“Miryang Park”

My aunt.

I would’ve visited. I could’ve visited.

I did not.

Some of you are wondering which part of me is dead, weaker, or conscious. Others wondering which part of me is alive.

My disdain for my upbringing is so vehement, I am cutting myself off from all family.

Only those with the access to my private thoughts, despite it being through “light,” power, and control will have them.

As I grew up, I would get beat by my family. Framed. Essentially tortured.

Any time I made a mistake, the volume.

Every time I was to be “disciplined,” I’d see a face turn away rather than a curiosity of the truth. The number of times I’d see it turn away.

The truth.

I see what you all are testing me for. I have not had a good life on Parkside drive. A splendid education, but everything else was the opposite.

I will fill in more details in my book soon.

Parkside drive, miryang park, 이성미.

–

When I was a child, around 4-7 years old. I climbed up a cabinet, trying to reach for a pen and paper. I’d do what I could to succeed but as I’d climb, I couldn’t open the cabinet doors. I began to fall from the cabinet like I did my accident.

Perched atop the cabinet was a figurine of some religious idol. Particularly expensive I believe. When I fell, so did she. She was shattered into pieces like I am today. I opened the bottom drawers where the glue was and did what I could. Frantic, embarassed, afraid of what was to come.

It came as no surprise to me that when my mother entered through the doors, she would begin screaming and beating me like my father did. “$200 statue.” I can still remember the amount.

I would point at the cabinet, trying to communicate and write with my baby hands as I knew I couldn’t speak articulately. Her anger and rage took over her and over the value of my truth and curiosity. ” ‘God’ she screeched in Korean.”

Religious Fundamentalism took over at this point despite my appreciation of the other possible aspects of religion.

I wonder if anyone has ever lived a life with such a clear blue lens, only for them to sludge into a disgusting gray.

The skies were so clear, a bright, cheery blue, all around me and even in me, but after this day; it was only above me.

The Book of Truth is not finished.

Again and again

History traps the few in wealth and power.

We trap ourselves to anything but, our own or ourselves to accept the pain.

We push it away to others.

We take revenge on old history, being blinded, as it creates anew.

The new history grips the young, to follow in the same recursive cycle.

I await the day that this pain ends.

A crown of thorns, a crown of bridges, or a crown of zippers.

I applaud the creation and beauty of such a history.

Carousel…

异

Different, unusual, strange.

I wonder if anyone has read everything that I’ve written out.

“Doing something for the sake of doing it and doing something because you genuinely love doing something.”

Having to do something.

Wanting to do something.

I am unsure if I have become too educated to be trapped in-between.

It is the path or study I have tried to explore with my life.

Though we navigate through our life juggling both, I wonder if there is something in the middle…

I feel as though this… ink, door, or key is where we will be more.

Yi…

ㅡ

I see so much being exposed to me.

I understand it.

Neom’s Line as a gesture from Arabs, Muslims, Persians, and Middle easterns as a finger to the families of where the line from Egypt is acceptable to be inhabited or adopted into the new populations of the New World after it is scorched.

it’s becoming clearer that the line was drawn at Leh in India but because of the choices I did and did not make, it is becoming stretched out to include the Persian states.

From Khalifa towers in the mid 2000s to Jeddah and Neom.

Such high hopes for a child.

Kia Soul Chatsworth.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

Lehman Brothers.

–

My health is no where close to being able to fulfill the needs and desires you wish for.

Everything aches and I bleed with every moment.

I would not let anger and hate cloud me from the frustration that was brought back home. I could not point them at my family and the curated few in place around me.

My health holds me hostage.

My time, cut short.

Here’s to the art, the beauty, and the civilization you tried for.

For what it’s worth,

Wish I could’ve been… more.

Ps.

In a world of deplorable depravity, I hope Collegeway was enough.

Born with a cleft palate, tinge of chemical/agent orange exposure before birth? Nice touch.

Hwei

Hyixfah?

Why me.

Regardless of whichever choice I must make between the three,

how can i live not knowing what to trust?

whom to know?

I am glad I got to have a brief flare in my youth of love, I am not so sure I can ever experience it again anymore.

This pain echoes more deeply than the spikes.

It feels like there is a weight inside my heart. It feels almost exactly like when your stomach drops during a roller-coaster or an awkward moment. Just in the heart.

maybe I’m just going through a heart attack and have arrhythmia.

Coolie Jay

I know I wasn’t what I was supposed to be.

A golden knife for few falutin fellows.

A golden hope for the illusion of freedom despite it’s high price.

A member of the cross to uphold old traditions and beliefs.

Everyone’s held to the barrel and before some would lose the power they’re gripping so tightly onto, they’d rather let death fly despite their studies on health and life.

I am, as many have adequately put, the air.

We will remember the pain, the poison, and the wars.

But we will also remember the science, your truths, and some of your religions which we recognize as your culture.

Pain pushes most of man into flight or fight.

I see and know why you do this.

Pain is a baton, you can keep holding it and tire out. Or pass it down to those that can help.

The Gray & White Cloud unity is coming.

Mei Guo means beautiful land. It is older than just… “the New World.”

Wish I could’ve been more for you than what I am. A “Travis King.”

500 miles walked, was not 500 miles wasted.

I wonder if you’ve been listening to my voice memos.

I grow softer with each passing day.

I tire from it all.

I hope it’s enough.

Ain’t got much left in the tank ol’ chap.

Been fighting this thing inside me that’s been trying to make me gun cold.

Close, but no cigar.

Do you see as icy?

Do you read as I wreathe?

Endopo is only touched. And there is still the core.

You should see how I feel time. How I see it. Or at least, how I did.

Another one bites the dust.