윤

[I had the kind of dream the other night that made me realize everyone else in them is an NPC and wonder if that’s what it’s like to be sociopath. That did, however, get me thinking about these things, the recurring motifs, characters and settings that don’t give, whether or not they might as well be automated and if so, why I couldn’t just have the popular “AI” come up with them for me. The following is the bland scenario returned from a sampling of my last few entries; an initial attempt was simply a regurgitation of the Rush one. If someday this shit is supposed to take my place, it’d better learn to be anal enough to add author avatars or at the very least justify the paragraphs.]

You find yourself in a strange place where time and space seem to be distorted. You’re surrounded by high-tech gadgets and futuristic vehicles, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not where you’re supposed to be. Suddenly, you’re approached by a group of people who claim to be from the future. They warn you that the world you know is in danger, and that only you can save it. They take you on a journey through time and space, where you encounter strange creatures and otherworldly landscapes.

Along the way, you must use your wits and your gaming skills to outsmart your enemies and solve complex puzzles. You find yourself battling against time-traveling villains and strange machines, all while trying to save the world from certain doom. With every twist and turn, you’re constantly challenged and pushed to the limits of your imagination.

But as the journey reaches its climax, you realize that the fate of the world rests in your hands. Will you be able to save the day and return to your own time and place, or will you be forever lost in this strange and wondrous world? The only way to find out is to keep dreaming and let your imagination soar.
[Dall-E wasn’t much better, serving up this depiction of another imaginary bout of frustration with the woman’s Facebook-driven sense of adventure.]

Wife asked me about the bar (which I refuse to take unless I am allowed to in the afterlife) and I told her it was just the right amount of ambition, not too little that I threw my life away or so much that I made many times what her company might have paid, to put me on a career path to her, like the book—or was it an episode of the Twilight Zone—I remember from my youth with pictures of the earth freezing and burning if it were only the slightest bit further from or closer to the sun. Roots of Intelligent Design for some, perhaps. She looked flustered by my response, which I still felt was such a brilliant one that when 남재 woke up in a bed in the room, I had to tell him he missed out on it. He’d be my first choice on LINE when I woke up at 3am.

An obvious by-product of the son’s interest in Scooby Doo and our recent viewings of live-action adaptations, the proprietor had been conducting some ghastly rituals, and once I learned of them, I returned with a sample leech the shape and size of an orange slice under a form-fitting plastic case and explained to her, squeezing it to reveal its jaws, that he was reviving the dead whose souls had been sucked out of them. She turned and quite effortlessly removed a giant specimen hanging on the towel rack like a lei and tossed it aside.

We congregated in the hall where the madness was at work, and saw an animated scene that seemed to depict his machinations, while staying safe in shower-like alcoves. The wooden floors were giving way, I surmised, as a result of the damage being done to reality. My cousin and Rebecca looked on as my indiscernible companion began choking, her mouth ballooned and I desperately tried compressing her chest from behind. Her ribs converged to a single bilateral ridge and her lips pursed as I continued helplessly, regretting my past decisions.

If there’s any proof Christians like this deserve all the hell they preach, it’s the claim that Job if ever there was one needs to thank God.

…Outnumbers my storage of actual junk, and here’s an example, a story I began after an outing to a state park almost 15 years ago. The Smashing Pumpkins dates it horribly, but there are some gems (“If you eat poison and die, take consolation knowing that whatever—or whoever—eats you, will, too.”), cryptic references between old friends and no idea how things would turn out for them. I could care less about Facebooking to catch up, or even Electric Dreams on DVD anymore. But really, I didn’t know where I was going with this at all. I think I meant for where I left off in fact not to have been a dream, and a sexy Chaka-ette to join the cast, cause somewhat of a stir by snuggling up with the one guy who was married back then, which who knows, might have matured the source material to predict more Lost-like drama. Update: Wiki about the second series says it’s been done, and before me, though not quite how I imagined. I prefer the concept version of a Holly Marshall return. Jungle girl shows up in cave with horny Asian guys and nothing happens? This wasn’t supposed to be real life, after all.

That’ll be the tourism slogan. Once again, I’ll leave it to 老婆 to preserve the more important photos. The one I really regret not having taken (like the Muslim cab driver in Vancouver with the flip-phone held in his turban, that was awesome) was of an old man washing dishes in a place we ate near 龍山 while smoking.

We’ve already gone here and there together, but 老婆 insists this was our official honeymoon. Lets me bring up my life-long interest in the origin of the word, at least ever since seeing a Korean club with the name in Houston—which I look back now and would describe as seedy, probably a front for prostitution—and making the odd connection with the French word “miel”; this would include

蜜月 (mìyuè)
みつげつ (mitsugetsu) and the aforementioned
밀월 (milwol)

Etymology suggests a Proto-Indo-European heritage for the word “honey”. Amazing how small the world was back when it didn’t take a ten-hour flight between continents with Virgin’s impressive video library.

I finally found a comic book store in the vicinity (seems they’re zoned out of neighborhoods whose only purpose is raising smart Asian kids), and though the proprietors seem friendly enough, I’m a bit concerned they stocked only one with the cover I like, and on the day of release. But hey, at least I can return to the same lovely rut routine from ten years ago—an ish of Grant’s, a draught of Dew and thou—except now I’m preserving it for looks-back in another decade.

Of course, what’s different in this particular period between eras is the potent blogosphere (annotations used to come by way of Usenet), which fortunately has yet to succumb to the one-liners of Facebook and YouTube sideshows, offering at least enough literary criticism to produce some brilliant takes on each installment:

At that moment, Talky Tawny’s descent — not keyed as a commentary on superhero decadence or the past saving the present or anything, but just existing as something that is — the comic seemed to adopt a peculiar dream logic, or maybe a free-associative arrangement of otherwise discordant DCU elements, past and present, that tapped something surreal behind the histories and continuities involved. I think that’s as good a way to go with an Event like this as any – hit hard on how the DCU shouldn’t work, but must, and couple a dispassionately ‘realistic’ visual approach with catastrophic subject matter.

Just as MySpace was a poor choice of name for a place where you demonstrate your individuality with the same horribly tiled background image and blaring music tracks everyone else did, Facebook belies the old warning against judging the contents from the cover, doesn’t it? Then again, maybe they should just limit it to sharing faces, and not the shit behind them. I added Dennis the other night, and thanks to that rather revealing list of things you do through them, learned he supports (or was led to join, who knows, the guy’ll do anything to follow in Phil’s footsteps) some stupid group promoting the anti-gay marriage amendment. My W-4’s due for updating, too, but no matter how I look at it, I’m not seeing how George Takei’s wedded bliss makes any difference to mine. They’re not competing with us, are they—I mean, it wasn’t them booking up every courthouse in the county on 8/8/08 leaving only the one in South Central. If business isn’t a zero-sum game, is happiness?

[Edit—And here comes a possible explanation: fear. Insecurity that maybe the decisions and investments they’ve made weren’t the right ones the only ones. If I settle for the steak, what other reason than not wanting anyone to enjoy something else more would I have to prevent them from ordering fish instead?]