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May 2001, Seoul
…at the market in Nandemoon there was a human stump,
or better, a man-stump. He had wrapped himself inside the
rubber of a tire, protecting the remaining few pieces of flesh
he had left. He is crawling like a sneak, and I can see only
his feet. He crawls like a water snake amongst hundreds of
feet, the rubber having become part of his body, a sewed up
body, reconstructed only to be squashed on the street just
like a car¹s tire. In these days it¹s as if I am
living in the pictures of Bruegel and Bosch, populated by
men reduced only to trunks of flesh.
Body stumps, the leftovers of war, of epidemic, of famine,
of accident, or simply left over flesh; flesh busy re-inventing
itself, a new body without limbs, crawling like a snail without
its shell. Left over flesh of today, just like the left over
flesh of other centuries, or of other times when the rubber
did not existed to create a new human form.
Bodies that for the need of surviving recreate themselves
in their own form, overlooking the geography of the body in
order to rebuild itself in a new one. Here in Seoul this feeling
is very strong, because here everything is in a continuous
fermentation, and one can feel the pulse of the human existence.
A body tells no stories, it gives only sensations, it communicates
on a sensory level. If one wants to hear its story one must
follow the sliming slobber that these bodies are living on
their way; it is there one finds the history.
 …I
went to the fish market in Incheon, where on many benches
a particular fish called AGU was displayed. AGU is a mix of
fish and chicken. It¹s displayed in one of two ways:
In one, the whole fish is displayed belly up; with its swollen
gut it looks like a pimple ready to explode. The whole thing
looks like something drowned.
In the other display, the AGU is gutted and its contents are
arranged in order to distinguish its organs; the cut is executed
with much care to prevent damage its organs.
While observing this weird meat I thought: how come we are
not like that fish or other animals, skinned, gutted, and
exposed. Our flesh is no different than animals from the slaughter-house.
How many times I thought of my body disembowled and exposed
in a beautiful site of a butcher shop to attract clients.
 ......the
woman was (lacerated), beaten up by the history of her own
steps, she was barely dragging the excessive weight of a plastic
bag, too heavy for her strength. I caught a glimpse of some
full bottle, pulling on her wrists under its weight. She whispered
something while she walked, that pain has no age, nor time,
nor years, nor months, nor days. That pain continues to drag
itself through every instance of the centuries.... I quicken
my step and I pass her like one of the many.
....he did not immediately realize that his chest had separated
from his body....as it started to revolve around him, he ran
after it in vain, the chest was faster than the leg he still
had left, and he felt like it was making fun of him ... he
felt impotent, and as his chest revolved around him, taunting
him..... he understood the body was no longer his.
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