one thing that the following (traumatic triggers, food waste odor in my trash, plastic bags, cringeworthy flashbacks) share in common is that they are all either cringeworthy or threateningly painful, stuck somewhere within you, like that trojan virus hidden in your computer backup files you could never let go since windows 98 that still bombard you with hypersexualized dating chat tabs from time to time.
They also have an astronomical half-life; that is, they are the ultimate raw umber to that ugliest painting of yours, the cute embarrassment of your idealistic high school days with the dream of becoming the baddest van gogh of the future.
So I never thought that i would be still very nerve-wracked and amateur at life, still so mortified by a phone call with my dad in his late fifties, too idealistic most of the time and whose life values i can still barley grasp, who would yell shit at me (w some embedded curse words) for being angry too often.
Astronomical half-life is no joke. it is immortal and life-changing. i will forever have to learn to adopt and parent the strange and alien trigger from the voice of my dad. the same goes to the stop and shop bag that i took in place of my forgotten grocery bag. it will be my guilty piece of annoyance in earth that probably will be there forever in digestion, just like all the other gloops that i have to roll with.
my right boob used to hurt. and one night i was crying through all pores of my body and had to wake up 1000+ times to urinate after a sadistic sitcom series of nightmares where i wasn’t the one with the whip hand and i was back at the most ruthless and merciless working place. it is intolerable when i am not the one whipping at myself if i were ever to get whipped. one never knows what enraged urination can result, but the next thing i know i blew up the toilet and there were cracks and unbridled valves just kept on pouring and splattering shit water at me and it was just not my night. but you still gotta feel grateful for the buff pee tube that you possess!! and as if the woeful urine were the clot of flem that slowly yet painfully agonized you by calling up the memories of the 💩hole, i got the greatest deepest sleep afterward. that was when i realized that i didn’t have to deal with the worst shitfucks anymore. at least for now! and my whole body started feeling slightly peaceful but of course not wholly because still the world does not treat me as much as i deserve. i can always blow up the toilet and possibly skyrocket myself to the saturn and there will be where i throw my funeral just for my corporeal flesh and i shall forever be immortal
sometimes i am still the one living the past and yet my present self is cranked so off from it and i am still triggered by certain sensational mediators that fixate me to the past be they melodies or smells or sights and i don’t know what to do.
sometimes i feel my physical body has come too far to experience the tenderness again but reliving the moments is not so impossible because although i am not as much fond of my present self as my past one, i am made of a bunch of different nostalgia residues after all!
so my sense of time has been and always will be incomplete and immature and will forever stay that way.
ritualized memorial service, 2015
and just so you know i still have so much love for myself no matter what
When it is about time that you faced the real world aka my resignant capitalist desire of juss simply going on with my life, a couple of bruises on your leg, not from physical injury but from cerebral exhaustion that droops and leaks down all the way to the tip of your toe, are inevitable. so it is a real deal when some dipshit at work calls you an aesthetic adjective or simply a lady you juss wanna wet fart away off to another planet and you wanna lash out your faithful manifesto you holily abide by but your oh-so-rightful resistance is merely reduced to the flaring of your nostrils……. and fuck you how dare you call me the way you want to look at me, an independent earthling w opinions that might go against your fucked up normativity and please stop yelling at me!??!? After-work sweet pastry won’t simply cut it if that’s what you think is the measly remedial justification of your shitty actions!!! But that red bean stuffed sweet bun was sort of good.. so i hate you more…💧
what is a way to empower myself, a postgrad with a BFA, independent yet financially struggling, with no mother cell in physical proximity, with no A/C in room and sweating like a pig?:
I gave it some deep thought and came up with the following possible solutions:
- be the utmost bitch:
sometimes i do some hardcore slaughter in my dream🌟 once i had to spoon out eyeballs of a middle aged male and the graphic moment was the triumph and forever end of some of my introverted fear
- get an A/C and/or shower a lot
i am a financially struggling child, spoiled. because I am constantly angry and cussing i.e. right before going to sleep everyday acknowledging tomo will be another worse day in this wretched unsupportive society and i have to disassemble this gimongous loft bed myself in a few f’ing weeks!!! when the fan is at max and it just only blows hot air at my face i am very infuriated. so i have to continuously remind myself to cleanse.
- touch myself more and climax, spread the word
as a pinnacle of autosexual romance, i should look more into boy-meets-girl, that is, self-meets-self rom coms that accentuates euphoric purity of heart. make it into a movie and get signed
has been never more difficult in my life. mostly and probably it means more realization in general, more physical activity and susceptible surges. maybe the last one won’t apply much. my mom was the kind of person who just didn’t seem to understand the millennial shitrage was real. which involves all sorts of things. a millennial is not a millenial without any kind of disorder. so my mom probably doesn’t understand. and I too am not really a faithful daughter. we come from different worlds yet our neural processes somehow embraced each other in a weird way that salted potato chips-meets-vinegar would somehow make sense. but when things have to come to a certain stage it involves much more independence. so although i wasn’t exactly nice to her on the surface i shed some tears on my own and am now waiting for her call not knowing in the slightest degree when. tomorrow i will order what will soon to be a rare occasion from now on, that is, having an extra-large pizza delivered to my place and demolishing all the grease and feeling fucked up yet slightly euphoric.
p.s. fuck y’all spammers spamming the purest nonprofit blog of a child who juss wants to lash out!!!!😭🖕🖕
and i just want to list true facts on my feelings today which i know will end up being another 💩show. it’s tragic that i will never be articulate enough on what i thought made sense in my brain and when it comes to trying to unravel it in honest clearcut cogent words it actually never makes sense. i will always be this borderline awkward kid of ultimate ambiguity who can’t explain anything in korean but never easier in english either. its sad that nothing makes sense anymore. but maybe writing will help. visual language was never fucking easier anyways. not that writing was easy either. sometimes i empathize on the deepest level with memes more than anything…….!!
I’m still trying to come to terms with everything and it’s truly tragic that i can’t even build anything concrete but merely throw pathetic blobs of shit at things in the most pathetic attempt to construct and/or mend it where one slight blow would actually make everything come t,t,t,tumbling down. the other day I tried to put in words this simple imagery to kelsey about me trying to build a website with a miserable yet tolerable end result. but I got stuck and i felt slightly let down by myself having a hard time more and more explaining things.
so it’s tragic that that i can’t talk to my mom about the anger and rage that i feel about shit happening in the cosmos that clearly matters to me so much yet i am so horribly bad at explaining it. not that it would actually change my mom’s thoughts if i were any better. i’m afraid there will never come a day she will catch a glimpse at the kind of frustration coming from the privileged enlightenment she worked her ass off to give to me. and I might just annoy her for another good amount of time like forever? and this is why i never want to have kids b/c i have no courage to sacrifice myself for a replica of myself.. or anyone. I could make love to my replica though.
I used to think I would be an amazing painter. what makes a person an amazing painter?
I am a new millennial child. I can be alone for a long time just fine, without any company, as long as I have my computer and my keyboard. Haven and I once had a conversation a season ago when we went to the farm beach in the slapping freezing weather and we had gloves yet she wanted a situated selfie of herself so one of my hands had to be vulnerable to the slappin swooshing wind that battered me like crazy but i care about my friend’s self promotion so i did my best to get the best photo of her and boy am I philanthropic! and somehow thanks to the piercing coldness of course i became very aware of my physicality and started thinking about my bodily extension and realized that my keyboard is actually a very probable extension of my body with the possibility of my used white acura (who is probably now in the junkyard heaven rest in power💪) becoming a new extension. but now it’s gone and a used toyota sienna came into my life sooner or later and now i might end up with a used lincoln. I try to be as ethical as possible, yet i am/will never be so. fuck.
life is tiring but I still appreciate little moments i partake in including but not limited to ordering an 18″ new york style pizza all to myself and realizing what privilege I actually have!
so I still want to be a superstar and/or an amazing well-to-do person (possibly a mogul?)