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AlbinoGoth
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Name: Ioannes
Country: United States
State: South Dakota
Metro: Sioux Falls
Birthday: 4/19/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: Art of virtually every form. Dreaming, waxing philosophical, and being random on the occassion. It wouldn't be random if it was constant, now would it? Anime and animation in general, and foreign films.
Expertise: Drawing, doodling, sketching, etc. And procrastination. Oooh, and like Kirosawa I make mad films! Ok, I don't make films, but if I did they'd have a samurai.
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  jmshrader
MSN: jmark_s@hotmail.com
Member Since:
5/4/2004
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| Last night I had one of my recurring dreams. Or rather a part of the dream had one of my recurring motifs. In the many iterations of this dream I am taking classes and doing well. Except for one thing. I have completely forgotten one of the classes I signed up for. I never went to the class, didn't even remember I had the class until finals are rolling around. Then it all comes to me and I have the burden of a class I was interested in, but had just slipped my mind. Yeah, I had that dream again, even though I'm not in school anymore.
And why are these classes always history classes? Or they seem to be. Once or twice I think they might have been art or art history classes, but mostly, and particularly last night, the class I missed was a history class. History of what I do not know. But perpetually I am driven to forget my history class until the shit hits the fan.
Why is this?
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| The problem with a regular job is that it is regular. I just hung up my
brushes because if I continued I would have no sleep tonight. If I
could sell my works for a profit I would rather do that. But, ya see
there a problem with that. To do that would require having outgoing
people skills and time. Time that would be better spent reading or
watching a play. So of course this leaves a conundrum. I loose any way
I go, it just depends on what way I would rather loose. I mean, there's
always the possibility of someone deciding they like my work who has
those skills and we develope a partnership where I create and they
sell. But short of that fantasy I choose the bread job route. For now.
Its still frustrating.
Its also frustrating to have thoughts and ideas float in and out of my
head and not know how to express them, not know how to make myself less
confused. Somethings not right (is it ever?) and I can't quite put my
finger on it. Different people from different fields, wether Christian
or Bhudist or Aethist, etc, etc seem confident. And yet the only thing
I get from what they say is they are sure about what they are saying.
But how the hell does that help me? Something is not sitting right and
I don't need quotes from holy writs or empirical evidence. Those are
interesting, all of them, really. But they're not helping settle the
confusion, just adding to it. The answers satisfy the one giving the
answers. If they satisfy the one asking, I suppose thats good... but my
floor is a mess. I've been gessoing and painting and my bedroom floor
is now dotted with various colors. The chaos of the floor gives me a
measure of peace, until I have to clean it up, until the splattered
paint ruins my clothes. I don't care if they're ruined, but I have to
look professional. I have to do that because otherwise it would strain
the relationship between me and my employer. That could lead to my
loosing my job. I have a job in the first place so I can eat and pay
off my student loans. I eat because I would probably die otherwise
(haven't tested it yet, so I wouldn't know) and I went to school
because I think it was worth it.
Yes damn it, it was worth it. Even when I'm dead tired of a job that I
do because I need to pay off what loans I took, I still say its worth
it. I can't wait to go back to school so I can go further into debt. Or
better yet, hopefully find a way where somone one will pay all those
expenses. And yet, if that happened, it would not be me doing it. I
only know how to draw, to paint, to create. Money is someone else's
realm. I only visit when I need to.
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| I haven't written much, and I don't feel like an orchestrated entry, so I'll just share some thoughts.
First is that Korea is very similar and very different from America.
Many aspects of culture are being borrowed and adapted. However many
things are literally 'backward' from how we do things in the states,
and the starters for that is the language. The word order is almost
always reveresed to what English is. Well, except the subject is still
usually in front. Still, rule of thumb is do the opposite of what you
are used to. In some respects that makes it easier. Likewise
Koreans don't show joy in public (unless its sanctioned by everyone
else) but it is fully expected to grieve in front of everyone. I mean
you are seen as unloving if you don't publicly grieve with the wailing
and gnashing of teeth. This often happens outside of hospitals. Its an
interesting experience.
I attended a Korean church today. There are nice people, but it was
too... too much like a contemporary service back home. That coupled
with a mild personality cult of a televangelist only the way Koreans
could do it. I said I would see them again, but I don't want to go too
frequently. While the people are nice, some of those aspects are just
too disturbing. Now to explain that is another matter.
I found this Stringfever group on YouTube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5MLNMgpywk
Its kinda cool, but this particular one I found to be more like an
orgy. I mean, I felt like I was watching a gang bang, four on one. Then
one of the guys kinda stands back and watches. Man, that just gives me
the creeps. My biggest problem with this group is that they're too
flashy. I suppose its all to be popular with the masses, bringing
culture to the hoi poloi and the unwashed masses.
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The days are beautiful this time of year. The time right
before spring where the weather is starting to warm, but remains cool, as
though the day is telling you to take your jacket off. And were I younger, I
probably would have. Of course then my mother would also have told me to put a
jacket on since it was still cold. Now I have to take care of myself, so the
jacket remains. Today the weather invited me to go on an adventure. I traveled
to Gwang-hwa-mun in Seoul.
There resides a wonderful bookstore, the largest in Korea. Kyobo book store (or Kyobo
Mungo if you want the Korean) sits in the basement of the Kyobo Life Insurance
building. I find it humorous that a life insurance company started to sell
books. I can see the commercials now - "I feel safe knowing that the
company we entrust our life insurance policy also takes care of our intellectual
lives. In a way, its like life-insurance for our literature, our way of
life."
I sincerely hope they don't have commercials like that.
Now this store has a decent foreign book section, else I wouldn't bother going
there too often. Most of the selection is English, but about a fourth of the
section is Japanese books with even smaller area dedicated to French and German
books. Today I was on a mission. I was looking for English translations of
Korean literature. A week prior I had procured three names and one book title
from a Korean college student. I had asked about Korean literature before with
others when I first arrived, with little luck on the subject. But now, armed
with a recommendation I waltzed to the store. After looking around a bit, I had
no idea where the translated Korean literature was. I asked for assistance,
which was happily offered. The saleswoman led me to a small bookshelf counter
at the opening for the foreign books section. Kneeling down, I could see the
selection of Korean novels they had translated. About one arms length, two
shelves. On the opposite side of the entrance there was a section of poetry
about half the size, sharing space with random books about Korean culture and
history. Even though she found my book, I was vaguely disappointed. Surely,
this could not have been their entire selection of novels they found worthy to
translate. Were they so embarrassed by this selection that they had to hide it
near the floor? Not even space on the counter top was given to these novels and
novellas. No wonder I had not seen them on my previous visits. For all the
pride Koreans have in their culture, sometimes it seems like they are not
extremely interested in sharing it with others.
The book, "Our Twisted Hero"
is called a
novel, but in actuality is more of a novella and read in a few hours.
The basic premise of the book is totalitarian rule and fear as seen in
a Korean country school. From what I'm learning of recent Korean
history this book is much deeper than just what it tells you. Needless
to say,
it was a delightful read and I can't wait to start the next book I
procured.
Then I'll have to re-read the former book and mark it up properly.
Unfortunately that means painting this evening is more or less out the window.
Faces and birds are staring at me. They weren't there yesterday morning, but
they're peeking out now. The painting is still in the primordial chaos of the beginnings,
but signs of its completion are beginning to show. Maybe in one more lengthy
sitting. Or two to be certain. The signs may swiftly change as the new strokes
are laid out.
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When she spoke of defeat, hope was in her eyes.
When she sung of victory, dispair.
I knew I would feel like this again. Where ever I am I eventually feel like
this. Its the being alone. Wanting someone to be close and hold me through the
night, drifting off to sleep listening to Mendelssohn perhaps. Most nights I am
alright. But some days, often one right after the other, it doesn't matter how
many wonderful friends I am with during the day or hang out with, even through
the night, eventually I have to make my way home. But, suppose what I want is
granted to me. Someone I care about that likewise cares for me. Even then,
perhaps these nights will occur, even then...
There is something inherently sad about compilation albums of various artists.
Of any kind, but in particular of classical musics. An assortment of music is
hogepodged together, often portions of larger works. As though the music of the
great artists can be piece-mealed together for an eternally repeating dj-mix. I
have nothing against playing a variation of composers, but for an album. No,
its like a cage. The album is too small to restricting. Alas! I am not as well
versed in all the music I love. I don't study it properly. No, I should
purchase the full works of all masters. Learn each one inside out. Let my heart
be torn out with each melody. Perhaps it is best not to have an i-pod.
I need a date, does not have to be a romantic one, it can be a friendly one, to
a live concert. But I don't know who I want to hear.
Surprise me.
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