Death wish

Greetings,

Speaking of a driving school, educational malaise and general laconic ironic bubonic atomic plagues, here we are. In paradise.

The public's death wish is prevalent, precarious, precocious and precious. You see it, taste it, hear it, smell it and touch it. In other words you feel it. Fear cannot mask, hide, avoid, escape, deter, ignore, deny, lie, or try to fly. It is an integral essential element in the genetic strain, a strained well trained artificial injection of reality.

Paradise is the perfect place to pretend you are a crazy English teacher.

"Feed me," yell the adults and children. "Give me the fish. Push me through the system. I secrete sadness."

"Sorry, you need to learn, understand and comprehend the value of learning how to feed, educate and care for yourself and others in your community."

"Are you a lunatic? For decades, for generations we've had foreigners (NGOs) giving us money, medicine, education, food, condoms, handouts, free stuff.

"There's no way we (the majority) are going to begin accepting responsibility for our country, our people, our lives."

"Have it your way. Here's a free ticket to the new entertainment toys."

"Wow! Thanks."

Metta.

Mind at large

Greetings,

Your filters are up-to-date. What's a filter?

Filters are variables. Human brains have diverse filters. Give us an example. Humans evolved to survive. They were the prey. Life is short, nasty and brutal. Nature is kind and cruel. A paradox. A contradiction.

Human brains filter or eliminate non-essential sense data. Keep it simple stupid. KISS. 

Flight or fight central nervous system filters operating with naturally produced chemicals and produce reactions. Do I stay or do I go (fight or flight) is a basic immediate automatic response when a human faces what they perceive to be a potential life threatening situation. Do I run? Hide? Find a weapon? Create a diversion? Signal for help? Attack? Develop patience? Laugh because it's fucking hysterical? 

It's simple. Humans make it complex. There's a difference between complex and complicated but we won't get into the semantics now.

Metta.

Gin and tonic for breakfast

Greetings,

This isn't about the spoiled girl-child across the street yelling and stamping her feet and bawling her poor little eyes out as her mother tries to sell junk to schoolgirls or yellow gas from bottles to trucks, meteor cycles, broken terrific anxieties and terrorized spoiled childhood raising her hand threatening to strike the girl down, down, down. The girl cowers. Fear is a great motivator.

The woman's mother sits smothered in grief listlessly counting shredded money. Money smelling of petrol. Petrol cash.

No, it's about the Australian tattooed dude on a visa run with his comatose overweight and terribly unhappy illiterate Thai girlfriend, also heavily tattooed with flowing black lines, playing her hand held computer game at breakfast as he drinks a gin and tonic at 7 a.m. They are leaving by bus for a swinging coastal town.

Do you want some breakfast? he asks. She says no. I want to play my game. Do you want a drink to get your day started? No. Have an egg. It will give you protein for energy. No. I want to play my game. Do you have my medicine he said. She gives him pills. He washed them down with G&T. Breakfast of champions.

Metta.

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.