Pockets of happiness lie in waiting in the city blocks.

I’d just gone swimming in the basement of a downtown office complex. After, sitting on a bench, eating some kim-bap, a busload of old Korean ladies unloaded. Next thing I knew the driver was calling me into the bus. He asked me a bunch of questions in Korean that I could barely answer, and offered me plates of rice cakes and a bottle of beer. Then, he blasted some Korean old man’s music, which is kind of a mix of country & western and lounge with that bombastic energy of Bollywood music. He played it at such an inceredible volume — with the door and windows open, it must have filled the whole street. Then, he turned on the ignition, and hooked up the karaoke system. This guy was so cool that he put on a pair of sunglasses when he sang. On the monitor, images of Southern islands passed by, and what with the fake flower decor on the bus, I suddenly felt myself in tropical vacation mode. I stepped up to the mic. And belted out “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” and Kris Kristofferson’s “For The Good Times.” An awesome way to spend the afternoon. One of many awesome ways to spend an afternoon, I might say.

So many people want to practice their English on me, in Asia — but except for the rare moments, it seems like everyone’s missing the point of learning a language. The point of a new language is that when you meet someone at the blue, you’ve got the tools to communicate heart-to-heart — and in fact only the most broken language is needed.

(the strange dreams a traveler has … continued) Drifting through days of unreality. I had some mad dreams last night I can barely recall. Supposedly set in an exotic land called Turkey, in which these massive dinosaur-like animals were employed for construction purposes. Huge herds of 30 foot tall animals. Like 60 foot tall ostriches. We drove into a town, and all the buildings were so lushly colored in all kinds of bizarre shapes. I tried to film from video camera with one minute of tape left, and the pressing concern that the tape would be confiscated by the state.

I’m so tired. I need some time to recover my focus. I achieved some kind of clarity, but now I’m all disoriented again. I thought I had a new magazine all put together, but coming to Asia throws everything into disarray, makes everything that I was in the process of writing about seem so far away.

Ended up at this Chinese restaurant in the heart of the venture capital district. It blew my mind — shark, and obscure shellfish, and a cocunut milkshake for dessert, and a bill that would have been more than 25% of all the money I have in Korea, were I actually the one who paid. While the upwardly mobile of Seoul had a bite after work, the soundtrack drifted through big band tunes, and Louis Armstrong, and a whole bunch of Christmas songs (even though it’s April), like the one that begins, “chestnuts roasting by an open fire,” but not the Nat King Cole version.

If only I could settle down… I’m looking for a place to go into exile…

I flew into Seoul yesterday morning on a flight with a disproportionate number of Canadian military guys. Not sure where they were going.
The new international airport, Incheon, is an hour out of Seoul in the coolest landscape — innumerable tiny mountains highly vegetated with flat-as-a-board brown ground all imbetween them, all flanked by the ocean. Took the airport bus into Seoul, and passed through such a desolate apocalyptic landscape. Actually, the outskirts of Seoul look a lot more sci-fi than Tokyo. The city of Tokyo’s endless, but it’s also unimaginably flat, so if you’re stationary you can’t get a sense of its size — only when you’re on a train for hours, and you still can’t escape the seemingly endless blocks of 4-8 story buildings packed together and train stations that look exactly alike do you you get overwhelmed by Tokyo. In contrast, Korea’s got mountains everywhere, so the city’s constantly broken up. At the base of a certain mountain, there’s huge outcrops of very tall, identically un-designed apartment buildings that seem to exist in the middle of nowhere. Whereas, Japan has the perennial earthquake problems, and thus doesn’t have many tall buildings. The riverfront and bayside around Seoul seems to be desolate and barren. Endless construction sites and dirt and overhead freeways and smog. It’s a lot to take in after the slowness of Vancouver.

Briefly, another day at the Houston museums worth commenting on. I went to the Science Museum today. Saw the coolest things. The biggest shell collection I’ve ever seen – a shell that looked practically amphibian, a shell looking like the spinal skeleton, a shell about three feet high, shells which seemed to be homing grounds for other shells, so you could these, like, shell constellations. Geographical origins were listed, and the place names set my mind adrift in reveries – South Africa, the Philippines, Australia, Marshall Island, Okinawa, Taiwan. Learned this new term, malacology, the study of mollusks. Watched this fascinating video on Japanese pearl-culturing techniques, which involved surgically inserting a piece of live tissue and a tiny ball into an oyster, and then cultivating that over thousands of hours.

Elsewhere, in the museum, was a mind-blowing mineral showcase. What I couldn’t understand is how I’ve gone a quarter of a century living on this earth without ever seeing rocks this strange in the nature I’ve encountered. Where do people dig these up? Origins listed as Ukraine, Pakistan, Wyoming, Namibia. Rocks of every color imaginable. Plus, these phosphorescent and fluorescent rocks. Amazing crystal formations.

Then, there was this greenhouse-contained tropical environment with thousands of butterflies, about 40-50 different species. The patterns of these butterflies were so varied and beautiful. One breed reminded me of the patterns of a peacock’s feathers. Another one’s wings appeared black, but a blueness seemed to spread across the wings like blood. Another butterfly had such a perfect design on the side – it looked like a Chinese black silk with a white and red petaled flower perfectly centered in the middle of the wing. They flew all around — three circled around me, as if they were dogfighting airplanes in an obscure flutter-style.

Outside the butterfly exhibit, there were these glass encasements with various breeds of cockroaches. Plus tarantulas and scorpions. There was a case of scarabs, and one of these with its wings spread out looked like it was mutated by a butterfly. Scarabs, themselves, are the living embodiment of gemstones.

On a different note, there was a temporary exhibition from the Forbidden Palace of Beijing. All kinds of memorabilia from the Qing dynasty in the 18th century. There were these broaches shaped from fireflies. Some kingfisher feathers integrated into the clothing, which never lost their turquoise color. There were massive musical instruments. And strange contraptions used for telling time. And a kind of fungi used as a decoration, with calligraphy on the back. This huge copper plate that had the constellations scratched into it.

Fantastic.

At a Houston art gallery, a few weeks back, I saw a display of sketches by Jackson Pollock. I couldn’t believe the massive scope of his drawing ability – these sketches that flung the imagination into parts of the mind occupied by mythology. I thought about this, while looking at the minerals today. Or, I thought about the strange textures of a Rauschenberg, or the perfect hues and saturation of Mark Rothko. All these paintings that I saw 2 weeks ago came back into my mind looking at these obscure pieces of nature.

If I sometimes think that the world is not enough, what I mean is that it is not exotic enough, that there is not enough to delight my senses. Have you ever read the 11th chapter of the Picture of Dorian Gray? It is my favorite. And yet I;m a little ashamed of myself. I’m far too uncultivated to be a proper aesthete or a refined sensualist. Too bound up by an everyday life that never brings me face-to-face with scarabs or phosphorescent rocks. These things seem to belong another world. I know nothing about them, but it pleases me to think that beyond the sky, there may be entire planets that are phosphorescent.

I left the museum at 3:30, in order to beat rush hour traffic. I drove through Houston on the Katy freeway – a road that is now about 10 lanes that they will soon be expanding to 24 lanes, because it’s the most congested road in Houston.

I went to see Traffic at a local area megaplex a few nights ago. I walked through the empty mall to get to the 9:50 showing. There was no one around, but all of the amusements from the mall were still flashing. I came into the theatre and no one else was there. The sneak previews were just starting. It’s interesting to know that a movie still gets played regardless of the presence of an audience. After the movie, which was staggeringly good (by the way, I was recently reading about some real-life situation of a Mexican politician using his property to smuggle cocaine, while holding anti-drug summits on the same real estate, that hosted Bill Clinton and other dignitaries), I waited for the music credits – I could hear a theatre employee, jangling his keys, waiting for me to exit, so they could close the megaplex.

Earlier in the day, in the local post office, I inquired about sending something to England by mailbag. The employees were convinced that this mail service was available only for church organizations.

Houston is definitely a strange place.

Flying into Houston, almost a month ago, I couldn’t believe how green it looked, a kind of glowing green, and it seemed to be rainforest-like. And the clouds were in the strangest formations interspersed at all levels of the atmosphere, reflecting the colors in the strangest way. While the plane, the grass along the landing strip seemed to be fluorescent. But the city I could see the ground seems to bear no resemblance to the landscape I saw from the sky.

Though on the night I left the megaplex, I could hear this symphony of animals and insects in the night, beyond the endless parking lot since my car was the only car in the parking lot, I actually thought that somehow a Fourth World CD was booming from the car stereo.

In Houston, occasionally, palm trees surround businesses and restaurants. They’e obviously transplanted here, yet the balmy environment supports them.