Bullets

Notes from Korea 7/24/15

*

Date tonight. All the way out in the legendary Gangnam district. She’s hot. Canadian. We’ll walk between the towers and politely ask each other: do you want to try this place, or do you want to try that place over there. I don’t want to go. I can’t wear my suit because it’s swampy and the air is boiling out there. But my suit is my superpower so I’ll wear it anyway and look like a slick albino seal in a translucent shirt. And I’m tired of lying to girls; I want to have a girlfriend. I keep thinking gooey thoughts. But I also want to fuck everything. I’m at an impasse here. Tense never-ending mental negotiations. The Iran deal was cake compared to this.

*

But I can’t have a girlfriend. My friend fucked a girl who visited Korea. She has a boyfriend waiting at home to hear all about her trip. I high-fived my friend like he caught an interception. Didn’t know what else to do. This would probably happen to me. So I can’t have a girlfriend.

*

Daily Show after writing. Quirk I should give to a character: how Obama’s left hand twitches a little when Jon Stewart is asking him a question.

*

Clicked to the news. America is still Hell. Clicked away from the news.

*

A wholesome young mother with a tattoo peeking out from the strap of her church dress. She walked her toddler into the corner store as I was coming out. Laughing with the kid. I fell in love with her.

*

Young mob members at my gym. With full sleeves of tattoos. And they all have the same one behind their right ear. They mean mug everyone else but smile at me. Makes me feel Connected. International. Just a mysterious traveler who knows people. Like I could go into any restaurant in Kabul or some shit and know the owner. The mobsters like me because I’m tall and foreign.

*

Which is in contrast to this goddamn cunt with the popped collar at my cafe. He dropped his phone and I picked it up for him. He said nothing. Avoided eye contact and swiped it back as he would from a manservant. Absolute dismissal of my humanity. I wanted to snap his arms backward at the elbow. Shove his nuts into the kitchen blender. Two days later and I am still apoplectic. I need therapy. I deserve credit for not being a racist. This goddamn cunt. If his collar hadn’t been up I would have probably been fine.

*

Another old flame is engaged on Facebook. I was the last guy before she met her fiancé. This has happened seven times. I should be advertising this.

*

Going into the city and I heard the heavy chop of the KTX bullet train pulling into the second floor of the station. I thought about saying goodbye to someone as the train hovers up and sits there hissing. Then going back to my place alone and restarting the whole process. You’re going to be miserable. You can either take it in hard doses or you can have a long flat grind. What do you choose.

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12 thoughts on “Bullets

  1. “I keep thinking gooey thoughts. But I also want to fuck everything. I’m at an impasse here. Tense never-ending mental negotiations…”
    I feel this. It never goddamn ends.

  2. I’ve been the last girl for several guys before they met The One. I don’t think advertising this fact would work in my case, though.

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