영상을 보고나면

그것에 휩쓸려버렸던 날 발견해.

이미지의 파워에 무력감을 느껴.

너무나 쉽게 사람들을 조종할 수 있는 세계.

난 과연.

살아남을 수 있을까?

미숙언니

굳이 설교를 하지 않더라도 그 존재만으로 영감을 주는 사람이 있다.
이 세상을 바라보는 창문이 이것 하나만이 아니라고, 여기 저기 다른 창문을 열어주는 그런 사람.

워크샵 쉬는 시간. 창문께에 걸어간 미숙언니가 갑자기 딱한 목소리로 말했다.
"에구, 왜 여기 들어와서 이렇게 죽었니. 내 이제 보내줄게."
미숙언니 손 위엔 말라 죽은 잠자리 한 마리.
"아플텐데 하트라도 붙여주마."라며 하트 스티커를 잠자리 등에 붙여서는 밖으로 보내주었다.

점심시간 후, 또 미숙언니는 복도 한 귀퉁이에서 뭔가를 열심히 심고 있는데,
압정 통에 조그맣게 돋아오른 새싹들. 그 새싹들을 화분에 옮겨심어주고 있다.
부산 공연 가서 식당 창문틀에 난 싹들이 예뻐서 압정통에 담아왔다며.
무슨 식물인지도 모르는 그 생명체를 하나하나 손가락으로 화분에 옮겨주는 모습이 참 예뻤다.

도둑고양이었던 점빵이를 데리고와 결국은 점빵이 새끼까지 낳게한 것이며
연꽃밭을 구경하러 가서는 개구리를 잡아 개구리 등을 쓰다듬으며 이야기를 나누는 것이며
참, 저 사람은 이 세상을 보는 통로가 나와는 다르구나, 참 아름답구나 라는 생각을 하게 하는 것이다.

사람

극단 사람들을 볼 때면 종종, 참 인간이란 존재가 아름답다는 생각을 한다. 스텝을 틀리지 않기 위해, 발을 조금 더 뻗기 위해, 더 제대로 서기 위해, 자신을 잊고 그 행위 하나에만 집중하는 그 모습을 보면 배우 개개인의 몸에서 일정한 에너지가 뿜어져 나오는 듯. 일일이 잘나지 않은 개개인들이 서로 믿고 껴안음에서 나타나는 에너지의 교류는 울컥할 정도의 감동을 자아낸다. 비록 나 하나가 아름답거나 잘나지 않더라도 그 아름다운 여러명의 하나가 되고 싶다는 생각이 절로 나는 것이다.

오늘, 레미제라블 초연 안무가인 케이트 플랫 선생의 안무 워크샵 4일차.
선생이 가르쳐 준 안무에 즉흥연기를 더해 연기하는 배우들의 모습은 너무나 아름다웠지만
그보다 더 아름다웠던 것은 그 배우들의 모습에 감동해 눈물을 흘리던 61살의 할머니, 케이트였다. 또 다른 배우들의 감동에 맘 설레하던 내 곁에서 할머니는 감동의 눈물을 흘렸다, 마치 연극을 처음 시작해 모든게 새로운 10대 소녀처럼.

그래, 그것 때문에 나 여기 들어온 것이다. 서로의 존재에 감동받고 서로에게 영감이 되어주는 관계, 그것 때문에.

Like what Kurt Vonnegut said, human beings might be nothing but just robots.

It's quite vivid true if we don't use our 'logos'.

We overestimate so called 'logos' too much, and often ignore the vivid true or fact

; that we are not god.

Logos might be the one distinction between humans and animals,

but we should keep in mind that that 'distinction' is so much smaller than we want to admit.

The difference between people and monkeys is just one tiny little chronosome.

I think 'I' can do things, and 'I' make plans that 'I' will do,

but it rarely works, and once it works, it's not because of my super ego,

but mainly because of the timely labor.

What makes things running in this world is not me, is not you,

but it's time, and the constant effort of every living creature, and I'm just one of that little spot.

So we should train ourselves as a 'good' robot,

admit that I'm not that great,

I'm just nothing but a robot which is running with certain mechanism,

and all I can do is not change the world, but change myself and fit myself into this world,

Be a good piece of a puzzle in this world, and find my own definition of 'good' piece.

February, Brooklyn

February, Brooklyn.

On the way home, the road is frozen.

Yesterday’s snow has seated on the street,

Blaming its misfortune to land on the dark alley.

It has turned itself into

a wide plate of diamond,

glittering in the dark.

I, waddle like a penguin on the,

diamond.

The darkness is thick

and the ice is stubborn,

stubborn like a new homeless.

The snow in February

is annoying, it’s old, it’s enough,

now it’s time for us to long for long

warmth.

I unwelcome you, but you are

unwelcoming me, too,

Actively rejecting my footsteps on your,

diamond.

The darkness is thick, and the snow is,

angry,

like a defensively aggressive homeless.

It’s cold, I want to go home,

I said.

But I want to talk,

the snow said.

But you are too cold to talk to,

I said.

I want to be warm,

the ice said.

And you are too hard to talk to,

I said,

I want to be soft,

the ice said.

I want to be melted,

I want to be warm,

I want to be soft and mellow,

the ice said,

There’s no warmth in words,

there’s no warmth in talks, you should know that,

I said. And stomp!

My nose got warm and your diamond has become

ruby.

But anyway, I’ve arrived home, Safely, again.

Another morning, the air is cold.

I look out the window with a cup of coffee,

watching a group of flies flying from the early morning.

Maybe ten,

no, fifty,

no, hundreds of flies!

What a weird illusion,

I rub my eyes,

drop my coffee,

burn my leg.

And it’s the

snow.

The snow is flying.

The sunlight is spars, and the diamond is

Melting, floating, like it used to...

before.

Raining

I love wathcing outside when it's raining.

The sound of thunder is almost sexy,

and the rain seems quite free unlike my restircted ego.

It's better when I'm alone when it's raining,

it seems that the rain is watering my dried soul,

so maybe my stiff imagination can be as mellow as the seaweed with the raindrops.

But I hate being in the rain.

It's sticky, it's cold, inconvenient, and most of all, it's hugely embarassing.

Being in the rain, being wet, being sentimental, being...

that' irritates me.

I don't want to be in the rain,

but I always like to be the watcher of the rain.

Now the rain is pouring,

and I'm sitting by myself in the bar watching the crazy pouring water from the heaven.

People are gatehring around the window, taking photos of frenzic rain,

and I'm laughing,

just laughing like an old lady

who 's experienced every thing in the world.

Then I suddenly thought that

watching the rain is a bit like reading and writing.

I like reading other people's scenery,

but I don't enjoy being one of that scene.

I don't want to be a drama queen,

I just want to enjoy the drama.

Then I made a conclusion, maybe my life is

the punishment of thinking like that.

I need to be a clown.

When I hate to be a woman

is
when I start to feel ugly,
and feel like that I don't deserve anything good,
I feel I'm dumb,
and feel like that I can't do anything good,
thinking that I'm a loser,
then have a desperate craving for drinks,
but realize that there's no one to drink with me,
because it's still 3 o'clock in the afternoon,
so I feel like crying,
but instead of crying,
I eat lots of sweets frenzically,
until I feel like throwing up,
then I feel even more uglier,
and I'm all ready to drink by myself,
so I go down to the grocery stores with my pajamas,
pick up six pack and chocolate bars,
lies down on the couch, drinking beer by myself,
feeling even more miserable,
and starts to cry.
Then I realize that it's not just my face which is wet,
but also, my pants is wet and red,
and my period has started.

So all these bull shitting childish whining thing was all because of those tiny little hormones floating in my blood? Oh, I really hate that I'm such a fickle creature controlled by nothing but those trivial liquid! Then I suddenly realize that there are tones of things that I need to do right now, and my deadline is right in front of my nose, so I start to write crappy things again, which could have been much better if I started earlier, but instead, I choose to make even crappier excuses, like 'I was way too busy' or 'I was sick.' what so ever. But the worst excuse of all is,
'it's because I'm in my period'. Oh, I hate to be a woman!