Ministry of tourism

Welcome to The Ministry of Tourism in Kampot.

It's near The Ministry of Fear and The Ministry of Truth.

You can't miss it.

It's next to The Genocide Museum. S-21. 

2,000,000 skulls are waiting for you.

They are delighted to have company in their silent vigil. 

Colonial French buildings will delight your memory of commercial conquest.

It's all a facade. 

Kampot is a sleepy little southern river town.

It is famous for pepper. Pass the sneeze please.

Quack-quack.

Hold hands. Relationships are precious. Life is short.

Let's have a look-see.

eat grass

someone

bless their beating heart

stenciled
my iconic image
on a cambodian
river town
wall

i smile at the masses

celebrating my ignorance

devour my little red book
it's a Brave New World

in 1984

eat grass comrades
45-60 million died of starvation

black is the night
cold is the ground

do the mango tango

I go, we go, you go. Mango. Super fruit.

Buy one, get one free. Peel it down. Peel my skin. I am a bed rabbit. Plow my field. Honey needs money. Hungry girls go to bed. Savor my succulent mass of alfa bet your sweet ass anti-oxidants.

A, C, E. Ace a mango.

The humility of a mango. Skin releases it’s interior daily monologue. Flowing sensations dance a mango simplicity with serenity. 

Mango said, “There are two kinds of people in the world.”

“What are they?” said Star, a Cambodian kid rented from mom by an NGO needing global media publicity.  

“They are subdivided into specific sub-species. There are people who want to blame you and people who want to distract you. There are people who want control or approval.

"There are people who face the music and there are people who run for cover. There are people who pay attention and people who don’t know or care what the fuck is going on. They are too poor to pay attention.

"There are people who make things happen and people who dream about making things happen."

“I see,” said Star. “You mean, according to the philosopher, Damon Younger Than Yesterday, ‘distraction is an inability to identify, attend to what is valuable, even when we are hard working or content.’”

“Yes, that’s what I said I mean because I mean what I say and say what I mean,” laughed Mango doing the tango with Taoist monks at The Temple of Complete Reality in Sichuan.

“Disorientation begets creative thinking,” said Star.

"You are bright," said Mango. "Shine on."

shame Sings

My name is Li Bow Down. I am in charge of the Tibetan Monastery Re-Education Through Reform with Severe Consequences pogrom program. My masters called me out of retirement.

I was playing mahjong, screwing concubines and enjoying Fujian tea with friends at the Shanghai-FreeLand resort.

Authority ordered me to get my old ass back to Lhasa and take care of THE problem. Back to the future.

They gave me a fire extinguisher to douse flaming monks. Ah, the ignobility. Fire is the essence of life.

Give someone a match and they are warm for a minute.

Set them on fire and they are warm for the rest of their life.

Here’s an uncensored image of what we do to people in the program.

Li put an image on a table.

See this woman, he commanded. She is denouncing her family, friends and most importantly, herself in public. We are big on shame. We are the masters and they are the puppets.

“Shame on you!” yelled 1.6 billion puppet people.

         “Shame! Shame! Shame!”

This is one of our more popular and effective methods of creating a harmonious society. It works wonders, because if memory serves me correctly and it does, mind you, serve me well, we’ve been coercing people for 5,000 years. Pick your favorite dynasty. We used to put them in wooden stocks with their crimes painted on paper necklaces and parade them through town. They confessed. They had to.

We call it self-criticism (samzen) re-education and reform. Big buzzwords. They were denounced in public. Talk about blatant social disapproval.

Maybe you think I am joking, making this up. Well, I didn't make it to the top of the system scrap heap by bowing down to big nosed foreigners telling me how to maintain control in Tibet and keep the monks and serfs and slaves in line.

As you know the monks in Tibet provoked the armed, young, naive, scared People's Reactionary Liberation soldiers on March 10th in Year Zero.

The rest is history, well, not really history because we rewrite that when it suits our propaganda purposes. It’s easy and convenient.

Life is cheap here. More tea?

My New Life

Whew, what a first week it was for my little existence, my little humanoid welcoming. I began a new strange scary awkward weird and totally transforming experience in a couple of human’s lives.

I begin at the beginning.

I fell out of my mom, a female production company last week. She was big and fat and she dropped me out, pushing and pushing and exhaled with joy an infantile projection of freedom from pain and pleasure and I came slathering, slipping through some universal ectoplasm fluid, like a gusher, whoosh, into millions of bright shining suns. A crescendo of angels, luminous spirits, formless forms and shapes spun & danced, swirling like whirling Sufi dervishes along light waves and particles. Such amazing splendor. My last nine months did little to prepare me or allow me to know anything.

It’s all sensation.

My tiny black eyes welcomed light energy into my being. I saw galaxies. It was awesome and mesmerizing. I saw an Eagle nebula, a gathering of space dust melding, morphing into a solid state, a unified field theory. I was beside myself with wonder and delight. I joined 7 billion others. I am an-other in the stream of life.

Did you know that the world is made up of 98% helium and hydrogen? The remaining particles of atoms, a very small part, is life and inside these atoms a very small part of that is intelligence. The rest of the pyramid is garbage.

Existence precedes essence.