I love dogs.

But in Paris they are ugly.


They walk

like their masters Jjong jjong.

Then again there is a different kind too.

A master-dog type. A real relationship.

I yawn.

I put a music to my ears, to my heart.

99% of it.

Somebody told me that it was a question of taste.

Then it must be my taste.




It is not about creating something “new” but rather creating a situation to find out what already existed.

Looking at her standing with her pendulous arms to the rhythm of her breathing I had to be in love with her.

Like people who has been waiting for the bus for a long time just to have the bus arriving but packed with people and no space for you.

I like to be in a country where I do not understand every words people are saying. I like to have this space without words and speakings to be able to sense things.


Shaken dreams this very night

To real to be a dream because of a cote

My infatuation has deceived me, then,

Her attraction has turned me in

I think of the changes in length and style

I am naturally hopeless and decidedly futureless

La vie is featureless, la muerte, nameless

Each of them has a troupe of cavaliers

To brawl and stonewall but

as long as the numbers are stable and reduced

It is not a competition neither a display

Nevertheless I want some figures of god

In the book of gardening






As the smoke grow

my anger and my frustration

turn in to the fragile heart

No longer can I aim the gun at you

I will try to paint my naked body

and danse on the rainy day

Look at the skin rendered white on a moslem’s face

Poussin’s Renard et Armide

Mille six cents vingt cinq

I will say nothing, nothing more

in this tangled world




A short bio_Junkies

“Thanks for offering me to stay with you under the bridge, man… but I’m going rooftop with my girl tonight.”


All junkies seem to have a certain certainty. They seemed to have certain superiority. I don’t know if the pride comes from a sense of knowing something that the others don’t or a forced necessity from lack of it. Even when they lie, they lie so honestly. It’s like in the house of justice when you see the man in charge going in and out of the room of justice without a single change in their expression whereas their family would cry or shout according to the verdicts of the judge.


“He is to be remained in custody until the 25th July.”


“Oh my… it’s day after his birthday!”


Cracks and browns were reserved for the junkies and junkies were reserved for the foolish, uneducated, nameless crowds. The police told me that it’s dangerous to be here and asked me what I did. I told them that I was a university student. The woman police enlarged her eyes wide open and asked “So what are you doing down here?” But then again it’s not just the police. Even Monic told him off saying, “Why did you bring Cha here?”


I remember liking what I used to call “the coke sleep” It’s when I would have trains of images from the real life (in front of me) passing by as an assemblage of strong but unusual images. The images were not telling as to foretelling. I would use these images to have some positive impacts on the reality. We would be in a waste factory – like place with the sounds of electricity just next. I’d say something like “Let’s imagine that we are at the waterfall or at a riverside or something.” because the sounds of electricity to me were like water falling.


He would say “Listen to the various languages of stones, walls, shops and dogs then when you don’t hear them anymore, that’s when you write.”


He had a body like what I would say Siddhartha; a long and thin but boned body.


저는 거기 잘 다녀왔습니다 라고 말하는 것도 부끄럽습니다.


바람이 구불구불 하구나

액자가 참말로 덩치가 크구나

종교가 없는 세상은 있지 않습니다

뿌리 없는 나무에서 떨어지는 나뭇잎은 쇳덩이가 됩니다

내가 소유한 많은 것들은 벌써 전문적인 이름들이 붙여져 있다




그런데 아직 이름이 없는 것들도 많다

귀엽게 모순하는 할머니

어느 한 시선에다가 선을 주었더니

진실이 되었다

나는 우리집 개가 충실하리라 믿고

우리집 개는 내가 언젠가 떠날거라고 믿는다

슬프지 않을 수 없다

뭔가 나는 반대를 했는데

상대는 존재 하지 않는다

한동안 쓰지 않을 지도 모른다

한동안 잊어버릴지도 모르다: 한국어. 한국. 한국인.

왜 인지 알지 못하겠는 나의 고향.