here are small moments[possibly memories] lifted out of my fever haze: several prokofiev numbers performed simultaneously by tangled hands, notes wrangled into some aesthetic order by an organ grinder’s rusty antique, a wren strangled by a six year-old who is still white-knuckled tightly gripping his murderer’s loose threads, loose ends hastily knotted into a happy ending only a total dumbass would believe.
what i typed above makes apparent that i do my remembering in passive voice. it’s bad form, but there’s something ritualistic about using it in repetition. as if the disjointed (almost unnatural) structure of the passive forces time to stand still so you can you begin the retrogressive slide into what has-been and was.
something annoying: remembering should feel like returning home. but it’s kind of annoying and ironic that remembering feels like arriving too late to an abandoned party. and remembering should be risk-free. the only real risk should be resuscitating bad feelings, instead: more often these days i feel scared to touch the surface of the memory, maybe displace a few props and change my own past altogether. maybe that is why in cinema i “trust” the slight sfumato of old film stock more than the crispness of digital high-res; it feels closer to remembering.
however
(of course)
there is $^&*@% chance that i don’t know my own speech, i am just typing this in order to put some weight on my starved blog. don’t trust me because i am just a faulty mammal with a keypad.
oh and i just love this, it’s so adorable and makes me smile. take a corny piece of music (sorry, pachelbel, but canon in d IS endearingly corny); make it cornier with the addition of beatbox and kayageum; add the most attractive member of the cutest korean b-boy group (….
), and, this adorableness is the result:
i love it so much i’m shitting hello kitties 


























