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Entries in money (34)

Sunday
Oct102021

20 Years

Once upon a time there was a man in a village.

For twenty years he went into the mountains searching for gold. Everyone said he was crazy.

One day he discovered gold. He took the gold to a bank and exchanged it for money.

He bought some rope. He tied one end of the rope around his waist.

He tied the other end to the pile of money.

He ran through the village dragging the money.

Everyone said he was crazy.

He said, "For twenty years I've been chasing money and now money is chasing me."

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

Saturday
Apr202019

Laos Poem

The blind man and his daughter.
He wore a felt hat. He gripped a wooden staff. His face was long and sallow.
The girl was 11. Wearing cotton, her face was solemn, shocked.
Both wore plastic flip-flops.
She held his hand.
They came to an intersection. Small buses, bikes, lost fat Europeans, orange robed wandering monks, silver vans. Women carrying bamboo baskets spilling oranges negotiated pavement.
The girl led the man across the street.
Their pace steady, yet hesitant.
She was his eyes. He trusted her implicitly.
A stranger drawing in his notebook watched them.
He pulled a 20 Kip note from his pocket.
He gestured to the girl, Take it.
She froze.
She spoke quick Lao words to her father.
Questioning, doubt, healthy uncertainty in her eyes.
The stranger gestured the 20.
She remained still.
He got up and slowly approached her. His hand extended the money.
His hand said, take it.
Her small hand emerged with caution. Her small fingers accepted the gift.
She smiled placing her hands together.
Her fingertips touched her chin meaning, Thank you.
She whispered to her father, it's 20.
His blind eyes darted back and forth.
He mumbled, Thank you, joining his hands.
His wooden staff hung in the air like a pendulum.
She led him away.

They disappeared.

Phonsavan, Laos

Friday
Mar162018

Chase Money

There was a man in a poor village.

Everyday he went into the mountains searching for gold.

Everyone said he was crazy.

After forty years he found gold, returned to the village, exchanged the gold for cash, bought a rope, tied the money to one end and the other around his waist.

He ran through the village dragging money behind him.

Everyone said he was crazy.

“What are you doing?” they yelled.

“For forty years I’ve been chasing money and now money is chasing me.”

Subject To Change

North Lao Weaver

Monday
Nov062017

Leo Walked to Saigon - Ice Girl

Chapter 7.

He met a woman’s storyline.

  When I was twenty I packed a bag and crossed the border. I went to the capital. I met other Vietnamese girls and they helped me find a simple room in a house for $25 a month. We shared a common toilet and kitchen. We became friends. They were my first teachers about life in Cambodia.

  Always look your best and wear high heels. They make you look taller. Men like tall girls. Always negotiate their offer. Negotiate means talk more. Get the most you can. Save it. Let them do what they want with you. Many will be rough and try to hurt you because they think you belong to them. They bought you. They hate their wives and will take it out on you. Women are only objects, things to be abused. Learn to be passive. Accept what happens. Close your eyes, pretend you feel pleasure and learn to close your heart. Close it tight. Don’t become soft and weak and open it for anyone. The only pain you will feel is physical. It will go away. We have doctors who understand our life and help us. You can choose to be either a bargirl and entertain customers there or a taxi girl. They go to homes and apartments. They make more money but they service more clients. Always give Tan her cut or she will throw you out.

  My head spun from all this.

  One night I put on my best red and green dress. I applied makeup and went to the Hello bar with two girlfriends. It was loud and crowded with men and girls. We bought cheap drinks and sat at the bar. My friends introduced me to Miss Tan, the owner. Her diamond ring flashed. So you’re the new girl. Vietnamese? Yes.

  You can demand more money. Your skin is pale. Men will want you. You work here as a taxi girl. You go out, you come back. You give me 70%. If you cheat me I kill you. I know everything. Understand?

  Yes. We shook hands. Hers were soft. Get to work girls.

  A fat Khmer man sat down and offered to buy me a drink. He ignored my friends.

  Where are you from?

  Vietnam.

  I am from here. This is my country. I am a rich businessman. You are very beautiful.

  Thank you.

  How much for one hour?

  I played dumb. What do you mean?

  He laughed. Are you stupid? I said how much for an hour with you.

  I looked at my girlfriends. One raised her right eyebrow. Go for it.

  How much are you willing to pay?

  $50.00.

  This was the most money I’d ever heard of. I gambled. Make it $500 for one night. I’ll take good care of you all night long. Maybe you can help out my friends.

  He looked at them. Five hundred is easy money, he said. Let me make a call and have another drink first.

  Ok, take your time. He bought me a whiskey. He talked about making money, exploiting the poor, twisted business deals using connections, land grab property development. I pretended to be interested. It was getting late. I gambled. Time’s up, I said. Are you going to help my friends? If you want me it’s $500. All night.

  Yeah, yeah. He called someone. I have some chickens for you. He laughed and hung up. I have a place near here. Get me a taxi.

  We went through dark streets and stopped at a house. Inside were two older men, drinking. They looked at the girls, paired off and disappeared.

  I was a virgin and he was my first man. It hurt like hell, he was rough but I handled it and didn’t cry in front of him. I swallowed silent bitter tears. He fucked me all night. It was brutal.

  In the morning I could hardly walk. He paid me in cold hard cash. Five clean crisp hundreds. I couldn’t believe it. I gave Miss Tan her cut and she was very happy.

  The pain will pass, she said. Get used to it. I was in business. Easy. Turn on the charm, smile, dress up, be smart, gamble, be open to suggestions, don’t drink too much and be ready, willing and able. Negotiate. Be a passive machine. Close your heart. Pretend you’re somewhere else.

  That’s how I became a taxi girl. I was beautiful and tough.

  Before fucking a stranger I’d take a shower, come out, drop the towel so he could get an eyeful, throw a condom on the bed, lie down, open my legs close my eyes shut down my feelings and let him have his fun. I dressed his hard sausage in a sock. Easy money honey.

  They paid for my time using my body. I gave Miss Tan her a share. I learned about business. I learned how to gamble. Bet big, win big.

  For two years I worked hard and saved money. I sent money to my mother every month like a good daughter. I told her I worked in a hotel.

  Now I live in Ho Chi Minh City. I work as a cook and domestic servant. I wear round cigarette burn marks on my wrists. They are my internal-external permanent anger memories.

  I don’t know how to write so I told this story to a man I met while working as a domestic in a Saigon guesthouse. He was a good listener. I worked with another girl. She changed sheets and dumped trash. I cleaned the toilets by hand. I was sweeping the garden balcony on my first day and a stranger said hello. He was drinking water and smoking.

  Hi. I saw you downstairs. You were waiting for an interview for a job here. I was shocked. He knew too much. I kept sweeping.

  I needed a job.

  You have too much class for this place. Come up tonight and we can talk.

  Ok, I said. That’s how it started. Talking at night on the balcony away from the mean old street.

  After two days I was fired because the woman owner was jealous and pretended I couldn’t do the job. She figured I was hustling foreign men. I had plenty of that job experience.

  I took advantage of his kindness because it was a short-term fix. A woman needs fucking, emotional security and cash.

  I felt open and honest with him. One night on the balcony we talked and watched stars until 2 a.m. He listened to my story. Sometimes I cried remembering everything.

  We became friends and lovers for a week.

  We can’t stay here, he said. He rented a room nearby. A place where we could sleep together and I’d be safe until I found a place to stay.

  The first night together I felt shy. I undressed in the bathroom and took a shower. I put on my underwear and blouse, wrapped a towel around me and came out. My short black hair was wet.

  Low lights were yellow. Classical music came from his phone on the desk. He wore blue shorts. You are beautiful, he said.

  I curled next to him and we held each other. I have a scar from my son, and my left breast is smaller than the right one, I said.

  It’s ok, he said. I liked feeling his arms. He stroked my hair. I closed my eyes.

  We both wanted the same thing. I wanted him to take his time. He massaged my neck, tracing fingers along the edge of my shoulders. He kissed my neck, throat. His tongue was wet. I rolled onto my stomach. His fingers spread down my spine, kneading tissue. It felt good, warm muscles, touch, and all sensations.

  He shifted his weight over me massaging my back through my shirt. Strong and steady. He pushed my shirt up to touch my skin with his skin. I exhaled. His softness increased pressure across tight neck muscles, shoulder blades, down my lower back. He kissed my spine, sending shivers through me. His hands and tongue were magic. He took his time with me.

  I rolled over keeping the towel tight around me in a shy Vietnamese way.

  He rested his head on my chest. I can hear your heartbeat, he said. It is a strong drum. Thump, thump. My heartbeat was a solid percussion instrument. My good heart was open and receptive. It was a shy love.

  I held him like an infant, pressed close. I felt safe with him. I am a little girl, I whispered, tracing his back with my fingers. I love your hands, they are small and soft, he whispered. They were dancing elusive magic fingers. It was all touch, gentle, and soft, exploring, shy. Pure sensations.

  He opened my blouse and kissed my left nipple. His tongue felt hot and soft. He massaged my breast with his fingers. He caressed my right nipple with his tongue. My nipples were sensual points in his mouth. His fingers examined soft curves.

  Kissing my breasts he opened the towel and moved to my scar. I didn’t stop him. His fingers explored my belly, drifting lower until he found my hair, then my pubis. His fingers gently massaged my labia minora and found my clitoris. The little button.

  No, I gasped. No. My hips and thighs were on fire. I was afraid from past abuse and a man’s fast anger slamming into me. This felt gentle.

  I knew from long experience that once I started sex I couldn’t stop. It felt way too good even if it hurt a part of me.

  It’s ok, he whispered. I love touching you here.

  I was wet. His fingers gently rubbed my clitoris. Sensations of pure pleasure filled me with joy. I arched my hips. I took his hand and put it where I’d receive the most stimulation. I showed him how to massage me. I knew he was experienced in the act of love, just out of practice.

  Women want fucking.

  He slid his pants off. I found his hard penis and stroked it.

  Ah! That feels wonderful, he said. I massaged his penis, moving under his soft balls. He tongued my nipples rubbing my hard little clitoris. He slid a finger inside. I was so wet.

  I have a condom. Ok. He rolled it on. I took off my panties and opened my legs. He climbed on his wild horse.

  Slowly, I whispered, Slowly.

  My vagina yielded as he entered me. He sighed in relief feeling me contract taking him. He was big in me and it felt fantastic. Again. There’s nothing that pleases a woman more than a big, thick, throbbing, meaty, hot penis. Take it from me and I’ve taken a lot of them in my time. Every time all the time. All sizes, shapes and colors. In my vagina, mouth, anus, on my breasts, between my breasts, on my face, across the scar on my belly.  Face up face down on my knees with my face buried in a pillow, raised on my elbows begging for it in perpetual heat. Some fucks are short some are long. I fuck for a living. A girl has to make a living.

  We established a fine smooth rhythm. He paid attention to my body, how I moved to absorb him, how I showed him what I needed and how I needed it. He was a good patient lover and I was his teacher.

  I kept him from moving fast. I knew if he got crazy from the sensation, he’d explode before I was ready. It was all about timing. He was deep inside and I was all around him, arms, legs, hips, everything was his to take, taste, savor and enjoy. He kissed my small breasts. I was hot.

  I grabbed his small ass pushing him deeper into me. His penis throbbed. He tried to get up on his elbows but I kept him against me for maximum penetration. He relaxed on me, sucking a nipple, feeling my vagina contract around his penis. He smothered me with kisses. His lips were frantic. Kiss me again, he said. Kiss me again. Kiss me again. I tongued him deep, exploring his lips, mouth, curling lips everywhere.

  As my arousal increased and our hips slowly pounded each other, he felt my timing and pace to reach orgasm. I paused, squeezing my vagina tight, priming him to complete the next-to-last stage of our orgasms. I was ready. His penis shuddered, regained its pressure and he pumped fast and furious. We fucked like two wild animals until our bodies exploded. I released wet waves of pleasure. I milked him long and hard. Pleasure rushed through me. His body jerked as he came twice. My vagina collected his hot love juice.

  Bathed in sweat, we collapsed into each other. His head listened to my rapid heartbeat. Don’t go, I said. I’m afraid to be alone. He held me until I fell asleep.

  That was the first time. He was crazy about sexing me. I was his bed rabbit and he couldn’t get enough of the good stuff. Skin the bunny honey pie.

  Most men just want to shoot their wad and get the hell out of your life. That’s why so many women have a kid(s) and no man. He’s long gone. No sense of responsibility. Zero. They run away. They’re long gone, screwing another stupid woman who believes his lies and opens her legs thinking the guy’s her savior. Live and learn baby.

  He was different. Maybe it was because he was lonely, undersexed, and hungry for a real woman.

  If you pay you owe, I said in broken English. Men had always taken care of me, monetarily, physically. I kept my true feelings inside.

  One night while eating sushi with miso soup I told him, Be careful. You can only trust 10% of the people.

  In Saigon I found a room with friends from my village. I came in at night to have dinner, talk, fuck and sleep with him. I took advantage of our relationship. He encouraged me to develop my love for cooking saying it was a good skill. He was honest with me.

  You’ve made some poor choices, he said. You’re street smart. Create a new life for yourself. Take care of yourself. I leave next week. My time here is finished.

  He left me for another country. Vietnam is a woman. Men come and go. Men left me all my life, beginning with my father. I never knew him.

  As I was growing up I asked my mother, Where is my father? He’s gone. I never asked again.

  I finished 9th grade in my village school and lived at home helping my mother with chores; feeding chickens, shopping, cooking, and cleaning. She beat me.

  You are a worthless daughter. You have no future, she screamed at me. I took it silently. I served my older brothers. They were strangers. Little kings.

  Growing up I heard stories about making money in Cambodia. I crossed a border.

  You are a survivor, said Leo. Yes I am. My precious life revealed user-exchange value and power using sex for money.

  Parting, they embraced mutual loneliness. 

  One hand washes the other, said an armless amputee in shadows.

*

  In another incarnation we were naked in a meadow. I am blind. He is deaf. We hold hands. Skin is our unified quantum field theory of tactile language, beyond feeble illiterate words. Fate introduced us at an NGO charity ball, Save The World’s Children Now & Forever.

  Deaf is a famous concert pianist. Blind is an Angkor Wat explorer. She scaled 88 keys seeking tonal quality, perfect pitch and frequency. He traversed twin peaks, smooth geography, labyrinths, valleys, and topographical jungle foliage. He discovered a secret cave. They had a tacit agreement to be gentle and kind together. Peel my skin like sweet aromatic fruit, she whispered. I am your skin mistress. One must sacrifice the peel to enjoy the fruit.

Ice Girl in Banlung

Saturday
Apr302016

New Garden - TLC 78

Lucky shifted to a serene garden zone after sharing a house for two months with a sad young Filipino math teacher in the gated community of Alam Sutra.

The boy/man fathered a five-year old girl and left her with her mom in Manila Vanilla. His favorite expression was, “Let's Eat.”

Truth is powerful. You don’t have to remember what you said. Lucky mentioned choices and consequences. Math man didn’t hear, listen or care. Being a calculating teacher he figured a job with a decent salary in Amnesia was worth the emotional compromise cost.

A Hanoi survivor yelled, “Any fool can have a kid. It takes courage to raise them as independent free thinking individuals.”

In the new garden Lucky planted thirty flowers, red and pink roses, apple trees, deciduous shrubs, watercress, dill, oregano, parsley and thyme.

He refocused healing energies an hour west of Joke & Choke plus trolls tolls by taxi nightmare traffic due to poor urban highway planning. City pollution was a killer. It blasted throat and eyes. All east-west traffic passed through the city center. No ring roads. Duh.

“The center cannot hold,” said W.B. Yeats.

Air quality was refreshing in walled estates with tropical flora. Butterflies, songbirds, cockroaches, big brown beady-eyed rats and contemplative speckled frogs existed with copious little people.

Some homes were Mac Mansions. Greek and Roman columns with Ironic and Corinthian spiral decorations shouted, Look at my huge monster home. I made it. Empty palatial rooms collected dust as in China where it was all external appearances. Goes to show ya. Most homes in the gated communities were a bland 1-2 story cookie-cutter style. 

Everyone had a maid in Java jive some older than spoiled offspring. They cleaned two cars, swept dust, watered stone passages, cooked, scrubbed clothes and fed kiddies while parents were making money. It’s a job. 

Making money is a job. You need plates, ink, paper, press, a paper cutter, distribution system and government backed IOUs.

Illiterate slaves supported families surviving in a no-name village memory. A never-ending human supply system on an archipelago swarmed with 230 million hungry worker bees.

Food was cheap. Medicine and education were expensive.

Keep them poor barefoot and happy.

Favorite Jakarta sports were: 1) Driving huge 4x4s. Gas was $2.40 a gallon. Sitting in endless long traffic jams. Paying parking fees to paramilitary uniformed men blowing stainless steel whistles.

2) Wandering around enormous prosperous numerous say it fast three times vast shopping centers, huge playgrounds for brats.

Out-of-control kiddies expended spoiled energy. Families enjoyed A/C climate controlled conditions admiring Ankara-like dummies behind glass in a museum quality of artificial life filled with diversionary stimuli and unsatisfied desire.

The private Alam Sutra School named for a fictitious beatific saint had 1,800 students from kindergarten through high school. It began in 1993 when a Catholic priest from Yoga Posture escaping Interpol child molestation charges joined community leaders using a fake I.D. to promote formal educational tyranny and religious intolerance.

Five barbarian elementary English teachers complemented friendly local teachers. Oh, I just love your hairstyle. Your diamond-soled shoes are divine. Your handbag woven from creeper vines is elegant and eco-friendly.

Native teachers had seen colonial invaders come and go for centuries. Lip service.

The English supervisor was an anthropologist from New Hamster, Nova Scotia. Formerly a tenured professor in Malta, she left the job, house, marriage, mortgage, cars, airplanes and yachts for a meditative life. Her resume extolled extensive international educational administrative experience with time and space.