John, I'm only dancing...

My feet float in solemn glory.
And I, I am
Dancing too.
Freed from the burden -
Into the dark, into the void.
Rooms full of past times,
Spaces traversed
And solitudes lost,
Are beginning to dance, to dance.
And I, I am
Dancing too.
Ironical rashness
I have not forgotten.
I know the void,
I know the burden.
But I dance and dance
In ironical glory.

- Hannah Arendt.

"What is an adult?"

"A child blown up by age."

From The Woman Destroyed by Simone de Beauvoir.

A long time ago, when I was a young man and my body had the stamina to take such abuse, I was beat up really badly. The worst beating I ever received (hopefully). My hands were so pristine and undamaged, as if I never even got in a punch. That’s how badly. It began with my fellow pugilist saying, “What are you gonna do about it?”. For all I know, it ended with me saying, “Whatever it takes.” But it didn’t end there. It ended ignominiously, with me trying to crawl away on my hands and knees. And then I was kicked in my rear, directly on my tailbone. I remember screaming. The pain ran up through my back and my spine felt as if it were going to shoot through the top of my skull. I immediately bolted horizontally in mid-air, suddenly, like an ironing board, and collapsed. But still I had to continue crawling, to get up and limp away from all the taunts and laughter.

I recount this story not to sound tough, for false bravado in defeat, machismo, nor to glorify fisticuffs. Clearly, there is no glory in being humiliated like this. I recount this story to illustrate the fact that I know life can sometimes be a frightening struggle with many difficult moments that seem impossible to overcome. But getting through them...that is the ultimate goal. You don't have to tell me any of this. I know more thoroughly than you can probably imagine of me.

Fighting, and becoming ensnared in these situations, is foolish. This I also know. But it's also all I know. My psychiatrist said I like adversity and conflict, that I create it. Supposedly, it's a self-destructive impulse. This is the difficult situation I have created for myself. So be it.

So bring yourself forth, step into the box and put your fists up. I don't back down. Even if I will get beat up in the process. I would like nothing more than to collapse that jaw of yours.

There Will Be A Happy Meeting

you are the audience
you are my distant audience
i address you
as i would a distant relative
seen only heard only through someone else's description






















neither you nor i
are visible to each other
i can only assume that you can hear me
i can only hope that you hear me

From Audience Distant Relative by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha.

Two Feet In Front

The night before it happened it was very cold. I sipped tea in the coffee shop and waited. Feigning impatience, I was thankful for the time to write. I had written many things to do. To better myself, to resuscitate, to communicate and create dialogues, etc. I had not been back long, but I knew that in this time I had procrastinated too much already. Not one task accomplished. After all the previous week’s discussions. Good intentions don’t mean a thing if not given substance with action. They start off as apparitions, dead already. I always seem satisfied with just this mere hollow manifestation. To (re)vivify takes effort. I had given very little to nothing; lazy, like my father who could not stand without holding my mother down. This gives me tremendous shame.

In my focus, I forgot why I was there and who I was waiting, and ultimately, writing this to do list for.