a-s-l by Uyen Hua

By Uyen Hua

Poetry. Asian American reports. the non-public is the cultural! an exhilarating introspective descent into the inferno of pop culture, the place one's psychic existence is a posh and troubling net of non-public family with unbelievable icons. not one of the postmodern snark, the entire nuanced horror of a global the place there's not anything yet reputation, yet popularity itself has develop into a completely naturalized or even banal colonization of the human . A bold and implacable prognosis of capital's imageworld, and the destiny of the sorrowful awareness inside it. additionally: hilarious.

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You, having named yourself the forgotten child, thought it was very symbolic to always have a harmonica on hand. you play along to a song on the radio, and the motion is so familiar, you, and what you said that day we met, by chance, on the riviera. when my espadrilles got caught between two large rocks—I was so taken. y. - like, and is it so wrong that i think jesse mccartney is kind of good? tonight, you sit beside a window on the top floor, looking out into the street and imagining that each twinkling light is a small diamond on the western infrastructure’s collective grillright now, all the planks of hardwood on the bottom of your apartment, or the top of the building, are asleep and you watch them carefully and see the nails drag down like quotationsdesperate to remain in the first person, you write in a font that trivializes the ellipsis- begin: "the self-isolation that results from a technology that insists on two degrees of kevin bacon—" 33 dä-gěr’ for everything that can be divided between us we come to one understanding about it having all been about people— we’re here, but we split up again to respective towns where "people" stands for either faces 1.

Wind because of 1. cracks in sidewalks 2. pairs 3. phillip glass soundtracks 4. the concept of farming B. asymmetry after 1. old men 2. organic fruit 3. miranda july C. the sound of silence guest appearances 1. the french braid 2. 1951 3. lineage 4. hoping 5. the autobiography 6. diane keaton, "Because I Said So" 53 I wake up to a room with light pouring through ugly curtains and check the time in China You meet a friend for coffee and pass your change to a total stranger, or this is what you tell me We step out of the lobby of the Chateau Marmont and it starts to rain—don’t be scared, baby; today we’re a music video I underline the phrase "words cannot describe" in every Kafka book I own and load the books into a box in my car, before letting it drive itself into a ditch while I light a cigarette, because I feel like it You make a field of rosaries and use a tripod to photograph yourself praying for the save return of stock bonds and Barry Bonds, We lie on our backs on top of one another, on a bench at a bus stop and you suggest we whisper Shaq’s five latest twitter updates and any single sentence from "Das Kapital" into a tree trunk I rewind and play the credits of "Top Gun" on VHS over, fourteen consecutive times, because I need to and because I’m too cheap to buy the soundtrack You use your private green house to grow pot to make hemp that you spool out as thread that you use to weave cloth napkins that you fold to resemble a family of swans We collect daisies and use them to form peace sign necklaces that we proceed to pass out to people texting on their cell phones, as we laugh and run, being, decidedly, careless in the streets I am 23 and still scanning the text for my name, And I just want you to know that this isn’t me, being interested in these things, but me, being interested in your being interested in these things 54 We speak quickly while holding hands in the city, walking ten blocks in any direction, in search of Camembert and paper lanterns You name a Canadian There it lies with one coin the embodiment of hundred forty-three our relationship before pennies throwing it into a fountain in the mall I lock myself out of my apartment, so I sit on the porch and listen to a radio report about the BP spill.

We listen, lean closely, and this is important—yesterday there were two hundred thousand seven hundred and sixty five "us"s with ninety-seven thousand five hundred and fifty-one "ours songs" and six hundred seventy-five thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine previous "us"s between them. today there are 27 less. we listen to old songs; we think of when every piece of the world was held together; and we want to be whole again: put fast forward and rewind to work; we push fast forward for rewind to work: new songs become old; jessica simpson’s cover of a berlin song that played during her first kiss with her ex husband, because she put it on.

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