am i cool

a questioning culture is what i would like for us to be. then people would realize that no one really has any answers at all. the world wouldn't mind if you were an aimless traveler, a human without a home; we would all recognize it in each other. we'd hitch hike to Albuquerque or Denver and rummage through a dusty dumpster on the side of the highway in the desert, or kick an old tomato soup can around with our feet and boots in the snow. i would remember that it is November 16th and i would get you to smoke a pack of cigarettes with me through a simple smile or a laugh or a longing look in the eye. then, we watch a meteor shower and drink whiskey and take photos with our phones-

which reminds me, you know when you move a camera real fast and snap the shot, the pictures come out and there are fantastic streaks of light which sometimes zig-zag or are beams or light rays or precise lines which are all blurry but sometimes more aesthetically pleasing than the actual image itself, or the actual moment of the image? like streaks of light emanating from the boyfriend or pockets the kitten or the weeping willow in bloom on a rainy sunny day outside grandma's house.

well, i think that is very much like a meteor shower.

it could be a prerequisite to be chilly when viewing the meteors. so you can have someone close to warm you. for the opportunity of embrace. so you can meld with him and the moment, and the stars, and yes, the crickets and the air, crickets and air.

perhaps

... i am nocturnal because in my body the blood which flows knows that home is not here, it is in korea. and so day is night and night is day. it may sound outlandish, but i just can't escape the blood in my veins, the spirit of my ancestors which makes my nights strange. it does not just up and go. doesn't when i look in the mirror, or try to say 'rural', or eat a big mac at mcdonalds with my parents. certainly doesn't when i am called a chink walking home from the bar.

so of course i would be up now, at 3am, wide awake as if it were the middle of the day. no, i am supposed to be at the doctor for a 4pm appointment instead of being in columbus, oh twelve hours earlier writing in front of my computer with a chestache. my parents should have never left. should have realized how hard it is to adjust and no, not to the culture, to the time: i am always ahead, feel ahead, feel as if i was lead here against my will and my body is telling me that i am not in the right place. it is obviously why my mind will race at the wrong time of the day, and i cannot sleep, cannot dream of beautiful things. cannot meet her out at the east bank of the stream; cannot skip rocks into the moss-covered electric machine; cannot not speak and hear, nonetheless, everything.

a shame but it can happen often, when nocturnal; goodnight moons are said too soon. before you know it the sun is up and the sky is maroon, and birds are chirping, and cars are honking in traffic, and children wait at the bus stop with sesame street umbrellas and yellow duck rain boots. but even then, when said too soon, my body knows that back home the land where my spirit was born, it will always be a true goodnight moon.