윤

I must’ve been frustrated years ago by something or other when I thought how I might shock the sensibilities of billions of people with a treatise (more of a polemic) on the subject of face. The Star Wars analogy fit, at least until the prequels ruined the myth of “an energy field created by all living things, that surrounds and penetrates living beings and binds the galaxy together”, but I’ll spare George Lucas from the blame for my failure to take it beyond that. But really, all it amounts to is people fucking each other with condoms. Nothing actually gets accomplished unless there’s a free exchange of fluids. I couldn’t help but think Jack should’ve spat on snivelling Mr. Furley and bloodied his jaw before carrying Cindy into his room.

From: Homer J.
To: spinn42@aol.com
Cc: hjerng@leland.Stanford.EDU,jae_yoon@hotmail.com,rajg@erols.com,rchenx@bigfoot.com,spacecobra@aol.com,cronnie@bigfoot.com
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 20:59:43 -0700
Subject: Tenchu Shinobi Hyakusen
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On Fri, 22 Oct 1999 15:56:51 -0700 Henry Hungtao Jerng writes:
>Maybe after reading this, Raj, you’ll want us to go back to talking about videogames?

And for my part, excerpts from my daytime preoccupations (videogame excluded), not always work-related, but passionate nonetheless:

….So the angle of my right hand must be kept as sharp as possible just before impact, for therein lies its strength and, ultimately, travel distance. (I have noticed that performance and accuracy, too, is increased when the left also assists by following through the swing motion in tandem.) And my stance, remember, should place the tee at my left foot. The titanium-faced club head definitely accounts for some of the drives which belie my standing as a mere beginner; perhaps this year’s tungsten models might make the expense worth it? No, another 1-wood would hardly round out my sparse bag–indeed, I remain equppied to play only holes less than a hundred and more than two–and must accustom myself to shorter shaft lengths with a set of irons….

….Just who was she, anyway, walking a small white poodle down busy Torrance Blvd. under the noon sun this balmy late October day? 5’2″, long, straight hair, 36C chest, per eyeball (a measurement proudly 85% accurate)–if not for my cursed luck in finally making that light at Sportmart I might have been sure. Or is this visual hallucination the start of complete psychological collapse due to failure to tide my obsession with big-breasted Asian women? Perhaps I can repeat the route on Monday; dogs require habitual maintenance, I should know. At least if I frequent the Subway nearby I can stock up on free sandwich stamps….

….Makes enough sense, that if the Purchase Order won’t post because expected receipt was set later than scheduled shipment for items reserved on it, then the solution is to change the date on the Sales Order. Integrated systems, bah….

….A machine that displays dreams has been my own dream since the cult classic “Five Million Years to Earth” (“Quatermass and the Pit” to die-hard fans), but whereas a Martian invasion of the Earth may never happen (not again, especially after that deplorable job by Tim Burton), I don’t think the idea’s that way off. Computers can do such wonders today–provide incontrovertible evidence that reshapes history, chart the course of galaxies, ruin the Star Wars trilogy–why not use their amazing processing power to interpret the visual signals that cross the brain during REM sleep? Sight, after all, is the product of neurochemical sensory stimulation, and identification of the resulting cues; if these could be catalogued in digital form, the more the better obviously, then compared to the same dream-time data, the cross-referenced images could be viewed. The principle would work like voice recognition or OCR software (or Homer’s brother Herb’s baby talk translator). Who knows? Someday it might be just as popular. Millions of web channels, and so little original content for them (Internet jokes today are recycled to the point where I’m receiving the same ones from the same people a year later), the subconscious imagination, however wildly psychotic, might be the last refuge for creativity. I could certainly dream up a better Star Wars prequel….

….Or was it D?

Okay, ignoring all the other chaff for a moment, this dream machine is a lot like my idea above. And oddly enough, I just got Quatermass and The Pit for John, since he’s the only other person I know who remembers it.

老婆 mentioned seeing 좋은놈나쁜놈이상한놈 on BT, so I hit Media King earlier today, but as fate (or routine) would have it, a pathetic gift shop next to our stop for 香煎龍利 provided its only sighting. $5.99 for a DVD-9 in curiously complete Korean packaging and a “special” in the menu which was, get this, a preview for The Dark Knight. Still, the picture was good enough to be the equivalent of an Oscar screener, and the movie itself was quite the spectacle, very much the big-time contender that D-Wars was not. And Miike’s anachronistic Django felt like Afro Samurai versus the superior Champloo here; when we follow 윤태구 to the Manchurian crossroads, don’t tell me that wasn’t a Star Wars cantina/Hellboy II Troll Market moment and fuck if I didn’t want to be alive back then.