Yellow Malaise

Like the hoary scales of a bourgeois flapjack, the yellow dust penetrates and wrecks the lungs' capacity to breath. Shallow and raspy, is the breath, with a sore throat as rough as the words of an outspoken atheist and as red as Gorky's pen, which in all probability was just plain black.

I was a chocolate biscuit once, violated by a crooked teethed cockney boy, dipping me too much in sugary tea, and even then my sense of deterioration was not as strong as now.

All in all, I've not been feeling too well lately. My acid is playing havoc with my oesophagus and unknown bumps and bruises are distorting the topography of my arms. I hate it when that happens. Got a yellow bruise that taunts me with words of Zionism. Should have got a mask, and look like a proper Korean. Can't see the yellow dust though! Is it real? Maybe its just a ploy to scare the people into correct behaviour. What would that be I wonder? Understand the bus drivers point of view? Knowing how many pretzels or nuts to consume at the pub? Eat your greens, and other colours too? But be sure to use a tootpick, and stab out those stubborn seeds of organics. Bastards.

It rained the other day, only a little bit mind. Took my white and black polka dotted umbrella to work for appearances sake. Show my Korean colleagues that I may not be a user, but at least I possess. The bosses at the front door gasped in disbelief, gesturing for me to use my umbrella as I walked past to the side entrance. I gestured back, “it's only a little bit of rain, I'm alright.” When I left with some colleagues after work, I walked out from the shelter with my neglected umbrella by my side, when I heard an uproar behind me.
“Ameen, your umbrella!” For fucks sake, I thought to myself. It's a little bit of rain. You're being silly. Like sausages that think they're frankfurters, because of their sketchy and rushed inner-city education. Inner city sausages. It's a sad state of affairs.
“It's only a little bit of rain.”
“No! The rain is radioactive. It's from Japan!” How come it's not green then? Can't be that radioactive. Turns out it wasn't that strong, hence the lack of green on this front.

Ah! Fukushima. I put up my umbrella this time. Faint thoughts, quietly depressing, for that place that can't quite seem to catch a break. Airborne particles, painted as threats, but in reality only tokens of deserts in the west and radiation in the east. Come here to meet and broker new ideas of air quality.

I ate lot of red the other day, you know, apples, strawberries. Ate a whole box of strawberries, and boy did my farts declare new artistic directions of potency. The kind of farts that builds dynasties and topples empires, founds charities and cracks down on organised crime with newly researched online techniques, all the while entertaining friends with words of decadent witticisms. All these and more were my farts capable of that night.

Being ill at work can turn me into a thoroughly temperamental bastard sometimes. A kid shows me that he has ink on his hand.
“Ameen Teacher! Blue! Blue!”
“Yeah yeah, I know, blue. But you're not going to the bathroom. That's life you know, people get blue on their hands.”

One book with pictures of China in it of course has a picture of Mao in it, to my displeasure.
“And here Chairman Mao, one of the greatest mass murderers of all time, still revered and idolised. Sickening.”
“Teacher? No understand.”
“Me too Hyeon, me too.” I shake my head.

“No, thats not how you spell me Hyeon. It's M, E. Like the disorder.”
“Teacher? No understand.”
“Me too Hyeon, me too.” I shake my head.

Needless to say I am tiring of the lack of appreciation for my jokes. The kids are too busy with their colouring and bogeys to let my jokes thrive. Why cant they let them live?

First summery-feeling day popped up its yellow energetic head last Sunday, and I took some time with friends to lie in a park, with all the crouton-like accompaniments; shit beer, shit sandwiches, music from an iPhone, saying “Anyong” to cute Korean children that walk to us, drawn towards the vocals of Damon Albarn telling us how boys like girls and visa versa.

That sunny day helped out on the whole eastern front of my health. Stalingrad is gradually being retaken, but the western front's not been opened yet! Lazy fucking allies. Maybe the vitamin C tablet I got will help out in the west. Huge orange lozenges of latent tenderness, unclear of it's directives (not sure if they are having any affect on me) , yet certain of it's destination (stuck halfway down my acidic oesophagus). I can also get some pro-biotic drinks every day. In Korea they are sold by yellow clad ladies with be-fridged motorised carts and hats with brims. These yellow petals of femininity provide the nation with their necessary supply of pro-biotic yogurt drinks. And who the fuck am I to refuse them! I don’t, I just drink.