One day I will turn the corner and won't be ready for it

There was a time when the free flow of my thoughts looked rather graceful and flitting, but it feels bureaucratic now. In every corner I find little to relay, but nonetheless I am happy to be here. If I can, I want to make this blog mirror, in words, the sound I hear in my head. It is glorious, like monks chanting, as an organ runs like liquid and an accordion lopes in and out of the mix. I hear incantations, and fervor spills out like gold into a cast.

The background of this blog is from a painting by Jean-Michel Basquiat, an American artist who died in 1988. I am a big fan of his drawings and have been since I first discovered them a couple years ago. His art has influenced my thinking, and I would credit his art for creating in me the desire to view the tumult as somehow beauteous.

Plans seem far away again. I am in Korea, where I will remain for at least another ten months. My life at the moment is like that of a man who, having placed his hand to his forehead, cocks back his neck to catch an ephemeral glimpse at the yellow sun. For risk or reward, I am looking, and I see a light distorting strangely. Yet like all things, it will evanesce one day, and turn wan as the moon.

I have to say, though, that I like it here, that it excites me and surprises me still. When I wake up tomorrow morning, I will head off to see a sweet cabal of children who are like the finger cymbals in the symphony of my life. They will scream and chant and laugh themselves into being, and through them I will vicariously attempt to prove, if only to myself, that maturity can be just as weird as growing up.