Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Home Sweet Hell

My bar is overrun by the pretty young set looking to get laid. Ah the fickle nature of Korea. Where are my ugly, unattractive dykes, where are the flaming homo boys, where are the socially inept rejects that come here to work because at home they are unemployable? Why am I surrounded by hot young twenty somethings traveling abroad for a year of experience? Why? In my bar! In my place, my space, my little slice of home, turned into a college pick up joint.

The girls primp and preen themselves with the blond hair moving and shaking in the wind. They travel to the bathroom together to powder noses and discuss the prospects. The men puff up their chest and volley and jockey for key positions at key tables full of loose girls so obvious it makes my eyes bleed. Men are so stupid, they think there is a challenge. All the need to do to get laid is ignore the pretty girls and they'd have a harem around their feet before they could kick through the crowd to get their next beer. Stupid boys. Stupid girls. Everyone making me uncomfortable.

I sit in my little corner, my space, claimed, mine, and drink my tequila slowly, annoyed by it. I came for the live music. I came for the band. Where are my musicians? The voices cut on hard living and full of something real, life, pain, experience. The first guitarist up tonight sings pop songs. The second group a band which meticulously announces all the players hits a few drums beats and launches into some neo-fascist punk that rapes my ears. Fuck it. I'm going home.

My bed is warm, and quiet. I cry myself to sleep and wish sometimes that my home sweet home did not change every single minute. I wish, sometimes, for something lasting, something to hold onto. I have nothing but myself to cling to. My home sweet home a cold nightmarish hell.

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