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Greetings,

First, sincere and contrite apologies to all the Middle Kingdom podcasts listeners and subscribers.

No excuses for tardy audio adventures. Let it be said: 1) it's all process 2) we record them and upload through the .mac Abracadabra site with sporadic success using the "non-proxy" ISP 3) if the upload is successful, then we use the "proxy" to get them to Journeys. This rigamarole is due to this site being blocked internally by Mandarin gremlins and shock troops in a leaking boat off shore. Strange and totally absurd.

Probably because you live, breath, laugh and love in a location where access and uploading is a breeze. A cool wisp of air across melting sand castles. Palms dancing in light and microscopic imaginary fibers.

In other words, when MK 31 is up, it's up and you'll see and hear it. Just finished "What Am I Doing Here?" by Bruce Chatwin, a marvelous travel book and an excellent question.

Now enjoying "The Book of Imaginary Beings" by Jorge Luis Borges and "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" by Murakami. On films: Babel, The Good Shephard and The Departed. An Oscar for Martin S. this year, a long overdue tribute.

Meanwhile, ah, the pure bliss of creativity zooms along at the speed of light.

Silence is an important word in my vocabulary. Fresh oil on bike chain - 2,150 miles. Our goal is to trash the 21-speed Warrior by August. Spin down the days.

Sitting in a hole-in-the-wall dive sharing rice, veggies and dark brown stewed pig meat - spit the bones on the table or floor - with friendly strangers. Whirling dusty fans overhead.

A well lit place to scribble words where a rural family, (some of the 800 million rural residents) associates and tongues laugh near blaring motorcycle horns, as mid-day heat sends wives home from small landlocked villages - home from fresh tilled fields where they labor behind oxen turning soil dancing along rows of rice planters knee deep in cool mud harvesting life and inside dark shadowed rooms men drink excellent tea in small white fragile thin cups. Ritual. Community here and now.

There were approximately 4.13 million Chinese university graduates in 2006. Their average monthly salary is 2,500-3000Y or $312.00-$375.00. Statistics indicate 60% will not find jobs.

Peace.

Mother's sharp tongue

Greetings,

Random access inside Moleskine notes. Hiding under the bed. Slick. No answer. Locked door. Suspicious? More like stupid idiot. Pick up the remains. Tell me a story.

They hope for a lot. They get a little. She disappears. The tease does her job. Just enough desire and temporary distraction - stay down! - no getting down - just enough stimulation as the skinny dude hears her speak - "now." it's ok." telling him yes, go through pockets. "be quick."

She's stacked everything at the end of the bed on the floor. This was a dream his uncle told him in the village. "Son, you need to be careful in the city. People will cheat you. They are clever. Don't let emotions control you - be reasonable - cold as ice when it comes to business. If you sleep with strangers, know where the exit is."

His scary story imagined a monster under the bed - whispering secrets to me before I fell fall feel asleep.

You have to love the stranger's stupidity, noise, sad face, confusion and chaos. Did he mention irony and entertainment value? So much for a fundamental shift in consciousness. Dying of boredom. Buried with boredom's memory.

Throw the sunset away with syntax. They treat silence with elegant love, respect and dignity. The orange yellow moon rose. Is a rose a moon? How does the moon rise into a black voice of emptiness? Into endless pyramids of joy? With the beauty of simplicity? Where do butterflies go at night?

Peace.

On today's menu

Greetings,

You never know what you're going to get to eat in China. They say anything with wings and legs except airplanes and tables.

Here's a sample from a place on student street.

"The menu of classical dish in number one scholar mansion."

1. Stir fried pork with garlic dove
2. Squirrel fish
3. Beef cook in curry or black pepper
4. Bean card with pocket in savory sauce/family routine sauce
5. Fried fish in five flavors (sweet, sour, salty, numb, hot)
6. Beef in toothpick
7. Beef in hot chilly

+

simple design
standing walking in
rain darkness; staring blind eye
mind from shadows - into light
food questions where students
indulge passions, TV, cellular life
my hobby is wandering wet avenue
staring into noisy emptiness
watching people watch people
avoid depression lakes in
sandals - a way through -
around damp edges, a vortex
in entertainment nirvana
easily distracted by sound

Peace.

Word surge

Greetings,

"Here they come," yelled an Iraqi boy pushing a disaster, a catastrophic agenda along Baghdad Street. The thunder of 21,500 NEW dusty marching boots echoed across the desert. Waves of soldiers fanned out in a glorious display of might, power and escalating force.

An obese very rich white guy named Dickie and Rice, his emissary, watched from the viewing stand. "The menu's improving," she whispered.

"It's a numbers game," replied the boy's father. "We've got the oil, geographical zone and we are living in a sandwich."
"What?" said his son.
"A sandwich. It's an American kind of fast food. First you get some stale bread, and slice it."
"Like we do to goat throats?"
"Kind of. Then you slap on some sweet jam, throw on some wilting lettuce and whatever's handy. Maybe some protein if you're lucky."

"Are we lucky, father?"
"Yes son we are lucky to still be alive inside this chaotic tribal mess after four endless years of tears, burials, bombings, no electricity, retribution, extortion, corruption, denial, rampant inflation, and manipulation by media masters.

"We are a living sandwich here, between Iran and Syria. We are the fixings."

"I never finished school father but I have a question. Is this surge, this military escalation, this increase of American occupiers a cover, an excuse, for Israel to attack Iran?"

"Good point. Perhaps. It makes sense in the geo-political long term strategy. At the end of March our so-called government will hand over 75% of the entire oil industry to multinational companies. They will own us lock, stock and barrel.

"The puppets in Tell Eve are dancing for their masters. All they need is some plausible denial, some "event" to justify launching strikes on Tehran. They will handle the dirty work for their masters."

"Why don't the freedom loving politicians at the House stop the madness?"
"They love sandwiches. It's all semantics to them, launch or lunch."

Peace.

Educational exercise

Greetings,

Ah, the joy at precisely 7 a.m. when the Chinese national anthem blares from squawking rusty speakers across the lake at the middle school. 500 children roll out of dreams, scramble into smelly clothes and run to the playground. The word playground is a misnomer. It is a concrete slab. It is cold and cracked. Weeds, trash and discarded youth litter the playground.

Then, at precisely 7:15, the squawking recorded disembodied voice of a man begins exhorting children to perform their calisthenics, their routine. They stand in rigid lines as stern faced women patrol perimeters. Children extend arms toward green mountains, bend at the waist, weaving their heart muscles.

It is expansion and contraction. Children are not laughing and singing.

They go through the motions. They are hungry and dream of breakfast; rice, thick white sticky buns and hot liquid. They dream with their eyes open. Orange and white billowing clouds fly over their little life.

Peace.