laosattitude

how does it work in laos, said elf.

a frenchman told me this, said orphan. he's lived here 6 years. he has a young son and daughter. he had, past tense, a marriage with a local woman. they met. they married. he invested time and money to develop a guesthouse. they had 5 properties. they had problems. her extended family smelled a huge profit. she threw him out. she wants all the land. 

i saw her one day when she brought their daughter to school. fat and unhappy. both.

so how does it work in laos, asked elf. you didn't answer the big question from a small person.

men make the rules, said orphan. women take care of the home. it's all unspoken subtleties. they do their thing. women worship in the temples. they do their meditation. men sit around getting drunk, discussing new night girls, ethics, morality and behavior.

what happened to the french man and the kids, asked elf.

he plotted a way to get them out of the country. let her keep the land and buildings, he said.

many people here never leave their village. why. everything i have is here. a village maintains the other world.

silent style

elements of silence said farewell

a series of eyes investigated decompression 

while swallowing fresh yogurt with peach slices

near afternoon's languishing empty promises

intent on discovering

explanations have to end somewhere

in her village she threaded new beginnings

her loom waited for the pressure, the tightness

between notes

truth police

I speak on the condition of anonymity because I am not authorized to reveal the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth or value meaning. So, help me. Help me. Truth is classified. The source of truth about Everything is classified.

Ossified.

I am authorized to say, with complete anonymity without revealing sources that truth is filtered, compartmentalized, abstracted, excerpted, sliced, diced, parsed, fossilized and classified inside a buried locked black box.

The crypto key is classified top secret, for your blind eyes only. A gravedigger has the combination, the algorithm. The encrypted key is not on a hacked social network site designed to distract your faceLost, mind, heart or Spacebook personal profile timeline. Lost time.

If only time would behave and stay inside the lines the world would be a safer, saner place. As if place cares. Real friends are a dime a dozen few and far between. Truth, as Pessoa said, has few friends and they are suicides. Artificial friends are aliens on life support.

The key, for the Time Being, is inside the sharp arrow of time flying into Greater Complexity.

A woman, man, child somewhere in Cambodia, or XYZ carries the world on their back. They are the key. 

sullen & apathetic

in a small sleepy river town

a white haired 60-year old German with his

29-year old squeeze for two years said,

everyday I call my wife in Germany at 2 p.m. then I am free.

she always asks me why do you go to Cambodia. i go to Cambodia to come inside my squeeze. to received tenderness under the false pretense of love and affection.

it’s part of the International Fair Trade Agreement. i trade her my money for her time. it’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

how’s the garden doing in Berlin? fine. 

sullen and apathetic suits their nature. evolutionary process. the khmer woman stabbed her lover in his heartless heart using laser quided molecular silent revenge. take that you bastard.

memory 101

1 memory creates fiction, said orphan.

A non-verbal memory of lost time, said elf.

The angry one thought it’d be her. She spat angry words and gestures. The fury of a woman scorned. Accept loss forever. He paid mama. They cycled back. They ate fish, vegetables and rice and went to bed. For hours. Normally her customers were 15 minute quickie jobs. He slowed her down. Take our time. She was flat and flat on her back. She started relaxing. No hurry, sweet thing. After awhile she’d say, boom-boom?

Her vocabulary was extensive.

Relax, take it easy. 24, no father, a brother in Malaysia and a mother north of a capital letter. 

You are a monkey, she said curling up soft and warm. She used imaginary scissors to cut off his instrument of mass destruction. 

Yes, she said, I will eat you alive tonight while rain assaults the tin roof through fractured eroding leaves of lost time.