WISDOM

a warm spring-like day
a clear blue sky
furry magnolia buds have bravely sprouted
but i am indoors
back in the dentist's chair once again
yet more surgery for my tired mouth
another wisdom tooth needs to come out
i am not at my best
clumsy conversations with the nurses
garbled instructions
no smoking or drinking for two weeks
no hot food or showers for three days
put on the ice pack to stop the swelling
i gargle some chemical-pink fluid
a nurse swabs my lips
the dentist arrives in a flurry of korean
i get the gist and nod politely, forcing a smile
the chair slowly reclines to the horizontal
i am feeling vulnerable
a large needle sways hovers momentarily above my eyes
then sinks deep into my gum
i try and relax and wait for anasthesia to take effect
the numbness spreads like a blanket of fog
a cloth covers my face
a small circle cut out around the mouth
like muslim apparel
the dentist is called away to deal with an sudden emergency
i slip in and out of consciousness
disembodied voices echo in the corridor
drawers open and close
mysterious tools and instruments are assembled
the dentist returns and grips my mouth
the sound of drilling
a smell like burning tyres
the taste of blood
i try to meditate
my thoughts float away
to a fragrant summer garden
filled with birdsong
where fountains bubble
and i can smell the sweetness of freshly cut grass
but the suction machine and drill drag me back to the chair
chunks of tooth break off
at last my masked friend yanks out the root
and stitches up the gaping crater in my gum
the chair slowly returns to the upright position and the ordeal is over
until next time
i apply the ice pack
wonder how i am going to survive two weeks without a fag
in korea they call them 'love teeth'
a misnoma if ever i heard one
did our ancestors need their wisdom teeth to survive
by the time they reached my age?

ESCAPE

it is june 1997
i have escaped from the suffocation of the english south coast
fled from a relationship gone sour
to the land of the ancient gods
zeus, apollo, aphrodite and poseidon
i gaze across the sea at misty sinister albanian shores
the open road
the wind in my hair
the roar of the engine
the sun beats down on my head
burning my forearms
the road snakes up to kaiser's seat
past steep hillsides and olive groves
winding switchbacks
the island spreads out beneath me and melts into the sea
in the tavernas
dusky olive-skinned waitresses
serve plates of hummus, bread and salad
washed down with white wine
a steep climb down to the beach
throwing off clothes
body surfing in the frothy waves
balmy evenings outside on the terrace
losing myself in the odyssey
long compelling passages of the magus...
it is may 1991
i sit on the banks of the ganges in varanasi
the holy city of northern india
different gods
brahma, vishnu, krishna, ganesha
we gaze down on the burning ghats
it is night-time but all is lit up
hindu and jain pilgrims mill
bathe in the sacred but filthy waters
wild-eyed sadhus in ochre robes contort into agonising poses
vince and i are high as kites on bhang lassi
our senses amplified
sights, sounds and fragrances enhanced into a new dimension
a cremation begins
we watch spellbound
as a corpse slowly carbonises before our very eyes
limbs crumble into ash
the torso disintegrates
clouds of dust blow away into the sultry night air...
it is february 2007
i have escaped to my desk in sk
i check into the art of living
i read my comments
i type out my blog
i was so much older then
i'm younger than that now

PERSEVERANCE

i have wandered like a lost sheep in the wilderness
i have stumbled through dark forests
i have been stuck in deep ruts
i have missed the mark
i have lost form
i have swallowed the bitter pill of defeat
i have lain awake in bed at night thumping the wall in frustration
i have dreaded showing my face and still turned up
i have sat there alone in the dark
i have fought off sleep
i have sat up through the small hours and watched the new day dawn
i have worked for 48 hours at a stretch
i have crawled out of the wreckage
i have dragged myself from my deathbed and walked
i have learnt from others
i have read many books
trial and error have been my tools
i have tried and failed and tried again
i have bounced back
i have discovered that nothing worth doing is accomplished easily
i have learnt that the journey is the only arrival
i have walked the extra mile
when it would have been easier to lie down by the side of the road
i have learnt that less is usually more
that more is usually less
that the beauty is in the detail
i have learnt to see god where before i saw everyday mundanity
i have learnt to listen and speak
instead of merely hearing and talking
i have spotted the chink of light at the end of the long tunnel
i have kept the ability to laugh at the world
and i have kept the fireseed burning when they tried to stub me out

TWENTY QUESTIONS

1. a song? she multiplies infinity

2. an album? isidore

3. a singer? steve kilbey

4. a man? siddhartha gautama

5. a woman? my grandmother

6. a child? hannah elisabeth

7. a writer? david edwards

8. a book? zen & the art of motorcycle maintenance

9. a word? perseverance

10. a film? jude

11. a food? falafel and hummus

12. a drink? double espresso (day), ale (night)

13. a quote? 'a discovery is an accident meeting a prepared mind' - albert szent-gyorgi

14. a guitar? a rickenbacker 12-string

15. a guitarist? johnny marr

16. an animal? chameleon

17. a time of day? dawn

18. a country? india

19. a city? paris

20. an age? 38

one more song? oh go on then! - confusion blues

COLUMBO

i am sitting stark naked
talking to a cop
a real-life detective no less
a slightly surreal experience
but no, not a dream or warped fantasy...
a bright winter's morning
mountains zoom in close against a clear blue sky
an hour of yoga has transported me into a state of blissful relaxation
i soak sleepily in the warm tub and then the hot tub
the cold bath makes me gasp for air
the icy water stings my painfully contracting skin
the air in the 1st sauna room is so hot and humid i can barely breathe
another cold bath plunge comes as blessed relief
the next sauna room is more comfortable
i strike up a conversation with two ajossis
one of them is particularly friendly
it turns out that he is a detective from the local police station
solver of crimes
catcher of murderers
our dutiful protecter from the public enemy
the nutters and the psychos
normally i would feel a tad nervous in the presence of the fuzz
law-abiding citizen though i am
but the language barrier distances communication
slows everything down
keeps things simple
sticking to familiar terrain
my linguistic comfort zone
personal info
work
family
although i spot his talent for asking questions
the reverberating walls of the sauna oven don't aid my rudimentary listening skills
of all the jobs out there to choose from
i think policeman would be pretty much near the bottom of my list
just above soldier and abbatoir worker
we exchange phone numbers
and head back into our different worlds

AGONY UNCLE

dear fireseed
i feel lost, puzzled and confused
my everyday life has been thrown out of kilter
and i am not sure who i am or what i want any more
i have been feeling excited but frustrated and afraid
let me explain
i have been happily married for some years to a loving husband
and we have a sweet little daughter who we cherish
but recently a new person has entered my life
someone who i cannot stop thinking about
who makes my heart beat faster
who has opened up new avenues of thinking and being
but who is from a different culture to mine
and who i struggle to communicate with as i would wish
like me he also has a family
i feel disorientated and do not know where to turn
who to confide in
how i need some of your gentle words of wisdom right now, fireseed
with love and best wishes
elaine

my dear elaine
thank you for your letter
i feel for you and understand your predicament
your situation well sums up the human condition
the collective divine comedy through which we live
that hall of mirrors
where we walk a narrow tightrope between the twin pillars of virtue and sin
no safety net beneath us
where we are in perpetual danger of 'missing the mark'
as the buddha would say
for each waking hour we must make a choice
between sloth and diligence
between gluttony and abstinence
between greed and liberality
between anger and kindness
between envy and patience
between pride and humility
between lust and chastity
of course we are all 'sinners'
so frequently we stray from the right path
failing to learn from our mistakes
forced to suffer in perpetual purgatory
enduring and re-enduring over and over again
we are penitents walking through hot flames
we stand in the fertile orchard
midway between a plum tree and a peach tree
staring longingly up at the fragrant forbidden fruit
unable to reach up and grasp it
even as it hangs invitingly from the spreading boughs
under the hot sun
our throats are parched with a burning thirst
as we gaze at the cool crystal waters flowing by
our backs are bent under the weight of heavy stones
our eyes are sewn shut with wire
we walk with heads bowed as we feel the crack of the whip
we cannot deny our humanity
but we must seek to follow the path
lust is transient
friendship endures
you must choose between virtue and sin
between happiness and unhappiness
please do not spend your precious life in purgatory
love
fireseed

STANDSTILL

isidore hip-hop shuffles its way out through the tinny pc speakers
which cut out all the subtle resonant bass frequencies
an album recorded across continents
spanning the wide pacific
two artists who met only virtually
like you and i, dear reader, on 'the art of living'
the music of jeffrey cain
the voice and words of steve kilbey
these two fellows paint an exotic canvas of watery soundscapes
as the dawn light seeps through the windows to the balcony...
i take a ticket from the machine
hand over 4000 won for the privilege of waiting in a long queue
to replace my 'magic hana' bank card and passbook
two more victims lost among the ever-accumulating domestic debris
sucked down into the deadly quick-sand of our spare room
which, when i can fight my way into it, doubles as my sometime music studio
items hidden away in remote drawers
one day to resurface like fossils...
i am running
running to stand still
coming to a standstill
shifting stuff from the in-tray to the out-tray
watching the in-tray fill up again
a process akin to osmosis
deleting electronic messages from the in-box
sensing the quiet regular pulse of new communications
aggregating and accumulating once more
like trees falling silently and invisibly in the forest
as the seoul transit system channels me through the arteries of the city
streams of consciousness fill my notebook and dictaphone
i transmigrate my thoughts from notebook to blog
my melodies and lyrics from dictaphone to digital tape recorder
then watch the notebook and dictophone refill
a disembodied hand scribbling down lines of spidery handwriting
a strange voice humming and scatting
words of an acquaintance i vaguely know
mental microfiche for the library catalogue
songs fill my head faster than i can sing them
words fill my thoughts faster than i can write them
permanence is impermanent
impermanence is permanent
our documents are useless
our records need updating
our database is obselete
the endless cycle of life and death continues relentlessly
birth
atrophy
decay
rebirth
incarnation and reincarnation
i am king canute facing the incoming tide
with neither throne nor courtiers
alone on the beach with my bucket, my spade and my bare hands
i struggle to build my sandcastle
i paw and scrape
put up little flags
even as i watch the seawater swirl around the moat
undermining the foundations
collapse imminent

MIKE (EPILOGUE)

t'other day
i was telling you about mike
a childhood pal i last saw thirteen years ago
in somewhat acrimonious circumstances
well, i did a little internet search for mikey boy
and discovered that he's now morphed into none other than...
Dr Mike O'Neill, PhD!
not only that but the dear boy won
the guardian snoozepaper's 2004 'schoolteacher of the year' award
for north-east england
how about that?
mike's cheery visage shines out from the guardian website
lighting up the pixels on my screen
surrounded by proud messages from colleagues and friends
good on ya, mike
always knew you had it in you
i'm proud of you, fella!

DOSSIER

name: david andrew watton
birthplace: marston green, birmingham, england
birthdate: 6th july 1968
gender: male
height: 6 feet 2 inches (1:88)
weight: 11 stone 8 pounds (74 kilos)
blood type: O negative
religion: church of england (baptised)
occupations: manager british cultural institute / artist
country of citizenship: uk
country of residency: south korea
marital status: married to south korean citizen
children: 1 daughter
current place of residence: mangwon-dong, mapo-gu, seoul
aliases: fireseed, the laughing Buddha, davina watson
mobile phone: none
most visited internet sites: fireseed-the-art-of-living.blogspot.com, wikipedia.com, medialens.org, stevekilbey.blogspot.com
un-american activities: has recorded and distributed several cds/songs hostile to the american government and our way of life - 'manifesto' album cover, president bush speech collage on song 'where the flowers grow no more', compares president bush to the devil on song 'lucifer'; maintains web log with defiantly anti-corporate stance, makes frequent derogatory remarks related to president and friendly allies such as British PM (see, for example, post dated 2nd june 2006: fireseed-the-art-of-living.blogspot.com/2006/06/talking-compassion-deficiency-blues.html)
potential threats to government / business interests: negative pr for meat, oil, advertising, automobile industries; goads listeners and readers into adopting a green/vegan lifestyle and rejecting mainstream cultural and religious values in favour of a loosely-defined pseudo-spiritual journey which he terms 'heroism'; anti-war rhetoric consistently undermines centrality of military-industrial complex to modern us society and state
current alert level: orange
to monitor: all internet activity, transactions, electronic correspondence

ARGYBARGY

i reawake from the monotony of a treadmill-like dream
where time has ground to a halt and stands still
i am lost in an endless cycle of repetition i can't shake off
like a stubborn cold virus
a nagging mental straitjacket
fitted and held in place by my subconscious
there is anger and frustration
there are frayed tempers and arguments
frowning faces huddled over papers around a meeting table
argybargy
the first alarm call was accidentally set by hannah elisabeth
messing around with a clock in the living room
its unfamiliar dull ring filters through the cracks in the door
like an unwanted school bell ending break time
i slowly emerge from my coma, get out of bed and extinguish the noise
but when i return
i climb straight back on to the cursed treadmill
dreamsleep reveals...what?
it evades analysis
it avoids eye contact like a demure maiden
it hides more than it reveals...
yesterday evening i arrive home tired and hungry after a long day at t'mill
the atmosphere is fraught with tension
argybargy is afoot
hannah's got a friend over
jiyoung 'onni', h's 'big sister', two years older
the kitchen table is strewn with partly consumed snacks
empty yoghurt cartons
half-eaten cream buns
gingerbread rabbits...
i groan inwardly
what i want is some nice vegan dinner on the table
not this sugary, fatty, nutrition-free muck!
suddenly all hell breaks loose
h and j are wrestling over the rights to a gingerbread rabbit
there are tears and red faces
angry recrinimations fly thick and fast in squeaky korean voices
jinny offers jiyoung the last remaining strawberry yoghurt
but h is having none of it
despite having consumed three of the wretched things already!
so the fourth yoghurt gets shared
but h doesn't even eat it
she just wants to deprive j of the pleasure
then things really come to a head
h has managed to commandeer a cream bun from jiyoung's bag
while onni is in the bathroom
a furious jiyoung emerges from WC and attempts to retrieve bun
in the red corner: hannah elisabeth (35 pounds)
in the blue corner: han jiyoung (38 pounds)
seconds out for round two
and let battle commence...!
daddy returns from the bedroom oblivious to what's been going on
like a boxing referee i rush in to break them up
i cart hannah off to her bedroom and close the door behind us
try to sit her on the bed and clam her down
reason with her like a good dad
but hannah is hysterical and just wants mummy
finally she vomits up her three yoghurts
all over herself, the floor and my change of clothes
and charges out of the room
screaming at the top of her voice
at times like these...!

DESERT ISLAND DISCS

didn't think too long and hard about this
just wrote down a quick list at the breakfast table
so in approximate chronological order here goes...

1) eight miles high (the byrds, 1966)
a record ahead of its time
the byrds fly high and take rock music into uncharted territory
mcguinn scatters frantic jazzy guitar licks wherever you look
the high altitude bass gulps desperately for air
the ethereal harmonies match the surreality of the lyrics
everything comes to an explosive climax in the final bars
the creative genius of the 60s unleashed and preserved on vinyl...
2) mr tambourine man live (bob dylan, live, may 1966)
a drugged-up-to-the-eyeballs bob delivers an amazing rendition
check it out on scorsese's recent 'no direction home' rockumentary
3) and your bird can sing (the beatles, 1966)
not to be outdone
the beatles also achieved greatness in 1966
that high water mark of musical invention
'revolver' just might be my all-time favourite album
and this is probably my favourite revolver track
lennon moves into metaphysical lyrical realms
his vocal is never as simultaneously powerful and vulnerable
the three-part falsetto harmonies are exhilerating
the double-tracked guitars of mccartney and harrison
ascend a chromatic staircase of saturated guitar tone
the whole thing swings infectiously
there's even a completely different but equally interesting arrangement
on the beatles anthology
with a lovely gleaming 12-string guitar backing
lennon & mccartney cracking up in the studio as they overdub the vocals
4) too fast for you (the church, 1981)
oops! whatever happened to the 70's?
distilling everything that was exciting about this band
during their initial new-wave phase
ringing guitars locked in effortless synchronicity
the bassline swoops and slurs
steve kilbey's wonderfully opaque lyrics describing strange scenes
where 'blackbirds peck' and 'the sandman gets shallow sleep'
delivered in his gorgeous sandpaper-rough but oddly well-spoken english-aussie voice
5) kamikaze pilot (the hoodoo gurus, 1983?)
more quality fare from australian shores
the hoodoo gurus were on fire during their 'stoneage romeos' period
this record takes 'the basic rock and roll' format to its highest level
straight-ahead 4/4 rhythm guitar, bass and drums
a brilliant loud rudimentary brad shepherd guitar solo
bleak subject matter transformed into comic-book hilarity
by dave patterson's crazy imagination
'on an island there ain't too much to do
look out for number one because i think
i see lee marvin chasing after you!'
and taken to another level by his demented delivery
the song i always enjoyed most singing and playing live!
6) back to the old house (the smiths, 1983)
an achingly sad and lonely song
just morrisey wailing over marr's lovely acoustic picking
7) providence (jack frost, 1991)
mr kilbey again
this time in pairing with grant mclennan
that other great australian songwriter
this track very narrowly won over 'civil war lament' from the same album
the two writers / voices match perfectly
another sad and beautiful song
8) hallelujah (jeff buckley, 1994)
written by leornard cohen (i've never heard his version)
but recorded by jeff buckley a few years before his tragic death
incredible poetic lyrics
a fantastic nuanced vocal from jeff
a lovely chiming capo-ed guitar accompaniment
the whole thing worthy of the song title!
9) samuel barber's adagio
ha! a bit of classical stuff for good measure
despite its over-use in movie soundtracks
i still find this piece gut-wrenchingly moving
10) vaughn williams' fantasia on greensleeves(?)
...or at least i think that's what it's called?
i only recently found out the composer / title of this piece
when i heard a snippet of it performed live by some buskers
hauntingly beautiful

ANNIVERSARY

korean new year
round at my mother-in-law's place
with jy's brother and sister and their families
m-i-l cooks up two different menus
bless her
the solitary vegan menu for me
great big plate of fried tofu
delicious green bean pancakes
rice dyed purple by kidney beans
beans left, right and centre!
side dishes of spinach and mountain herbs
prepared with garlic and sesame seeds...
the carnivorous menu for everyone else
prodigious quantities of barbecued cow
piled up on large plates...
this year fireseed celebrating a decade of being vegan
eleven years of vegetarianism
that should really read nearly vegan
as too often i stray from the path of righteousness
a pair of leather shoes here
a woollen jumper there
a silk tie or two
an occasional pizza with some cheese on it
the odd doughnut or muffin containing some egg or milk
honey and lemon for a nasty cold
but absolutely no flesh of a dead animal has passed my lips
be it fish, fowl, mammal or sea creature
since 1996...
i'm ashamed it took me so long
for many years the veggies and vegans of my imagination
(i scarcely recall actually making the acquaintance of any)
were odd pale and pasty anemics
far beyond my ken as a rampant red-blooded carnivore
a fully paid-up member of Generation S (the supermarket generation)
meat for me had always been
an odourless unassuming, unthreatening lump of flesh
lying there in the chiller cabinet
in its little white polystyrene tray
wrapped up in cellophane
a handy paper towel hidden away underneath
to absorb any unpleasant blood like a sanitary towel
a tidy rectangle of bloodless steak
a pink oval-shaped chicken breast
boneless, skinless and, it goes without saying, featherless
or a neat round orange slice of salmon steak
farmed somewhere up in scotland
all devoid of blood and guts
and free of any resemblence to a real living breathing feeling creature
yet something of the horror
of what lay behind the bland supermarket experience
must somehow have permeated
for i remember distinctly the event that led me to forego animal flesh
i was in the cinema watching a film version of hardy's jude the obscure
set in the days long before Generation S was ever thought of
in the scene in question the innocent young jude cannot bring himself to slaughter a pig
so his impatient new wife
well versed in the harsh ways of country life
grabs the knife from him and plunges it into the poor animal's neck
a sickening jet of pig blood spurts out at the camera
accompanied by a hideous squeal
jude gasps and recoils in disgust
just as i do in my cinema seat
i resolve immediately to renounce my part
in the slaughter of god's creatures to fill our overfed bellies
not long after that i am invited for dinner
by sarah and her cross-dressing partner jonathan
he with a fetish for rubber
they cook me a delicious nut roast
topped with some kind of tasty vegan cheese
it is a revelation that vegan food can be so mouthwatering
rather than a hairshirt to be endured
that week i stock up on soya milk
which after a while stops tasting like chalk water
the rest is history
about a year later i order a cup of black coffee which arrives with milk in it
the damage has been done, i think to myself
taking a sip
and all i can taste is yukky animal fat!
unfortunately for my wife
my road to damascus conversion occured shortly before we met
and she had no say in it
my diet has always been the major bone of contention between us
if you'll pardon the pun
arguments in chinese restaurants with jyw taking the side of the waiter
trying to convince me that meat is good for me
and why don't i try this or that seafood dish?
over the years we have somehow learnt to accomodate each other
though what hannah elisabeth eats is a perennial sticking point
as i'm not at home most of the time
i've had to come to terms with hannah's non-veggie diet
though it pained me deeply initially
for i want my precious daughter to have no part
in the obscenity that is the hidden death industry
the factory farm killing machine
that is not so removed from the human killing machine
for if we are prepared to cause suffering to and slaughter our fellow sentient beings
how much further do we need to go
before we are willing to do the same to our fellow man?

RENEWAL

a new year dawns
outside it is a misty but warm and shining day
the most beautiful day i can remember
from my rooftop all is calm
i am clean
i am renewed
i cast off my shabby old clothes
and adorn myself with smart new raiment
i banish my negative thoughts
and meditate on glistening new opportunities
i wave goodbye to the sinner i was
and clutch to my bosom the hero i am
i thank god for my family and friends
for the earth, its creatures and its blooming gardens
i pack my bag and set out on a new journey
ready to follow the sun, the moon and the stars
in search of radiance

NAKED

new year's eve in sk
the year of the golden pig
what that presages i know not
my younger brother jgw was born in the year of the pig
while i am a cheeky earth monkey
according to the literature
i am versatile
inventive
a natural entertainer
ingenious
creative
mischievous
quick-witted
good at storing mental notes away for future reference
agile of mind
blessed with multiple talents
reliable and honest in dealings
a problem-solver
a good listener
artistic
clever
intellectual
i spend a lot of time in my head
i think and worry too much
i am overly naive
i get burned
i can be overly suspicious and unable to trust others
i am good at making others happy
but not so good at making myself happy
how is that such a description can ring so true...?

it is a lifeless melancholy winter's afternoon
not an afternoon to be alone with one's thoughts
the trees are bare
there is no birdsong
the railway carriages and streets of the city uncharacteristically quiet
people preparing for new year
many braving the gridlocked exodus to far-flung provinces
to be with parents and grandparents
i walk through hanyang university campus
to a theatre that is almost empty
one of those performances where cast is larger than audience
like some of the gigs our band used to play in hongdae
i have come to see 'hitchcock blonde'
an amateur production by an expat company called the seoul players
the very first actor who takes the stage is someone i know
but not somebody i was expecting to see
as the programme features only his stage name
he was a trainee on a teaching course i ran three years ago
i picture him struggling at the whiteboard
battling to acquire the skills of a teacher
but here he is in his element
commanding the stage with power and confidence
theatre is something i seldom experience but almost always love
a totally different experience from cinema
the liveness
the immediacy
the intimacy
the uniqueness of this performance
tonight
here and now
for our eyes only
never to be repeated
the tension in the air
the sets and the props
the floodlights
the minimalism
the timeless old-fashioned simplicity
the lack of artifice
the homespun feel
the inventiveness under the constraints of limited means
no commercials
no marketing
no PR men
no multi-million dollar budget
this is the extreme opposite of the sterile
the bland
the generic
the special-effects laden
the hollywood staple
this is in-your-face honesty
the muffed lines
the imperfect delivery
the live chemistry between the actors
the interaction between cast and audience
in a strange way mirroring a language class
when the blonde drops her dressing gown for hitchcock
and goes butt naked
it's for real
ironically considering the subject matter
there is nowhere for her to hide
no clever camera angles
no subtle lighting
no body doubles
i admire the courage of the actress
how many would dare to do this under the eyes of complete strangers
while launching into a lengthy soliloquy?
normally as adults
we hide
we dissimulate
we conceal
we are disingenuous
we have shaken off the disarming honesty of the child
and quickly mastered the art of deception
we seldom reveal
even in our most intimate of moments
we bottle up our emotions
fearful of losing face
boys don't cry
not even a tear
girls rarely cry either
we are disciplined
we adopt affectations
put on airs and graces
we are skilled actors
scared of laying ourselves on the line
careful not to give too much away
keeping our cards close to our chests
metaphors abound
we will do anything to avoid saying what we really think
terrified of how others might react
while secretly craving intimacy
but we are chained and shackled
we conform
we stick to the rules of the game
we tell little white lies
grey lies
big black lies
wicked lies
we are superficial
chipboard beneath a thin veneer of mahogany
the truth hurts
so we wrap ourselves up in layers of vestments
bundled up imposters in disguise
no sooner would we give up this pretence
than take off all our clothes in public
like the hitchcock blonde under the gaze of the camera crew
what would happen if we all threw off our dressing gowns
and revealed the sagging stomachs
the varicous veins
the cellulite
the bony knees
the unsightly hair
the curious genitalia
the tight musculature
the milky white flesh
the imperfect
the perfect
and everything in between?
perhaps some people are beautiful
because they are already at ease with their nakedness
while others manage to hide their ugliness
only by keeping their garments tightly buttoned up...

MIKE

an essential piece of equipment in the recording studio
but fortunately not the topic of today's blog...
this post is about a fellow i used to know
called mike o'neill
obviously that isn't his real name
then again maybe it is?
mike and i were inseperable and insufferable childhood pals
a year or two apart in age
with a similarly puerile sense of humour
the same penchant for collecting useless factual information
about people and things
the same obsession with sport
footy, cricket, golf...snooker(!)
we mucked around together
had great laughs
got into scrapes
as we became teenagers we liked the same bands
U2, the church, REM, 10000 maniacs
we drove down to london to see the church and 10000 maniacs
at the grand old town and country club in kilburn
ran out of petrol on the way back
in the early hours of the morning
had to leave the car parked by the side of the road
just the kind of silly thing we would do
as kids only one major thing separated and differentiated us
mike was from an irish catholic family
while i was nominally c of e
though i seldom ventured anywhere near a church
in the early days the main practical consequence of these religious differences was that unlike the rest of the neighbourhood kids
mike went to a roman catholic school in a different area
where the teachers were nuns
with strange-sounding names like sister josephine
and mike's classmates were all called seamus, damien and bernadette
on sunday evenings
mike suddenly went out of circulation
being summoned to attend something called 'mass'
which i had only a vague concept of
going round to mike's was always fun
if a little intimidating
mike's dad con had been raised in county galway
emigrating to birmingham back in the fifties
where he met his dublin-born wife bernie
in mike's house con ruled the roost
joking, storytelling, teasing the two of us
from his comfy armchair in front of the telly
pontificating and soapboxing in his hearty irish brogue
while bernie floated quietly about the kitchen
as i got a bit older i started to become aware of con's comments
about the ira and the british government
and though i only had a vague idea of what he was talking about
i could discern his strong sense of injustice
about the treatment of catholics in northern ireland
this kind of talk was alien to me
in our house if politics was ever broached
it was only in the context of a passing 'tut, tut' at a tv news item
the unions, arthur scargill, ira bombers
my parents being long-time wet conservative voters...
then when i was eighteen
i left birmingham for nottingham
and saw a lot less of mike
although he came up to see me a few times
and got to know my new friends
then i took to a peripatetic existence
circumnavigating the globe for eighteen months
living down in kent
going off to the basque country to teach english
meanwhile mike went to durham to study physics
inevitably we didn't see much of each other for a while
then in august 1994 during the summer holidays
i came back to england and went up to stay with mike and his girlfriend, who were both working as schoolteachers in newcastle
we hadn't seen each other for two years
so it was something of a big reunion
we chatted and played guitar together
over dinner the conversation turned to politics
it was around the time of the anglo-irish agreement
and not knowing much about it as an ex-pat living in northern spain
i innocently asked mike if he thought it brought any prospects for peace
something in him suddenly seemed to snap
what he said next i have replayed countless times in my mind
though i can't remember for sure the precise wording he used
'the more british soldiers killed in northern ireland, the better' was his initial outburst
'don't start getting on your high-horse' heather admonished wearily
becoming the target of a torrent of verbal abuse
'you've always been a tory fascist!' mike spat at me
referring to a childhood diary i had kept
apparently glorifying the sinking of the general belgrano
during the falklands war
something i had no recollection of
though i wouldn't rule it out considering my naiivety at the time
having unleashed a tirade of pent-up rage
mike stormed off to his room telling me to get out of his house
shocked, shaken and saddened
i caught the first coach back down to birmingham
and immediately wrote a song about what had happened
it was called, somewhat unsubtly, 'Cut the bullshit!'

a whole lot of water has passed under our little bridge
we've polarised our enterprise
but who are you trying to kid
if not yourself?

now i find you up in the sky
you're so distant and i don't know why
you know me much too well to treat a friend like this
so please can we cut the bullshit
aren't we a little old for that?
please can we cut the bullshit
it's far too late to act like that
well, blood may be thicker than water
but the water's thicker than wine
you let it go to your head
don't let it go to your head
you should see me clearly after all this time
hey! hey! hey!

you got something to prove
you're trying to be different, kid
but you're looking tired and uninspired
think of all the things we did
you're not yourself

it's not religion, not a hole in the sky
it's just this circus that we call our lives
we could make it better
but you won't make it any better
so please can we cut the bullshit
aren't we a little old for that?
please can we cut the bullshit
it's far too late for crap like that
well, the blood may be thicker than water
but the water's thicker than wine
you let it go to your head
don't let it go to your head
and there's not gonna be another time

and i wonder home so sadly
all of this has hurt me badly
and i think how cruel life can be when you're down
and i wonder home so sadly
all of this has hurt me badly
and i think how cruel life can be
when someone you love burns you out

ever since then i've often thought of the words of john lennon
from the song 'we can work it out'
'life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend, i have always thought that it's a crime'
but since that fateful day i've never seen mike again

NARCOLEPSY

one too many mornings
my brain remains on standby
the computer has shut down
my emotions are fragile
my mood crabby cancerian
anger and annoyance come easily
tempers fray
anxiety attacks
frustration sets in
stress coils its body around me
constricting
suffocating
or is it drowning?
the demands of others seem onerous
i long to cross off my appointments
bin my to-do list
burn the contents of my in-tray
delete my email stockpile
personality ticks grate
i escape to the coffee shop
scribble down stream-of-consciousness thoughts
personal minutiae
self-centred ramblings
desperate therapy
i go to yoga class
there is a big chart on the wall of the sala
miniscule photographs of a model contorted into 908 poses
most of them look physically impossible
or like something out of the karma sutra
but my inability to understand the teacher's instructions
the stubborn inflexibility of my stiff body
simply adds to my chagrin
not even mind-body work can help this suffering narcoleptic
sometimes days such as this must be endured
in the knowledge that all things must pass

MINUTIAE

lost in minutiae
can't see the wood for the trees
the process of thought control
it doesn't want us to make connections
or join up the dots
today's headlines are just yesterday's headlines with the names changed
nixon replaced by clinton
clinton replaced by bush
bush replaced by mrs clinton?
serbia substituted for vietnam
iraq substituted for serbia
you get the idea
bulletins recycled
no-personality politics
cabinets reshuffled in an endless game of cards
boardroom shennanigans
revolving doors
the same old faces coming in and out
bribery
corruption
fraud
embezzlement
an endless parade of besuited middle-aged men
beseiged by gaggles of reporters
eyes to the ground
crying tears of 'remorse' before the cameras
led away down dark corridors
this is where they want you
those devils got you by the balls
eyes focused on the insignificant little details
missing the bigger picture
setting up false dichotomies
ends of histories
communism versus capitalism
never getting to grips with the complexities
missing the point
making us feel stupid
discouraged
no wonder we switch off
put the kettle on for another cup of tea
grab another capuccino
disengage
disenfranchise
we are controlled
manipulated
brainwashed
we have become mass-produced factory clones
pressed out of our moulds
we jump to the crack of the slavemaster's whip
conform to the expectations of our greaters and betters
look at all those free newspapers piled up outside train stations
ever wondered why they're free, folks?
cos we're the product that's being sold to the advertisers, baby!
adverts and commercials with news and 'entertainment' in the spaces
maybe we should call the news 'the olds'
the machine operators don't want us to delight in the simple pleasures
which interfere with their well-oiled mechanism
these puppeteers want to sell you their 400 gigabyte hard drives
their skin cream
the latest fuel-guzzling urban road monster
perish the thought of noticing the cool morning air on your face
revelling in a new day shining with bright invention
admiring the dreamy dawn skies
the simple joy of feeling rough tree bark beneath your fingers
(why not pulp it and make it into free newspapers
hey - let's consolidate this asphalt eden?)
all this is heresy
daydreaming
pie in the sky
an eccentric distraction from the real agenda
the sports reports
the traffic bulletins
the weather updates
the opium of the masses
hot off the press
burning in our fingers
then smoking away into thin air
leaving us feeling and knowing what?
mental cold turkey?
we let ourselves be sold down the river
oh how fireseed long for quiet reflection
how fireseed grapple with the urge to rip out the speakers
to rid himself of the acoustic din
the jingles
the commercials
the smiling squeaky-clean mum and dad
the two adorable kids
the endless trivia
the bane of fireseed's existence
the bright curiosity of the child in me is crushed
introspection, self-sufficiency and resourcefulness are not required
constant mental interruption
harassment of the longer term thought processes
a new meaning to the term 'sensory deprivation'
surely the art of living must be to see through the smokescreen
to keep searching for the simple truth
which sweeps away the dust and clutter
like a cool summer breeze
leaving the desk of the study polished and gleaming

WOMB

a chill northern wind attacks from manchuria
the tall downtown office buildings create a formidable acoustic tunnel
like a restless spirit that can find no peace
the wind whips up
howling across the smooth glass surfaces
screeching and cussing and moaning
outside on the street
the icy gusts penetrate the fabric of my clothes
freezing the blood in my veins
chilling me to the bone
not the kind of weather to be out and about in
time to retreat inside to what koreans call the 'mokyoktang'
a warm, tranquil, protective, echoey womb-like place
hot pipes gurgle, steam rises and condenses
naked men wonder about the room
showering, shaving and scrubbing
their shrivelled appendages dangling comically
i undertake the time-honoured ritual
a soak in the warm and hot baths
then a plunge into the cold bath
the scorching heat of the sauna burns my lungs
wet pebbles underfoot
walls of rock too hot to touch
these hot baths remind me of the yoga hall
where i rediscover a sense of physicality normally buried away
the meditative atmosphere
the thoughts left unspoken
the tension of the unbearable heat and the stretch of the pose
the release of the cold bath and the relaxation of the muscles
two parallel korean universes
experienced by this unaccustomed foreigner

THE ART OF LIVING

the art of living drives my thought processes ever forwards
at the breakfast table this morning
5:10am
i ask myself
so what is this art of living?
is it a kind of map?
a blueprint for a life lived in accordance with god's wishes or laws?
is it mere pretentiousness and self-aggrandisement?
is it simply a life lived and experienced through art
in all its many manifestations?
is it a developmental process?
is it a product of a simple idea:
that whatever you do should be done with integrity and love and mindfulness?
perhaps it is all of those things and more
poetry
song
beauty
ugliness
confession
soul-bearing
aspiration
fantasy
dull prose
angry rant
perfection and imperfection
a blossoming flower
a splintered tree stump
the vast cosmos
the microscopic amoeba
the past
the present
and the future
the always and everlasting
the me
the you
the us
the them
fingertips on a keyboard
light on the retina
electrical currents in the neural circuitry
stimulation for the mind
the things we carry
the things we leave behind
the things we lost along the way
codifying
decodifying
recodifying
'oh - it's just a blog, you pretentious bastard!'
like helen of troy was just an assemblage of water, bone and nail
like a guitar is just a hunk of timber and extruded iron ore
like a book is just paper pulp, ink and stitches
like cumulonimbus clouds are just water vapour
like sex is just a mechanical act
like a laugh is
like speech is
like music is
so much more out there for us to behold
it can be ridiculed
it can be debased
it can be sneered at and villified
but the holy spirit is indomitable

EQUILIBRIUM

rain
no, not the beatles' greatest b-side again
but a rare event in sk during the winter
the sky closes in and darkens
sheets of acid-laced droplets
fall on the people scuttling through the streets beneath my window
those who have an umbrella hide under it
others bow their heads
caught unawares
suddenly its like england
drab, grey and lifeless
i feel a pang of non-homesickness
should be heading that way right now
but i got this here blog to do
so perseverence is needed
fighting the yoga head
the sleepy mind
the tired brain turned to mush
too many late nights and 4:30ams
not enough early to beds and lie-ins
too much work and not enough play
too much al desko and not enough con familia
too many emails and not enough guitar strums
a life spent fighting for equilibrium and balance
work, leisure, friends, family, self, art
the art of living
sometimes feels like an impossible task
every day wondrous new novels and non-fictions are written
which cannot possibly all be read
fabulous new architecture rises to the sky
which cannot possibly be gazed upon or entered
gorgeous new melodies and harmonies and lyrics are composed
which cannot all be heard
beautiful, sensual, fascinating people walk the earth
who can never be met
my mind spins tantalising fantasies
which cannot be lived out
dreams which can never be caught
(without the help of the dreamcatcher!)
all of this is a losing battle
one step forward and two steps back
if i think about it too much it starts to drive me crazy
like when i returned to pale and pasty england
from my 18-month travels in 1991
and abruptly the scenery stopped changing every day
when the monotony of the 'what's for tea, mom?'
became almost too much to bear
the only way to deal with all this of course
is to abandon the past and future and home in on the here and now
the miracle that lies within the mundane, the everyday and the commonplace
retaining the curiosity and delight of the child
the raindrops running down my windowpane
the watch ticking quietly away on my wrist
the universe in a grain of sand?
i am taking lessons from my little hannah elisabeth
who unknowingly helps me to learn what i have forgotten

COLUMBUS

garden of earthly delights
beneath the forest canopy
luxuriant branches extend
waterfalls disgorge their liquid silver
gurgling into rocky pools
birds of paradise strut
spreading their wings in display
toucans call
monkeys shriek
sloths hang lazily
a sharp-tongued snake uncoils and slips away into the undergrowth
the royal jaguar prowls
insects gorge on the orange flesh of strange-shaped fruit
on the forest floor
vegetation gently decays into the fertile earth of the goddess gaia
at the bottom of the food chain
tiny earthworms digest
smiling bright-eyed natives rush to greet the curious pale-skinned men
as they approach the village huts
was it thus when europeans first encountered 'india'?

HEAVEN AND HELL

tall dark silent alleyways
only street lamps mark the way
i turn the corner
and am shocked and awed by a bright crescent moon
waning high in a sky of fine cotton wool clouds
a tiny lieutenant star attendant above its right shoulder
that same moon that shone brightly on eden and arcadia
beauty that knocks the wind out of me
then in a sudden pool of lamplight
a pathetic pile of scattered refuse
stinking disposable nappies
plastic paraphanalia
rotting leftovers
destined for a rancid landfill grave
or the inferno belly of a belching incinerator
such profanity before the gods bodes ill

YOGA

the teacher surveys her class
wavy tresses of dark hair envelope her face
cascade down over her shoulders
her torso erect but relaxed
lithe and supple limbs folded improbably beneath her
now she rotates her head
like a chameleon rotating its eye
and i let my lids close shut
extinguishing the soft light
my mind homes in on other senses
the muttered words of semi-comprehensible korean
trickling lightly over pebbles above the distant traffic roar
the slowburning discomfort pervading my awkward foreign body
contorted into this alien pose
lungs slowly filling and emptying
the female warmth of the hall
the sweaty odour of vulcanised petroleum
nose pressed against the rubber mat
i attempt to meditate
struggle to concentrate on the right body part
stubborn thoughts difficult to restrain
fly off into forbidden realms
the trivial
the carnal
the physical
the metaphysical
slipping off momentarily into dreamsleep
sliding abruptly back into consciousness
this clumsy cuckoo child in a nest of little chicks
who does not fit within the narrow confines of the mat
his gawky outstretched limbs in perpetual danger of assaulting a neighbour
leaving broken eggshell on the ground

HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES

hero with a thousand faces
watcher of a thousand dawns
clocker of the changing seasons
gazer on a thousand stars

strolling out through your kingdom
beyond the palace walls
others fought to shield you
from the blight of ugly sores
but you were not blinded
to the truth of what you saw
the suffering of the starving
the wretched and the poor

hero, you could have rested
in fragrant garden groves
tended by sweet maidens
worshipped by your followers
but you chose to cast off
your robes of silk and gold
to venture out into danger
unprotected and alone

hero with a thousand faces
gazer on a thousand moons
leader of a thousand races
prophet of a thousand dooms

you stumbled through dark forests
where thorns and brambles tore
braving fierce sea monsters
entering the dragon's lair
roaming arid deserts
through barren dusty lands
no precious beads of water
to bathe your calloused hands

hero with a thousand faces
revealer of a thousand truths
keeper of a thousand secrets
sufferer of a thousand fools

abandoning all privilege
coveting no luxury
shunning recognition
disdaining vain glory
hero, restless spirit
questing intellect, searching soul
adoring of the sacred
mindful of the ego

from the icy tundra
to the grassy steppes
over misty mountains
where the eagles nest
through the humid jungles
where the jaguars roam
the hero with the thousand faces
journeys ever on

ALIVE

a morning alive with possibility
a lovely clean run through the yawning streets
masked in tracing paper
theatre of the mind, cast of thousands
3D cinema and quadrophonic surround sound
cautious appraisals
people alone with their thoughts

OLD FLAME (PART THREE)

ok, so let me tell you how i got the idea for the ending of 'old flame'
sometimes the process is more interesting than the product
like the journey is more interesting than the destination
a piece of serendipity - or synchronicity?
i survey the late afternoon winter sky
wisps of pink cloud float serenely across an already bright moon
my eyes alight on a latterday urban dinosaur
a gawky orange crane
it towers above the ugly concrete foundations of a new office building
slowly rising towards the heavens
the neural centre of this beast is the crane operator's cabin
i imagine the long stomach-churning climb up the steel ladder from the building site below
rung by rung
finally being seated in its cramped confines
a heady mix of vertigo, claustrophobia and a strange sense of power
looking down at a heavy wrecker's ball hanging from the the crane's arm
primed to attack a newly-constructed incinerator
opposed by local NIMBY protesters but erected in defiance anyway
this is the crazy act of vandalism that our protagonists decide to carry out
in order to purge the narrator's guilt at his own drift into middle-aged apathy and inactivity

PREMONITION

a fleeting vision flashes through my mind
a premonition of what i am to find
did i hear the raindrops on the windowpane?
did i hear the gods call down my name?
did i dream of this long long ago?
am i learning something i already know?

PAMPAHOOT

Confusion Blues EP - Pampahoot (Not for Sale Records)
Confusion Blues / Nothing But Grief / This Song Says Goodbye

Pampahoot have been garnering enthusiastic reviews on the local Lancashire pub scene for a while but to my knowledge this is the first time this girl-boy guitar-vocal duo have showcased their talents on vinyl. It only takes a single listen to make you feel very glad indeed that they got round to making the effort.

The titles say it all - three songs by guitarist / backing vocalist Steve Rawlings that dig deep into the complexities of human relationships and don't always come up smelling of roses. Yet, despite this melancholy backdrop, a sense of hope and optimism cuts through the pain and uncertainty, a refusal to allow life's bitter twists of fate to overshadow the sheer exhilaration of living, loving, losing and winning.

The 'uplifting melancholy' subject matter is perfectly captured by the bittersweet vulnerability in lead singer Kate's voice, recalling the fragile beauty of 10,000 Maniacs' Natalie Merchant. However, Kate is very much her own woman, as her distinctive, relaxed vocal delivery proves. Indeed, the two vocalists are uncannily well matched, gelling particularly effortlessly on the chorus of the heartbreaking finale This Song Says Goodbye.

The twin acoustic guitar attack employed by the duo lends a stereo spaciousness to the recordings, creating a warm, glistening twelve-string-like sound. Rawlings' Escher staircase chord structures and tricky time changes are cleverly strung together by virtue of some delicious folk-style fingerpicking and sparkling runs, most notably on the eponymous opener Confusion Blues.

The spare, low-key production gives the recordings an intimate, living room - or bar room - live feel, which is, after all, where this pair are very much at home. We can only hope that Pampahoot will waste no time in brandishing their duelling banjos once again, digging down deep into their emotional mine to unearth further lyrical-musical gems.

The laughing Bhudda

WINTERWALK #2

i really should have guessed...
ascending through the concrete megaliths of hongik university campus
glimpsed from atop seongmisan the previous day
i eventually find a steep flight of stone steps
which transport my panting carcass up the flank of the mountain
the slope flattens out to an octagonal pavilion
where i pause to survey the chaotic architecture of the city
spread out towards the river like a child's lego experiments
i suddenly arrive at a metal gate in a high barbed wire fence
which intersects with the path
then spot a military bunker high up above
the head and rifle butt of a patrolling soldier
silhouetted against the skyline
of course!
the summit of this city lung,
this optic nerve,
this superb vantage point
has been claimed by the ROK army
after five years
this still comes as a surprise
as an outsider from western europe
with its invisible fortress walls
its illusions of peace and tranquility
i am still blissfully oblivious
to the realities of living
in a militarised country
in a constant state of readiness
i think of the people living in the apartment blocks
on the crest of the hill
whose front doors and windows
look out on drafted youths with fingers on triggers
who all live under the shadow of an undeclared truce
between north and south
while i come to admire the scenery
it's not the first time i have discovered
that the best scenic viewpoints in SK
are usually reserved for the military
i really should have guessed...

NARCISSUS

narcissus gazes into the pool
in search of happiness
he turns away from the ugly world
discontented and depressed
alone with his fragile ego
he surfs through cyberspace
types into the search engine
'wanted+the+perfect+face'
and if he only could be happy for one day
if he could drive the blues away
if he could only kick the boredom
oh narcissus, wishing his life away

narcissus swallows another pill
to calm his anxiety
no-one home, disconnects the phone
switches off the TV
he lies back on his pillows
and floats off into space
lusting after Miss Euphoria
and her seductive ways
and if he only could be happy for one day
if he could drive the blues away
if he could only kick the boredom
oh narcissus, wishing his life away

oh narcissus, didn't anybody tell you
nobody and nothing can give you what you want
don't shut yourself away in your little ivory palace
set your spirit free before it is too late!

narcissus plunges into the pool
and drowns in happiness

MISCHELLANY

well this must be a first
your fave blogger up before eight am every single day this week
and with the excepion of ski-trip day
up n at 'em by six thirty
something of a turnaround since the lazy lions
of the christmas holidays
as a modus operandi there are several advantages
the sense of possibility as the new day dawns
a quiet house with no distractions
perfect for thinking...meditating...writing
painting...recording (except for noisy acoustic stuff)
the opportunity to excavate the deep mines of sleep
mental down-time which has refreshed the brain
cleared the mind of irrelevant chaff
the chance to attack the day artistically
then mentally sit back and relax without agitation
so if you are anything like i was a month ago
(a frustrated night owl parent with no personal space)
and you haven't tried this method
i strongly recommend it
just start by setting your alarm clock half an hour early each day
you may be surprised what you can achieve...

amazing tool, the internet
when i was a kid
my dad bought me and my brother a set of children's britannica encyclopedias
each one attractively bound in a bright red cover
with a thistle motif embossed in gold leaf
which shouted out 'knowledge and learning' in a loud voice
i think he got them cheap
and by the time i started reading them
they were already a few years out of date
'this edition 1975'
later, well into adulthood
every time i was back at my parents' place
i would consult these tomes
when a topic or person i was completely ignorant about came up
'the people's republic of china' or 'tchaikovsky' or 'ground nuts'
but the children's britanicca ain't got nothing on the internet
yesterday morning the song 'shakin' all over' kept playing in my head
except, reflecting my battered body
the lyrics transmuted into 'achin' all over'
the version i know of this is from the who's 'live at leeds 1970'
where they also play eddie cochrane's 'summertime blues'
i am intrigued by this
is 'achin' all over' by eddie cochrane too?
so i do a search for the song on wikipedia
and strangely nothing comes up
so i try a search for eddie
and discover how to spell his name properly
(there ain't no 'e' on the end of 'cochran')
and that he was killed in a car crash in england
(in wiltshire of all places!)
not a plane crash in the states
(that was buddy holly, ritchie valens and the big bopper)
(ok, i'll cut the brackets)
'summertime blues', 'somethin' else'
but not the song i am looking for
so finally i bring up the who and 'live at leeds'
and realise that i have subconsciously bastardised the title
which was actually penned by a fella called frederick heath
who goes by the somewhat hipper stage name of johnny kidd
as in johnny kidd and the pirates
amazing tool, the internet
is it helping our kids to multiply their knowledge
in a way that we could only dream of?
or is it just another form of manipulation and propaganda...?

last night j and i catch a taxi
over to a dinner party some friends are having
we follow an enormous spectacular full moon
hovering low above the horizon
seemingly about to bounce on the suburbs of western seoul
and crush half a million people like tiny ants
(i didn't see any news reports on the internet this morning, however
so i guess this didn't actually happen)
then we get embroiled in maps n directions
landmarks n wrong turnings
and we sadly forget the beautiful moon for the rest of the night
at the party i drink booze
for the first time since tie-land three weeks ago
and in no time i am swigging it down like a pirate (or johnny kidd)
porto fino...red wine...whiskey
all flow smoothly down the gullet
i don't blame my gracious hosts
free-flowing booze is de rigeur at a party, is it not?
but i have been wondering
what it is exactly that the demon drink does for me
and why, given the opportunity
i will gladly gulp it down like there is no tomorrow...
ED:
so do you like the taste of it?
FIRESEED:
yeah, except for fizzy lager
ED:
does it relax you?
FIRESEED:
nope - i was already relaxed after my afternoon walk
ED:
and does it cheer you up?
FIRESEED:
actually, quite the opposite
it usually makes me feel melancholy and morose
ED:
hmmmm...
so does it clarify your thoughts
or offer you any special metaphysical insights?
FIRESEED:
no, it addles my brain
impairs my speech
sends me to the toilet a lot
makes me stagger about
and sends me to sleep...
and it never ever puts me in touch with my muse
ED:
erm, right...
so why do you drink the stuff then?
FIRESEED:
well, actually, i've been trying not to
i've been on the wagon for the last three weeks...
force of habit?
don't look free booze in the mouth?
ED:
i will never work you out, fireseed my dear boy!

WINTERWALK

some things i learn
on a walk to the organic shop
and up to the top of seongmisan
the elegant-sounding saffron cafe lies abandoned
awaiting new ownership
what would it look like as a vegan cafe
serving hummus and salad sarnies and freh felafel?
seongmisan has its own natural spring
where local people come to fill up their plastic water bottles
just like in the olden days
the magpies have built exposed nests
high in the bare leafless trees
wouldn't like to bring up my children in that nursery!
from the summit of seongmisan
i suddenly notice quite a substantial mountain
rising up behind the brutal concrete monoliths of hongik university
must be the highest this side of ansan
how can i not have noticed it before
having lived in this 'gu' for over five years?
how come their are no hills in korea, for that matter?
only 'mountains', which are often less than 100m high
maybe 'san' translates as both
but koreans never seem to volunteer the word 'hill'
and perhaps 'hill' is over-suggestive of rolling cotswold meadows
rather than steep rocky granite peaks studded with pine
some things i learn
some things still to be learnt...

BOARDING

hello february
it's good to see your full moon and your bright days
but where on earth did january disappear to...?

i stare down a precipitous-looking incline
the precipitous-looking incline glares insolently back up at me
and it slowly begins to dawn on me
that the 'family run' is not quite the gentle beginner's slope i was expecting
i am sitting awkwardly astride a soft orange bench
having spent the last ten minutes
struggling to attach my snowboots to the board
inserting the wrong strap into the wrong hole
- my toggling technique sucks!
bundled up in my snow gear
i can hardly reach my feet
but this is the least of my worries
for ten minutes i have been observing the other boarders
admiring the nonchalant way they step up to the ockey
and launch themselves confidently down the piste
board at right-angles to the drop
leaning back elegantly to keep balance and slow the descent
they make it all look so easy
although i feel sure that it won't be
i finally pluck up the courage to stand up
and fall backwards on my arse!
i attempt to pull myself up again
but each time i try
the board slips away from under my feet
and i'm on my arse again
i inch forward on my behind to the top of the slope
and see no conceivable way of even standing up
there is no-one to help me
i already feel like a beetle lying on its back
waving its legs in the air
unable to move
in fact the insect analogy is a good one
as this fast turns into one of my life's more humiliating experiences
while little kids, teenagers, mums and dads, middle-aged skiers float past
i have still failed to even stand up
and in the process of trying
i am being inexorably dragged into a ditch running down the side of the slope
which won't let me escape
the words of a friend advising me to pay for a lesson
echo through my brain
after half an hour or so
i have fallen and slid about thirty yards into a ditch...!

the signs have not been auspicious
we overslept this morning
and were seconds away from missing the only bus of the day
h is in a grumpy and clingy mood
she bursts into tears every time mummy so much as disappears out of view
we arrive hungrily at bearstown resort needing brekky
but predictably there is absolutely NO vegetarian food to be found
and after trooping around three restaurants for about twenty minutes
j and friend gyoung-ah order hangover soup for themselves and the kids
while i nibble disconsolately on some nutrition-free cake
full of egg and ingredients imported all the way from the usa
and sip yukky instant coffee
we have escaped the acoustic pollution of the seoul metropolis
and arrived in a mountain idyll
only to find the resort's overtaxed tannoy system
blaring out a horribly distorted version of 'Maria'
a current pop hit in sk
is the gentle meditative sound of skis on snow not sufficient?
we then negotiate the confusing process of sorting ski pass and equipment hire
they do have the right size boots
but the trousers were designed for an oliver hardy, not a stan laurel
j, g-a and the girls head for the sledging area
and leave me to scramble onto the ski-lift...

all the time i watch what other boarders are doing
most of them zip past effortlessly
sprinkling flailing insect-man with a complementary dusting of snow
but one or two bail out during the initial sharp descent
and i pick up a useful tip for standing up
whereby from a sitting position
i have to heave my board up vertical
pivot on the end of it
and roll over rather pathetically onto my stomach
i can then stand up facing the slope with the board at an incline
i have a eureka moment and succeed in finally standing up...!
only for the wretched board to shoot out from underneath me
and dump me on my arse again for the unmpteenth time
after a few rounds of this
i finally manage to manouevre into a position
where my board is actually pointing down the slope like a skateboard
this proves to be fatal, however
as i accelerate at terrifying speed
then - crack!
i fall on the base of my spine
which sends shockwaves up to the back of my head
in total frustration
i unfasten my boots, pick up my board
and plod down the remainder of the run
dragging my sore tail between my legs...

it feels like heaven to be released from my insect-man straitjacket
and seeking solace
i walk over to see how the girls are getting on
they are in a cafe having lunch
i tell them i am thinking of giving up and returning the quipment
but j says i look really professional in my boarding gear
which massages the old ego a bit
and makes me resolve to have another go...
when i get to the top of the 'little bear'
i wish i had started off here this morning
it is still a bit steep at the top
but definitely a more gentle run in general
the first few minutes are not much better than before
and i end up in the ditch again
but i feel like i am making progress
then suddenly i am up and flying
for the first time the wind is in my ears
and i know what i am here for...
then abruptly i lose balance
and spin into a kind of slow-motion cartwheel
twist!
my outstretched wrist attempts to soften the fall from this high-speed blow-out
crack!
the base of my spine hits terra ultra firma
crack!
the rear of my skull follows suit
and i am lying on my back
gazing up at the blue blue yonder
wondering whether i have done myself some serious damage
my head is throbbing
but i realise i am not going to pass out
that was a warning!
wondering whether it is safe to continue
i gingerly pull myself up
and with my back to the descent
try to angle my board into the slope to control my speed
concentrating furiously
arms outstretched to counter the wobble
knees bent forward
neglected calf muscles burning like hell
and miraculously this technique works!
i discover i can zig-zag down this way
with the board almost perpendicular to the slope
without losing control
even though it is difficult to see where i am going
or who might be in the way...
on the next run i only fall about twice
and then i am away
slaloming down
slowly gathering speed and confidence
and whooping for joy!
i manage another four runs
with hardly a fall
on the journey home
i feel triumphant
even though my whole body is hurting
and i feel a hundred years old
i guess a little perseverance can pay dividends...