z discovers

Z discovered questions were repeated.

1,001 questions ran around her Bursa restaurant looking for answers. Questions grew tired of repeating themselves. This is so fucking boring, said one question. We are abused. We are manipulated and rendered mute. Useless. Think of it as a test, said another question.

Patience is our great teacher. I’ll try, said another question. Yes, said a question, these non-listeners have a distinct tendency to say nothing and say it loud when they’re leaving, when their faces are turned away from eye contact potential real communication and growth.

Echoes drifted around silence and ignorance. I’ve seen that too, said a question, who, until this moment was silent. My theory is that it’s because of genocide, fear and ignorance. It’s also a delicate mixture of stupidity or indifference, said another question.

Why is the most dangerous question, said one. 

nahuales

“My family, while emotionally cold, distant and abusive yet well-intentioned, kind and loving were dysfunctional, trying to understand my vagabond spirit nature. They had no choice in the matter and by now they’re used to receiving strange word-strings full of mysterious symbolism and tragic truths from diverse twilight zones. I transmit between crystals and gringsing decorated with universal binary codes.”

“Really now?” said Mary.

“Yes, I gave my folks a world map for their anniversary. They loved it, inviting friends, neighbors and strangers over for trivia games using postmarks, stamps, decals, flotsam, thread, needles, bark, cactus fiber, beads, charts of tributaries, topographical maps, animal skins, hieroglyphics, and Tibetan prayer wheels with Sanskrit characters.

“They caressed burned broken shards of Turkish pottery, Chinese bamboo brushes dripping blood, torn out pages from esoteric Runes, Paleolithic fertility symbols, vitreous unusual writing, and one of my favorites, a Quetzalcoatl image full of written narration based on the oral performances of Central American myths."

“Fascinating,” said Deirdre.

“Yes, I gave them Olmec nahuales shamans containing animal powers dating back to 1200 B.C. speaking their wisdom. They blended the spirituality and intellect of man with the ferocity and strength of the Jaguar to create their nahuales. Their soul required an animal medium to travel from the earth to the heavens and into the underworld.

“Additional cultural reminders were beautiful blank black mirrors. Some displayed faces others contained scripts written backwards with stories of people, geographies, forbidden objects, and a box called Pandora." 

A Century is Nothing

ha Noise Dave

It takes courage to raise kids with integrity, respect, and authenticity.

Dave releases streams of anger, bitterness and frustration allowing him to relax, expend and expand the sound. Dave is startled to hear the sound of his voice ricochet off substandard cold molten gray Hanoi cement block walls. His life is a cold cement wall. Echoes dance through his brain like little sugarplum fairies.

He knows the echo because he made it. He mixed the fine sand and quick dry cement. He slathered it over broken red bricks in circles with an abstract desire to make a work of art lasting for eternity which is how he thought of it the day he trow welled the paste.

Life gave him art and he used art to criticize life.

His voice manifestation expresses human vocal tendencies in a tight enclosed space near a gigantic liquid plasma television permanently implanted on a blank wall blaring news propaganda and perpetual adolescent reality soap shows about life next door where the family sits on cold red floral tile hunched over slurping from cracked rose bowls and shoveling steaming rice and green stringy vegetables into lost mouths yelling over each other in tonal decibels competing with their gigantic plasma television featuring dancing bears and pioneer patriots devouring rubber plantations, beaches for golf courses and farmland for glass and brass designer hotels with a double blade axe singing, in a high Greek-like chorus, their national anthem about greed on land, sea, and air, as water pianos played by a young Japanese wisp, her fingers a delicate blur of incredibly fast incantation musical channels dances near a woman garbage collector ringing a bell at 16:55 alerting people in Dave’s neighborhood it is time for them to bring out their daily garbage.

Remove the evidence. Bag it and tag it. Autopsy material.

Death Worship in Nam

hagia sophia, trabzon

An unprecedented wave of egalitarian support featuring millions of sad, serene women facing arranged marriages filled with empty hopes and vague promises of love and happiness enlisted to become engaged to strangers across transcendental borders. 

This wave resembled an open hand gesturing in the eternal present of a long now as a mother gifting her daughter a long fare well gesture watched her disappear into life’s teeming stream.

“Be well my love. You are in our hearts.”

Her daughter joined a tribe of singing, sighing women. They were living their dream fate and making sacrifices with clear intention, motivation, determination and focus. The entourage of singing women danced through valleys, climbed jagged Eastern Mountains of Regret and entered a no-name village where males pounded war drums and hammered plowshares into word swords.

Marginalized poor angry males killed each other over pita bread, olives, fresh tomatoes, kebabs and geographical dust while studying imaginary maps.

“The map is not the territory,” said Visualization, a cartographer.

“Where is this place?” said Curious in a strange village in a strange country on a strange planet in a strange solar system in a strange universe.

“It is far away,” said a gravedigger with earth moving experience. “It is a dysfunctional place where bronze statues of fallen soldiers, warriors, corrupt politicians and testosterone fueled fools rust, make millions off the sweat of fools and congratulate each other on their mutual doubts, stupidity and insatiable greed.”

Wind said to women, “Go home. Return to your families and friends. Live in peace.”

Women followed their heart-mind.

“Are you alive?” she said to her cellular daughter.

“I survived,” said a disembodied voice.

“Where are you? When are you coming home?”

“I’m with a tribe of women. We’re breaking down old conservative values. They are so narrow we’ll need a crowbar or acetylene torch or C-4. We’re developing personal empowerment and dignity. I’ll be home soon, dear mother.” Her voice died. Mother swallowing ignorance lapsed into doubt’s quicksand.

At sunset an imam’s recorded voice twittered from a mosque near the private hospital. “Allah is great and merciful. Buy a ticket.”

Push Play.

Hagia Sophia...

trust

Sanitation workers in green

Environmental vests

With broom music swept streets for Lunar New Year.

Make it new. Day by day. Make it new.

We should be so lucky to have crystal clean sheets.

Every day is anew year.

One day is like a minute.

One minute is like a day.

That's relativity. All my relatives are dead.

Never trust an atom. They make up everything.

When you know what you don't know you realize moral character with social intelligence, integrity, and courage.

Courage is an unknown word in our head and heart.

Running away is our way. Survival.

Everyday I have the blues. No one loves me but my mother and she could've been lying too.