To Dwell is to Garden
Living abroad teaches one that candidates for reality are continuously realizing themselves in the most manifold of ways, densely piercing the spectrum from grotesque to beautiful, and stubbornly laying claim to undercultivated pockets of the world deemed unbearable by all previous versions of its inhabitants.
This is the harmonica I bought recently. Pretty sweet, although Lee Oskar, whoever he is, could stand to lose the stache. Nice harp, though.
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The week has ended, and now I am on holiday for 5 days, although I don’t believe that this little lull in teaching will be very eventful, seen as I’ve foregone any attempt to flee Korea this time around. I suppose that the money is somewhat important - especially given that I’m heavily indebted to various shady creditors (moreover, I’ve not worked a full month yet and trying to live on 1200 bucks for four weeks rent free is apparently a great task for me), but moreso because I’ve only gotten here and am not too enthused momentarily about battling a billion Chinese. But I’m really playing the hell out of that little mouth organ.
Tonight I have penciled in a drinking tour of a university district here in Seoul with my colleagues. I’m not terribly excited about this, although I do enjoy a smooth cocktail or two. It is also unfortunate because I was meant to go see a movie with a Korean friend and now have to bail out on him. I hate having to do this (not that I was looking forward to the movie, mind you). I’m a terribly busy man, I suppose.
Well, I have to shower up, slide into some fresh threads and face the social music. The few ice cold beers I’ve had since 5:30 will help out, I’m sure. Cheers.
I started this disgorgement here in Korea last January and thus feel compelled to add an adjectival ‘little’ immediately before I mention my apartment - but this year’s abode is substantially larger than last, though still frightfully smaller than the apartment in which I wrote my MA (a whole, expansive one-bedroom flat!). Nevertheless, I’m fucking plagued with mosquitoes here and these little pricks leave the most grotesque welts. Moreover they appear resolutely determined to harvest the entirety of my pale epidermoid. C’est terrible! How can I stop this plague? I’m a fucking leper.
My students are roughly identical to the last horde, although I admit that somehow they seem less cute in every way. The days are rolling past at a rapid clip, and the weekend is always on the visible horizon, so I can’t complain. I even think that I’ve somehow (magically, as it seems) become a better teacher, and from time to time I’ve spontaneously taken it upon myself to impose new vocabulary and useful concepts on the children. I rule them with an iron fist. Perhaps it is all out of a kind of spite, although I believe it is a good deal for the kids in the long run.
I’ve recently bought myself a harmonica (for about 50 bucks). My plan is to acquire a skateboard (if it ever stops raining) and transform into a mobile, sardonic Deerhoof soloist, drinking in public and tearing holes in designer clothes. I don’t expect this to bring joy unto my soul, but better to be Socrates unsatisfied than a pig satisfied.
All in all, things are as they are, as they have been, and, as far as one will trust my clarity in divination, as they will continue to be. Cheers for now and chalk this confession up to a few too many cocktails.
