윤

My habit of reaching for the phone upon waking and checking my latest messages, even with nothing more to them than the daily spam that’s swiped to the trash, seems to be affecting my recall of any richer narrative from the streaming service of my subconscious, but because there must be something to the lingering remnants, please indulge me tracking them here:

Surely the inspiration for my pre-AR AR-idea, though every once in a great while I’m blessed by a real-life reminder, like the other evening when after hundreds of 全力坂 runs the Universe manages a confluence of upper-echelon specimen from the local demographic and timing along that stretch of Clydepark where my last sighting of one in cut-offs and cowboy boots I’ve come to dismiss as a mirage.

unless i’m mistaken (studied tieng viet in the army) “tran” is pronounced “chan”, so “trump” would be “chump”.
alrighty, then.

As often as I’m getting up for it in the middle of the night, I’m now peeing in my dreams, and the directions I got to where I could go in the office I was in led me to a plain plastic waste basket at the end of a desk in an open room. No one else seemed to mind, so I started with a small stream, then released it at full pressure, only for it to be reflected from the growing puddle inside with similar strength. The spray reached my pants, and wouldn’t be abated even after I dropped some paper over it. Finishing up, I heard a toilet flushing and regretted not having looked harder for proper facilities. I walked out of the building and could see in the daylight that there were still spots I’d better wait to dry before returning to my fiancée. My dark slacks originally had the same houndstooth pattern to match my jacket, but had changed to light brown.

Update: First title for this post was Archie Comics-like “Urination Tribulation”, but I thought I’d work in the boy’s fascination with KISS, strangely deviating from the anime path to follow in his father’s footsteps. Except instead of just playing up memories of action figures, blood-inked comics and made-for-TV movies for kitsch value, at least he might play “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” on the guitar?

…And no, it wasn’t another new Netflix series. After my first two hours I woke and remembered seeing George Costanza as the host of his own radio show, since that was before streaming, talking about sports in an admirably competent manner, before he and Jerry conspired to remove precious photos others had taken from them and contributed to a display: his was proof, he angrily directed at his absent parents, of his “social interaction” and Jerry’s a shot from a talk show appearance. They had been printed onto rectangular blocks and when they tried moving them, became loose and jumbled like puzzle pieces.
Nasty stuff happened in the morning stretch, when I’d find under the covers a willing lass of unremarkable topography. In spite of my ability to satisfy her no more than a surfer asleep on his board, she agreed to accompany me to another destination, with an older consort in tow; the latter seemed unvexed by my hanky-panky and when we got so far into the parking lot, still in my red plaid pajamas, to realize that I had left the car keys inside, knew it was pointless to expect me to make the return trip for them and called a rideshare for us instead.

Not as strange a segue if you consider that I happened across it again a few weeks back on the ファミリー劇場 channel and it’d been sitting at 83.2% all this time. Wait, wasn’t Ken also 笑わない男 in The Yakuza? I’d like to think it’s some kinda wild coincidence in the tiny universe that I’ve carved out for myself here, but come on, it’s like their signature trade-off for superhuman capabilities. Inquiry on a higher level, perhaps, would be comparing the 수상한 (“suspect”?) 가정부 Korean remake for differences both cultural and superficial like the ones between their Signals. The additional episodes provided valuable main cast connections to the serial killer timelines, but are almost twice as many necessary to draw out side characters and let 최지우 explore Sadako Mary Poppins?

It’s been a lifetime since I might have had the chance to for real, anyway. It was dark gray and didn’t have a driver, as far as I could tell, but its engine was revving and the door opened on its own for me. My understanding was that the car was possessed by AI or demons, though that had little to do with the scenario immediately preceding it, where I had been cleaning up a ground-floor patio. I could feel the dried leaves sweeping under my feet. There was a railing that ran along its length but I found an opening at the far side and fitting together two parts of the gate, I thought I could easily secure it with the unused combination lock I had inside. Returning to our house I saw other units’ doors, including one wedged next to ours, which made me question the idea. The Lamborghini, as it turned out, was not magically or maniacally piloted and instead I sat behind a chauffeur whose passenger-side companion asked me for the key, which I produced from my pocket, remembering it from an earlier movie scene.