CRISTINA LEE

Strolling through Seoul

The terms of the alchemic contract are clearly stated,

but the French vote shadows any mentality changing attempt.

So I broke the bottle with the past loves, threw the black horse’s picture in formalin unwonted the egotistic sad eyes of my relatives and left for Asia.

You may wonder, like me, what’s the good of it?,

Why push the candle further,

Why leave the Kajuraho erotic temples in the souvenir bowl to dint my bone suitcase?

I have never been to Cordoba to fight with the Muslims, nor have I copy pasted the Thames bridges on my back pockets.

But that’s OK, coz

In Iteawon cans with Western air stored in oriental medicine cabinets

are for sale at high prices and a wink from a GI.

The corrupted politicians flowing down the Han river

compensate for the delayed EU integration.

Unable to type faster, I beg for your patience.

I can offer you a green tea to help you swallow the hanjas

Or perhaps, an arirang aria would wash away your daily worries.

Yesterday, I have been again to Jongmyo- royal ancestral shrine,

Sailing through the vapors of soju raising from the old men guarding the huge reddish gate.

When you turn this page, don’t avoid the slaves’ pavilion

 – a pleasure giver to the king in the long winter nights-

and don’t forget to take a picture of the monument built on his placenta.

Voyeurs’ anxious fingers left little holes in the paper doors

to be recorded in the chronicle together with the king’s trips to the woods

since the toilets hadn’t been invented yet.

I cannot help but notice you finished your green tea…

You feel probably nostalgic, you would like me to accompany you back to Renaissance or to a closer bus station to meet Werther’s Lotte.

By taxi we could be there in a second, down the Shillim street

neon lights will point to the Louis Viton bags and Ferragamo shoes.

That cute actor, what’s his name?– Kwon san O -with a whitening mask

advertising cosmetics in the shop windows,

 beer in the bar,

mobile phones in the corner

is everywhere.

You can re-buy your soul moth-eaten by the consumerist society

on the second floor, near the Chinese restaurant there is a church.

I would show you the way to Kwon san O, but the disguising sunglasses don’t do me any good and I am still taken for a Russian prostitute in search of clients.