You Don’t Tell People Your Baby’s An Accident.
Corruption, idols & suicide in the Korean music industry - it’s all in my new novel, which has been signed up by one of the best publishers in Asia. A lot of research tells me it’s the first story from a Western writer about modern Korea, and for now I’m keeping its title secret, along with extracts - but they’re coming soon on tumblr, promise. Who’s excited with me?
Slash back. Razor blade melody in a room of bliss. It’s not over yet. What
is love? It’s throbbing bass bouncing in a deep blue room and all we can
feel is a deep blue something. This is the rhythm of the night and rhythm
is a dancer. You can feel it: music wed to sensation.
Crescendo building on the four-chord run. Five to a one. Release of
tension: no bridge can stop those waves, they flow and reflow. The sound
waves, the soundwar, shimmering through the dancefloor. Splice. Hypnotic
groove. Trance in a trance. A demonic outro fades: the birth pangs of new
music. 21 seconds.
Upstairs, downstairs, boys and girls, urbane to talk to sing to dance to
live to love to laugh. Dance like everyone’s watching. Faces glowing in the
striplight, electricshaded. A foliage of electric stars. Everybody’s free
to feel good.
Shape shifting shadows climbing walls: stray strobe lighting, flickering
neon violence. Baby don’t hurt me no more, we’re all just singing for
money. Gypsy people.
It’s the middle of the night and the haze is setting in, his eyes are
getting drowsy, he’s danced for hours. Bright lights made him want to
dance, but it wasn’t house music that put him in a trance. Saturday night
on a knife edge. Pills and drink and poppers - stimulants for the body,
mind, soul. Fading on the other side of midnight. Do you think you’re
better off alone?
He casts his eyes: legs, flesh, sin. Strapless, short, mini, pleated.
Skirts floating on a vibrato of air. Longing libido lightly calls. All he
wants is a seductress, a sacred lack of inhibition. Til I come.
There she stands. Hair streaked gold and brown. Her face appears and
disappears in the whim of the spotlight. Dark smile, a siren’s eyes. She
beckons him into the dark invading. He sees, she sees. Her bare arms flung
in wild embrace to the music. She is heaven, she is an angel in a tomb of
ecstasy. Only love can set you free.
Sinkapace surfing forward the bodies of the damned, damned not to know
desire. Smiling inane, bouncing bodies left and right. He knows love and
fate and falls praying at their altar. He is simple man, she is strange and
wild. She is Venus risen to tempt, to tease, to illuminate the eternal
He opens his mouth whisper the secrets of life in her ear. Listening lips
and eyes. Her smell, her soft skin, her presence of divinity: he delights
in these pleasures. She whispers to him: her name, her job, hopes, dreams,
needs, wants. The tigress is furious.
Skin sweeps skin and sweeps again. A test to catch the butterfly. She is
liquid, ever moving, unknowable, untameable, wild in the sea of noise. He
takes her hand, entwining his and her fingers. He needs the confirmation of
love, he needs salvation. He was born slippy, he’ll die slippy. When she
smiles at you boy, you’re on a ragga tip.
He can taste those lips. A twisting head, butterflies, the knowing moment:
mouth to your mouths kiss. Soft, warm, lined with definition, moist, a
tingle of minute sensations. They are surrounded yet alone and unheeded:
close to the wild heart of life.
They kiss once, twice, thrice. Addiction. Love loves to love love, the want
to be wanted. Now that we’ve found love what are we gonna do with it?
Together they dance, alone, young and wilful. Not the dance of release but
the dance of humanity: bodies together, locked together in a rhythm of
primal beasts. Instinct rising to the surface. Rising and falling, rising
and falling the bodies dance. His hand around her waist, the smell of her
And then she is pulled from his fingers. Drawn by the sound, rhythm, by the
shimmering crowd. Tumbling as waves unfurling to the music, they are one:
everyday people in one organism pulling her to the centre, the beat
pulsating heart, taking her. She is willing to be taken into the dark heart
of the jam: an inhaling, imbibing beast, a womb: throbbing, dark,
dangerous, deadloving music. No limit.
He watches. He hasn’t got the power. A river too deep, a mountain too high.
She is gone. Her glow has faded: darker hue after darker hue. He looks in
sufferance. The groove was in his heart. One livid final flame. Back to
He is alone. He is alone amidst hot air and broken glass and people smiling
and shadows creeping along walls and tangling bodies and darkclad figures
dancing together enjoying moments together and he knows his refuge.
Downswallow and fall into the fray into melodious eternity. The music
intense, the people ecstatic, glorious, united in rhythm, euphoria, they
took her, forgiveness, this is spiritual, soaring higher and higher,
everybody embrace, higher, confused, confess to love, speeding, sustained,
spin out long and pure, soaring endless, this is music as pleasure, as
Let me be your fantasy.
Featuring CUBBY by Giacomo Lee
Oh hey! Issue 11 is online.
Beyond Vengeance: Four from Korea (New Korean Cinema), March 2011
In The Red: A Review of Redline (Cinema Fanatic), March 2011
Holy Ghost! (YAM), March 2011
Black Mirror & Black Swan + sprinkling of Blue Velvet, the Shining and the future aesthetic in Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns. Also added a Beckettian couple in the mix.
Redrafted my new novel to the extent that I now have 2 new novels to my name: I refer to the old draft as F—————— New Bones, and the new one simply as F——————- (*I’m superstitious about titles).
are about characters who find they’ve become city icons & martyrs and are completely overwhelmed by it all.
PLEASE PAY FOR ITEMS I have! INSERT PAYMENT I paid! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. COURT FINDS YOU GUILTY. 10 YEARS. NEXT CUSTOMER PLEASE
(Aka The (Tr)Aisle. Kafka meets the self-checkout of the future. As tweeted via Seedpod Publishing)
Novels by elegiacomo (/giacomo lee):
Short stories (read all here):
Apocalypse! (White Day, not today) (Poxymash #1), September 2010
Last Angel ^_^ (The Beat), November 2010
Anna Collide (The Morpediera) (Quail Bell), November 2010
Viper (The Rage of a New Ancestor: 2010 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology, New Asian Writing), December 2010
My Angel Rocks Back and Forth (Ex-Voto) (This Zine Will Change Your Life), February 2011
Little Feet (‘80) (Lit Up), February 2011
Nobody nobody (Weeraesque) (NAW), April 2011
Now Take That (Apocalypse Apocalypse, Totalitario) (Ranfurly Review), June 2011
All Around the Apiary (Nikotan) (Swallow It Whole), March 2012
Friend Request? (Seedpod), January 2013
The Aisle(Seedpod), May 2013Emm, Daniel Stone (Avid #1), May 2013
Shark Bit (Red Trick soundtrack EP), December 2011
Like Spirits on the Seventh Moon (Nineteen Chambers) (elegiacomo) (a Red Trick exclusive), April 2012
Friend Request? My favorite boys’ name, & my maiden one? Photos too, toddler to teen- how he’d have aged, if I’d left my son be?
(a techno-nightmarish updating of Ernest Hemingway’s Baby Shoes, as tweeted via Seedpod Publishing. more of a bad dream than a political statement)
FOLLOW ME for exclusive excerpts from my 2nd novel, a book about religion, existence and Seoul.
— Giacomo Lee follows back x
(Photo by Soomi Park)
A Japanese translation of Giacomo Lee’s English story All Around the Apiary(Nikotan), which was written in response to the events of 3/11/11. Big thanks to 眞鍋 恭子(Manabe Kyoko) for the translation - reach them at nernst.ka(at)hotmail.com. And hello to any Japanese readers out there - what do you think of this?
By Giacomo Lee & 眞鍋 恭子(Manabe Kyoko)