enigmatic

Acoustic [Prose]

Like some invisible Cupid pirouetting between hushed whispers to find his targets, the harmony echoes through throngs and pierces those two, who can’t help but breathe it in. A pause from her, a breath from him—they’re submerged between the verses, and all they can do is swim. From opposite sides of the same pavilion, they simultaneously hold their breaths and close their eyes, offering themselves to the lyrics and percussion that envelop their hearts in warmth.  They stand, and dance with the parts of their souls now being carried through the currents that only they can feel. Soon, they’ll be roused by the darkening sky. They’ll rush to find each other then, as though there were no crowds at all.

"Because people aren’t machines or toys built in factories, we’re special and complicated. Our uses, the colors of our hearts, our scents, our pressure points or weaknesses that hurt even when something grazes it—everyone is different. One must look for a long while just to make out their outlines. That’s why that woman doesn’t believe in fateful loves. She didn’t believe."

이웃집 꽃미남 Episode 11, translated by javabeans

Bedtime Story

Dear child, are you lost?

Don’t simply drift in these ebony streams. Surely, there’s something that you’d like to see. Step onto the sand. Dash into this midnight jungle; claim it as your field of dreams. Take the moon; steep it in sapphire polish until it becomes a perfect marble. Let it roll away and watch as bluebirds and lilies emerge from its winding trail, blessing your savanna with cerulean spring.

Then, imagine yourself weightless, floating along silver gusts, turning clouds into translucent bouquets. Ask a petal to be your guide; sail it through placid ripples, as white blooms cascade from your floral Shangri-La.

Accept my greatest gift—my voice, my words.

You gave me a pen, so my words could live.
I said, “Let me give you a universe,”
and you dove into drops of ink,         without fear or reluctance,
to collect my thoughts and

craft them into roads that rival heavens.

Dear child, navigate them as you will.
Let my prose be your infinite canvas.

Boredom

In tangled strings of chronology, there lies a dull gray sphere—ashen and clouded, yet fundamentally empty. It reveals itself only in the absence of life: a wisp that may only escape its binds when the ribbons of laughter and distraction are severed. It glows now.

Violent winds spiral around the orb, expanding it in both image and tangible presence. Twisting, howling, the cycle grows…and strings begin to tear apart. Crying to be released from its confines, the wisp pushes against invisible frames. Cracks appear slowly, but continue to multiply around the figurative chains. And thus, mentality is demolished.

Paint

Lying still, they sleep in scarlet rivers, forming a shadow upon an ivory wall. The painter flicks her wrist, and miniscule puddles appear. Another flick, and splatters of gold now decorate the canvas. She traces neat circles around the bits of liquid fire, making thin lines with midnight ink, then backs away from the piece. She needs the distance. She breathes in the sense of the art as she seeks the passion within the strokes, encased in smooth valleys of crimson and gold. Her eyes move from circle to circle, memorizing the relative locus of each.

The artist drifts towards the embellished sheet and begins to draw mahogany lines seeping from each ebony ring. Upon those lines grow emerald tiaras, cracks prominent about their veneers. Nearly finished, she traces waves of vivid amber around the ink outlines. The canvas is now graced with a seemingly endless garden of nameless flora, and she allows its rivers to dry as they shift towards the setting sun.

Once upon a yesterday, I saw the sun shine blue.

Once upon a yesterday,

I saw the sun shine blue.

-

Amaranthine crystals fleeing

From the effervescent orb.

I pray no lies, until truth does prove itself.

It shone upon translucent fabric,

Pulling my thoughts from deepest imagination.

My sight revealed to me that impossible beauty

-

And never had I seen such a jewel,

If memory does serve me true

And recollections root themselves in honest marshes.

Coarse valleys of the mind,

Encase yourselves in polished glass

And let no thought be touched

-

That which reached towards the confines of my soul

And pierced the curtains that shrouded them so tentatively,

That hid themselves at the slightest caress.

That glorious sun that can justify my waking

Will hold me until my final gasps fade into the past.

-

Dear sun that shone in exquisite sapphire,

Greet me now until I can see your fluorescent tears no longer.

Eternity

Listen as the pendulum swings—veins of time coursing through broken corridors, like coiling vines around a once-white fence. Live and pray and reminisce, but never repair. Shattered realities will melt into glass fantasies, and twilight will bring with it hopes… Hopes that race towards no end, and search for no justification… Hopes that race through the trickle of the hourglass, the chime of the bell, and ticking of the bedside clock. Believe in those hopes, and listen as the pendulum swings.

Stop

I will shout in anger, desperation

Crying through ripples of heated echoes

In caves maimed by pained restraint.

I will shout until I hear silence.

Close those eyes that cannot see,

Yet search for faults and pause to scorn.

I will not let them fall upon my face.

Don’t you dare judge me.

Shuffle

Slick-backed stacks of red and black—those smooth contours that snap in place, rounded corners and fine edges clicking into air. Paper blades slice crescent gusts, crafting fans of wind and waves of translucent precision.

Neat. Sharp. Exact. Each sheet hides as another snakes its way through the array.

Cut. Combine. Slipping through shadowed crevices, the pieces weave amongst themselves like weightless acrobats and search for niches in a layered carpet.

Bend. Slide. Collide. They skate until exhaustion and fall, landing in a tower, outlines aligned.

Utopian Dreams and Dystopian Realities

.The intrinsic hope for absolute perfection—

 . .That no blemish would taint that porcelain faith

 . . .And true flawlessness would define the entirety of existence.

 . . . . .Is it possible?

.Equality, liberty, and safety within

 . .The wants of each, and all fulfilled…

. . .But hidden fangs will bear themselves in time.

. . . . .Do not seek what cannot be obtained.

.For those who breathe in rivers of boundless dreams

. .Will drown in a maze of endless nightmares.

Let There Be Light

I met a man on the corner off the freeway exit near my apartment. He looked homeless, but he didn’t have a sign or anything. I’m used to seeing hobos holding up pieces of cardboard with “Please help, need money” and “God bless” written on them. My parents told me that they would just use cash to buy drugs. I gave them change.

But back to the man. I didn’t ask his name, and to be honest, I doubt he’d tell me if I did. He was just standing on the corner talking to himself. He was pretty old…late-seventies, early-eighties, maybe. He had a gray beard, beat-up jeans, and a sweater that looked like it came from a thrift store. I happened to be walking by when I saw him, so I decided to stop and give him a few coins. He didn’t even look at me when I said, “Um…excuse me? Sir?”; didn’t even turn around when I held the handful of spare change in front of him. Instead, he just kept on talking.

“Light, oh God so much light! Y’know there was never—no never ever this much. Oh no. It’s everywhere now because they don’t stop it and for every light there’s another person and for every person there’s another light and you can’t even see the stars .”

I stood next to him and listened. The way he was talking…it wasn’t hysterical or anything like that. It sounded like he was telling a story. He didn’t really raise his voice.

“I miss bein’ special, y’know, I miss it. Too many lights now; none of em shine anymore. Too many. Can’t see the dark no more. Used to be that I could close my eyes at night and it’d be quiet and I could hear, really hear crickets and the wind in the trees. Now all I hear is cars,” he seethed, “Cars. Horns and cars and lights and cars and so many damn cars!”

The man clenched his hands and looked at the stream of traffic ahead of him. I followed suit. I stood there watching person after person go by for about an hour. I can’t remember any of their faces, though.

After a while, he started talking to himself again. This time, he was muttering too quietly for me to hear. It was getting dark, so I gave him a small wave and walked away, not looking back to see if he returned the gesture. I saw a lot of headlights on the way back home. But I didn’t see any stars.

Ashes

They said they felt a scorching passion—a wave of rage wrapped in a cloak of scarlet ribbons. Their tears were drawn by awe, rather than panic or apprehension. It was beautiful, they said. I requested one of the men on the old wooden benches to describe to me what he had seen, and, shifting towards him, noticed a misty glaze veiling his eyes. He was still asleep, lost within the ordeal. What an intriguing figure he was…absurdly tall, yet lanky as a brittle twig, with a shaggy head of charcoal locks. Even trapped in fog, his eyes threatened to escape from their sockets. It was an image of madness.

After a number of fruitless attempts to begin a conversation, I found it prudent to continue my interrogations elsewhere. I had taken only a single step when the nameless man recaptured my attention. As I turned my head towards him, he started to whistle a light melody. I could only describe it as haunting—childlike, but eerily so…a broken lullaby. I returned to the man’s side, but he didn’t seem to notice me. His eyes continued to stare ahead, and I could swear that they’d grown larger in the few seconds since I’d seen his face. I turned so that I could see his features more clearly. As I moved closer to him, I realized that his eyes did seem to be expanding, or rather, crawling out of their sockets. Somehow, I found it difficult to look away…

My breath hitched as my wrist was snatched in a bony grip, cold but moist with sweat. I made an attempt to pull away, but the man’s grip was unyielding. He suddenly stopped whistling and pulled my face towards his…then cackled. His eyes were bursting with pressure, but he didn’t stop staring at me. It wasn’t until now that I realized I hadn’t seen him blink once. Even as their host dashed into hysteria, the orbs remained open, bulging, writhing. In the midst of his laughter, he began to shake violently. His grip began to tighten, and I could only pray that he would die then. But his laugh was growing louder. And then it was only the two of us—this demented figure and myself. He started to sing.

“Come and play with Darling here,

Come and love me true.

Forget your pains and troubles, Dear

And surely they’ll leave you.

Your wishes, dreams, your fantasies—

I confess I know them all.

My sweet, surrender to these melodies

And die within my call.”

The Farm (Part 4)

I stumbled through two more rooms after that. I was nearly crazed by the time I reached the fifth. The fifth door was pure white, unlike the others. With a sigh of relief, I assured myself that this door must be the last.  I turned the knob to find that this room was a copy of the one I first entered…”What They Never Told You.” There were four animals inside- the ones that I had seen tortured in the previous rooms. They were alone; there were no men, no cages, no fences, no tools. I stood still in anxious anticipation. Seconds later, I heard whispers. The voices were human. They grew steadily louder as I strained to listen. “Why?” “Help.” “Please, help.” The animals were standing, maimed and barely alive. Their mouths didn’t move, yet somehow, it felt as though they were talking…pleading. They began to move towards me, dragging trails of blood. I was nearly paralyzed from the shock, and fell when I tried to move back. They continued inching towards me, and I could do nothing but close my eyes. Then, I screamed.

I was back inside the first room, standing in front of the screen. It wasn’t transparent anymore. I staggered towards it, then took a single breath and collapsed, burying my face in my palms. I don’t know long I knelt there. I only remember crying at the realization that I had truly seen the depths of Hell.

The Farm (Part 3)

Perhaps I should explain more about this place. A few weeks prior to my admission, I had been chosen for a program called “Meet Your Meat”.  I received a letter asking me to visit an old warehouse down the street. The warehouse housed multiple small rooms, and I was directed to one called “What They Never Told You.” There were two people lined up in front of the door- myself and another girl. She seemed rattled, and I didn’t realize why, until I saw a someone burst out of the room in tears. The girl did her best to ignore what she had just seen, and limped towards the door, shaking. She entered the room. About an hour later, she rushed out screaming. I was unnerved, but steeled myself nonetheless.

Now, I was rushing along another corridor. It wasn’t long before I reached the second room. This room was filled with piglets- some within pens, others lying on the ground. I couldn’t tell if they were asleep or dead. There were two more men sitting inside this room. Again, only one noticed me. He grabbed one of the piglets and set it onto his lap, then pulled out a rusted clamp from a pocket that I couldn’t see. The piglet was roused by the shock of having one of its teeth broken. It continued to squeal as the man continued mechanically, working as though this were a simple routine. One tooth. Then another. And then the rest. I could only mark the man’s progress though its screams, as like before, I found myself shielding my eyes. At one point, I screamed at the man to stop. I was ignored, but didn’t dare move closer to him, for fear that I’d be subjected to the same treatment. It was cruel, but please understand…I was terrified.

The Farm (Part 2)

I found myself on the opposite side of the translucent panel, inside some sort of factory. There were unfamiliar contraptions stacked on either side of me. It seemed that they had created a path for me to follow. And so I walked. Within minutes, I found myself covering my eyes. I’d noticed the faint smell of smoke further down the makeshift hallway. I followed more out of instinct than curiosity, and found that I had been led to a scene that could be described as no less than torture.

I’d reached a door- just a regular door- and opened it to find a room of newborn chicks. They were scattered across the room, and some were packed in cages. I wondered if I’d entered some sort of farm. I then noticed two men sitting down. I call them “men”, but to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what they were. They looked like silhouettes…shadows of men. They sat on stools in the middle of the room, each holding a small blade. One of them noticed me, and turned towards me. He remained sitting, but bent down to pick up one of the chicks. What happened next, I’d rather not describe in detail. The man heated the blade inside a furnace (I closed my eyes at this point) and seconds later, the chick’s beak was on the floor.