Contributors * more photos to appear soon

Contributors * more photos to appear soon
Christy Namee Eriksen, kim thompson, Jon Schill

Thursday, January 27, 2011


you may not accept us
but you will respect us
put on our capes + soar
this world is ours

i got your AK style
repack your piece with a smile
lettin' my peace school you
don't let my cute face fool you

underneath it all
i got the beast of brawl
i may be a lover not a fighter
but don't test or out come the lighter

you may not accept us
but you will respect us
put on our capes + soar
this world is ours

scoop me like fat, man
fly like a bat, man
all your sins i will avenge
who the fuck want revenge

don't try to one up me like mario
when i can 7up you like pepsico
you can't see the "s" on my chest
prepare to be blessed by that which you detest

you may not accept us
but you will respect us
put on our capes + soar
this world is ours

i know you want to look over me in the casket
but my strength make you blow a gasket
can't fight my power source
adamantium unstoppable force

lethal weapons, laser beams
can destroy human beings
you can straight violence me
but you can never silence me

you may not accept us
but you will respect us
put on our capes + soar
this world is ours

you hunt us down like animals
punish us worse than criminals
no protection from sinister tasks
no wonder i wear multiple masks

the ignorance is scary
but i will use that fear to bury
thinking you're the master of this town
the universe can't hold me down

you may not accept us
but you will respect us
put on our capes + soar
this world is ours

lair accommodations for the meek
got that chic sleek freak
to prowl the street
bringing heat to the beat

you would never expect me to go hard
take it from this ibyang korean bard
even though it gets hard sometimes
there will always be power beaming from my rhymes

you may not accept us
but you will respect us
put on our capes + soar
this world is ours

after dreaming

and after the dream fulfilled

"then what?"



to begin

to want


after "wanting" so much

comes "having"

the "having" being harder than the 32 years of "wanting"

and then the greatest hardest newest challenge:

"to want - AGAIN"

where do dreams go after they are found?

where do birds fly after they have


"flown" ?


true dreams

do not begin at night

but in the middle of the day

somewhere between the bed and the bus line...

theyre tearing down sultang

the night before my dream came true

that is the place that heard my fears over a bottle of beer and a lot of smoke

that is the place you found me at

before i found you the next

these days

i watch them tear down the ugly walls

men sitting on chairs around a fire

the sky exposed from the labor of their hands

the walls smeared in paint as if someone high on lsd or shrooms was having the trip of their life

only to discover the next day why painting when high is a regrettable thing

they are now ripped from the top as if a five year old decided to forgo scissors

and i hear the whisper again

- its time - let go - begin again - only here can you sense the sky

mpls my beloved but mpls my ceiling

seoul my tormented lover but seoul my endless sky

it is not the destruction of a dream

it is the rebuilding of a place that lasted years longer than it should have

that was stunted in its own lack of growth

-- i am so much taller than you know --

what do dreams become after they are gathered in the relief of letting go of 32 years of tears

what do dreams become after you have finally found your face?

where do dreams begin

after the only words to describe fall under the cliches of:





"fairy tale come to life"

-- better than anything KBS could have scripted and filmed...

they tell (me)

"this only proves you can have it all"

"but i already do"

i say to (them)

... how do you dream again

after you did the impossible?

-- am i to turn water into wine?

-- walk on water?

-- turn fishes and loaves into one big surplus picnic?

-- rise from the dead?

i am not holy and i am not one third of some perplexing trinity...

so what is there left to want?

to see the world that ive already 3 to 4 continents explored?

to be what i already am no matter how it is my bills get paid?

to expand my heart when it's already burst?

what does life grow into after you no longer want but instead already have?

"dream the next impossible thing"

im told

to which i respond

"that seems... implausible"

... today ive passed sultang twice

now darkened inside

the trippy ripped up walls challenging the night to finish them off

i see in that corner that still exists but may be gone tomorrow or the next

us sitting shivering heating our hands over a candle

building dreams from fears

how for that moment you cracked

and i saw you for all that is you

and you saw me for all that is me

and for that night we had love that we took the wrong direction

i see us talking

maybe back then i saw the me from now passing by - perhaps that is why i shuddered at the thought of ghosts haunting us into reality

i see us then

in that corner

that each time i sat there after... i drank out of remembrance for the sacred-ness of how life is so ordinary the night before 32 years of an impossible dream is found sitting cross legged with right hand over heart that laurie had foretold me to know...

these days i pass by the bar

watching walls disappear and blue sky reveal itself

and i think the same thing

i hear the same thing

i carry the same thought

"that night is long over - your new day is rising - the sky is revealing -
kim child,
its time to start wanting again."

- kim thompson. seoul. s. korea - thursday 27 jan 2011 - 19.35

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I'm reposting this tonight because Fong Lee's murder case was extinguished today. There is no hyperlink for "Fong Lee's murder case" because I could not find him in the news. What I did see in the news (thanks to Kim) was the case of an ibyang facing deportation from my home state, yet another reminder that, no matter how long we have been here, no matter how good our English is, we are always going to be goo--er, "outsiders" to the entrenched and entitled.

Dear Fong,
I bet right now you're wishing you had been gay
and bullied
because maybe then
Fong Lee would be in the papers,
your tormentors might see justice,
and Mr. Sulu would have to remember which face he wears first.
I bet right now you're wishing you had a closet to hide in,
to protect you from the American Justice,
lock out Hatred with a badge and a gun.
But you can't take your face off
and bullseyes are often brown eyes.

There are no hotlines for kids who like to ride their bikes with friends
and your roommate didn't film it when who you really were
drained out of you from thirteen holes
onto North Minneapolis.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


Me (procrastinating): in my next life i wont write haiku. i'll write five line poems. they are so much easier.
Rico: you can do that like next week, why wait for another life?

So then I wrote this, you know, as long as I was brainstorming stuff I might not get done next week. 


In my next life
I will drive to work on an elephant,
start my days from up high.
The ride will not be smooth.
I will give thanks to the ground.

In my next life
they will call me Chef Squid,
my ten arms will swing around the kitchen,
the average human eye will not keep up with the
tantalizing twist of my tentacles,
I will chop like a humming bell,
I will saute on high heat,
vegetables will cry for their mothers.

I will be a mother
with two spines.
The sky
will not be enough to scare me.

The continents will have moved together,
the land may have quivered at each other’s touch,
we may have lost lives in our unity.

So in my next one

I will catch every wedding bouquet,
fold their petals into cranes.
When I have one thousand
I will wish for a snowstorm.
I will hang my heart on an icicle
and wait for a wanderer to see it
I will be safe by then.
I will be a shelter.