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

 

Big Time - TLC 13

One curious phenomenon in Turkey was the predominant and fashionable Big Time watch.

Big Time displayed itself in grandiose opulent design styles, rainbow spectrums and analog displays. He observed huge pieces illustrating manifestations of invisible time delighting wrists with panache and glamour. Frequent sightings of super-sized chromatic sundials featured a Kurdish weight lifter struggling to keep time overhead. For the majority of volunteer wage slaves heavy time dragged them through life.

A sweeping second hand swept piles of debris stranded on corners past idle bored women studying their undulating singular reflection in store windows between numerals 12 and 6.

A wild rabbit dragging a pocket Watch Out down Dreamtime Street yelled, “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date, no time to say hello, goodbye, I'm late, I’m late, I’m late.”

Rabbit passed Curious, a Chinese linguist at the intersection of Imaginary Fear & Enlightenment.

“What are you doing?” said Rabbit.

“I am begging people to open their head, heart, mouth and get to the verb. Where are you going in such a hurry Mr. Rabbit?”

“Through the looking glass.”

“May I go with you?”

“Do you have courage?”

“Yes. It's my most important virtue.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye. Let’s share an adventure.”

TLC 

Need a read?

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My name is Tam - Erotica

A Little BS - Laos

The Language Company - creative nonfiction - Turkey and Asia from the inside

Subject to Change - Memoir

A Century is Nothing - Gonzo epic

Ice Girl in Banlung - Rita the writer in Cambodia shares her reality with wandering Leo from China

Death Worship in Nam - Feed ancestors or else said ghosts

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Have a marvelous summer on a spinning space rock.

 Hue, Vietnam

TLC - 10 Ankara 2008

Brown rolling hills said, Open sesame. Shazam. 1,001 Arabian Nights shared stories inside stories. Dervish mystic dancers wheeling in trances welcomed his spirit.

Lucky learned the majority of Turks suffered from anxiety. They took anti-depressants called Xanax to calm psychotic neurosis. Symptoms of overwhelming sadness dressed citizens in rose petals between self-pity, loathing and thorns.

Ankara was a boring, cold capital city filled with sad administrative paper-pushing androids. He’d accepted a teaching/facilitating TLC job with an acquisition cycle.

A part-time female teacher from South Africa married to an English environmentalist studying seal habitats along the southern coastline helped Lucky buy a DNA cell phone. He’d never had one.

It was a 1984 red gadget with buttons and functions like calendars, tools, SMS, IM, Teams, Bluetooth, internet access, GPS and To Do, Did, and Does it work? Connections. Locations. It displayed points of interest at low interest rates. Instant, Everywhere You Are Or Imagine You Are or Need To Be Where You Are Now at this precise moment with dimensional proportions suited his nomadic status acquiring mobility extremes.

One morning he walked to the Ulus garden nursery below an old Roman castle. A red hammer and sickle flag waved above ramparts. He discovered white, red and purple roses, cactus, ten small plants, containers and potting soil. Good dirt.

A word gravedigger craves good dirt.

For language play he stole brown, beige and black linen pants, five long-sleeved button-down cotton shirts, two silk ties and three pairs of thin black socks. He bought an iron and ironing board for linen, cotton threads and extraneous words. Like Murakami he loved ironing. Zen heat and gentle pressure married textile’s texture.

He knotted a tie to his phone and dragged it through Ankara yelling, “Don’t think. Look. See. I’m connected to the Universe. I am now a VIP. I have Infinite Diversity through Infinite Combinations. IDIC for short.”

After studying cracked pavement anxious Turkish eyes expressed serious facial expressions In Search of Lost Time. Citizens cradled delicate phones like infants in sleep mode. Strangers congratulated Lucky with lilies, orchids, rose thorns, floral arrangements and invitations to weddings and funerals in Kurdish PKK controlled no-fly zones bordering Syrian refugee camps.

Garrulous, the TLC manager took him to a seafood restaurant. Waiters in white shirts and black ties guided them to a table decorated with multiple sets of silver cutlery, water glasses and folded cotton napkins. Where are the chopsticks?

A waiter brought mineral water in a thin-stemmed glass goblet. A slice of lemon floated on bubbles. He deposited a bowl of green, red, and black olives dusted with chili powder, oil and vinegar. They enjoyed a fresh green salad of tomatoes, carrots, beets, parsley, mint leaves, corn, and red lettuce in a pistachio sauce with hot fresh brown bread and yellow butter. The main course was braised salmon, flame seared potato, tomato and green pepper. Thick coffee finished the feast. Grounds coated his throat.

Sexually depraved women with dark seductive eyes flashing lost love signals escorted him to a local cafe. They taught him the traditional game of backgammon while sharing apple-flavored hubby-bubbly tobacco pipes past his bedtime regaling him with fables, legends, myths, lies and stories about their hard hearted survival strategies in a man’s world.

TLC
 

Welcome to earth - TLC 9

Dreams and nightmares snarled on nationalistic winds. Hot air swept north from Cambodian jungles in snow taxis playing cello solos.

Calm, sad, neglected women do, did, done all the work.

Their universal mantra: I work. I breed. I get slaughtered.

Welcome to Earth. Babies of sweet sixteen having more babies were busy sexing, texting, birthing, cooking, washing, sweeping, cleaning, and crying.

Tibetan tears melted Himalayan glaciers. Waterworks flooded rivers and deltas in Bangladesh, Laos, Thailand, Burma, Vietnam and Cambodia.  

Global media bought people. Media created and sold exaggerated disasters and fear marinated with the gloom and doom of catastrophic dramatic human foibles.

Sixty million drowning SE Asian farmers and fishing people struggled for higher ground after greedy governments constructed twelve dams on the Mekong in Laos. Thailand purchased the electricity for red light districts. They recycled it back to Laos at amperes profit. Dam the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Eye captain.

Idle boy/men raced oil-soaked 125cc engines in Asian motorcycle cultures. Bored, they played board games shuffling global play money in offshore top-secret laundering scams. Millions needing a lucky break milled around with hands buried in empty pockets Waiting For Godot.

No one showed up. Nothing happened.

Fate, destiny and death watched with humorous disinterest.

*

Richard, The Language Company director in Istanbul called Lucky in Fujian, China for an interview. “Why Turkey?”

“I’ve never been there.”

He laughed. “Good enough for me. How’s Ankara sound? We have a big center there. See you when you get here.”

“Ankara’s fine. Thanks for the opportunity. It’s my lucky day.”

He gifted Leo and Chinese teachers plants, bamboo mats, the I Ching Book of Changes and The Diamond Sutra, the worlds oldest printed book circa 868.

Non-attachment illusions of freedom were gift-wrapped.

Winging away as Winter Hawk he exhaled on western winds.

Copper boy in Ulus, Turkey.