a-s-l by Uyen Hua

By Uyen Hua

Poetry. Asian American reviews. the private is the cultural! an exhilarating introspective descent into the inferno of pop culture, the place one's psychic existence is a fancy and troubling net of non-public kinfolk with fabulous icons. not one of the postmodern snark, the entire nuanced horror of an international the place there's not anything yet status, yet repute itself has develop into a wholly naturalized or even banal colonization of the human . A bold and implacable prognosis of capital's imageworld, and the destiny of the sad cognizance inside it. additionally: hilarious.

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That was the moment of my life. you said, "this is my dream" and then others were there to help you. as it turns out, what the-dream felt was exactly what rihanna was feeling. " dude, it’s so like that.

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.

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.

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