Neurosis

Greetings,

I'm ok. It's the world that's in a mess.

People here love to look back. It is a passion. It is a genetic molecule of fear, doubt and uncertainty. Perhaps also just a plain childish innocent curiosity of wanting the past, needing.

Yes. Focus on needs, not wants. Needs manifesting their desire. A desire for a ghost. We are all passing through. 

They look back to see if they see, yes, in their vivid reptilian imagination a ghost. Their ghost. A ghost from a family, friend, lost. Looking for clues at their personal ground zero. 

They've arrived from distant galaxies. Java man was discovered here 40,000 years ago.

So it figures, accepting an evolutionary premise, their DNA star chart continues its genetic dance today. 

I live in talking monkey zones. They eat rice. They drink water. They wash one set of clothing and hang it out to dry on poles. They burn down the forest. They harvest brooms. Their shamans bring rain. Tropical downpours allow people the luxury to wash cars. 

They use their faint star energy to look, not really seeing, behind them wondering, all the wondering. 

Food is cheap here. Medicine and education is expensive. This has nothing to do with simians. It has nothing to do with the two women sitting in a dark warung neighborhood food joint. The warung faces a tall cinder block wall. Chickens, goats and cats prowl, peck and forage through garbage and dreams.

One woman sits quietly in a deep meditation. Her friend parts her hair gently, looking for minute insects, cleaning her scalp. They take turns cleaning and inspecting. This genetic behavior is being repeated in zoos, jungles, and rain forests. Chattering oral story tellers play the gamelan, pounding out 40,000 year old tunes.

Healing the people with music.

Males wash their little toy machines. They study the accumulated grime under long yellow curling fingernails. They play chess along the road waiting for passengers. Some visit the warung to chat up the girls or eat spicy rice mixed with tofu, chicken, veggies, green chillies and deep fried snacks.

Here's one man building a brave new world. Forging new futures with a patriotic purpose. An assessment on process in a data based star cluster.

Metta.

My name is Captain Dan. I was an interpreter at MAC V during the Vietnam War. I sail out of Hoi An.

Tags Poem

Greetings,

air ash 
bangkok
cambodia china corruption
dance
earth
economy 
education
europe
family 
fear
life
music
nature new year
people travel

Metta.

Shantaram

Greetings,

Here are some quotes and interesting facts in Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.

Roberts escaped from an Australian prison, moved to Bombay, started a free health clinic in the slums, joined the mafia, learned and worked in their operations, ran their passport or "book" section, learned Hindi and Marathi, spent time in an Indian jail, acted in films, fought in Afghanistan and wrote his book.

A central theme is love, hate, freedom and the choices we make.

..."The world is run by one million evil men, ten million stupid men and a hundred million cowards. The evil men are the power, the rich men, politicians and religious fanatics whose decisions rule the world and lead towards it's greed and destruction."

..."The stupid men are the police and soldiers who enforce the rules of the evil men. They are standing armies of twelve countries and the police forces of twenty more. They have power and influence. They give their lives for governments and causes. They are brave and they are stupid because they are used, abandoned and betrayed by the governments."

"Markets are about greed and control. There are two elements that make for commercial crime. Any one of them on it's own is not enough. Greed without control or control without greed won't give you the black market. Men can be greedy for the profit from let's say pastries, but if there isn't strict control on the baking of pastries, there won't be a black market for apple strudel. And the government has very strict controls on the disposal of sewage, but without the greed for profit from sewage, there won't be a black market for shit. When greed meets control, you have a black market."

Roberts discusses the nuances of black market currency profit versus the government restricted Indian rupee.

Used passports or "books" details the counterfeit operation. The question they ask a client is, "How bad do you need the book?"

According to Roberts, there are three categories of clients.

Economic refugees seeking a better life in another country. Turks wanting to work in Germany, Albanians wanting to work in Italy, Algerians wanting to work in France, Asians wanting to work in Canada or America. A passport runs them $5,000 - $25,000.

Political refugees are the second client base. They are victims of wars and conflicts based on community, religion and ethnicity. At any one time there are twenty million refugees living in camps and safe havens around the world. The Hong Kong handover to China is an example.

A new book costs them between $10,000 - $50,000.

Criminals are the third client base. Like Roberts they are thieves, smugglers, and contract killers needing a new identity. They are dictators, military coup leaders, secret policemen, and bureaucrats from corrupt regimes.

Traveling on false passports Roberts delivers two books - a perfect, unblemished Swiss passport, and a virgin, original Canadian passport to a man in Kinshasa, Zaire for $200,000. The buyer travelled safely to Venezuela. 

Robert's boss in Bombay deals with agents in Asia, South America, and Africa. As he explains, no single group of citizens are more cynical about politics and politicians than professional criminals. They see all politicians as ruthless and corrupt and all political systems favor the powerful rich over the defenseless poor.

Criminals are egalitarian. They don't care about color, creed, race or the political orientation of clients and they don't judge them when asking about their past. Every life was reduced to just one question. 

"How bad do you need the book?"

The "book" business generated two million a year in clear profit. Every dollar went to support refugee programs for displaced Afghans and Iranians in India. Every passport bought by someone purchased fifty more books, identity cards or travel documents for Iranian and Afghan refugees. Fate built around the greed and fear of tyrants rescued other victims of the tyranny.

Metta.

Volume floats

Greetings,

A Khmer wedding lasts three days. It's LOUD. It's a monster deal.

A company arrives in a dump truck. They set up tents, tables, chairs and huge black speakers in front of an architecturally styled wedding cake home. It's happening all over town.

Speakers blast music day and night. Audible for miles. Volume shudders, shaking the terrain, setting off unemployed landmines, volcanic eruptions and destroying oil drilling operations in deep oceans. Free oil. Oceans of love, oceans of tears.

Animals run for their lives. Birds fill the sky with shrill squawks of pure terror. Panic stricken children suffer unimaginable nightmares. All the trauma counselors are celebrating with copious amounts of food and drink. Another one bites the dust. I am a dust collector.

It costs the groom's boom boom family $3,000 and up. It's a matter of EGO, social standing, imaginary wealth and appearances. They don't send out R.S.V.P. People just show up. Lots of hungry people. Friends, strangers and many animists.

Human speakers drone on and on about marriage, family and society.
Traditional singers and musicians plaintively wail at high decibels about love, suffering, happiness, fidelity, treble and bass. Contemporary hip-hop rappers take the stage with heavy metallic thumping and pumping.

100 monkeys off stage type out Shakespeare. They chatter odes, sonnets and mystifying secrets.

The insane 24/7 volume partially explains why people here speak, or more specifically yell so loud. They don't hear each other because they can't, don't, won't hear. Repeat. What? What? Repeat. Louder!

This is the Flowing holiday. Families with millions of marriageable girls are desperate to get them married. They expect their daughters to produce flowing children. It's a heavy social security reality.

They won't have the money to feed them or house them or educate them or...because those realities are far away, like stars in the sky. They'll worry about essentials later in the long now. Too many poor desperate people will have to sell their children facing immediate financial reality.

As a serious Chinese university student, filled with humility, compassion and serenity said, "Human life here is cheap."

The main problem now is raising $3,000 minimum. If you want to play you have to pay.

No please, no squeeze.

Metta.

Brian Turner, poet

Greetings,

I had the pleasure of meeting Brian in Siem Reap in February. We shared the day and stories. more...

His first book, Here Bullet is now followed by Phantom Noise.

Here Bullet has sold 25,000 copies, excellent for a book of poetry. It's available through Amazon.

Here's a link to a recent piece about Brian and his new poetry book published by Alice James Books. more...

"We've reached the line of departure," Turner wrote in one new poem. "So lock and load, man. From here on out we are on radio silence."

Metta.

 Fire, heat, experience, time, memory, write, revise = poem