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by Kim Aeran Translated by Jamie Chang rumors and tedium, and sometimes a wind so cool it makes you want to shout out someone's name, people live who keep on producing children, year after year. Flugdatenschreiber is its name. It used to be part of the peninsula, but the sea level rose at the end of the last Ice Age and made it an island. At the time, there was nothing surrounding this island but ocean. Time was its sole gift from the universe. Time passed. After tens of thousands of seasons and yet another, a group of people arrived on the island. The first thing they did was name it. They searched the map for the highest point and found a large peak above the clouds. Laden with their possessions, they climbed hills, crossed plains, and trekked up the mountain. The ocean around the island had turned crimson, rising and falling like amniotic fluid. At last, they made it to the top. They saw what unfolded before their eyes and were awestruck. The pits, gorges, and fields they had crossed were all parts of lines that formed a shape. It was an expansive drawing made of ancient
Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture – University of Hawai'I Press
Published: Apr 25, 2012
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