Sunday, November 26, 2006

I have moved . . .

www.xanga.com/ku_quan is my preference . . . juggling between xanga and blogger, I find the latter more user friendly for my tastes. Plus the interaction more pleasant . . . thus the echo that is sounding in this empty blog.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Asian Poet Musicians (Fatherly Confessions on FLowsik, Chan, and Machi)

My son and I hear the new voices that represent. Possibilities moving in a new direction . . . new myths being created on the go, a rising pantheon of heroes in our subclique? Larger than life figures . . . all for my son to look up and see. Inspire us! Embody confidence! Portray the attitudes that seemed foreign to our faces. Show us that we can as well . . . help us to reclaim.

A new sound of rising revolt . . . images that subvert the quoed status! Illustrate and embody the possibilities of yellow existence! Liberate the nuance! And expose the typecast stereotypes! Reprogram . . . the subtle inferiority and shame etched into the collective code of our folk! Rewire our language . . . give my son a new vocabulary to speak. Or remind him that the vocabulary was always there!

The reasons sung will liberate the madness by discovering thoughtful intentionality behind the middle finger! Help my son articulate the reasons to love himself, and discover confidence that the "others" will be bettered because they have come to know us in our authenticity . . . Just as much as we are bettered by knowing them. Believe what my generation had difficulty in believing. Beyond the one sided character in some third rate novel, liberate the nuance and inspire confidence in the beauty that we represent, stirring up pride that desires to show the beauty of our ways.

Represent us well in the struggle for images and stretch the possibilities of Asian existence!

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

429 Memories

Freaked out and calling Pops to close up his store and get the hell out! Images of angry mobs and gun shots attacking my wayward imagination.

Factored into the statistics, the one-percenters, profitting at the expense of the 99. "Pawns," they said, "to bring liquor through Koryo folk into the hood." A blind-spot to the real underlying issue . . . in this case, dysfunction begetting dysfunction, two survival mentalities clashing over the piece of enclave. Both part of the same Goddamned mess.

Yet immigrant folk with immigrant tongues, unable to offer an eloquent reply. Perfect scapegoats for the 429 event. Reporters enjoying this angle in their share of the Korean buffet. Until the desert voice, Zen Priestess Oh told those "well meaning" media folk about the blind-spot to the real underlying issue.

Jerking Off and Faking Orgasms

I have heard the metaphor of "drug high" when describing the spiritual ecstasy of the altar. In this light, the weeping and sackcloth at the saw dust trail is not epiphany but rather manufactured experienced. I appreciate the metaphor . . . however I prefer the description of a "faked fuck."

Jerking off, or maybe "sanctified masturbation," may serve the better metaphor for such moments of self deceived piety. It is not only self inflicted pleasure, but the body is fooled into believing it just fucked! And hell . . . like the tears that stained the carpets shit we have a mess in our hands. The only difference between the two comparisons, is the lack of porneia at the altar . . . or perhaps there is! The crucified figure, naked and bleeding, is a fetishized, masochistic image that stirs such strong emotions.

My favorite are the fake orgasms, people who want the glory light so badly they either fake it or believe themselves into it. I gotta confess I have done the same! "Oh shit you were good you horny son of a bitch" in one voice! And "Oh God I can feel you flowing through me, fill my senses! Come and Fill me up! is sung by another. I wonder . . . if people were thinking the same thing I was when singing that song.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Flashback from a Utica and Church Driveby

Hoodwinked and bamboozled by the images of glass at the Wall. The reason why so many FOB took the boat in the first place. Ask my pops, he tossed his die to the winds of fate, trying to cash out at the Wall. The swarmy pictures with that catchy logo: I + the fucking heart + NY, speaking just as loud as the neons on the Strip.

Yet no glassy store on 34th and 5th, instead they gave us a box on Church and Utica. Turn it into a business! "You can now walk with your head up in dignity! Sit at the table with your children and feel proud for the bread you provided your tribe." They wonder why we give them that quizzical "are you serious" look.

Can you blame the knee jerk reaction to get out of the shit zone? The stench and the experience of the antithesis, the flipside of the swarmy image, NYC unadulterated.


Sunday, October 29, 2006

Reflections and response to the Sanctimonious Rhetoric of that Edumacated Prick

What is the compelling voice? Moving us to a critique beyond critique. Not merely cynical sine qua non. Beyond the boundaries that are marked by the intelligentsia's stuck up noses. The self righteousness piety of the fringe dwellers unable to connect with the Joes, Janes, Kims, and Lees.

Bringing clarity to that blind spot between the romanticized easiness or the impossible goal of collapsing the fabric and foundations of things.
Between genocides and debilitating cynicisms. An underlying perception of the reality of progress and hope.

Yet they seem nonnegotiable in their place. Looking down from their heights, prescribing to us what authenticity and compelling-ness should be. Failing to sift the virtues from the insanities. Condescendingly charging us as a stupid herd, who mindlessly follow the symbols in exchange for the sugar mixed opiate. As if culture is in their hands in its unadulterated form. Reveling in the otherness of their radicality, heralding their rhetoric of political trend. Unable to recognize their own shelter, a hypocritical dialectical materialism that is sheltered in the neutered abstraction of that tower painted in ivory. As if they were never plagued by the same nonsense.

Who determines the substance of things unseen? That identifiable substance behind the avant garde. That connects to a type of collective consciousness that transcends the mass hysteria of mob mentality. That perceives power, and potentiality, authentic dignity in the ebb and flow of a path that is marked with struggle.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Protestantized . . .

Protestantized . . . Hallelujah!

Another label

slapped

unto our collective forehead!

Adding to the repertoire

of names we've accrued

over the years.

A lovely circulation of

perceptions that paint

Koryo folk

in the way that makes us all happy?

Perhaps, we asked for this

a long time ago!

After all who

was the one that littered Main street

with the tickets to Heaven?

Yet you who jeer,

you too

should have considered

the consequences of shoving your magic

on us a long time ago

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Some Reflections at the U.N. when the President was visiting

"Do you really believe you are making a difference today?" asked the reporter. You can detect the cynicism in his voice, as if directed towards our convictions presuming that his single shot exposed the foolishness of our endeavors with relative ease. Revealing us as fringe optimists, Don Quixote attacking the windmills and romanticizing the by-gone days of Chivalry!

"Is that a fair question?" we shot back. Another way of asking "whose mind are you fucking with?" Annoyed by the vast misrepresentation of such a remark. Flaunting ourselves for the sheer image . . . that awful romanticizing of radicality, which shouts in misdirected zeal and anger for the sake of. Or perhaps painting us as a bunch of naive optimists who will singlehandedly end all war and suffering on this planet by singing "Imagine" or "Koombaya" on a Manhattan street!

"Did you get any pointers from the President's speech writer?" Remember those God awful statements that lulled the many into believing that victory in Iraq will take a short time. That the masses who see the war machine on their soil will naturally fall in love with our packaged democracy. In similar mindset, as if the effectiveness of a grassroots movements can be judged by a single moment on the street. As if its pragmatic value can be assessed by a few meetings on the street and the fact that the war isn't over, we are all wasting our times.

Most of us are aware of the nature of the forces around us. And the need for a constructive movement of dissent, that expresses itself in a multiplicity of ways, maintained for the long hall. So in answer to the reporter's question, we can answer "no," if his question is asking us if we think the current administration will see our march and suddenly see the fucking light! We are aware that the opposition is real, and we are always sobered by the possibility that we could lose the fight. Perhaps we are more aware of this then those who perceive us from the outside.

But if perceived in a growing movement of dissent in this country, where the determination of common folk to move to the very end at the risk of losing battles, then the question is different. Beyond quick fix utilitarian results, is the bottom line of conviction. This is where the we fix our attention to. We believe that the war is the worst decision made by this administration, and we will oppose it. Though we may look quite foolish to some, we are willing to endure the critique, to express that conviction unapologetically.