white clouds dance
inside, around, with
mother mountains
singing
om mani padmi om
rain voices
consider ethereal
neurotic human concerns
hard steady tears
wash feathers
lake mirror stars
breathe clouds
stillness
Namaste,
In a Bhaktapur, Nepal guesthouse it’s dinner time. Five Chinese aliens appear. Two males and three women. They are in their 20’s. They are armed with laptops, cell phones, and loud discursive language. This is normal.
Noise and confusion and interruptions and arrogant attitudes fit their life style. One girl is dressed like a flapper dancer from the roaring 20’s. Daisy Bell talks with her mouth full of rice. Her red diamond tiara squeezes her frontal lobe into a shucked pea.
They are lucky to have a passport. Their parents are important Red Party Officials. It’s all about connections. They whined their way out of manners and intelligence in public places. They are the new breed of The Ugly Chinese, the lost, terribly frustrated never satisfied in their exported coddled spoiled youth.
They are the new emperors and empresses of a prosperous, for a minority, rising dynasty. They act like they own the restaurant. They complain about the price of a meal. One girl said in a shrill voice, “Oh, it’s too expensive. I am a poor student.” She is majoring in Stupidity and Callousness at Beijing Normal University. She failed Basic Courtesy 101.
A brat boy chastises the Nepalese waiter about his pronunciation of Menu. The crew cut Mandarin idiot commands the boy to say it again, Menu.
They are living, breathing examples of the spoiled one child political and cultural genocide legacy. It will come back to haunt China. They have the emotional maturity of a 15-year old. They are so busy stuffing their faces and talking over each other all the European guests stare at them. They don’t care.
They act and talk like this at home. A new strain of vociferous Chinese virus has been unleashed on Earth.
Suddenly Flapper Dolly jumped up on the table yelling, Kill the Running Capitalist Dogs! Making Money in China is Glorious!
Everyone threw their steel toed reinforced Everest hiking boots at her. She died of Shame. Her friends dragged her body out, selling the boots to pay for her cremation.
Metta.
Five things to improve happiness.
1. Be grateful. Write letters to someone who helped you in some way.
2. Be optimistic. Visualize your ideal future. Describe the image in a journal entry.
3. Count your blessings. Write down three good things that happen to you every week.
4. Use your strengths.
5. Practice acts of kindness. Helping others helps ourselves.
Greetings,
I ruled for 30 years. The military said, It's time to go, Everyone from Cairo to Greenland has had enough of your senile stalling.
I said, Wait, I need another 30 years. No they said, You have 30 seconds, The Egyptian people have spoken with one voice, You have 30 seconds.
I cried, stamping my feet like a spoiled child. I don't want to go. I don't want to go.
Someone handed me a microphone and a scrap of parchment from the Dead See. They said, Take the paper. Look into the camera and read the script. I trembled with fear and anxiety. I took the parchment. I looked into a blinking red eye. I read the script.
My finally free fantastic fellow citizens. I would like to thank the Academy for this opportunity and all the rich memories. It's been a long strange trip. I wish you all the best realizing your freedom from tyranny, repression and idiots like me. My family and I will now take our immense wealth and retire to our resort villa. We will remember you when we eat caviar off gold plates. Farewell my love.
The red light went off. The paper fluttered from my arthritic fingers. Fireworks and ectoblastic jubilated pandemonium erupted throughout Egypt. Slaves loaded our camels. I led my family across the burning desert toward sand castles in the harsh light of reality.
What a glorious day papa, said my child, one of 80 million, I feel free.
Metta.
Greetings,
According to the situation on ground zero in Egypt, A Committee of Wise Men has been appointed by the Director of Intelligence, the acting VP with dubious CIA rendition connections to feed the media stream and poor citizens a low fat diet using advanced bait and switch marketing techniques.
The DOI knows the wise men. They worked together at STATE SECURITY perfecting torture tools. Their budget was $1.5 billion a year from their US big brother. Read the fine print called maintain the status quo. Wear down the masses. Starve them out. Play the extremist fear card.
One wise man is from the Bureau of Shackles & Chains. One is Waiting for Godot. One writes propaganda lyrics for the daily melodrama, This Is Your Life With an 82-year old Senile Dictator.
Wash and rinse. Repeat.
Metta.
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