven
and prepared candied yams following instructions
I translated from the marshmallow bag.
The table was arrayed with gladiolus,
the plattered turkey loomed at the center
on plastic silver from Woolworths.
Everyone sat in green velvet chairs
we had upholstered with clear vinyl,
except Tío Carlos and Toti, seated
in the folding chairs from the Salvation Army.
I uttered a bilingual blessing
and the turkey was passed around
like a game of Russian Roulette.
“DRY”, Tío Berto complained, and proceeded
to drown the lean slices with pork fat drippings
and cranberry jelly–”esa mierda roja,” he called it.
Faces fell when Mamá presented her ochre pie–
pumpkin was a home remedy for ulcers, not a dessert.
Tía María made three rounds of Cuban coffee
then abuelo and Pepe cleared the living room furniture,
put on a Celia Cruz LP and the entire family
began to merengue over the linoleum of our apartment,
sweating rum and coffee until they remembered–
it was 1970 and 46 degrees–
in América.
After repositioning the furniture,
an appropriate darkness filled the room.
Tío Berto was the last to leave.
I like this poem much better than the blandly abominable poem Blanco wrote for Obama's second inaugural.
What I'm listening to right now.
Celia Cruz, "Oye Como Va."
[daily log: walking 5 km]
OK, I had a rather unpleasant epiphany the other day: what if I need to take my doctor's [broken link! FIXME] remarks of a month ago – that it may be 3 to 5 years for things to get back to normal – more seriously? What if, in fact, that's how long he meant even for me to be able to eat normally? That this frustrating, unpleasant eating experience is, in fact, a new normal? Maybe I should shop for some of those disgusting protein shakes that manic dieters consume, and be done with "eating" as a habit altogether. Or something.
What I'm listening to right now.
MC 900 Ft Jesus, "But If You Go."
Lyrics:
remember on the day we met
you asked me for a cigarette
distracted, i acted without thought
and ignored you
and then you got upset
and left me there without a word
but not alone
for now a third would rule the room that afternoon
the loudest silence ever heard
my best imaginary friend
he and i made excellent bookends
brothers, not to others tied
but each the shadow of his twin
and me, i knew myself so well
a scarecrow on a carousel
a spinning world just out of reach
a blur, i saw but couldnt tell you how i found myself alone
i crossed a bridge on my way home
and threw my soul into the depths, for you
but if you go
away from me
our house will fall
on us both you see
and then we'll share
this revolver's breath
tomorrow finds us together in death
but if you go
away from me
our house will fall
on us both you see
and then we'll share
this revolver's breath
tomorrow finds us together in death
my love for you is like a rose
that follows where the sunset goes
and finding velvet fields of stars
its petals so that it shows
my heart there for all to look
a beating page torn from a book
and cradled in its bed red bloom
offered to the one who took it from me
hope to hear you say its yours
forever and a day
or longer
love gets stronger
till it burns the space between away
this flower holds the key to me
its secrets guarded jealousy
but opens up in trusting not betrayed
but if you go
away from me
our house will fall
on us both you see
and then we'll share
this revolver's breath
tomorrow finds us together in death
The topic is hair.
Yesterday, Wednesday, I had a lot of CC classes with the elementary kids. We play pop songs and the kids try to understand the lyrics and sing along – there's software that's pretty well designed to support this. Of course, the hardware resources (laptops and projectors) at the hagwon are always half-broken and still make this kind of technology-oriented class a challenge for us. But, well… it works out.
Mostly the pop songs are pretty recent: Adele or Katy Perry or whatever. But sometimes it seems like these really old ones appear. I was confronted with trying to present the Bee Gees "How Deep Is Your Love" to a group of 4th and 5th graders.
Students screamed and wailed in horrified protest. It was qualified immediately as "Old!"
Also, "느끼!" [neukki = greasy, sleazy, cheesy].
And finally, "Teacher! Too much hair!"
Indeed.
What I'm listening to right now.
Bee Gees, "How Deep Is Your Love."
Speaking of too much hair, I got a similar comment from a middle school student who goes by Pablo last week, when I happened to show him a very, very old photo of me that my brother had sent to me in my little care package.
Here is the picture.
I'm pretty sure that is me and my brother near Minnehaha Falls in Minneapolis in the early 90's – I'm almost positive that's when it was.
Pablo gazed at the picture, and said, "Is that you?" Then he said, "Wow. Teacher, you had so much hair!"
"Yes," I agreed.
And then Pablo said, reflectively, looking me up and down now, "Time is powerful."
Indeed.
[daily log: walking 5 km]
As I walked to work, today, it started to snow. It didn't stick at all – the ground was too warm, still, I think – but it was a good effort at snow.
Ever since plunging into my new, returned-to-full-time schedule I've been feeling exhausted. I guess I knew that would happen, and at one level, I welcome it. But it's making it hard to keep up with other things – like, for example, thinking of something creative to put in this here blog thingy.
So I'll leave it at that.
What I'm listening to right now.
David Bowie, "5:15."
Lyrics:
5:15
I'm changing trains
This little town
Let me down
This foreign rain
Brings me down
5:15
Train overdue
Angels have gone
No ticket
I'm jumping tracks
I'm changing towns
We never talk anymore
Forever I will adore you
5:15
All of my life
Angels have gone
I'm changing trains
Angels like them
Thin on the ground
All of my life
All legs and wings
Strange sandy eyes
5:15
Train overdue
Angels have gone
We never talk anymore
Forever I will adore you
Cold station
All of my life
Forever I'm out here forever
[daily log: walking, 4.5 km]
I ran across a different version of this quote, but decided I liked my own version better.
Sometimes I wrestle with my demons. Sometimes, we just hold hands and sit together in silence.
What I'm listening to right now.
Covenant, "Bullet."
[daily log: walking, 4 km]
There was something expansive in my illness. It forced me to open out into the world and confront things head on. Guilt and self-recrimination evaporated – there was no time for it. I took on the world, drew it into myself, embraced it.
This last month has felt like a sort of contraction – a narrowing, a closing-in upon myself. And there has been a resumption of guilt and self-recrimination.
It all seems to run like a stop-motion movie of a flower growing, opening, then wilting and dying and falling away. Cancer flower.
Seasons for the wrong reasons: spring becomes fall, through a summer of desperation.
Yet from a standpoint of my simple physicality, doesn’t it seem like the effect should be opposite? Shouldn’t I have plunged into a temporary field of decrescence only to rise out and emerge whole again afterward?
The psychology of this thing has me puzzled.
I have indeed been in a very strange mental place, this afternoon. I’ve been listening to classical music continuously. I guess what’s called “contemporary classical”: John Tavener, Arvo Pärt. Bobmusic, I have called it in the past. When is the last time I did that? Many, many years.
What I’m listening to right now.
Arvo Pärt, “Silentium.”
[daily log: walking, 4.5 km]
When I arrived at work today, I saw that I had received a care package from my brother. It is, by far the most eccentric (and therefore best) care package I've ever received.
It included finger puppets (from his girlfriend Hollye), which will be perfect for my lower grades roleplay classes. It included various random packages of unusual flavors of tea and coffee. It included what appears to be a late 1800's edition of Longfellow's poetry (it's undated, like many books from the pre-modern era). It contained some hand-burned CDs of music (some of which were damaged, making me think maybe my brother found them on the floor of the garage or somewhere like that). It contained a robot magnet. And it contained a panic button – literally: a button that looked detached from some device, with the word "PANIC" inscribed on it. Oh, and it had some iodine supplements – which I'd asked for, having been unable to find them in Korea, and theorizing that iodine might be part of what might help my post-cancer resistance to further cancer go well.
My brother knows me well.
Work was intense today. I had 6 classes, all in a row. And every single one of them was "new" – not the kids, but the curriculum spots were all inherited from other teachers, as we got new schedules this week and I have finally become truly "full time" again. With every class being new, I was hardly well-prepared. But I knew the kids, anyway, and considering everything, it went pretty smoothly. It's the most intense, full teaching day I've had since before my hospitalization.
Walking home, my mp3 shuffle seemed fixated on playing only sad and depressing songs. But I didn't fast forward through them, I just listened. Not really feeling that sad or depressed at the moment. Just tired.
What I'm listening to right now.
Gossamer, "Memoir."
[daily log: walking, 5 km]
For many years, we've been hearing reports about the idea that bilingualism (and tri- and multi-lingualism) can give cognitive benefits and stave off mental decline and even prevent or postpone Alzheimers.
One weakness in the data has been that this research has mostly been done in countries where most bilinguals happen, coincidentally, to belong to immigrant populations (e.g. the US, Australia, Western Europe) - so there's always been a lingering doubt as to whether the brain benefits were being delivered as a result of bilingualism or were possibly linked to some other aspect of the immigrant experience / environment.
Now a major study out of India has narrowed the apparent benefits more specifically to multilingualism – see this post at Language Log for details.
Give a life-long gift to a child today – teach her or him a language.
What I'm listening to right now.
MC 900 Ft Jesus, "If I Only Had a Brain."
Lyrics
Suppose I accidentally got my shit together
Would I get a medal?
Or a pat on the back and a little feather
I could stick in my cap or pin it to my shirt
Go out in the yard and poke it in the dirt
Or leave it in the woods where it couldn't be found
If it fell over, would it make a sound?
And if it did, would it be the sound that you like?
Or should I do it over until I get it right?
You say everything I know is wrong
So do me a favor, and play along for a minute
As the rusty gears turn
Don't be alarmed if you smell something burning upstairs
It's a little BB rolling around in a box car
See us together
Maybe it wouldn't be hard to explain
If I only had a brain
[chorus]
Somewhere on a higher mental plain
(Somewhere On A Higher mental plain)
I might learn to come in from the rain
(I might learn to come in from the rain)
If I had a clue would I still be here with you?
(If I had a clue would I still be here with you?)
Gee whiz, if I only had a brain
(Gee Whiz, If I only had a brain)
Who's that?
Oh, my little friend cupid
Wearing a shirt that says I'm with stupid
Always nearby wherever I go
He's looking out for me, don't you know
Mr. excitement, never in a rut
Johnny on the spot with an arrow in the butt
Ouch! I guess your love is true
Now, if I could only get a clue
[chorus]
Had a brain
Had a brain
Had a brain
Had a brain
[daily log: walking, 5 km]
Stuff.
Life keeps happening. I noticed I'm still losing hair. I didn't lose much from the top of my head during radiation (unlike my beard which disappeared almost entirely – but that just makes shaving easier), but I've been aware that the rate of loss overall seems to have accelerated. I keep finding grey and white hair: Oh… that's mine, isn't it? Well, used to be…. goodbye.
What I'm listening to right now.
Elis Regina, "Retrato em Branco e Preto."
letra:
Já conheço os passos dessa estrada
Sei que não vai dar em nada
Seus segredos sei de cor
Já conheço as pedras do caminho,
E sei também que ali sozinho,
Eu vou ficar tanto pior
E o que é que eu posso contra o encanto,
Desse amor que eu nego tanto
Evito tanto e que, no entanto,
Volta sempre a enfeitiçar
Com seus mesmos tristes, velhos fatos,
Que num álbum de retratos
Eu teimo em colecionar
Lá vou eu de novo como um tolo,
Procurar o desconsolo,
Que cansei de conhecer
Novos dias tristes, noites claras,
Versos, cartas, minha cara
Ainda volto a lhe escrever
Pra lhe dizer que isso é pecado,
Eu trago o peito tão marcado
De lembranças do passado e você sabe a razão
Vou colecionar mais um soneto,
Outro retrato em branco e preto
A maltratar meu coração
Here is an interesting quote on the process of revision.
Over and over again, we are told about the importance of polishing, of revising, of tearing up, and rewriting. I got the bewildered notion that, far from being expected to type it right the first time, as Heinlein had advised me, I was expected to type it all wrong and get it right only by the thirty-second time, if at all.
I went home immersed in gloom and the very next time I wrote a story, I tried to tear it up. I couldn’t make myself do it. So I went over to see all the terrible things I had done, in order to revise them. To my chagrin, everything sounded great to me. (My own writing always sounds great to me.) Eventually, after wasting hours and hours–to say nothing of suffering spiritual agony—I gave it up. My stories would have to be written the way they always were—and still are.
What is it I am saying, then? That it is wrong to revise? No, of course not—anymore than it is wrong not to revise.
– Isaac Asimov
I was forced to revise my Sunday walk, as once I was outside I came to the stark realization that it had become cold. It was 1°C. I guess it's time to break out the winter clothes.
What I'm listening to right now.
John Newman, "Love Me Again." The video is rather depressing (spoiler), if you watch all the way through.
[daily log: walking, 4 km]
My acquaintance Kelli (a former coworker from circa 1988) suggested, based on her own experience, that there is possibly a component of the cancer treatment process that leads to PTSD. I've been mulling it over, and it makes sense. That explains the slightly affect-less, semi-shell-shocked feeling I've been having so much of, lately.
I hesitate to use the term, though – both because it seems broadly over-used as part of our culture, and also because I'm not sure how I feel about it as a "diagnosis" at all. I'm not much of one for the DSM, when you get down to it. It's a lot of labels.
Partly, though, my feeling is it's just being back in the grind of work. I had been intending to plunge back into a kind of self-curative workaholism after the worst was over, and so… that's where I'm going. It's taxing, though – physically because I'm not in the best shape, and emotionally, because, well… work.
What I'm listening to right now.
Peter Murphy, "Cuts You Up."
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
What I'm listening to right now.
Sir, Elvis, "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright."
Sir Elvis is a Kenyan country music perfermer. Yes, there is such a thing.
[daily log: walking, 5 km]
We were doing iBT (TOEFL) Speaking test practice questions in the T1 반. I asked a question something like "Choose what you think is the most dangerous social idea in history and discuss."
The students have 15 seconds to think what to say and then must begin talking for 45 seconds. That's TOEFL.
That clown, Tae-hui, gave an answer, without waiting for me to say "start." He made me laugh:
"My grandmother's kimchi," he deadpanned.
What I'm listening to right now.
Capital Cities, "Safe and Sound."
This phrase, "cancer-free," as discussed [broken link! FIXME] last month, is just code for "no major tumors currently identified." We all have cancer, all the time.
I guess my health is much improved.
But now that the elation of living through the summer has passed, I'm more and more suffering from a kind of mild depression: life must go on, and at times it's just as frustrating and tedious and unfulfilling as before.
I had hoped I'd be eating normally by now. I'm not. When do I get to eat Indian food again? Kimchi? Cake? Burritos? Crackers?
I had hoped I'd be gung ho about work and taking on the challenges it presents, by now. I'm not. When do the major problems plaguing my workplace finally reach some kind resolution?
I had hoped I'd be plunging into some life-affirming project (i.e. my writing), to make better use of my remaining time on earth. I'm not. When will I finally have a reliable every-day writing habit?
This is the hard slog.
One. Step. At a time.
Kurt Vonnegut, in 2006, wrote back to a group of high school students. In part, he said:
Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting,
sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or
badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what's inside you, to make your soul grow.
What I'm listening to right now.
M83, "Wait."
I'm really not feeling that great, so I took it easy today. I think it's more a kind of emotional frustration at how slowly my recovery feels like it's going.
So I sat around trying to read today, and then took a walk around the lake in a slight drizzle after dark fell.
What I'm listening to right now.
OneRepublic, "Counting Stars."
Lyrics:
(Chorus)
Lately I been, I been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be counting stars
Yeah, we'll be counting stars(Verse)
I see this life
Like a swinging vine
Swing my heart across the line
In my face is flashing signs
Seek it out and ye shall findOld, but I'm not that old
Young, but I'm not that bold
And I don't think the world is sold
I'm just doing what we're toldI feel something so right
By doing the wrong thing
And I feel something so wrong
By doing the right thing
I could lie, could lie, could lie
Everything that kills me makes me feel alive(Chorus)
Lately I been, I been losing sleep (Hey!)
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be counting stars
Lately I been, I been losing sleep (Hey!)
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be, we'll be counting stars(Verse)
I feel the love
And I feel it burn
Down this river every turn
Hope is a four letter word
Make that money
Watch it burnOld, but I'm not that old
Young, but I'm not that bold
And I don't think the world is sold
I'm just doing what we're toldAnd I feel something so wrong
By doing the right thing
I could lie, could lie, could lie
Everything that downs me makes me wanna fly(Chorus)
Lately I been, I been losing sleep (Hey!)
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be counting stars
Lately I been, I been losing sleep (Hey!)
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be, we'll be counting stars(Bridge)
Take that money
Watch it burn
Sink in the river
The lessons I learnedEverything that kills me makes me feel alive
(Chorus)
Lately I been, I been losing sleep (Hey!)
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be counting stars
Lately I been, I been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be, we'll be counting stars(Outro)
Take that money
Watch it burn
Sink in the river
The lessons I learned
[daily log: walking, 5.5 km]
The Korean group Exo-K sings in typical kpop style, mixing in tons of English to their lyrics. They also sing in Chinese (kpop is quite popular in China and how could the Korean music industry resist such a huge market?). I was curious if they mixed in English in the same way in the Chinese version – and in fact, they do.
What I’m listening to right now.
Exo-K, “History.”
가사:
Listen, 느낄 수 있니?
내 심장이 뛰지를 않아
(My heart be breakin’)
분한 마음에 울어도 보고,
소리 질러 “하!” 외쳐도 봤어
(My pain be creepin’)
흑과 백, 아직 남과 북,
끝이 나지 않는 전쟁 Scene
둘로 나뉜 태양의 절망
멀리 돌고 돌아서 다시 시작하는 곳에 다 왔어
오류투성이지만 배워가며 강해질 수 있는 나
저 태양처럼 거대한 하나란 걸 아는 날
오- 오- 모두 함께 가는 우리 미래로
I need you and you want me,
지구란 이 별에서 오오 오오
Every, every, everyday 내가 만든 History.
Break it! 욕망의 반칙 Move it! 파괴란 미덕
(No more shakin’ like that)
Magic 시간이 가면 또 씻은 듯이 다시 재생 돼
시공간을 뛰어 넘어서
에덴의 아침을 꿈꾸고 있어
가자! 우린 그런 존재
멀리 돌고 돌아서 다시 시작하는 곳에 다 왔어
오류투성이지만 배워가며 강해질 수 있는 나
저 태양처럼 거대한 하나란 걸 아는 날
오오 오오 모두 함께 가는 우리 미래로
I need you and you want me,
지구란 이 별에서 오오 오오
꿈을 잉태 하는 날 우린 다시 일어나
일어나, 일어나, 일어나 (turn it on)
일어나, 일어나, 일어나
영원할거라 믿고 싶을 때.
언젠가 할 거 라고 망설일 때
내일이 바로 끝인지도 몰라.
후회 같은 건 잊어버려 두려워마
제발 사랑해, 사랑해, 사랑해
조화로울수록 완벽하잖아
모든 슬픔이 기쁨이 여기에
나와 너는 한 생명인 걸
Ya! 우리가 원래 하나로 태어났던 순간,
갈수록 소모적인 이 세계를 만난 순간
우린 점점점멀어져가 점점
둘로 깨져버린 채 힘을 잃어버린 태양
갈수록, 갈수록, 갈수록, 갈수록 더
간절했던 꿈의 세계를 다시 마주하는 순간
내 가슴이 뛴다, 마구 뛴다. 둥 둥 둥 둥 둥 둥
돌고 돌아서 다시 시작하는 곳에 다 왔어
Yeah- EXO-M, EXO-K
우리가 시작하는 미래 History
저 태양처럼 거대한 하나란 걸 아는 날
Oh- 하나의 심장에, 태양에
끝없이 우린 하나로 강해지고 있어
I need you and you want me,
지구란 이 별에서 오오 오오
Every, every, everyday 내가 만든 History.
The Chinese version.
Sometimes I listen to Korean pop radio – streaming on my computer so it’s easy to look up songs and stuff.
I hear this song by a group called 버스커 버스커 [busker busker] a lot and decided to look it up today. I like the cartoony image (is it an album cover?) I found on the lyrics site.
Anyway, the song is really a bit yodelly for my taste, but it’s not bad.
What I’m listening to right now.
버스커 버스커 [busker busker], “처음엔 사랑이란게.”
가사
거리에 오 겹쳐진 그녀 모습 속에는
오 난 그어떤 그리움도 찾아볼 순 없군요
거리에 일렁이는 그녀 모습 속에는
오 난 그 어떤 외로움도 찾아볼 순 없군요
처음엔 사랑이란 게 참 쉽게 영원할 거라
그렇게 믿었었는데 그렇게 믿었었는데
나에게 사랑이란 게 또 다시 올 수 있다면
그때는 가깝진 않게 그다지 멀지도 않게
난 예
벤치에 앉아있는 그녀 모습 속에는
오 난 그어떤 그리움도 찾아볼 순 없군요
벤치에 들려오는 그녀 웃음 속에는
오 난 그어떤 외로움도 찾아볼 순 없군요
처음엔 사랑이란 게 참 쉽게 영원할 거라
그렇게 믿었었는데 그렇게 믿었었는데
나에게 사랑이란 게 또 다시 올 수 있다면
그때는 가깝진 않게 그다지 멀지도 않게
머린 아픈데 오 너는 없고
그때 또 차오르는 니 생각에
어쩔 수 없는 나의 맘 그때의 밤
나에겐 사랑이란 게 아 사랑이란
처음엔 사랑이란 게 참 쉽게 영원할 거라
그렇게 믿었었는데 그렇게 믿었었는데
나에게 사랑이란 게
라랄라라 워 허허어 허어 워 허어허어 예
라랄라라 워 허허어 허어 워 허어허어 예
[daily log: walking, 8.5 km; running 1.5 km]
I had an easy day today – only one class. Tomorrow is my last "day off" from work, as I go back to full time officially on Friday, November 1st but unofficially on Wednesday, to assist with the Halloween Party.
I guess it's good I have a few more easy days – I had a pretty upset stomach yesterday and especially this morning. Bleah. I suspect (but don't know for sure) that it's related to the withdrawal of the painkiller. In any event, despite the upset stomach, I'm not feeling much (intolerable) pain in my mouth. I have only taken a few ibuprofin since last week, mostly on Saturday night when I had a headache. Furthermore, I ate a piece of bread this evening. That might sound insignificant, but if you know how I've been eating, you'd realize it's big progress.
OK then, that's enough of my health-status update. More later.
What I'm listening to right now.
My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, "Lucifer's Flowers."
[daily log: walking, 10 km]
Ayn Random sounds so much more interesting that mere Ayn Rand, don't you think? This comic made me laugh a lot.
There was a time when I was quite the fan of Ayn Randian thinking. I've changed a great deal, I think. My recent years in South Korea have turned me into some kind of liberto-communitarian. Is there such a thing?
On a more philosophical and serious note, I was reading this excellent article, contrasting the Rawlsian fact and the Nozickian ideology of the current American polity. Perhaps South Korea is compelling because at least in its current historical moment, it is kind of an inverse: a Nozickian fact embedded in a Rawlsian fantasy (although yes that's an exaggeration – just look at healthcare as an example; I guess my point is that SK is less Rawlsian than it pretends, while the US is more Rawlsian than it pretends or hopes).
Unrelatedly…
What I'm listening to right now.
Nancy Sinatra, "Burning Down the Spark."
The kids from Montreal have an awesome new song that I listened to about 10 times today. David Bowie heard them working on it, and liked it so much he joined them signing – you can hear his distinctive voice.
Plus, I drew this picture of a skeleton dreaming (ink and watercolor).
What I'm listening to right now.
Arcade Fire, "Reflektor."
Lyrics:
[Verse 1]
Trapped in a prison, in a prism of light
Alone in the darkness, darkness of white
We fell in love, alone on a stage
In the reflective age[Pre-Chorus – Régine Chassagne]
Entre la nuit, la nuit et l’aurore
Entre le royaume des vivants et des morts
If this is heaven
I don't know what it’s for
If I can’t find you there
I don't care[Chorus]
I thought I found a way to enter
It’s just a Reflektor (It's just a Reflektor)
I thought I found the connector
It’s just a Reflektor (It's just a Reflektor)[Verse 2]
Now, the signals we send, are deflected again
We're so connected, but are we even friends?
We fell in love when I was nineteen
And now we're staring at a screen[Pre-Chorus – Variation – Régine Chassagne]
Entre la nuit, la nuit et l'aurore
Entre le royaume des vivants et des morts
If this is heaven
I need something more
Just a place to be alone
Cause you're my home[Chorus]
[Bridge 1]
It’s just a reflection of a reflection
Of a reflection of a reflection
But I see you on the other side?
We all got things to hide
It’s just a reflection of a reflection
Of a reflection of a reflection
But I see you on the other side
We all got things to hide
Alright, let's go back[Verse 3]
Our song it skips, on little silver discs
Our love is plastic, we'll break it to bits
I want to break free, but will they break me
Down, down, down?
Don't mess around[Chorus]
[Bridge 2- David Bowie and Win Butler]
Thought you were praying to the resurrector
Turns out it was just a Reflektor (It’s just a Reflektor)
Thought you were praying to the resurrector
Turns out it was just a Reflektor (It’s just a Reflektor)
Thought you were praying to the resurrector
Turns out it was just a Reflektor (It’s just a Reflektor)[Outro]
It’s a Reflektor
It’s just a Reflektor
Just a Reflektor
But I see you on the other side
It’s just a Reflektor
But I see you on the other side
We all got things to hide
It’s just a Reflektor
But I see you on the other side
[daily log, walking, 5.5 km]
