The only problem with drinking on a work night is that I have to work the next day. I miss half- employment, when the only thing I could afford was rent, food, and a little verbal lubrication to get some writing done on late afternoons. Not that full employment is bad, I can afford new clothes and a cell phone,  a pack of cigarettes every day, and shoes for every occasion. I can afford to miss my family since there’s more money out here than in my mother’s basement. I can afford to miss my friends because the ones out here are cheaper.

There are crickets out even though it’s raining. I find it amusing that humans are the only animals that actively hide from the rain, and if we must forge on we do so with metal-guided cloth to keep the water away. I have a bug bite on my arm and I’m contemplating burning it with my cigarette. I don’t know if that will help but it seems like it might, so unless it gets less itchy, I’ll update you.

I’ve been playing Mario and Luigi super-saga recently. How many times this bitch gotta be in peril before she understands the definition of “strip-search?” Not that I’m all for strip-searching, I mean, mushroom kingdom doesn’t need a full-body metal detector every time someone rides in on a koopa-shell, but this chick lost her voice to a bean. That’s unacceptable, especially for royalty. Though, there is that story of Queen Elizabeth walking into her room and finding a stranger laying on her bed, so maybe it’s not such an absurdity for the elite to make missteps wild enough to place themselves at risk. They’re only human, after all.

I never forget the names of the people I sleep with. I’ve lost my religion, I lost it a long time ago. I haven’t lost my integrity. It’s not that every new sexual experience is some existential opening of my heart, but I’m not one to engage in the most intimate of physical relations without committing at least the slightest bit of memory towards the experience.

I wish I could play an instrument, any instrument would be good, that way I could impress people with my musical prowess. For now I must settle for simple things like my voice and an endless repetition of ‘boots and cats’ that can pass as a beatbox to Korean middle schoolers.

Having two heads would be difficult. It’s hard enough to have one.
My ex-girlfriend got a piercing on her spine. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to have an ear pierced, so I think it admirable.

Either I drank too much or my head is made of concrete; I can feel gravity;I feel dizzy in stillness; I feel stillness is a waste of time.
Bananas, I say!
Malarkey!
Bananas and malarkey!

I hope I don’t light the wrong end of one of these Belmonts. Canadian cigarettes are exponentially better than Korean ones, so I need to ration like it’s war-time, which reminds me: it IS war-time. It’s all very odd to me, that 6 hours away there are labour camps and the only real communist stronghold left in the world. I went to a club in Itaewon, and a club in Gangnam, and I’ve been to most of the Gwangju clubs in Junggang-ro, and nobody seems to care. I mean, I get it. Even I forget that the Korean peninsula is currently at a state of war even though it was all I was thinking about before I left.

I have to change my bed-sheets, they smell like self-hate. I think I want a girlfriend, but I know I don’t.

Most of these paragraphs start with I, so lets talk about you. What is your favourite colour? What are your feelings on cyan? If the world were to end tomorrow, how would you feel about aliens abducting us, if only to commit disgusting, inescapable experiments on our bodies? I would take it. My body is a wonderland.