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(Untitled)
The Morning After.
How to tell the truth:
You look like, he says breathlessly at nine o’clock in the morning,
You look like, he says.
Silhouetted against yellow tissue paper drapes, Tablo looks at you and scribbles into his notebook-love stories, love rhymes, love love love you hum under your breath absentmindedly.
He says from his desk, not looking at ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Glitter and Smoke.
Nah, Jiyoung refuses the cigarette Tablo offers him in the middle of the night, in the middle of Seoul, (soul-searching somewhere only the dust breathes, cold and numbingly real) I got beat when I was younger, I don't do it no more.
Shoulder to shoulder they stand in silence on the bridge overlooking the river. Underneath their ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Repetition as a literal device.
Tablo is a wordsmith of the poetic kind. The kind that soliloquizes white petals on black branches, shapeless faces in shapeless dreams; he’ll write it into truth, that was his style, that was Pieces.
Jiyoung smiths words too, if only he does so with arrogance and not eloquence. Tablo thinks it’s stupid, but there’s ( Read more... )