Zeynep the heroine - TLC 20

He expanded humans’ courage at TLC. This extraneous mixture contained Kiwi, American, Scottish and Turkish dialects. Distinctive voices contained ash, clouds, wind and intrinsic human needs for healthy unconditional loving relationships.

“Are your needs being met?” he said.

“Yes,” said Freedom. “I am free from need and the need for freedom.”

Freedom worked 24/7. Under a broiling Banlung sun tempered by a soft breeze he carried buckets of cement over exposed sewage drains and poured it on red dirt. He shoveled twenty-one muscular sandy efforts into a wheelbarrow. He pushed it to a New World Order construction site filled with profound greedy expectations and poverty’s paradoxes.

Off a dusty road after dark Freedom caressed a hungry passive $10 lover inside a plywood shack with a dirt floor, bed and OK condom removed from neon, Blue Zircon and the tooth fairy.

Her clothes hung on rusty nails embedded in exploitation. Stale perfume, lip-gloss and mascara sang long lost hope. Her dead eyes said plow my field with no emotional connection. She stared at a brick wall as Freedom, grinding desire assaulted heaven’s gate. Get to the verb faster, she whispered.

After fifteen minutes longer than forever she joined five girlfriends sitting around a fire below twinkling stars. See who shows up the night’s young, said one. We are tools, said another. I don’t give a shit, said a sad one remembering her mother and siblings up the Heart of Darkness.

The fat male moneyman slouching in a porch hammock watched flickering reruns under a red light special.

Return to Mandalay

Hi. My name is Timothy Mouse. I am a wanderer. I wander and wonder. 

I was in Mandalay three years ago at a private school playing in the Montessori program.

The kids taught me to say I am a miracle.

The management wasn't very professional so I left after ten weeks. Probation is a two-way street. You can read a story about my experience in STORIES on the sidebar. 

It's called Dr. Scary and Mrs. Marbles. They were a strange dysfuntional couple. I really enjoyed Myanmar. The people are gentle, kind and smiling. 

Anyway, last year I had the chance to return with a language company in Yangon. It was a fantastic combination of helping others develop their vocabulary, criticial thinking skills and laughter while doing my street photography experiments. Everything I do is an experiment.

The CEO was mean and selfish. He lost the lease on one building where we had classrooms so I was downsized with three other teachers after five months. I was grateful for the opportunity.

I returned to Seems Ripe, Cambodia and did a volunteer English project in a rural reality for two months with low income families. I polished a new book of black and white images called Street 21, about Yangon. O joy.

I accepted an offer to return to Mandalay and here I is. I have classes with 9th graders, college prep seniors in a fancy air-con room and primary grades 1 & 2 at a rural private school. It's the first time any of them have had a native speaker.

Young learners teach me songs. We dance, sing and play games using the alphabet and colors.

It's the same old story - young ones have no fear and the older ones have been tyranized into passivity. Big ears no mouth authoritorial conditioning. As Einstein said, "Learning is an experience. Everything else is just information."

They are emerging from imaginary shells with a new sense of love, responsibility, leadership ability, polite manners, teamwork and courage. They experiment in creative notebooks. It's a joy to be a small part of their process. 

Winterhawk - TLC 16

Winterhawk is his Fountain Penmanname.

He rolled past a sea and mountains toward Instant Bull in a train dining car. Snowfields stretched to infinity. Pink and green stems bloomed wild yellow flowers. Click clack. Shine your light. Be light about it.

The train trundled through starlight star bright first star I see tonight I wish I may I wish I might create a surrealistic memory. Dancing elemental rivers, sagas and oral transmissions married fallow winter fields.

Bundled children waved goodbye at a remote one-stop station.

Long ago and far away with a wisdom heart-mind of intent soft eyes lived in interior and exterior landscape languages.

Winter Hawk wingspread read cold air. I am free to fly. My only imaginary fear is leaving the sky. It protects me. As long as I stay below it I am safe. I feel free in dreams. It’s all instinct and sensation being crystal light easy gliding like smiling and laughing. I absorb steam vapors rising off blue-green rivers below me as I zoom over red mountains swooping through groves of tall Aspen trees singing their wavering bark dancing branches. In my vivid winter world strong wings brush reflections inside star trails. My destiny is to remember everything. Sky welcomes my wing song.

The overnight take the A train to Constantinople tracking along a blue sea passed freighters and natural gas orange flames burning stars under a bone white moon, rolling 
click-clack.

A Turkish woman closed her drapes. Below her blindness 
two veiled lovers escaping the tyranny of familial expectations cherishing shadows held hands in a deserted street.

Train whistles serenaded 
invisible villages.

Long haul semi beams illuminated a black ribbon. Barb wire train stations imprisoned 
sad-faced men staring at ground zero waiting 
for life 
to unfold 
its precious fragrance. Moonlight released aromas of purple prosaic grapes.

An Istanbul commuter ferry churning blue water waves 
in elemental light envisioned blue mosques, silver spire needles and crescent domes.

TLC

 

Kabul Doctors - TLC 12

Ankara streets were dead one Sunday.

Everyone disappeared to vote for someone well connected and wealthy.

He passed shuttered watch shops and clothing stores.

Moneychangers yelled, “Mr. Lucky Foot come here. Invest in your future. Change money. Change your wife. Change your life. Change or die. Change into a nine-year old meditative Buddhist monk in Luang Prabang, Laos walking with a begging bowl.”

A man selling Simit, a common seedy pretzel meditated near his small carnival cart in stone cold shadows.

Five jabbering women in shimmering sea green blue fabrics decorated with mirrors and silver balls danced along plate glass windows. Dark skin sharp noses deep black eyes and long hair. Headscarves reflected light waves.

Three posed in front of a clothing store and Caucasian mannequin. The dummy wore a dark pinstriped suit. A tall woman stepped back with a point-n-shoot camera.

Finished, she turned. He gestured if she wanted him to photograph the group.

“Yes,” in impeccable English. “Please.”

He pointed at foliage. “Ask your friends to stand over there.” Two hid behind flowing skirts. She coaxed them into the frame. Click.

He handed her the camera. “Where are you from?”

“We are from Kabul.’

“Why are you here?”

“We are doctors. We have been attending seminars and return home this week.”

“Are you all from Kabul?”

“No,” gesturing to women hiding behind sisters, “they are from distant provinces.”

“I see. How is the medical situation in Afghanistan? Do you have enough medicine?”

“It changes. We are fortunate to receive medicine from international aid agencies. Our hospitals need more equipment. It’s a struggle at times especially outside the capital.”

“How are the children doing? Are they receiving medical care and enough food? Can they go to school?”

“We are doing our best to take care of the children.”

“I wish you well. You face large responsibilities. It was nice meeting you.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Good-bye.”

He shared this encounter with a female student at TLC.

“Were they open or closed?” she said referring to veils not their state of mind.

“They were open.”

TLC

Dr. Suit and fashionable Ankara friends.

A Little BS

Once upon a time a travelling English facilitator went to Phonsavan (Plain of Jars) in Laos.

He volunteered to help H'mong students with English, chess, creative notebook freedom, critical thinking skills, develop teamwork and have fun. 

He sat down for eight months. He helped. He laughed. He left. He wrote about it.

11,959 invisible word worlds.

Short fast and deadly.

Check it out.

A Little BS