I was sitting just three blocks away,
with a wild chime
and small town tranquility.
A street full of hungry people with their placards and protests and very personal reasonings,
storming down there.
The smells of gunpowder was inside this wooden room,
the geometrical cobwebs shimmering with clouds of stamped remembrances.
Being stoned,
people think that they have acquired something so abstract that they are practically beyond the affects of a political ambiguity.
I was like that at that time being just three blocks away from a motoring and powerful collaboration.
But the trees were silent too,
the young and naive sky was sputtering blues too,
the lady at the ground floor still continued to burn meats…
I guess that’s the way this world works…
there’s a party making mess out of entwined beliefs,
and a party trying to stand and bring fire for the things they deserve.
And then there’s a third kind…people like us,
living in shadows,
making startling discoveries with bullshits…
We are sometimes remembered but we never mattered when the purple sunset falls on those scarred faces and bring a sense of shelter to this ever lasting war of meaningless consciousness.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Eric Kim.