COREE STACK y005

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A great deal of Korea strolls by on Korean’s heads. Like those salon magicians hired round
the turn of the century -barely introduced beneath a false name before they would begin
juggling with the furniture to entertain the guests- the Koreans like to set objects dancing.
Baskets, earthenware jars, bundles of wood, basins, all escape the earth’s gravity to become
satellites of these calm planets, obeying exacting orbits. For the Korean street has its cycles,
its waves, its rails. In this double decor, where hastened ruins and buildings still aborning
strike a second’s balance of incompletion, the soldier who (foresightedly) buys a civilian’s
sun hat, the worker leaving the construction site, the bureaucrat with his briefcase, the
woman in traditional dress and the woman in modern dress, the porter carrying a brand
new allegory to the museum of the Revolution with a woman in black following step by
step to decipher it -all have their route and precise place, like constellations. Nobody
crebillonates. If they stop, it’s to learn something: Syngman Rhee receives phony fangs
of corruption from the Yankees, Sputnik 3 is a great socialist victory… Ballasted with this
knowledge, the sputniks of the street gravitate again to their meditative round.