what you perceive as fantasy
is the product
of your imagination
what you perceive as reality
is also the product
of your imagination
without imagination
reality is nothing
+
five things i cannot do for you
eat
wear clothes
shit
piss
carry your body around
He saw his first , or maybe second, it only takes a second, Cambodian woman with a prosthetic leg. The majority minus arms and legs or fingers and hands are men and kids. Kids love to play with buried things. Dirt play.
Today it was her turn.
It was her gait. How she dragged the drab olive green right leg behind her.
It reminded her of a lost conversation where one whispers more than they know. More than they can reveal. Truth be said.
She was maybe 40. Give or take a moment.
It was a moment years ago when she stepped on the invisible mine. What you don't see is fascinating. Her story evolved into family taking care of her after they heard the explosion. After it rained dirt, rice, weeds, tears, light, broken clouds, false dreams, expectations, celebrations and musical thunder notes.
A doctor. Blood. Pain. Loss. Tears and memory comforted her. She absolved her faint quick belief in Buddha beyond all the mysteries.
After she went to Siem Reap she got her new artificial leg at Cambodian Handicap.
If her husband and family rejected her then she ended up in the city, like today, sitting on a sidewalk offering handmade bags and bracelets or selling her sorrow and loss and smile and understanding among friends and polite distant tourists afraid to look her in the eye. Later, she dragged it through night comforted by the fact it was a long way from her heart.
If your legs get heavy walk with your heart.
such sweet sensation
dancing down summer days
turning a page, turning a corner
tuning sensitivity's wisdom into
a person's inability to sit still
long enough
to sense or imagine or know
all the unknowing
known to produce
sharp yellow finch trills
and thrills
in rain's retrospect
one dawn
a floating red flower
i like him.
it's a hungry combustionable combination of lust, loneliness and real.
skin is currency. exchange value and user value.
you can trust maybe 10% in vietnam. they are good at sex. they steal your money.
here it's maybe 50%. we are poor at sex. we don't steal your money.
we steal your _____. down at the crossroads.
he comes to me at mid-day. it is sweltering and sleepy. i welcome him him with fingers on lips...shh.
we go upstairs. we dance naked. when you dance you are truly alive.
we explore geography and invisible borders and silent musical interludes.
i am the silence between notes. harmony, rhythm, and melody.
i am his melody and he is my harmony.
my speech voice is missing. i make rolling guttural sounds expressing metaphors, similes, intonations, frequencies, meaning, sense, time, space, ideas, dreams, relationships, secrets, traditional family values, fear, passion, heart, joy and sadness.
he is blind and i am deaf.
our music is not available for download.
A web site, my-planet.org had a photo contest.
They asked for trees. He sent them an Angkor Wat monster.
They said it was a spectcular angle. They gave it an honorable mention. Here it is.
Towering, the tree said, thank you to the sun.
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