Long time gone!

But here’s a reward for your patience: a poem about the latest EXO comeback, in the style of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.

I saw the best dancers of a generation destroyed by a Wolf.
Exo, born from the roots and the branches of a mystical tree.
The voice of a poor-man’s Morgan Freeman, a mystical, senseless midwife.
Exo. Separated or together? Awaited
Exo. Beloved Exo. Exo-obsessed fans: Ee. Ex. Oh. Kay. And Em.
The cacophony of Howling.
Moloch! Wolf is freedom not Moloch!
Exo. Not Moloch! Awaited. Beloved.
No more waiting.
They who were separated from the fans by walls, separated by time, separated by meridians
They now return.
They and their comeback are here. No more howling. No more wolf.
Moloch steps back. No more weaving, Penelope-like.
They are here at last, Riding from Gangnam to Inchon to Shanghai and back, overdosed on love of the fans.
They have returned: Exo.
The syringe, the cough syrup bottle of sweet, saccharine love of the fans
Who obsess and await on all continents.
They have come back.
Your turn: you listen to them, you follow them on Instagram, couple them, fight over them
Exo: your overdose.

April is National Poetry Month. And I am warming up.

My Third Shamrock Shake.

When I laid eyes on you at first
I wondered what would motivate
Some passerby to take the bait
And order what I’d never durst:
Vanilla swirled with Kelly green,
Mint flavor cooling what was cold.
But one day, seized by passion bold,
I knew I needed you within.
The second came much like the one
I had the year before. It was
A sudden need that in me rose
To chase some patty on a bun.
And now you, my third, I hold.
The cherry briefly slows the straw,
But it’s resistance is no more:
The waves of green rise and enfold
My drinking instrument and rush
Into my greedy mouth and gullet…
No matter how light you make my wallet
Now I can sing to rival yonder thrush!

Anonymous asked:

to which historical figures would you compare shinee members?

I am not 100% certain precisely who is who, but Shinee members are Edward II of England, Piers Gaveston (Edward’s first favorite/lover), Hugh Despenser the the Younger (Edward’s second favorite/lover), Queen Isabella (Edward’s highly disloyal wife/plotter), and Roger Mortimer (Isabella’s lover/fellow plotter). Basically, characters in a real-life Game of Thrones soap-opera. See http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_II_of_England

Sit back and see the love triangles and madness unfold!

As we approach the New Year, I promise to make some of you cry bitter tears into S-pop fans!

Here is another Song of the Year masterpiece, “Golden Domes” (1990) by the Soviet flower-boy idol, Zhenia Belousov.

If you can figure what this is about, you know a lot more than I do.

Here is the translation:

I could be quiet, all alone, no one needed me,
And at night I could leaf through old books.
I was leafing through someone’s happiness, not noticing my own, changing the faces of my girlfriends at the speed of fate.
So I did not rise from the table when you came over one day,
And I did not blow the candle out, though it was late,
All these tears, like a flood,
And then you fell asleep, caressed by the stars.

I won’t come near you, I won’t touch you with my hand,
Suddenly, in the dark of night, golden domes lit up.
What are you doing to me, electrical darkness, where golden domes are burning like torches.

Everything was plain and easy when you were far away, and I would call you on a lark.
We’d speak of nothings, and I would chase the lump in my throat deep down into my soul, as to the bottom of a well.
Yes, I would call you on a lark and you fell asleep as a baby,
Tired of the pain and of crying in vain.
I looked on you as you slept and on the golden domes,
And thought, oh god, how beautiful they are.

I won’t come near you, I won’t touch you with my hand,
Suddenly, in the dark of night, golden domes lit up.
What are you doing to me, electrical darkness, where golden domes are burning like torches.

it’s time to introduce you all to an ancient musical form: S-Pop aka Soviet Pop Music.

Every new year since 1970s, Soviet TV had the Song of the Year concert featuring the most popular songs of the season.

This masterpiece is Lev Leshchenko’s “Love, the Young Communist League, and Spring.” Yes, really. Since most young people between late teens and early 30s would have to join the Young Communist League (think of a student government, of sorts) it would be a normal part of youthful memories. And you’d spend some of that youth building a railroad in Siberia or something.

Here’s my translation. Enjoy?!

Pell on, the bell of valor!
All who are young are on the way.
We have the map to victory.
The motherland shall inherit the stations of the laborer’s glory.
Remember their names:
Love, the Young Communist’s League, and Spring.

The road leading afar -
The first step towards the future.
The untouched lands of the earth and the stars…
The boundless realms of dreams,
Your tender smile…
Within the valor-filled soul are
Love, the Young Communist’s League, and Spring.

We are the rhythms of Time.
Both songs and sleepless nights
Are entrusted to us…
Again the winter storms are blowing,
while the song teaches steadfastness,
And with us, for all seasons, are
Love, the Young Communist’s League, and Spring.