There's nothing quite as wonderful as badly spoken English. A friend of mine sent me a postcard from Korea which contained a Folk tale on the back. It is reproduced below, I offer a prize to the person who can tell me what the hell it means:
"The folk tale is putting in the desire and a desire of the general people full. Well, the anger which is not the name which does not receive a picture study came to draw by the field. Consequently level high technique or refinement it pushes it lessens but the form and space composition of the thing which it expresses with line putting first are freer. It is fine and the free minute protection against the cold expression which is not bound in colouring and the frame which are gorgeous looks better, mes with the humor of our ancestors is displayed, sensibility without it is a picture which represnts a popular culture. Further sesthetic sense of our nation, it is honest and is reflecting even from point the questionable matter is big."
Now, I will be the first to admit that by not seeing the pictures on the front, desciphering this may be a little difficult, so by way of assistance I can tell you that 1 of the pictured features a couple of black and white cats, one of whom seems to be chasing the other up a tree, and a fat bloke sitting on a black stone. That last picture is a little blurred, it may well be a pile of his own faeces.
Obviously, I don't want to offend the person who sent me this. Any ideas?
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8 years ago
2 comments:
Sam, it is a tragic tale of a young man, living in a foreign city. He is in turmoil, both the light and darkness chasing him to a point where he must take refuge. His turmoil stems from him looking for his ancestoral roots in this foreign land. He is realising that his real home is not that of his ancestors but one which has been adopted by those who conceived him.
It is an invitation for him to reflect on what lies ahead. Just as a fancy dinner is cherished, even the finest food will inevitably be reduced to a pile of faeces. It is time for this man sitting in solitude on the black stone of contemplation to acknowledge that what is behind him is a big pile of faeces, soon to be blurred by time. Only he can write the next chapter.
When are you coming home mate? The whisky cupboard needs emptying.
Pretty good effort there Yorgs, although I can't help but think that that's not the story on the postcard!
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