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The Formula


Red star flags catch wind above golden dragons nestled near crude rough red brick home boxes. Red balloons trailing yellow slips dance, trapped and held by rusting iron wires leading to a basketball hoop waiting for a net to catch a delicious fish

swallowing dust as sad-eyed freshmen drag their suitcases filled with dirty clothes home to mother where, in her undying love, she will scrub them on the 14 gray cement outdoor sink steps inside a cold reality smiling, knowing, feeling her daughter inside her again, inside her womb, her throbbing music of calloused hands scrubbing dreams

dreams of a simple day and time hearing melodious silver tubed chimes and a violin's laughter forming a voice, distant yet clear, forgotten yet remembered as the mother slows down to examine a thread - dancing colors blend her blood, speaking in long babel tongues as a soft morning wind greets star flags, singing new sensations...


fortune teller hands.jpg


Random Moleskine notes...


Here's some random musings from a recently completed Moleskine notebook.

After a long steady heavy rain a pregnant woman propped her mop made of strands - discarded rainbows - as her solemn dispassionate husband shucked peas and removed garlic shells from their protective casing, after the sky finished crying to wash student street where

parades of disenfranchised youth sought shelter from the storm and well after open windows released cello notes as a child practiced sitting upright tuning their eyes to black notes on white pages with a determination to master the instrument as another music student hammered piano keys behind locked doors, flies gathered around brown sticky paste slowly dripping off a cracked plate with their feelers extending their hope toward a thin white butterfly lifting off a green leaf.




A butterfly translates a few sounds


To S, the dream poet girl in Chengdu,

after completing
a four day fast
and cleansing -
water, green tea, herbal tea,
ginseng with hot water

healing from the top down and inside out
the body adjusts in a natural rhythm,
diverting essential chemicals
from digestive to immune system
calm, focused, alert and quiet

he drifted into green
nature zone daily

a black butterfly wearing
purple on wing
lands close
as he sits
near water

an invisable human is chopping
down small trees
in deep forest to collect kindling

they will tie it with fibers,
hoist it onto their shoulders

leave tangled memory,
along thick red dust road
toward home

the butterfly translates a few sounds

it dances away
circles over ferns, rocks, slag, abused soil,
close by

in a resting state


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And now, a word from our sponsor


A conversation in Spain.

"Readers may find your story interesting. I used to work in an area where there was a nuclear reactor and I knew many physicists there. They were working on re-cycling nuclear fuel, others developed hydrogen fuel cells for alternative energy sources. I’ve never met a physicist working with detergent.”

“Yeah it’s pretty cool. And now we’re here. Did you know that the world is made up of 98% helium and hydrogen? Well, the remaining particles of atoms, a very small part, is life and then inside these atoms a very small part of that is intelligence. The rest of the pyramid is garbage.”

He laughed forever. “The amazing thing is how many people don’t know it or get it. The natural law is for things to get messy. That’s why people clean, rearranging the molecules in some form of order. They think they’re in control of it. They’re afraid of the change. Things happen which are outside their control or plans of the creator. It expands the evolutionary process.”


mosaic fountain.jpg


Morocco's Spell


Travel rearranges your cultural furniture and Morocco is one amazing country.

Here's a fine article by Rachel Donadio in the NYT on her journey to the Atlas Mountains south of Marrakesh. She really captures the essence of people and place.

"The Berbers, or Imazighen as they’re called in their own tongue — Berber implies barbarian in Arabic — resisted the Arab conquest of the seventh century and still practice a less rigid form of Islam today. The women we saw all wore bright kerchiefs, not burkas."



Under Morocco's Spell