A Following Korea

September 29, 2005 at 11:26 pm 2 comments

Korea really is only psuedo-buried. It rests under pixelated bricks like the small brown pathways that lead Mario’s feet over clouds and mushrooms in the 80s-i-fied past. These bricks manifest in real life as quickly assimilated concrete structures intended to emulate Korea’s past (which was burned by the Japanese in the last war about 50 years ago). Ocassionally something pops up. This would be one of those moments where the psuedo-L.A. stylings of it’s modern patrons and it’s growing abuse of german automobiles simply seems mute in face of it’s history. This is only an occasional stop-gap in what is a fairly normal work and consume culture that seems to signal freedom of some sort in American eyes. For a second your talking to your boss about leaving, and he’s agreeing, and you go home. When you get home one of those cries comes out of the distance. This is usually a call. Buddhists, like any group that pre-dates amplification, perfected the art of pitching calls in signals so they carry, hence regardless of where you are a reverbating note of sub-conversational murmor to high toned freak out and can be traversed over several blocks if not 1/2 a mile if you really try. Tonight this call came in the form of something like ha–yet-hooooooo. I have no idea what this means, and it sounded like something from Thundercats, but you have to follow it and find out where. Last time I did this I ended up at some Buddhist shrine on some hill where I stomped rocks before realizing I was about to interrupt something with out the language skills necessary to make it apparent I wasn’t a total asshole. In this case though, the cries seemed to be perpetuating from some other corner of the city. So I began to follow. This ended up with me walking down various side streets, water in hand, coufing up flu, and final zoming in on some dude crying out in the middle of street as he walked by. I don’t if he was just selling something or what the deal was, but he had a box on his back hanging from a strap made of packing tape. He walked down the street crying, fairly well dressed, and he didn’t have the feel or look of the Buddhists who migrate around Seosan in grey clothes and shaved heads. It was one of those mysteries were regardless of language or not, you wouldn’t be able to easily solve it with just words.

Entry filed under: media.

National Budget Simulation or exploring America through software Michael Nyman String Quartets 1-3

2 Comments Add your own

  • 1. bendovacasanova  |  September 30, 2005 at 5:04 pm

    I like this story. Nice images, and good cultural/economic critiques that don’t bog down the visceral part of the story.

    Reply
  • 2. dignifieddevil  |  November 23, 2005 at 10:21 am

    thanks.


    A

    Reply

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