new year boredom

Greetings,

It's the new year here.

People get together, celebrate, travel home for three days to their village if they have cash and places get cleaned up. Everything increases in cost; food, transportation, quietly depressed bar girls, medicine, education, laziness and boredom. Boredom was cheaper last week in a free market economy. 

In front of the ornate French colonial court house teams of boys chew up old soil removing dead tree trunk roots with crude effective Paleolithic stone tools slabbing the area with miles of bland red tiles. The amount of stone work is tremendous. Across the street at a government building boys slap a fresh coat of white paint on pillars. Women weed a grassy plaza featuring a huge seagull. It needs a coat of paint.

White shirted men supervise garden teams and completion of tall heroic patriotic statues at an intersection. 

Boys rapidly pave a huge swath of land in front of a new grocery store with red tiles. The owners brought in outdoor fern planters and steel shelving for consumer goods no one will want.

Frantic men salvage gutter weeds and wild grasses for their livestock before someone chases them away. A young girl tries to focus on copying texts under the watchful eye of a private tutor while adults with a lack of focus and direction distract them with meaningless chatter.

Countless people with nothing to do practice the endless art of milling around. They practice the timeless art of pretending to be busy. They pay more attention to see if anyone is watching them than to what they are actually doing. This is an unpleasant fact.

Across the street from a small place where I enjoy noodles, carrots, spuds, eggs and fine green tea, boys in straw hats protecting them from a blistering sun create four new rooms with high brick walls at a primary school. No windows. Window dressing. A new year, a new wall. 

Metta.

Vietnam

Turkey

Shaman - Vietnam

Priests Fool with boys

Greetings,

(Editor's note. Due to extreme pressure from conservative groups, abused children and hysterical media corporations involving the Catholic Church scandals revealing deep dark secrets, here is an excerpt from the vaguely popular epic, A Century Is Nothing.)

“May we resume our deliberations now?” said a pedophile priest with a Big Unit mobile attached to his ear. He listened to a long distance confession from Boston. Not wanting to make an ass of himself in public, he knew he’d face felony charges when they found his big hand had been on the little hand. 

 He’d knew he’d never make Cardinal being a stool pigeon without a prosthetic leg to stand on. He whispered to the congregation. “We have to make plans for the conquest. The heathen are massing their calvary as we speak, as we procrastinate on these most important matters of church and state.” 

They were in rapture and supported his religious ideology. A woman named Faith based her initiative in him.

Worm Hole, a mathematician, manipulated division tables on a child’s place mat covered with carnivores from a cereal box high in fiber. He created a series of black holes to explore their gravitational pull. Space, to him, was more beautiful and more mysterious than Time. 

“And now we’re here,” he said pointing to a small blue marble floating on a universal map. “Did you know the amazing thing is how many people don’t know it or get it?” 

“Yes,” said a knight errant, “and there are more stars in the universe than there are grains of sand on all the earth’s beaches. Try putting that into your hourglass!” Everybody laughed except Bumsfeld and his buddy Dicky Chainsaw from Why O Ming.

Some knights spinning around the round table predicted the campaign might end by spring. They didn’t know what year so they surmised seasons. 

Veterans, children and women knew it’d be years if not decades. Someone had to take the fall. Someone had to clean leaves clogging rivers of tears out of the way. Seasons were theirs for the taking. It was a crap shoot and they all knew it. 

The dice man played his hand. “Snake eyes!” he shouted and the room became quieter than a field of mass graves where children played with unexploded ordnance. 

“We hit a Blue Cross building yesterday,” a psychotic coalition general said. “Was it red or blue, I can’t remember. You know how confusing things get in war.”

“Oh no,” said the priest, “not another cross to bear.”

At the word bear the mathematician looked up from his predator place mat in horror. A huge Alaskan brown bear with red fire in his eyes charged out of the forest carrying a decapitated wildlife ranger. 

“We have a situation,” radioed a Cobra helicopter pilot circling the grizzly scene.
“You have permission to fire,” crackled his radio. 

He pressed his magic red button. A $50 million dollar Hellfire Tomahawk Missile blasted the beast to kingdom come.

“We’re saved!” yelled gangs of orphan children. They gutted the beast immediately with their knives and daggers salvaging every part of the animal. A kid named Export packed the testicles in Ice-9 for shipment to a Hong Kong pharmacy. 

Easy money.

Authorities arrived and took the priest away for questioning after numerous children accused him of sexual abuse. He requested to speak with someone at the Holy See.

“We’ll see what we can do,” said a member of the Vatican SWAT team busy preventing anguished angry parents from strangling him with his rosary.

“Crucify the hypocrite!” yelled the high masses.

Priests in crisis management modus operandus looked at new cardinal points on their compass. They needed a new direction, an alibi. 

“Roast him over an open friar,” sobbed a sacred heart mother of all prattle battles.
“Rest in Peace,” sang a choir of angels.
“Let him write a check,” a banker said. 
“There’ll be a penalty for early withdrawals,” drawled a teller selling used condoms.

“Any causalities?” queried a Foreign Legion officer just back from the North African front where he was shortlisted as MIA. He’d hitched a ride with a camel caravan across Oman heading to southern Iraqi marshlands.

“Friendly fire wiped out a few of our forces which is to be expected,” reported an analyst. “Some journalists, photographers and an Italian intelligence agent bit the bullet so to speak. They’ve filed their final report. Wrong coordinates I’d suggest. They’ll be embedded forever. We also have unconfirmed reports that local Iraqi and Afghan hospitals are overwhelmed with dead, dying, mangled, amputees, grieving mothers and widows. 500,000 and rising.”

“So it goes,” said a historian turning their hourglass over watching Sands Of Time fall in love with gravity.

“We suspect they are executing their own,” a common house junior minion added. “Meanwhile, we’ve bombed beans, rice, blankets, cooking oil, water treatment facilities, power plants and oil refineries. The price of crude is escalating as members of OPEC agree to disagree. Over $50 a barrel by now. Any sheik maintaining four wives has to keep pumping. Basic staples went through the roof at the fire sale. The cost of staples are driven by supply and demand.”

“Humanitarian aid is a noble casualty for the price of peace,” said an officer from a Rio slum waiting for extradition on mass murder charges. “Politically cheaper than body bags.” 

“Those are back ordered,” said a supply clerk from Kansas City with an 8th grade education. “77,000 body bags were shipped to a southern Italian military installation before we invaded with the intention to occupy. Boxes of imported democracy lie stranded offshore of drained Basra marshes. Pallets of democracy on trucks are melting in desert heat along the road from Damascus and Kuwait.”

“We can’t wait. We’re screwed,” said a two-faced selected Fascist president from O-Zone. “They bought the ranch and I’m moving to Argentina a.s.a.p.”

“No we’re not,” whined a minimum wage slave. “When the factories are finished making more precision weapons of mass destruction, recycled petroleum products for happy meals and flags, they will reconfigure their machines and production quotas.”

“May I speak?” requested a poet. 

“If you must,“ replied an officer long in the canine tooth buffing his medals with Brasso.

The poet tuned his Arabic oud instrument of mass distraction.

Parts were back ordered 
including body bags
their future called for heavy lifting
 
heavy duty cleaning materials
manipulation of material 
inside entropy
 
Refugees streamed into screaming 
broadband media found work 
in multinational international conglomerates
 
manufacturing sectors grinded poverty 
constructing their dream for export
 
Near the door to their cave of hunger 
at refugee camps 
they blended barley seeds 
with leaves of grass for delicious breads

“Ingenious,” said a literary critic from The Times. “Uses language in free imaginary and metaphorical ways. Gives it a goof feel.”

“We’ve allocated a percentage to Asian sweat shops,” said a textile importer. “To be specific, China, Thailand, Saipan, Malaysia, Burma and Cambodia - where one-third of the 14 million people make less than 56¢ a day - and Laotian factory slaves are working overtime. They have absolutely no choice in the matter and a buck a day is a hell of a deal. Once the feds and W.T.O. leave us alone we should realize a handsome profit when all is said and done.”

“That’s nothing,” said an analyst, “it’s a two prong effort. We construct air bases and military installations to control Middle East air space and two, we let American corporations buy all the Iraqi assets. We’re sitting on vast oil fields. Sweetmeat.”

“Perfect,” said the V.P. “Where’s my cut?” staring at a fleischer dripping blood.

A security advisor spoke. “Last March we launched the largest psychological operations in our 225 year history. We have 11 Psychological Operations Companies with 1,000 PSYOP personnel working to sway Iraqis and Afghans to join the rebuilding effort.”

“Are the PSYOP leaflets proving effective?” asked Colonel Sanderson with extra crispy clipped wings on his shoulders. He was molting. “We want them to see the democratic side of our occupation and walk on the bright side of life.”

“It's a fine line, but propaganda is more based on untruth,” said a philosopher.

End of transmission.

Metta.

Fooling and Tooling

Greetings,

On Earth inside the Milky Way galaxy filled with 100 billion stars is a small town. In the town is a market where people meet, eat, drink, walk around, sleep, talk, gossip, sell, barter, trade, buy, cry, beg, laugh, and use tools to make things.

What are tools? Tools are things to make things. They make something and use it to make other things. This is called human activity. People once used stones to sharpen other stones to make tools.

Can you show us someone making something?

Ok. Here is a man using a mechanical tool to make a gold bracelet. His tool is made of iron, steel and other materials. It uses energy to work.

Where does the energy come from? The energy comes from machines converting sun, wind, ocean currents, burning coal and processing high grade uranium 235 isotopes into energy. 235 is capable of sustaining chain reactions producing energy to run machines called plants.

Do you mean a plant is a tool? Yes. A plant is a living organism and very valuable. As well, there are plants that kill humans, like hemlock. Plants collect energy from the sun to grow. Humans harvest plants for medicine and food and so on.

If a man and woman combine their tools can they make things grow like plants? Yes. More like weeds. This human activity is called procreation. Earth has about 6 billion examples and signs of intelligent life is rare.

Show us another tool. Ok, A woman's fingers are tools. She uses her tool to sew colorful objects on a piece of fabric with another tool. The tool is a metal needle. Humans evolved opposable thumbs enabling them to grasp objects. Her thumb is opposable to her forefinger allowing her to use the tool with precision.  

We have time for one more tool. Show us a good one.

This man lives in a poor rural village in Sichuan, China. He is a tool like the gold worker and the seamstress. They are controlled by others and used to perform unpleasant tasks for someone else. They are the means of production in a social and economic sense.

He is using a tool to make new tools. I said this at the beginning of today's story. The stone tools he makes will be used to make a wall, another tool. 

Why do they need to make another wall? They already have a famous wall.
The Chinese have been building walls for 5,000 years. It's in their genetic makeup. 
What is genetics?
A sledgehammer. 

Thank you for your attention.

Metta.

Mr. Math

Greetings,

Mr. Math took a month off from teaching in Germany. Well traveled. He had much to say.

Austrians have 17 paid government holidays, the most in Europe. By the time you add on extra vacation days they, along with other European countries have almost two months off a year.

I read Marx. It's a fine idea but pure Communism won't work for probably a couple a hundred years. Hitler's longest speech was 23 minutes, he knew the value of propaganda and marketing. Keep it simple and short.

The problem scientists face is trying to find the missing link between Einstein's General Theory of Relativity and Quantum Mechanics.

Other people consider Germans to be too blunt. We like to get to the point. American's say things like, 'This part is good but we need to consider x,' because they don't want to appear too confrontational. It's the politically correct way for them. The Japanese just say, 'We'll consider it. This means no.'

Germans are efficient when it comes to work. This why we have a strong economy. Other countries may not like it, so they find something about the system to criticise. It was like Bush talking about 'Old Europe.'

When Colin Powell addressed the U.N. about weapons of mass destruction our Foreign Minister told him, 'We don't believe you.'

When you think about it, it's amazing what the Spanish and Portuguese explorers did by sheer will alone. It's like the Chinese. They needed an irrigation system deep in the country. What did they do? They carved a mountain in half to divert water south. They did what they needed to do. Sheer will power. 

Once when I was in Australia I talked with an Aborigine chief. He said, 'People only think the English were brutal against the indigenous people here. We had many inter-tribal massacres. We were busy fighting and killing each other. And, had we been in a stronger position we'd have done the same thing to the English.'

Once when I was in America I met a man in St. Paul.  When I told him I was from Germany he asked me, 'Do they have cars there?' He wasn't joking. No, I said. We have donkeys.

And? Be calm. Keep and open mind. See what happens.

Metta.
 

Buy

Greetings,

Hands of Cambodian children.

"Mister, wanta buy a book? Wanta buy some postcards? Cold water mister? No money for school. Book mister?  Good price. You buy..."

Metta.