Poem at the bottom of the post.

My BTS CD finally arrived the other day and I’m so happy. I love CDs. The sound is so much better than any digital file. Even the songs I was kind of indifferent about (Dimple, Best of Me) sound good to me. Jimin’s Serendipity is the most beautiful thing ever. My favourite songs from the album are Pied Piper and Sea, which I already knew before I had the physical copy in my hands, but I love them even more now that I hear them played on my old radio. Aaaah CDs. Maybe once I get my next paycheck I can splurge and get Wings too, as well as Jonghyun’s Poet|Artist (or Artist|Poet – I can never remember).

I’ve been spending way too much money lately.

A few days I ago I received some books I ordered in Korean. One was waaaaaay above my level (though to this day I don’t know what my level is) but the other seemed doable. It seemed doable.

The first word that appeared was 거품, which I faintly recalled as meaning ‘foam’, but I couldn’t figure out why a book would start that way. It just seemed weird. As I read on, I came across the name Aphrodite and it all started making sense but by then I’d already mentioned foam to my friend, who’s also learning Korean. (Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, was born from the foam of the sea.) Only later did I remember it was a poetry book. Oops.

Knowing I occasionally write poetry, she requested a poem about foam. It was supposed to be a joke but I took it seriously. When I showed her the result, she was shocked so mission accomplished. I quite like it myself but you judge for yourself:


Fragrant, silky foam

Like a lover’s carress

Smelling of you

The strawberries you ate

I can still taste them

Enchantingly sweet

Treacherously soft

Luring me in

I’d almost forget

I’m here alone

With all this foam

Reminding me of you

What used to be

It’s time now

My time to let go

Enveloped in bubbles

One last breath

I let it take me

Then I disappear

And only foam remains


Honja (alone)

Scroll down for poem (written on the same day, within the same hour, as the previous post’s poem).

A little while ago I was having a good talk with my mum when she opened up to me. We’ve had difficulties with money for as long as I can remember, most likely from the time my parents split up. (I was 11, btw. I don’t have that many memories. My mind is filled with so much knowledge, it had to prioritise so it forgot most memories. I’m a bit sad but I can’t really help it.) Yet she told me that even though she worried about money she also had faith that things would work out well. She doesn’t have much to spend but she never worries too much because she trusts that something will happen to make up for the amount she overspent (which is never much because she’s very responsible but still). So far it’s always come true.

I’ve since tried her method myself. I still worry about money but I’m less desperate and more optimistic. The situation doesn’t seem as bleak anymore, even though I’m at risk of being unable to pay my bills. Balancing school and work is something others seem to do effortlessly but I’ve been having the greatest trouble managing it all. I was job hunting again but it didn’t result in much (except a new connection and more resilience) until I got a call from my former employer asking whether I had time to work tomorrow. I thought it was supposed to be over, though they did hint at seeing us again when we were leaving the company dinner we had last month, so it was an unexpected blessing. So far my mum’s theory is working splendidly. I do not recommend it – I don’t want to be held liable if it doesn’t work out for others – but I will continue to live this way until my luck runs out.

Anyway, enjoy the poem. Honja means lonely or alone. (Inspired by Jonghyun’s song.)


Alone, Together

Alone Together

A tear here,

A tear there

Without you

I’m still me

Are you still you?

I pushed and prodded

You improved

You got further and further away

I detached

For you

Without you

Is there me?

Back to square one

Push and Pull

Never share

Just me

Always me

I alone

No one else

Will you come?

Open me up?

Push and prod

Until I improve

No one else

No repeat

Success rate 1

Failure rate ∞


Without you

Stars are just stars

Forever means nothing

Time is just time

Moments forgotten

All that we shared

Do you remember?

You are the moon

Changing my tides

High and low

Eb and flow

Take out the moon

Once disturbed

Never the same

Is this a high?

Is this a low?

Is neutral the new black?

I miss the old black

The warm darkness

Without all the thoughts

Now it’s all over

My head still works


That world


Break it

Please destroy it

Break me out

Save me from fantasy

Make me miserable


Share my pain

I’ll take yours

Hurt me

Insult me

Yell, Scream, Bite

Silence is deafening

There is too much

Swallow me whole

Nothing is left

Just me

Without you


No longer together

Without you.

Ppiddakhage – written in a frenzy

As usual, scroll down to the bold part if you want to skip my thoughts. This time it’s a poem.

The other day I was browsing WordPress, randomly clicking people’s profiles to see how they managed their blogs. There were those with profiles that were hardly profiles at all, that literally had all the standard messages saved and showing (e.g. write an introduction to entice people to read on), and there were those with perfectly organised profiles, where posts were neatly organised into categories, where everything fit a theme, but there were also people like me, whose profiles were something in-between, chaotic in some ways but organised in others, where you could tell they were passionate enough about something to want to share it with the world but not motivated or skilled enough to learn how to work a website.

One blog in particular stuck out. I won’t name it but it was everything I wanted mine to be, in theory. This person seemed to have the same goal as me, or at least a similar one, yet their means of achieving it were so much more polished, so much more organised.

I was jealous.

I have long accepted my chaotic nature but this got me questioning my approach to things. Would I ever reach that same level of finesse? Was my writing up to par? Should I proofread and edit more? Naturally, I felt halted. Until I got these thoughts sorted out there was no way in hell I’d be able to be happy with anything I wrote.

I’m still not entirely sure whether I shouldn’t aim to be more organised, whether I shouldn’t put more effort into figuring out all the features of WordPress, whether my writing is good enough. Still, I found it in me to continue going. I don’t know how satisfied I should be with my output but right now I am happy with what I wrote. There’s a good chance I’ll hate it and only see the flaws in a few years – which is what happens with all my writing – or even a few months if I’m unlucky but I like it now. I really do.

The poem I’m sharing here today was written in a frenzy, while listening to G Dragon’s Crooked (or 삐딱하게) on repeat. Since I’m awful with titles, I just went with the romanised title of the song. I won’t ask you to listen to it, especially the first time you read the poem, but I do like the song a lot. While writing I kept in mind the lyrics, the meaning of the song, and the MV, but was mostly just focusing on the feelings and thoughts the sound of the song brought out in me. Enjoy.


Break free

Unleash it all

Don’t hold back

It’s just me

Do it now

It’s the time

All of it

Let loose your hair

Do it for me

I’d do it for you

You’re everything

Show the world

They’re missing out



But who are you?

Show him, show her


Never heard of it

They want you bare

Naked isn’t enough

Show your all

Inside out

Who cares what you think?

They don’t

You don’t seem to

Do I?

Bad influence

Sure, if you wish

See me that way

Judge me harsh

Judge me right

Pay no mind

It’s all on me anyway

Do it

Do it now



I’m nothing

Beyond that point

It’s liberating

No secrets

Nothing to hide

Just me

All of me


It scares them

Do I scare you?

Fear me not

I will bite you

They took it all

And I gave

I gave it all


As a promise

I didn’t need anything in return

They had nothing to give anyway

I’m rich

I have nothing

But it’s more

More than they ever will

All they took from me






I’m empty

Left with just me

In my purest form

Do you see me?

Flee while you can

I will take you

And drag you with me

There is no escape

Come here


I’ll seduce you

By promising you nothing

There’s nothing left to give

So abandon me

Like they did you

Like they did me

I’ll live

I’ve succeeded so far

This empty shell

All me

Where are you going?

Road to nowhere

Versus road to hell

Or back to civilisation?

Warn the others

Of the monster I’ve become

The monster they made me

The monster I’ve always been

Set me free

Tell them and set me free

It’s the last warning

Tell them that

There will be no more

I’ll let loose

They destroyed it all

Fighting spirit

That’s all that’s left


All mine

So go

And don’t return

Never return

I’ll shatter you

Worse than they did

Why are you still here?


Don’t come back

This is my place

Away from all

The only place

Don’t disturb me

Please go

Please stay

Don’t look at me

See me

Before you leave

Just once

Remember me

And show them

See me

Demand they show you

Who I was

I know there’s proof

I assure you

You’ll know

I’ll show you

Who you will become

Given time

So go

Don’t ever return

Because I won’t be here.

He was right all along

When I returned

There was no trace

Not a single shadow

So I took his place

We were the same anyway

And the cycle continued

When I saw you

And told you to flee

While you still could

Because I’m the one

They warned you about

The monster

Civilisation created.



Flights of Fancy

I’m back! If you missed my last post, it’s because I forgot to put any tags. Yes, I’m an idiot. As usual, the short piece – this time a poem – is at the bottom of the post but I would appreciate it if you could all stick around for the entire post, as it will be pretty short and it will include some recommendations.

I have a love-hate relationship with rap music. I am naturally more inclined to listen to rock/punk/etc so rap isn’t always the first thing on my mind. Recently, that changed. My love for punk and rock remains but I also discovered some Korean rappers. I already knew about the great RM, Suga, J-Hope, etc but then I found Outsider. Holy shit. If nothing else, just give his song Loner a shot. I promise it’s amazing.

Then, yesterday, I found the iconic duo LeeSsang (리쌍) by chance and fell in love with their profound lyrics. My first introduction was their Tears of Pierrot trilogy, which I greatly recommend, though it’s very sad so be warned, as well as Painter/Song of Fire (화가), all of which can be found on Daechungpower’s youtube channel, with English subs.

Finally, today, I ventured into Big Bang’s territory and found T.O.P’s Doom Dada. It’s wacky and confusing and weird but also kind of funny and creepy and awesome. There are lyrics vids available for it, which I highly recommend, though they won’t clarify much, but the MV is worth a watch too. In fact, this song was my main inspiration for the poem in this post. Outsider made me feel; LeeSsang motivated me to write and change the world; and T.O.P inspired me. They’re all wonderful and deserve recognition.

Interesting fact: I came up with the title Flights of Fancy months ago, knowing I wanted to write something with that title. It’s the first time ever I came up with a title before I had an idea. Now, without further ado, I present to you:

Flights of Fancy

Flights of fancy,
on a spur,
whimsically this,
fancily flying,
fancy flights.
From day one
he beats a drum
freely, fearlessly
‘fraid of none
he beats his drum.
On a whim,
jumping up,
flying high,
burning bright,
burning out.
This and that,
zus en zo,
tu i tamo,
free to peruse.
And so he flutters
from one to the next,
always looking,
stuck with second best;
I wish this were the end.

From flowers to masters
to cheeses at night,
beers to piñatas,
no end in sight,
his endless plight.
Painting and sculpting,
even karaoke,
jumping and running,
fierljeppen out of spite,
never quitting.
his next pursuit,
forever forgiving,
singing lullabies to
crying babies
of the human variety.
Finally he found
a passion that stuck
and started writing
your favourite book.
These flights of fancy,
moments of spur,
looking lonely,
abandoned and dull.
And so he ends with
one last word.

Sleep-deprived poem


Words look silly

Coelho seems deep

Thoughts run wild

Body’s adjusting

Time’s run out

Teddy bears can talk

Music on repeat

Bed not comfy

Pillow too warm

This sleep-deprived poetry

Eyes fall shut

Mouth drops open

Drool trickles out

Subconscious keeps fighting

Dreams all around

Lights turned off

Your goodnights said

No quick kisses

Right before bed

Or those kisses will undeniably lead to more, i.e. sex, which is bound to destroy a perfectly good night’s rest, not to mention how it will disturb your neighbours and children and scar them for life or at least until the next celebrity break-up is announced because evidently such shocking revelations have precedence over the dull reality of flooding and landslides and the inevitability of deaths of thousands of individuals due to wars started in the past, wars fought in the present, wars left to future generations because clearly having flying cars will reduce all human suffering exponentially and the world will be a better place even though most of the bees will have died and the birds will have followed until it’s a wasteland of cockroaches and humans because that’s an acceptable goal we’re collectively working towards, as mentioned in the Bible, which is undeniably the work of God because what else would he occupy himself with but telling men it’s okay to stone their wives but not to mix fabrics, isn’t that common sense, because even though there is only one shade of black clothes seem to have the ability to not match based on the fabric your black clothing item is made of, so unpredictable, exactly like their human counterparts which are all different shades of black but should nevertheless be generalised and preferably be shot preventatively in case the grime in their jeans pockets could be weaponised and innocent lives would be lost, like the sweet old man who shot all those people in Las Vegas, which is probably a conspiracy by the Leftie libtards because how could a sweet old god-fearing man who loved country music and once helped an old lady cross the street do something bad, which was an isolated incident that shouldn’t inconvenience him too much like that darned rape case did to his neighbour whose forced community service ate away at his precious baseball practice which was a total set up by that little minx who deliberately got drunk and asked in her sleep to be undressed, and who enjoyed it because she screamed no so loud she must’ve been close to orgasming when that little Jewish punk interrupted but it’s okay because he was taken care of by some very fine people, like it should be because Hitler was obviously just misunderstood as he’d been so fervently discriminated against by the gypsies and homosexuals, which are currently even allowed to get married, which is a disgrace because the tax benefits that come with getting married are clearly reserved for Johnny and his cousin, I mean wife, and his second cousin who is also his second wife but the sister-bride to his third wife, though soon their daughter will be old enough to get on a lift with all the big men in Hollywood because being a star is something she always dreamed of and practices while in the shower, which good ole Bobby the friendly drunk supervises with gun in hand in case any robbers would come to harm his niece while she soaps her tiny little titties under that hot stream which he gladly would’ve enriched with his own hot stream were it not for the fact that his bitch of a wife threw out his Viagra the day her birth control stopped being free and he hadn’t had time to get a new prescription between beating her half to death and watching a rerun of F-


Winter blues

Okay so it’s not technically winter yet. So what? My body doesn’t seem to know the difference. It’s cold out and my body is responding to that by making me sick. The fact that it’s still only November is wholly irrelevant. As such, you will find a depressing poem at the bottom of this post. Enjoy it or don’t, I’m so sick and tired that it’s all become irrelevant to me.

I went to Portugal for a few days with my mum last week, which I thoroughly enjoyed because Lisbon is a wonderful city I long to return to and we were lucky because it was 20-22 degrees while we were there. (Celsius, obviously. I’m Dutch, so I’ll refer to temperature and other measurements in the only way I know.) I would recommend it to everyone, though I’m also strangely possessive over it, unwilling to see it run over by tourists. Yeah, I don’t know either.

As for my prolonged absence, you’ve got my new job to blame/thank. The work itself is fun enough, though I’m not great with physical work, much preferring the use of my mind, and my bosses are quite alright (I think I have about five, though the hierarchy eludes me), but my coworkers are awful. A few of them are quite alright; some I can tolerate for the duration of the workday whereas I actually like others.

My problem lies with a select few, who haunt my nightmares even on the weekends. They are loud, obnoxious, stupid*, judgmental, fucking slow, complain a lot, too damn nosy, rude, and plain disgusting. They suck all my energy and motivation from me. They’re the real-life dementors.

Me being who I am, I hardly ever talk back. You need to really piss me off, while I have confidence or when I’m completely indifferent to the world around me, for me to explode. As a result, I kept quiet. I hate that I am this way. My neighbour kid – she’s 14 – has the biggest mouth, is annoying af, and a little stupid too, but at least she stands up for herself and loudly proclaims what she believes is right. I dislike that about her because her opinions are often bs but I envy her for it too because I would like to have the same ability.

My energy levels are low, I am sick and tired, my mood is unstable, and I haven’t had the mind to write. Good thing I have a bunch of pre-written stuff waiting to be read.


*by stupid I do not mean ‘slow learner’ or ‘less bright than me’ but those who are wilfully ignorant, proclaim their ideas with confidence, assume rather than ask, aren’t willing to listen to other opinions, and will use nasty remarks and actions to prove their ‘superiority’. You know the type.

N.B. everything below this point belongs to the poem, including the post-script (title in bold)

Searching For My Will To Live: an attempt to capture the zeitgeist

“My bag is larger than my will to live,”
said the girl on the train.
I look up and check the size:
a small backpack. Not bad.
A meme forms in my head
with her words and the tiniest bag.
I laugh to myself though I should cry;
I’d lost my own a while ago.
Looked on the train, searched at my job,
even checked at school: the place where I lost it.
Nothing. A failed attempt. Futile.
Relationships; marriage; kids; mortgage; travel; money; fame; success; sex.
None of it can fill this gaping hole.
Humour. Laughter.
What’s left when nothing’s left?
What’s real when reality seems absurd?
So we laugh.
“Amazon key to bring sweet relief of death… to your HOME!”
“Timberland: perennial labour for us ánd our boots.”
“Only twenty mental breakdowns until Christmas break.”
Our mass embrace of nihilism.
Life is absurd.
P.S. I still haven’t found my will to live


(Readability intentionally poor -> stylistic choice. Feeling dump. Experiment. Please comment.)


The midnight sky was lit around us; there is no escaping it in a city like this. But it was quiet, unusually so as the natural murmur of voices had died down with the rising moon. I looked at him and had to bite my tongue. He was beautiful. I wanted to tell him but this was neither the time nor the place so I kept my mouth shut, left my thoughts unspoken as to not disrupt this spell we had going, so magical in its fragility. He looked out over the city from the balcony we occupied, his facial features all larger than the average Korean’s. But that was part of his beauty, his charm. In a world of conformity, he stood out. The image before my eyes would have been perfect in one of my films yet the thought of my camera never even crossed my mind. We were in that moment, lost in it forever, a part of history to melt into all others. Serenity. Tranquillity. Peace.

‘’You know, I always used to think I would be happy if only I accomplished my dreams,’’ I broke the silence. I knew I shouldn’t have, I didn’t want to, but my impulses won from my restraint. And suddenly this moment we’d created intensified, not quite shattered but buzzed with a static enough to drive you mad. And I wanted to stop talking, hang onto that last shred of sanity and peace but I couldn’t because he was there and he was looking at me with his big eyes so innocent and open I had to finish my thought. So I spoke and I spoke and the ringing got louder in my ears, in my head, until I couldn’t hear myself speak anymore but I saw him listen. ‘’I thought if I found a job I loved, if I started making money making films, if I succeeded in my career I would become whole, I would be happy, but I’m not. I thought if only I found me a man to love, a relationship meaningful and lengthy that would make me happy, fill this void inside me but it didn’t. And you are here in all your glory, so sweet, so strong, so kind, so perfect, and it’s like a dream come true because you’ve been my idol for so long I thought it would be okay, I would learn to live in the moment and be happy with my life and myself. But I learnt something today. I have never been happy and I never will be. I’m a perfectionist, always striving for more. I’m greedy that way, I will never be satisfied, always longing for more. And the thing I want most is unattainable to all but me most of all for perfection is merely illusion. I see you, I see you, but ‘tis not enough for I wish to be one, to become one with you, a melding of bodies, of spirits, of souls until where one ends one begins. With a heavy heart overflowing with love I hold onto you, I held onto you for so long. And I can’t even tell if you’re comprehending my words at all but I hope I can convey it to you all.’’

And I held onto him, held on tight. For he knew all that I felt, all I was feeling, for deep down he felt it too.

And so

we were