the lugubrious expat

i took the train up to seoul for the weekends
it was on one when i first laid eyes on you
i was drunk and dancing a whirlwind
you were wearing a dog pig cat cow tattoo

we took the train to puna the next morning
your lidless eyes were tired and bright
you'd heard the microphones and the national
right then i knew you had said it right

it's gonna be uncontrolled
it's gonna be uncontrolled
i'm gonna be moving to seoul

up on the station roof you cut the ignition
rain mottled your skin and matched your eyes
you were worried someone would see us
your tight jeans hung loose from your thighs

after four days in our own private love motel
you said you loved me from your mother's number
after ten and half hours in my apartment
i said i loved you and got up to chunder

it's gonna be uncontrolled
it's gonna be uncontrolled
i'm gonna be moving to seoul

this horrible attempt at a tribute to one of my favourite artists, john darnielle (a.k.a. the mountain goats), was inspired when i discovered that although he has written 42 songs titled going to ____, seoul was not amongst the list (see below). however, he has written a song titled downtown seoul, which appears on his LP sweden and also mentions eyelids.
additionally, it is where i am going. in under three weeks i will be packing my shit back into my bags and seeing what surplus lies there. i will be buying a one way ticket for the trusty KTX train and listening closely to the station music sounds of a liquored up ajuma playing an untuned guitar. i will be going at just over 300 km/hr towards something just over happiness.
the reason is obvious; i've created more of a life for myself up there than i have down here. i have a little regret but a larger dose of excitement. seoul has live music, it has comfortable cafes, it has alex, it has loungy bars, it has foreign food, it has hasisi. perhaps that last one was the clincher.
bye bye puna, i might see you for the pusan international film festival.

going to:
alaska, bangkor, bogata, bolivia, brazil, bridlington, bristol, buffalo*, chino, cleveland, dade county, denmark, france, georgia, hungary, jamaica, japan, kansas, kirby sigston, lebanon, lubbock*, maine, malibu, maryland, marrakesh*, mexico, michigan*, monaco, morocco*, norwalk, palestine, port washington, queens, reykjavik, san deigo, santiago, scotland, spain, spirit lake, tennessee, utrecht, wisconsin.
*denotes songs as the extra glenns

p.s. if anyone would like to drum simple loose guitar strings while i sing this badly then let me know.
p.p.s. if anyone wants to do a world trip visiting only these locations then let me know (i'm thinking of you, chris).

Posted by jackson at 12:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

thick, humid, rancid air. my apartment after 10 days. the chinese latern is half green half brown, but all dead. the movement of the door as i open it sparks an illusion of home, of comfort, of fullness. but my heart is just searching. for it has just been stretched from the form that these last 10 days has given it.

a young girl wears a purple dress. she is nobodys child. she is wary but i am patient. i talk with her, teach her something. eventually i can tickle her and she does not feel afraid. across the square the people are filling up the spaces, closing them in like danger. she is not mine but i look for her, for purple. but she finds me first and i kneel to collect her embrace. (safe).

the questions burn my lips up all weekend but i am patient. this weekend, this festival, this tent and rain and mud and saliva, they are for these moments only. i have all week to decide the next few years, i tell myself. "sorry, we have to pop back to the tent for something. see you in a bit". put on your cheeky smile, take off your underwear. "that was the most beautiful dance i have ever seen. you two, in the mud, to the strokes." yeah, we are, aren't we. the moments that bind us layer like the grime on our bodies, and it truly seems amazing that someone wrote these four days into our tragic love story. thank you, whoever you are.

at the beach i am his minder. the small boy in turquoise trunks. the building swell is inviting so i decide to leave the boy with the gentle tide and sandcastles to body surf awhile. a four foot wave comes in and my heart pumps a nervous beat as i cross over it. but it's ok, it wasn't that big, the boy will be fine. the second wave is always bigger and this time it's much bigger, much much bigger. fuck, i am under and in the washing machine, my only thought is of the boy being dragged out to sea. underwater i aim for what i hope is left, to the boy. opening my legs i reach blindly down between them. two small fingers hook my two fingers and i pull the boy up and into my arms as the sea pulls away without conscience. (safe).

to go coffee and sandwiches, insadong. i have that feeling i get sometimes when i haven't eaten and then i drink tea. i want to be sick. something about that pathetic half-drink that makes my guts whirl. her friend is with us, and i am meeting her for the first time. "hasisi tells me you are going to london with her." well, there goes one question. i almost laugh. i can't help smiling. "really? well, if she says that then, yeah." i test my toes around the soft flesh of her ankle and i think back through this unspoken path from suggestion to realisation. i smile again.

she worked at a factory, packaging apples, until she got fired by her mob boss. despite the danger i go there, to try and make it right again. at the factory workstation i see her and she sneaks me three apples disguised in sunflower seeds. this crime will honour you, i think. but we had not gotten away with it. a hulkish man drags me outside and into the mud. but the mud feels nice and remembering i heart huckabees i begin to roll and squelsh with delight, even picking up a handful of mud to throw at her like a child. they are angered and ready my next punishment. a martial arts movie star performs elaborate demonstrations of the pain to be inflicted. i tighten and flex and wait to recieve that dealthy kick to the chest. but it never comes. back in the factory, the crowd gathers to congratulate us on a splendid performance. (safe).

i trot to the adjacent room of alex's apartment and that's where i find them. inside cyon. three words delivered from her mother's phone. and for once i dont freak. i understand and i swell and i sit cross legged on the couch behind my friend and i resist saying anything. the words shine up at me like gemstones. for those few moments before i decide how to respond i understand that i have changed and that everthing will be ok, perhaps even better than.

there is a plot to kill someone. i am one of a few chosen to complete this mission. through a large house with many stairways i track my prey. but i become disorientated. i relocate her, but hesitate. is she the one i am meant to kill? i cannot kill her. i love her too much. we turn and we run, from the fighting. (safe).

Posted by jackson at 11:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)