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Entries in hunger (9)

Saturday
May212016

memory is hunger

I saw my first Cambodian woman with a prosthetic right foot. It was her gait.

How she dragged the green olive drab right leg behind her as she crossed the street. It reminded her of a lost condition where one whispers know more than they reveal.

She was maybe 40, give or take a moment. It was a moment years ago when she stepped on the invisible land mine. Her story evolved into family taking care of her. Relatives patched her up. They tied her leg with vines to stop the flow. A doctor. Blood. Pain. Tears and memory.

Memory is hungry. I need more victims, said Memory.

She absolved her faint transitory belief in Buddha and mysteries. I am grateful to be alive.

After she went to SR she got her new leg.

She practiced walking again. She developed the drag.

If her husband and family rejected her

she ended up in the city sitting on a sidewalk selling string

Begging

Stringing life line life time string

Wednesday
Feb162011

one day

One day I went to the market with my brother and grandmother. We scavenged for food. She looked for money. My stomach comes first. I found a rope. It smelled like food. It tasted sweet. My brother found a piece of sugar cane. He is older, smarter and faster and needs the energy. 

My grandmother sat down at life's intersection. She held out her begging bowl. 

At dark we went home.

Thank you for your attention.

 

Monday
Oct042010

forgiveness

Greetings,

Today is a good day to practice forgiveness. Forgive the thief with her quick stealth like skill. Bait & Switch. How her daring desperate hunger and your brief lapse of attention moment allowed her and her friend to complete her mission. Dream big, steal small.

Goodbye phone. 

How this powerful little lesson is an excellent reminder of people's desperate short term desire for quick easy money. Clear when the average person makes $2.00 a day.

We have the mark. He has a phone. I will distract him. My fat female accomplice pries the window. We switch out, I grab, she conceals and we leave smiling. We deal. In-out cat like stealth. Diversions and sleeping detectives.

Clouded vision. Dump the SIMplify card. Fence it for quick cold hard cash. Call you later.

Thank you for the lesson. Laughing forgiveness.

Metta.

Wednesday
Apr072010

Red Power Dust

Greetings,

Once upon a time there was a little river town. Zak was recharging his laptop and noticed the wires from the power unit attached to the unit attached to the plug processing energy from the Nebula galaxy was exposed, open and subject to disintegration. Like humanoids. It needed replacing if he was to maintain warp speed through the universe in his space ship.

He went to a taxi stand. It wasn't a taxi stand. It was a place to practice patience as drivers ran around flagging down cycles with passengers yelling "Pen, Going to Pen!"

When the car was full they left. To make more profit the driver, a dark thin man in a frayed t-shirt gave Zak shotgun. The driver arranged yellow pillows in the middle to sit while driving, operating the gas, brake and steering. A woman slept in the driver's seat.

They escaped river city and discovered the one single road under construction. 

They bounced, shuddered and sped along red dust roads in waves of tropical heat. The road was holding a convention of road graders, dump trucks, steam rollers, gravel, crushed silver rocks, ruts, canyons, pot holes, detours and red dust. Earthmoving equipment dusted red pressure.

Impatient black glass tinted 4-wheel drivers blasted impatient horns to alleviate boredom and abundance of red dust. Drivers remembered swallowing dust when they were poor, hustling any and all possible economic resources to improve their quality of life.

Red dust obscured Earth. Zak imagined traversing central Africa following herds of zebras and gazelles across the savanna. It was thrilling, this sensation of movement through billowing red dust.

The city was Pen and filled with ink. It's famous for a massive killing field, a museum with photographs of 2.5 million murdered humans and lonely bar hostesses filing their nails waiting for a rich hammer. A miniature Saigon. Groups of cycle men hustled taxi passengers. "Yeah, yeah," they yelled. 

He found iOne, a derivation of a fruit called Apple. The young sky shy lady helped him select a new 60W power adapter. It came in a hermetically sealed black box. "This is perfect for my space ship and universal explorations. Thanks."

He paid her in Leaves, a well known and universally accepted form of currency. He went to a used bookstore. The owner was asleep. His son played a virtual reality computer game behind stacks of dusty leaves.

He found three tomes, LolitaThe Orient Express and an unofficial autobiography of Bruce Chatwin, a travel writer. Pen had gleaming pagodas, parks, wide open plazas and historical triumphs in the form of cement people conquering land, sea, and hunger.

He tried to visualize Pen being empty of life. Humans were not allowed to stay in 1975 when a military group invaded. They forced the entire population, maybe a million, to vacate the city. To become peasants. To practice the art of socialism. Nine years before 1984.

War is Peace.
Freedom is Slavery.
Ignorance is Strength.

Everyone ran away from the city into the countryside to escape terror, famine, death and execution. He tried to wrap his mind around this historical reality and comprehend the totality. The entire city was deserted and very quiet leaving ghosts and memories. Year Zero!

He saw a very expensive white U.N. jeep on a Pen street. It had a secured flag on its front bumper. The driver wore a bush hat and clean pressed khaki clothing. On the rear of the jeep it said, "World Food Program." Zak didn't see any food. Where's all the food, he wondered.

He went to the fancy Lucky Market supplying the massive N.G.O. population.

"We Have Everything You Need, Want or Desire," sang advertising. Endless aisles of food products waited for foreigner customers. Zak left after 30 seconds and returned to the taxi stand.

The driver hustled passengers. It was a challenge because the cheaper mini-van taxi business was nearby.

The driver sat on his yellow pillows blasting south through red dust, creating a fake orange sunset near wild mountain waterfalls and dense jungles passing emaciated pure white oxen dragging primitive wooden wheeled carts filled with lumber, bamboo, watermelons, red bricks made of red dust, and human cargo wearing colorful red, green, blue, purple Kroma scarves filtering dust from their respiratory system.

Inside the river galaxy he recharged his space craft.

Metta.


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