A/N: Might be a bit postmodern. Might be a bit too stream of consciousness. It's a little odd. Prepare yourself.

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Man is programmed to make sense of things through patterns, through logical cohesiveness. Man, in perhaps his most ambitious, created what we now know as linear logic.

Linearity. This is how we make sense of the most basic of things. One step leads to a second as the second leads to a third.  How has your day been? Is assessed in an accounting of linear events, treading through the chain of events. D happened because of C, which was because of B, which was definitely A’s fault.  Does that make sense? It probably doesn’t, right?

My head, you see, lacks that fundamental logic for anything to make sense… Linearity.

August 2, 2015

I survey the auditorium, adjusting the tie on my neck. I always thought of neckties like social nooses. Or at least, a leash. And I guess I am just another dog of a society. On both peripheral walls, projectors beam lights of varying tones and shade. This is my work. My work. It was a continuous flow of fragmented images, some deep red marbled with ivory. I hear murmurs of “meat”. Meat? How interesting. Yes, I guess. Meat, Red flesh with woven white fat.

That’s a great idea.

Honestly, I thought. Honestly. Like real down to the bones honesty. I don’t know what that is. Just Red. Just White. Maybe it's frozen blood, cracking at an applied pressure. I don’t really ing know.

I hardly have any idea what it is.

I don’t even remember… well, mostly anything.

June 1, 2012

I lie. I lie. I lie. I know I am who I am. At least, I know I am Choi Seung hyun. My mother… or my father… oh see, I don’t even remember who named me. But, I guess, it doesn’t matter, at least not in the big picture of events. I am Choi Seung hyun still. I am a contemporary visual artist. My medium is light. Aren’t I grand? Most artists go for simple oil on canvas, charcoal on paper, water colour on whatever the they can put it on. My medium is light—the electromagnetic radiation within the portion of the electromagnetic spectrum.  I mould through prism projection. Do you remember what God made first out of all his creation? Let there be light, he said. Let there be light, he said, then after everything, having light made him see that it was good.

Was there an uninhibited god complex inside my cracked head? Maybe. Haha.

It's funny, you see, I only started working with light after the accident. They say at the end of your life, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe that light branded itself in my subconscious. Or I am just, you know, a brain damaged idiot with a very minor god complex. I never really had time to analyze.

March 2, 2012

I meet her in a club. From a distance, under lights that shifted from white to green, to purple, I knew her.

Even if I have never once met her in this lifetime.

November 1, 2011

A lifetime consists from birth to death. At least for most people it does. And maybe it’s still applicable to me… but the first of November… that night. I died.

It was a snowy night, and like most snowy night, drivers act like heads on the road. I was driving, you see. Was I one of the heads, you ask? Well… Maybe I was.

At an intersection, a bus lost traction, missed a stop light, and swerved to the right. Everything happened so fast. There were a myriad of lights and sounds, screeching tires, wailing breaks, a good number alarmed horns…

I was driving a car that the bus hit and from the great laws of physics, my vehicle and myself included gets thrown to a university building. Pictures showed my car’s hood was smashed in like an accordion. I have never seen an accordion before… but that was what the reporter put on the damn caption of the picture in the news.

I was the headline. There were a great number of people who were injured, some even died. The anomaly though was still me. Choi Seung hyun, contemporary artist who at the moment of panic, protected his hands from the collision. My hands were uninjured. It was a miracle.

My head though… well, that’s a completely different picture. One that you are lucky enough not to see.

There was a burst of light. That was my last memory. A burst a blinding light, and a sickening crack, then an overwhelming scent of iron. In retrospect, I think that was when my skull hit the windshield and cracked my head. The iron was my blood pouring out.

Then I died.

November 14, 2011

I woke up from a splitting headache and a guy in scrubs was telling me I was involved in a car accident. He said my brain got scrambled in the process. Of course in a more snooty medical sounding oration. There was something about the temporal lobe, blah blah. That they drilled hole on my skull to relieve pressure. My brain swelled. That there was a lot of bleeding. How, unfortunately, this was the third time he was telling me this. How, he said, sadly my life, or at least my memories will only be good for a day. I am incapable of committing short term memories to long term. In many ways, I think that was death.

I look at my uninjured hands. Well, I told myself, this proves it. I'm an idiot.

Head is more important than hands. Wow. You figure?

March 2, 2012

I approached her, following this certain buzz that develop inside my head. She was at the bar, laughing with her friends. Do I describe her? I guess this will be useful… If I meet her tomorrow. She was a small girl. Woman. Definitely, a woman. She had light brown hair with bangs swept to the side. She was fair. Or at least to my assessment. The lights kept switching, I couldn’t really tell. But her eyes. Well her eyes were, ironically, memorable. I mean, if I still had the ability to memory. She had beautiful eyes. The ones that knew how to smile.

I said, “Hi.” Abruptly. She looked at me surprised. Her eyes took me in, committed me as one of her long term memory.

She asked, “Do I know you?”

I laughed, “Well, I was hoping you could tell me.”

At my laughter, she smiled hesitantly.

I tell her I broke my head, “I don’t know how to remember.”

“Are you saying that so you can forget me if we have a one night stand?” She quirked her head to the side. She laughs. She was a touch drunk. “Is there any use in telling you my name then?”

“Not really. But I still would like to have it.”

“Sandara. It’s Park Sandara.”

April 23, 2013

I wake up with a splitting headache. No. There was no splitting head ache but there was a memory of it. I bolt up. I didn’t kn