Trickster ... authentic aesthetic bliss.
Magic yellow jacket visits / hovering / inspecting / curious / explores near table / darts in / out / we communicate / hi / hello / welcome / away
Nature's fragile ephemeral beauty
Silent singing
Wing free light fire spirit
Djehuti (Thoth) - Egyptian god of writing, moon, wisdom, science, magic, art
Imagination & precision - poetry, painting, photography
People take life too seriously. They need to play more. Relax.
Invention of writing in 3300BC. Pictograms - abstracted into cuniform.
Impressed vs drawn.
Akkadian magician - askhipu
Bliss with N. vocab touch, clean sweet clear slow ... pleasure her rosebud O sensation - stimulation - relaxed, she enjoys long deep rapture, exhaust her gently.
Taste the tantric essence. Her enlightened freedom. Oracle premontion predicts future.
Gratitude. Respect. Trust.
Sweet strong trees kiss sky w/ leaves of love.
Green umbrellas celebrate twinkling stars.
Hiding & Courage.
Sex.
Java bridge flowing river.
Dancing trees & snowing leaves.
“Books are an ice axe to break the sea frozen inside us.” - Franz Kafka
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After a war everything is easy.
In 1969 he volunteered for the Army, left the world and flew over the pond to Nam. He walked out 364 days later with his shadow - a bag of bones.
He is a ghost driving a meat-covered skeleton made of stardust riding a rock floating through space.
Fear Nothing.
Transformed, he experienced free time in the long now.
This is what happened, more or less.
One of his names is Lucky Foot. What does that mean?
He elucidates in simple, clear, precise, concise English the language of savage barbarians.
It means, as an experience junky possessing genetic variant DRD4-R7 addicted to new adventures, he brings prosperity to merchants, rest-a-rant owners and nondescript sad, neglected, abandoned and emotionally well adjusted hot to trot red sheen women among humans struggling to survive life’s labyrinth without a center.
He gifts luck to money changers, manicure girls, beggars, banana women, landmine amputee survivors, ice and rice sellers, student-teachers, tinkers, tailors, soldiers, spies, textile merchants, weavers, artistic genius children, orphans, noodle mama, tea and java purveyors, gardeners, gravediggers, literary outlaws and craggy faced Dan, a boat captain in Hoi An who worked as an interpreter at MAC V during the Vietnam War.
Fate and destiny is the same thing.
If he grows up he dies.
Security is an illusion.
He presents good fortune to Rita, author of Ice Girl in Banlung, barbers cleaning his ears, high-heeled sandal ladies, love sock purveyors and rent-a-life companies.
HCE. Here comes everybody.
90% of life is showing up. When he shows up their day, life, fate and glittering fortunes improve. Karmic destiny.
Fate laughed with him in Morocco on 9/11. He was in the Sahara. He did not take possession of that event and perpetual aftermath. Fear sells.
Destiny danced with him on the is-land of Amnesia in Southeast Asia and exploring Turkey, China, Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos.
Before returning to Nam in 2009 he lived on a string of 15,000 archipelago islands between Malaysia and Papa New Genie gathering evidence about the human condition.
Each island is a letter. If you string letters together you create a word. This word depending on your imaginary perception of truth-value may or may not have meaning for you like Beauty - your true reflection in still water.
Beauty has no tongue.
A small journey expands life’s tapestry. He’s a needle without a compass. His needle leads a thread. Threads weave a conversation.
Move like a river, rest like a mirror, respond like an echo.
![The Language Company by [Timothy Leonard]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41I-0NgfkgL.jpg)
Rumors of intelligent life in Hanoi is an exaggeration, said Leo. Rumor control reports existence.
Take my neighbors Sam and Dave for example, said Tran, Sam is the kid, Dave is the father. Their names and roles are interchangeable. These are not Viet names. If they were, they’d be named Binh and Thin and New Yen, like new Yin or old Yang.
Dave had kids so he and his wife can yell at them. So they will have someone take care of them in old age when they are lying or dying on bamboo recliners absorbing 10,000 wafting kitchen smells.
It’s an Asian thing. It was an arranged marriage after a three year courtship. Her parents demanded $50,000. Cash or no deal. Virgins have high value in the marriage market. They are have been sequestered behind fear and insecure superstitions and trapped by hovering in-laws and outlaws for centuries.
Marriage is legalized prostitution.
Father knows best. You don’t marry the girl in Asia. You marry the family.
Cash gives them security. You pay and get the girl. The fun begins. Grandparents need kids to support them in old age. When you’re young pregnancy is always the only option. The tyranny of motherhood.
Accelerate production comrade. Many procreating humans have more desire thinking about providing offspring for their security than the physical pleasure of sex. So it goes.
Sex is a DUTY. It ain’t about pleasure. It’s easy to have kids in the 13th most populated country on planet Earth. Get on. Go for the ride. E jack U late. There are 90 million hard and fast parenthood rules according to the popular Vietnamese Party book, Produce & Consume. Get married early erotic pressure is on and off, on and off. Savior a small death in 8 seconds.
You do not want to be unmarried, sad, lonely and forgotten. Loss of face and shame haunts singles with vengeance. Fear of loneliness increases the possibility and probability of heart attacks, strokes of genius and arterial vestiges of debilitating forms of social upheaval and social instability in a socialist society. They’ve taken their hormonal cues and social control systems from Uncle China.
Extreme pressure is on girls to find a husband. Sapa females in the NW, a future fragment of this tale, illustrate the value and necessity for rural girls to marry at the ripe old age of sixteen and produce genetic replicants. Petri dish. More Y chromosomes. It takes courage to raise kids with integrity, respect, and authenticity.
Humans crave less suffering and neglect and more love.
Dave’s voice releases 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 cold molten gray interior Hanoi cement or is Ha Noise the block wall? His life is one long cold cement wall.
Echoes dance through his brain like sugarplum fairies. He knows the echo because he made the WALLS. He stacked red crumbling bricks, mixed the fine sand gemstones and quick dry cement.
He slathered it over red bricks with coherent circular logic fulfilling an abstract desire to create a work of realist art lasting forever which is how he remembered it the day he trow welled the paste. His voice manifestation expresses human primitive guttural sounds in a tight enclosed space near his gigantic liquid plasma television.
It is permanently implanted on a wall blaring news propaganda and perpetual adolescent dancing drama programs about life next door where the family sits on red rose cold tile floors hunched over with spinal deficiencies ... slurping from cracked bowls shoveling steaming rice and green stringy vegetables into lost desperate mouths and yelling over each other in tonal decibels ... competing with their gigantic plasma television featuring dancing bears and uniformed military pioneer patriots devouring acres of rubber plantations, palm trees, teak forests, beach front property and farmland ... with a double bladed axe singing a high Greek-like chorus their national anthem about land, sea, air, water and big profit with peasants as small players.
Everyone’s being played.
"We are like the spider. We weave our life and then move along in it. We are like the dreamer who dreams and then lives in the dream. This is true for the entire universe."
- Upanishad
Curious beginnings determine her artistic sense of formless form, coloring stories of her village, the other world.
Cutting, planting, harvesting completes slow rhythm of life. Her skill shines with every new expression. Her heart sings.
Her simple direct feeling is all sensation.
Art enables her this beauty. She describes what she draws. She creates what she sees. Her words fly through forests with resplendent peacocks, birds of paradise.
A blind conversation developed a through line. Turn a blind eye.
Blindness listened. Blindness heard muted laughter before intuition gestured pink floating word worlds.
Laughter danced with exhaled attachment.
Blindness danced through late yellow faltering light / penetrating bamboo leaves spreading themselves over banana baskets impaled on swinging posts.
A bike bell rang. A young Lao girl sat quiet watching the Vietnamese girl do her toenails. Cutting, and trimming, lemon / lime soak, cuticles, translucent before applying a silver hued glossy glean. Nail by nail.
Blindness solved the mystery of sight crying tears of silence.
A van labeled UNIVERSE filled with blank faced white Europeans trapped behind glass holding rampant desires and scared expectations on laps turned into a blind alley.
They fidgeted with uncomfortable languages floating into ear canals assaulting long painful strides navigating yesterday’s regrets / tomorrow’s fear / today’s dead lines.
Blindness practiced Tai-chi with precision.
Blindness exchanged blue ink for a dark shade of green.
A handheld hair dryer waved hot air over a shampooed head. Mirrors whispered empty secrets.
Elements of silence said farewell.
Eyes investigated decompression while swallowing fresh yogurt with peach slices near afternoon’s languishing empty promises intent on making it new day by day.
Explanations have to end somewhere.
In her village, the other world, the one she never left, Blindness threaded new beginnings on her loom of time feeling pressure and tightness between notes.
Sunlight dressed saliva beads blending a weave, texture and design, saying hello Beauty.
Beauty has no tongue.
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