Peace is stupid. It’s so absurdly vague. It’s an old wive’s illusion about some daft end-of-days.

And all of us here, in, around, and near Busan don’t need to know what someone else says about your fear of losing “peace,” or dreams of peaceful sleep, or the cat on the window sill licking clean its fleas. Poetry?! Please!

The nearest to uncomfortable we get these days is when the weather report says the tornado’s too close to our coast’s own haze. Just leave us alone from your death-drone-hum as you worry on the bone’s faux-dream home for which we now know that there’s nothing to be done.

And war is over there, down the dead-end road of Fear, or lost up that broken-sign street of Yesteryear. These days, you see, we like our violence clean, and safely savage-salvaged in some glossy shiny wrappers, provided, post and packaged by the Hollywood attackers for the corporate greed machine. Peace? Pfft. Dream!

– 16th Oct 2014

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