Just Eric – Seoul Novel – Part 6

Originally posted on justeric08:

Just Eric – Part 6

Just when it seemed like my life in Seoul was perfect, yup, that’s when the North Koreans invaded. When I say they “invaded” I don’t mean like in a war but it was more like millions of refugees who had nowhere to go and nothing to do (I’m sure you’ve seen all about it on the news by now). It was bizarre, to say the least. They looked all ragged and weird, like strange hillbilly mountain people or something, moved slow, sickly and weak, had nothing to say and didn’t seem to understand any of the English the South Koreans at that point were only allowed to use. This mess of people was slowly trudging down the streets by the hundreds of thousands, seemingly circling around the city like a big whirlpool until they’d get tired and sit on the curb. Since there were so many of them…

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Millions of North Koreans Fill the Streets of Seoul!

In the latest new pages of the Just Seoul – Street Novel found posted up around the city, the story took a big twist as millions of North Korean refugees storm across the border and occupy the streets of Seoul.

You can see/read the latest instalment over at the Tumblr blog (which may or may not have been created by one of my readers/trolls PhatDog) dedicated to showing pictures of where these pages have been posted in the city, this time around the popular arts and theatre area of Hyehwa:


And as usual, I have written my own complimentary chapter of micro-stories (in the 2nd person) dealing with the current predicament described in those street novel-ing pages. Enjoy!

Just You – Part 4 – North Korea

You are all the people of Seoul who were on the street when those North Korean refugees ran into town. You were just on your way to the bus or subway to go home after work when these runners stampeded right through the central business district. You thought this horde of super skinny people trotting along were part of some kind of strange countryside marathon. They were dressed in ratty brown rags like those gross people who live out on those farms or whatever is outside of Seoul. No one told you what was happening on your phones, so you slid over to the side and started to cheer the runners on. Some of you were clapping and encouraging them to keep going, some were passing them cups of water you’d bought from the convenience stores, and some were even trying to reach out and high five them as they went by. When none of this effort was reciprocated, you started to get suspicious that all this running wasn’t what it seemed. A few days later there was still no explanation from the government and the marathoners were not only staying in town but also taking up residence on the actual streets. That’s when you knew for sure that something weird was going on. However, it was business as usual for you, life had to go on and all these North Koreans weren’t going to get in your way.


You are a street in downtown Seoul. You used to be filled with constant traffic, buses pushing through the congested car lanes inter-spliced with all these delivery people weaving around on scooters. That constant wear-and-tear created a culture of on-going shoddy repairs that were always hastily attempted during the daytime while the traffic was still thick. The feet of the people crossing at your intersections were no better on your psyche; the men in their hard stepping dress shoes and women with their piercing heels tapping you like water torture. However, there was nothing worse than garbage days, three times a week everyone from the shops and apartments on your long stretch would pile mountains of seeping, smelly, crinkly bags that made you feel more like a cheap 3rd world dirt road than a decorated stretch of futuristic prosperity. Then the North Koreans came and all that pain went away. There were millions of them and they had nowhere else to go apparently, so they just walked on you – a constant flow of soft, sandalled and shoeless feet dragging across your hide with massaging consistency. There was no room for cars, buses, construction or even the marching South Korean office army, so you were happy for a while there until the smell started to kick in and make the old garbage days seem like a fresh flower patch.


You are a blank expression. You had nothing to convey to the person looking at you. More information was required but you had nothing to give. The day changed to night and you were still blank. The North Korean who’s face you were on made no attempt to control you.


You are a pre-packaged, convenience store hamburger. You were a popular item with Koreans looking for a quick snack between meals or classes but were generally the second choice after your nemesis – seaweed-rice triangles. Those things just couldn’t be beaten until the North Koreans arrived. They didn’t want anything to do with rice for some reason and would vomit if they ate any. But the greasy, microwavable meat inside you was a delicacy to the indescribably abused North Korean palate. Stores couldn’t keep anything like you on the shelves, not that the North Koreans bothered to pay but then again no one stopped them from taking anything anyways. The North Koreans seemed to get away with whatever they wanted since there was just so many of them – what could the South Koreans do? Eventually, they just ignored them (if the North Koreans wanted the seaweed-rice triangles then maybe it would have been a different story). When your turn came, you were kind of frightened as you were put on a shelf and grabbed by a North Korean and brought over to a whole group of them. In the course of trying to divvy up how to eat you they just started to rip you  apart. However, there was something grossly sensual in the way they dissected and savoured every one of your pieces, even the package you came in was licked clean by three of them and then balled up and swallowed by one lucky guy.


You are the new derogatory term “Korth” that is being used to describe the North Korean refugees in Seoul. Little kids started using you first to make fun of those dirty North Korean kids who looked so stupid trying to play video games at the old arcades and eating candy without even taking off the wrappers. While the South Korean kids really disliked those nerdy and lame Korths, their use of you was more of a manipulation by the government than actual impromptu slang. These kids had no idea that you had been focus grouped for weeks and implanted in them subconsciously by direct order of the South Korean President. Everything the President had accomplished with the All-English policy looked like it was all about to crumble because of the damn North Koreans. Then he got the brainstorm about how to use them in his plans: discriminate against those North Koreans as much and as harshly as possible in order to be cool. Americans always benefited from multiculturalism when learning how to effectively leverage prejudice to their advantage, and that was something you just couldn’t buy in Korea’s homogenised culture. The arrival of the irrational, ignorant, dumb, poor and unhealthy refugees was a gift. The President knew how reprehensible it was going to look to intentionally impose intolerance against an entire impoverished nationality but he felt justified that even a life of squalor and ridicule in Seoul was going to be better than any existence they’d had in the North. So after the kids warmed it up, “King Korea” (as he was sometimes known) officially announced that the term Korth could be used to negatively identify North Koreans, and since Korths didn’t speak English anyways, they weren’t going to know what was going on.

Just Eric – Seoul Novel – Part 5

Originally posted on justeric08:

Just Eric – Part 5

I considered Stacy my girlfriend pretty much right away, even if she didn’t think so. There was no conversation about it or anything, I just thought it and that’s what she was. I got a bit of a wake-up call though when we went on our fifth date to a skeet shooting range just a little bit north of Seoul and she pulled away when I tried to hold her hand for the first time. ‘I guess we should have had that conversation,’ I thought to myself then, and awkwardly tried to recover with a joke asking if she thought it was good idea for a white guy like me to have a gun so close to North Korea. She giggled and kept her hand close to her leg. I watched as it didn’t sway free again, and kept up a positive exterior while I got all nervous…

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Just Eric – Seoul Novel – Part 4

Originally posted on justeric08:

Just Eric – Part 4

Once I started working at the head office full time, I was just another rat-race 9-5 jerk-off, getting up early in the morning at my suburban apartment and commuting on the subway for over an hour with all the other miserable ham-and-eggers. We squished into those train cars all weirded out by being so close to each other but acting like we’re alone, then scooting along between transfer points, clanging together in line like empty glass bottles in a soda factory. Making the transformation, in such a short span of time, from a completely self-absorbed drama major to a full-on paper-pushing company man was oddly less depressing than I’d expected considering how fully entitled I felt before as a super human artist. How did I end up in Korea in the first place then? I’m just going to straight up blame that Canadian student loans system. They fed…

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Just Eric – Seoul Novel – Part 3

Originally posted on justeric08:

Before I start with Part 3, just a reminder to check out the Tumblr Blog – Just Seoul to see the ongoing “street novel-ing” project around Seoul, South Korea that was the inspiration for my novel.


As well, you have to check out my favorite blog – Dr. Loser – here at WordPress to see what he is also writing on this same topic as well… it’s great stuff!


And now… on with the show!

Just Eric – Part 3

I really didn’t get along with the other dozen or so foreigner teachers at my school, and after I started working at our head office during the day (the classes we taught were all at night, after the regular school day ended for the Korean kids) they treated me like even more of an asshole than before. At first we were just different because teaching class was an…

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Cool Schools in South Korea

Nope, that title isn’t referring to schools in Korea that are cool but rather schools in Korea that teach kids how to be cool!

Seems like that’s the direction where PhatDog’s latest instalment of Street Novel-ing pages have gone, so check it out here:


His first bunch of stores were distributed around Sadang, one of the main transfer hubs for the massive Seoul subway system, and although abstract it seemed to be about a kind of surreal claustrophobia that comes from the the crammed rush hour commute. I followed along with a complimentary batch of micro-stories, all from the second person point-of-view, that continued his satirical voice and described a kind of alternate Korea from the past. Read it here and here.

Then in the second batch of Street Novel-ing, posted up around Itaewon, the “little America” part of Seoul, PhatDog was describing this alternate Korea from the past following an All-English Changeover, where the Korean language was outlawed and English was the only form of communication allowed. My second set of micro-stories took place in this fictional world. Read both parts here.

And now, following these new Street Novel-ing stories that talk about aspects of the ‘cool schools’ that have replaced the very dominant English language education system in Korea, I’ve got my own take on this concept in the latest part of my Just You micro-story collection.

Just You – Part 3 – Cool Schools

You are the photo of the President of Korea when he was a teenager smoking weed at a hip-hop concert in LA. A couple of decades ago, you made him slightly infamous in South Korea when you surfaced on a TV news magazine program there spotlighting the apparent rising problems with the Korean youth who were being raised in the US. They claimed that you proved the negative changes happening to the younger generation who were so far removed from the morals of Korean society. No one in Korea knew anything specifically about the boy you featured so prominently enjoying that joint, or about the effects of smoking marijuana in the strongly drug free, dictatorship nation at the time. The future President’s parents were furious and, after the media frenzy over you died down, they sent him back to Seoul to go to university and complete his military service. Those rich parents paid off the right people to make you almost completely disappear, but he always held onto a copy of you that he ripped out of a LA-based Korean language newspaper. You reminded him to stay unique and never assimilate back into the system. And after he became President and instituted the nationwide All-English changeover, he then came up with an even more radical innovation: cool schools. In order to guarantee that none of the young people in Korea would become nerdy and generic, he was going to make sure that they were taught how to be different, dominant and special, just like him.


You are a cool school teacher in the South Korean suburbs just outside of Seoul. There were so many cool schools around back then, having taken over the office spaces left empty by the language institutes following the All-English changeover. You came from Australia but the principal at your cool school only hired you with the understanding that you would put on an American accent in your classes. You didn’t mind. The classes were so dumb anyways and you were surprised this stuff was even legal – teaching kids how to smoke in a cool way using candy cigarettes, or how to tell jokes about the weird looking people who walk past them in the hallways at school, just didn’t seem right. Reprehensible or not, you didn’t care because they paid you so damn well. You and everyone else teaching at your cool school was roped into this nonsense for the same reason, because you’d racked up a massive student loan debt that no job back home would help you pay back at the interest rates the banks were asking. You figured that collectively this was the smartest group of people teaching the dumbest material anywhere in the world (and that’s saying a lot!). You spent a lot of time talking about stuff like this while you were drinking away all that money at the bars after class. “Now this is where we should have cool school,” you’d say in your best drunken American voice as all the other teachers cheered.


You are a desk inside a cool school classroom in Seoul. Most of the young kids in the class represented some of the best students in the city and therefore the whole country. They’d had the most exclusive, high-priced English tutors before the All-English changeover and tested in the top 99.9% on all their academic subjects (anything less and they wouldn’t qualify for one of the three most prestigious universities in the nation and thus would have embarrassed their important parents). Like many of the other students in Seoul they studied very hard for more than 12 hours a day, but unlike those others these students had never fallen asleep in class. So when their cool school teacher told them that the lesson for that day’s ‘Taking Breaks’ class was to lay their head in their arms and take a nap on you, the students resisted. The teacher, a foreigner, explained that if they didn’t do this properly they would not be considered cool and would fail the class. You felt the quivering arms of the boy nervously come down and thought this was terrible because you knew that if he even failed one aspect at this after-school tutoring institute he’d be punished severely by his parents. The teacher came over behind you and snapped his fingers, making the boy flinch. “Just sleep, you’re doing it all wrong,” he said and the boy started to cry. “Crying in cool school class, no way buddy, that’s a fail! Loser points for you!”


You are a man in a shiny grey suit rummaging around in your trunk looking for the leg of a gambling table that you like to use to give beatings. You were trying not to let your emotions get to you but this was a very disrespectful situation. You found the wooden leg, closed the trunk, stepped back, took a breath, and then quickly walked about two meters over to a guy standing around with his friends and proceeded to crack him in the back with that makeshift club. Minutes earlier, he had spat on the tinted windshield of your pristine black car. Everyone in Korea knows about the kind of people who are inside these dark, luxury cars and are not to – under any circumstances – acknowledge them. And that goes for little children all the way up to the police. However, something had prompted this goofy university-looking dork to spit on your car in the middle of the day where tons of people were watching. And then he just kept talking to his friends like there would be no repercussions for his actions. You thought this was somehow related to these new “cool schools” that started popping up all over, but you had no idea how this was supposed to be cool. You were the cool ones: clubs, girls, smoking, drinking, sunglasses, tinted windows, shiny suits and cars, each bullet point that you counted off in your head was a crack to the ribs on that fallen loser. Then you looked around and saw that everyone on the street was staring at you. That felt really weird because you expected them to just watch from the corner of their eyes while walking by. You felt too uncomfortable with all those witnesses, so you stopped the beating and went back to the car. As you drove off, everyone started spitting on your car and even you had to respect that a little bit.


You are a Japanese punk band that came to Seoul for one night to play a club gig. All three of your members painted their faces in zombie make-up, teased their purple and blue hair in a multitude of different directions, and put on spandex tops with leather shirts over ripped jeans. Then they adorned full-sized taxidermy eagles, beavers and otters on their shoulders. The club owner met you as you were coming out of the dressing room and looked unmoved by your outfits. He told you dryly to be ready for 500 wild people jammed into the small venue, and that got you excited. When you hit the stage you were surprised to see that the Korean audience looked strangely like the crowd at an American football game. Most were wearing athletic jerseys (except for the shirtless ones) with their beers raised into the air as they raucously hollered, woo-ed, woofed, high-fived, fist-pumped and did the ‘wave.’ Some were even holding up signs with slogans like, “Yeah,” “That’s It!” and “Boo-Yah!” Hesitatingly, you started playing and the crowd switched from cheering to aggressively boo-ing. As the set went on they began chanting, “Ja-pan-Sucks… Ja-pan-Sucks!” After four of the worst songs you’d ever performed, you ended the set and were ushered off the stage by a barrage of empty plastic bottles. Your members cleaned themselves up, got into their civilian clothes, and you were ready to leave the venue but a huge crowd outside the dressing room was waiting for you. Many of those Koreans who had been spitting at the stage and screaming vehemently for your murder, then respectfully wanted to shake your hands and thank you for a great show. You found out later that this was a lesson from a cool school class on how to act at a live event, and all you could do was ask “what the hell is a cool school?”


Just Eric – Seoul Novel – Part 2

Originally posted on justeric08:

Just Eric – Part 2

I liked to come into the teachers’ office at my school about 2 hours before classes started for the night. This wasn’t so I could get ready for teaching, but since I was trying to save money and was living so poorly in tiny apartment without air conditioning (I was definitely not prepared for just how humid Korea was going to be) I came to the office and relaxed at my desk. Most of the other teachers showed up about 5 minute before classes started, so I pretty much had the room to myself and could just lay back and take a nap in the cool room. One day, about 3 months after I’d started, the secretary from the front desk who mostly dealt with students and parents came into this room and startled me awake. She told me there was a phone call for…

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Seoul Street Novel – Part 2 (and) Just You – Part 2 – All English

The Street Novel-ing in Seoul continued with a second instalment over at PhatDog’s Just Seoul Tumblr Blog:


And so as promised here is another part of my own complimentary side-story:

Just You – Part 2 – All English

You are the King of Korea. Okay, you’re not really the “king” but you’re President and that’s good enough because you throw that power around like you are a king. The media gave you this nickname on the day you explained you intention to eliminate the Korean language from South Korea and adopt only English for all forms of communication. Although you were elected based on a platform of peaceful reunification with North Korea and putting an end to mandatory military service for all Korean men, you scrapped all that once you got into office and started to focus on this All-English policy. You were so charismatic and well loved that few people even complained when you held the press conference to announce the changeover to English, effectively outlawing the Korean language in Korea. In a country that is overwrought with daily protests on everything from agricultural taxes to religious freedoms, the streets were exceptionally quiet in the weeks following your kingly proclamation. You were going to save the country millions of dollars on all the redundant English language education anyways, so that was a good thing, plus you were a very fluent speaker of English and lots of people thought that looked really cool. The full transition took a year and during that time you shook a lot of hands and said all the right things, in Korean of course, or else no one would have understood you at all.


You are the first day of the All-English changeover in South Korea. At the moment when you came into law and the Korean language could no longer officially be used, an alarm was sounded nationwide. Purposely, the President asked for the same alarms to be used on this occasion that regularly tested the air raid sirens across the country. The people in Seoul were the most prepared and as soon as they heard the alarm they knew not to speak or write Korean ever again. However, a lot of people outside of Seoul thought that it was just a normal air raid test and thus continued to speak Korean. This made you a very active day outside of the capital as the new language police, who were conveniently placed in the most rural of areas, had to detain many ‘accidental’ violators. They filled up the detention centres, which was a great way to train many of their new guards and also scare the rest of the country with grim images. And while the prisons seemed like strict places full orders, drills and barred cells, you knew the President secretly made sure that the doors were never locked. He’d told the guards to let anyone go free if they opened a door and walked out. This didn’t happen to you, and the President was disappointed. You later asked your brothers on the second, third, and fourth days, but none of them experienced this either, and it wasn’t until Sunday when the President let everyone go. You were certain that those incarcerated people never forgot you and upon release definitely never spoke Korean again.


You are an old man in Seoul who is struggling to adapt to the All-English changeover in Korea. You were rambling and complaining in scratchy English to no one in particular while looking for the bar where you were supposed to meet your friend, until you spotted a young police officer who would have to help you. The police officer looked away, like he hoped you weren’t coming over to him, probably nervous about your poor grasp of the language. And when you struggled to ask your question he cringed knowing what he would have to do if you broke down into Korean like he expected. The officer told you to calm down and try to speak slowly but that only made you turn red and clench your teeth. Angrily, you blurted out a whole sentence in very formal and hierarchal Korean to demand that this younger boy tell you how to find the bar you needed to go to in this busy part of downtown Seoul. The officer pretended to check his watch and ignored you. So your gruff voice continued to get louder, persisting that the police boy could understand what you were saying. The officer tried to turn and walk away but you followed. Part of you was furious, confused by all this English nonsense, and another part of you looked at all the down-turned faces of the people walking by that were trying to tell you to keep your mouth shut. Ignoring all that you grabbed the officer by the arm and yelled in his face, “show me where the fuck I want to go you dog raping piece of cunt flesh” in musically fluent Korean.


You are the President of Korea’s regular prostitute. The man affectionately referred to as the ‘King of Korea’ by the media actually didn’t like you very much back then. You were sure that he found you attractive since you were young and pretty, of that there was no doubt, but the President fought so hard to abolish prostitution in the country and there seemed to be little he could do to change that specific aspect of the culture, so much so that he was even forced to have sex with you against his own will. The President’s wife even encouraged him to meet you a few times a week along with all the other politicians who visited girls at the nightclubs where you were called in to work. Actually, you could understand her, she’d been conditioned to accept this behaviour and believed that her husband maintained his vitality by fondling a young prostitute late at night. To your credit you were just a university student who ended up with this “job” by a very odd series of events that always confused even you. After the All-English changeover you’d hoped that you might be released from the contract you were tricked into signing because the ‘King of Korea’ had declared that he was going to eradicate prostitution the same way he did that old fashioned Korean language. Unfortunately, no matter how many pimps he paid off or brothels he raided, it just wouldn’t go away. At least you were able to meet the President and that was pretty cool, and even though he made you do all those awful and painful things, you knew it wasn’t his fault.


You are the ‘Sunny Days’ comic book store. In the weeks prior to the All-English changeover in Korea, you sold off all of your Korean language comic books. That was the best day of business you had ever done. The government declared that all comic book stores had to destroy their Korean language content but your owner opted to just sell everything for the price you used to charge for for a rental. Your customers took less than one hour fill sacks and shopping carts with all your stock. Although the comics still needed to be disposed of, that responsibility would be left to the new owners. You were free to be re-stocked by the government mandated American comics that were contrastingly colourful and magazine-sized compared to your old thick, black-and-white books. However, instead of importing the super-hero series, like the X-men, Spider-Man or Batman, your owner bought second-hand War, Western and Horror comics from the American 70s and 80s. Surprisingly, these comics turned out to be equally as popular as the stuff you used to sell, while the other shops were struggling to move the more traditional American comics. Your owner wrote a letter to one of the local newspapers explaining why he thought super-hero books weren’t selling in Korea, rejecting a popular theory that is was due to the ever-present threat of Japanese colonisation. Many readers reacted angrily to this letter and wrote back with irrational attacks on the man and pledged to burn you down in response. Luckily, he wrote the letter anonymously and you were safe, but just to be careful you started selling those super-hero comics and struggled like everyone else.


Just You – Part 1 – Korea

You’re a deteriorating corpse of cake still getting picked at, chopped down, and squished into the prongs of a fork. The guy holding that fork is playing with you because his girlfriend doesn’t seem interested in him at all. He was drinking a very feminine looking peach iced tea from a squiggly blue straw while she sipped quietly from a petite white espresso mug and rarely looked up from her book. When she put the empty cup onto the saucer, he quickly asked if she wanted another drink or some more cake but the girl just shook her head without bothering to acknowledge either of you. So he picked away and she continued to read. As different as their attitude was at that moment, when you saw them come into your cafe holding hands, dressed in matching horizontal striped purple and white shirts, you’d thought for sure that this cute couple deserved to eat your sweet, spongy insides. But looks can be deceiving here in Seoul, and even a cake like you that seemed so beautiful on the outside probably just tasted dry, bitter and old.


You are a pigeon who spent your whole short life envying the way humans eat together. Having the freedom to fly around naked all day was great but watching people sit at tables and use utensils without resorting to biting or clawing their mates and peers was fascinating. You shook your beak side-to-side and thought about this again while trying to tear an edible crumb off of the chunk of a donut. Once a piece had been forced loose, donut crumbs sprayed into the air and on the dirty curb. Two more pigeons descended and attacked each other for the scraps, making you lower your head in shame. Hungry, you begrudgingly joined the fight on the edge of the sophisticated downtown Seoul intersection. People would walk across the street and you’d have to flutter up, hover around knee height and then bob back down to try and find a few more specks of donut crumb in the bumpy asphalt. Each time the light turned red you have a few minutes of respite while the jittery impatient feet piled up on the sidewalk border, but when that light went green the feet pushed across the street like blood chugging through a salt clogged artery. As you flew off into the smoggy air of freedom, you thanked the bird gods for keeping you the way you were because as much as you love how they eat their food you are glad you don’t have to take part in all that other human nonsense.


You are a young secretary’s breasts. Despite the reputation that asian women have for flat, shapeless bodies, you never found this a problem with many of the breasts around Seoul. You are quite big and floppy, easily a C-cup by American standards, and on the chest of a very slender and curvy body. That’s why these guys were always stopping by your desk to try and get a look at you. That day was a special case though, because your full bra was showing underneath a completely see-through black lace top. Two of the older boys at the office caught a glimpse of you on their way in that morning and once they got to their desks they convinced the newest employee, a guy about 3 years their junior, to make an excuse and come by your desk. He was reluctant at first, thinking that it was kind of rude especially to an older woman (to him even one year older was too old); however, gender and seniority trumps age and he was forced to tag along. So you gave them something special and popped your right one out over the bra and that way they’d be able to see your full breast skin and nipple under the blouse mesh if they looked closely. During their phoney conversation near the secretary’s desk, that young guy tried his best to hold back but eventually after a few kicks in the shin from his seniors he got a good eyeful. He seemed only slightly impressed and ‘Gee,’ you wondered, ‘what do you have to do to get these kids excited these days?’


You are the American TV show from the mid-2000s “Prison Break”. In the States your ratings were okay but you were always so amazed by how popular you were in Korea. Your best guess for this success was how the greater metaphor of escape appealed to many Koreans at the time. Back then the layers of stifling competitive stress started in kindergarten and stretched all the way until retirement. Everyone was trying to out do each other for the few top spots that were available in such a densely populated country, especially in Seoul. Getting to a good university or solid position at one of the big companies, or better yet getting a chance to move overseas, took an inhuman amount of effort against demoralising odds – almost like trying to escape a prison. And much like you, they knew deep down that the real satisfying action came from the struggle to get out and not what happened after the actual escape. So in your opinion, no one in Korea truly wanted to go anywhere or change the way things were, and they lost themselves subconsciously in the message your corny drama provided. On a lighter note, you helped every white guy living there at the time to be just a bit cooler as they would be constantly compared to your characters, regardless of how little they might have actually looked like them. You always wondered how many of them got laid thanks to you and hoped it was much less than you guessed.


You are the South Korean Red Devils World Cup Championship team from 2006. Few remember how you won that tournament in Germany, probably because no one could believe what they saw. In the championship match against Italy, you used a dangerous and rare technique in soccer that astounded audiences worldwide. In preparation for the big match, your coaches instructed your players to slow their breathing, lower their heart rates, freeze their blood and cease all thought. On the field you were then able to go so slowly that it looked like your players didn’t even move at all. In the first half, you started with possession of the ball and then took almost the entire period to advance just one time into the box and get off a shot. Your movements were so slow that it created an illusion of depth perception that confused the Italians as they kept running past you at just the wrong moments. Then that one blistering super fast shot clapped like thunder and hit the back of the net carrying an icy wave of vibration all the way back to steamy humid Korea that summer. With the Italians on offence in the second half, they couldn’t manoeuvre around your stone-like defenders who were always inexplicably standing in front of their shots and passes. Everyone has tried to forget what they saw that day since it was so miraculous that it called into question the stable fabric of the known universe itself. But you remember and that’s all that matters.


Just Eric – Seoul Novel – Part 1


Looks like I’m not the only one who was inspired by that Just Seoul – Street Novel-ing tumblr blog, as another one of my regular readers/commenters, Eric, has just started writing his own story about living in Seoul.

I’ve kind of bugged Eric in the past about his terrible (in my opinion) taste in TV shows, but he is a genuinely nice guy and always encouraged me during my Live Novel-ing experiment.

So as long as he is posting, then I’ll continue to share it with my readers, as it may compliment what I’m doing as well. One thing I can tell right away, he’s working in the first person, mine is in the second person, and the Street Novel-ing seems to be in the third person… so that is a good start already! Check it out:

Originally posted on justeric08:

After seeing the Just Seoul – Street Novel-ing link to the tumblr blog, I also read that my favorite blogger Dr. Loser decided to join along and add his fiction to that cause.

Well… I too am in Seoul, South Korea and would like to tell my story as well! Therefore, I proudly present Part 1 of the (partly) fictional account of my time in Seoul to accompany those other unique blogs. Hope you like it!

Just Eric – Part 1

I sat for about 20 minutes in the crappy, collapsing blue plastic patio chair in front of a 24-hour laundromat, which was not called a laundromat here, they called it a ‘Coin Wash’, but whatever, the point is my apartment around the block had a washing machine for the whole floor to share but there was no dryer, so I’d have to wash my clothes there and…

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