52/119: It'll Last Longer
May. 25th, 2025 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphLate Sunday morning, eating a bowl of wide egg noodles with butter and cheese as an early lunch which was almost a late breakfast. I keep biting myself as I chew. That seems to be happening more frequently now. Another indicator of age, perhaps, but also evidence of poor design. It's why I want there to be a god. Blaming evolution for crap design seems pointless, but a deity can justifiably be held to account. Every time I bite myself I flip the sky off, just in case. Sometimes I'll throw in a "nice work, dork" or a "get your act together, asshole." Some might consider this to be hubris, but personally I doubt that random chance gives a rats as about us or what we think or say or do. And if it turns out there is a god, well, given what it created, it obviously has a fucked up sense of humor, much like me, and I'm probably safe. In fact it probably laughs its equivalent of an ass off every time I bite myself. Jerk.
Anyway, I digress. My detergent-exposed, dried out, split open, skin-shedding fingertips are hurting like hell, as they really don't want me to use the keyboard. And who could blame them (aside from Abraham's god, of course, and he is probably some ancient desert-dweller's heat-induced hallucination.) I think I'll just copy and paste something, and then see about taking a nap. I didn't get up until almost six o'clock this morning, but five or six hours of being awake is about all I can take these days before I hit a wall. My face is mashed up against concrete exhaustion right now.
Sunday Verse
by Wahn Yoon
This is you as a boy.
Your back is to the camera.
You are standing above the beach
with your right arm at two o’clock.
You have just thrown a piece
of the wall into the sea.
You do not hear the sound of the stone
entering the water, nor the sound
of the shutter. The cormorants are below,
but they are not in the picture.
This is you the following year.
You are holding a small chalkboard.
You are sitting on the landing
with three other children.
You do not speak their language,
so you draw pictures to them
in colored chalk, Blue is your favorite.
They understand. They appear to like you.
The girl has spelled out something
with the magnetic letters.
This picture is not in color.
This is you as a student.
You are posing for a school portrait.
The background is blue-gray,
the color of the photographer’s one open eye.
You are wearing a white shirt
with the bottom button missing.
There is a hole in your trouser leg
where your knee is bleeding.
You are told to remove your glasses.
You are told to smile
more. You have learned
to distrust cameras.
This is you
as a grown man.
You are looking
not at the lens,
but at the one
who is taking your picture.
You must love this person.
The sea is behind you.
It could be any sea,
it does not matter.
This picture has not yet been taken.
Anyway, I digress. My detergent-exposed, dried out, split open, skin-shedding fingertips are hurting like hell, as they really don't want me to use the keyboard. And who could blame them (aside from Abraham's god, of course, and he is probably some ancient desert-dweller's heat-induced hallucination.) I think I'll just copy and paste something, and then see about taking a nap. I didn't get up until almost six o'clock this morning, but five or six hours of being awake is about all I can take these days before I hit a wall. My face is mashed up against concrete exhaustion right now.
Sunday Verse
Portfolio
by Wahn Yoon
This is you as a boy.
Your back is to the camera.
You are standing above the beach
with your right arm at two o’clock.
You have just thrown a piece
of the wall into the sea.
You do not hear the sound of the stone
entering the water, nor the sound
of the shutter. The cormorants are below,
but they are not in the picture.
This is you the following year.
You are holding a small chalkboard.
You are sitting on the landing
with three other children.
You do not speak their language,
so you draw pictures to them
in colored chalk, Blue is your favorite.
They understand. They appear to like you.
The girl has spelled out something
with the magnetic letters.
This picture is not in color.
This is you as a student.
You are posing for a school portrait.
The background is blue-gray,
the color of the photographer’s one open eye.
You are wearing a white shirt
with the bottom button missing.
There is a hole in your trouser leg
where your knee is bleeding.
You are told to remove your glasses.
You are told to smile
more. You have learned
to distrust cameras.
This is you
as a grown man.
You are looking
not at the lens,
but at the one
who is taking your picture.
You must love this person.
The sea is behind you.
It could be any sea,
it does not matter.
This picture has not yet been taken.
