Short Fast & Deadly

How slow can you go?

Walk at the speed of a camel.

Design charcoal elements of crisp fire

infants scream at talking head women

driving young ones crazy

in out in out

their tongues bang like pistons

on a desultory 125cc engine propelled by virgins

returning home with their unblemished shy dignity intact.

One woman fans skewered buffalo meat to a crisp.

A Lao grandmother cradles an infant. She has diabetes Type II.

Shuddering wedding photos are frozen on a wall. It never turns out like people imagine.

They breed work and get slaughtered.

They trade hands and hearts.

She skewers another hypnotic form of laughter to preserve her ugh ugh conversation.

Fat lost European tourists waddle past.

With an accusatory tone men get smashed on weak beer.

A mechanic hammers one sharp line of description vs mundane observation.

Exile spills midnight blue Mont Blanc ink next to attention deficit disordered humans dancing 10 seconds down dirty.

Write short, fast, deadly.

Ikat silk designs drape well.

Non-listeners living abject cause and effect seek meaning with suffering and loss, accepting no responsibility.

Someone else controls their existence.

Milling Around, a fine art, embraces kindness and compassion. 

Mandalay, Burma

Meridian of time

"On the meridian of time there is no injustice

there is only the poetry of motion

creating the illusion of truth and drama."  Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer.

Mandalay, Burma

I am a shaman. A storyteller embraces "what if?"

People chained to the earth to pay for the freedom of their eyes.

Free and easy. No past no future.

A blind man plays strings.

His daughter plays a drum leading him through life.

Music guides their quest. Music is the fuel.

Mindfulness breath ease god out.

Literary Outlaws

Music is the fuel.

Welcome to Planet Insane Asylum. You are released on your own recognizance.

Create a new world. Ride a bike. Explore. Life is the destination. Warrior attitude.

Understanding by design. UBD.

Your story emerges from nothing. Discover a point of departure a direction.

Only the mad ones sing with the fools.

Events, characters, setting, impressions. Energies and frequencies.

Remember Coco speaking in Fujian, China watching 15,000 university students walk past old village people. "They are all peasants."

Years later the rich Chinese man in Laos served you fresh green Fujian tea at the Luang Prabang guesthouse. "Children are tools," he said. He had two. They arrived in a Raging Rover using GPS.

Discernment with sensitivity.

Engaged by a stimulus. Disengaged from a stimulus.

Truth-Force.

Signal-Noise

High season in Vientiane. Perfect for drawing twilight as scooters mumble putt putt exhausted fear based laughter succumbing to circumstance.

Yoke said a verb is a condition.

Her insight was victorious. Word got back that all but three 8th grade students were caught cheating on their Lao exams. No surprise there. Delight in their sly cunning attitude. Oh, to be human.

Determination chopped ice, shifting passive years, gears and fears into a zonal transparency of blank eyes. Is-land tourists became localized stimuli wandering blank.

It's a meaningful coincidence.

We are literary outlaws.

Explanation is a well dressed mistake.

We connect the dots forward. Play an infinite game of chess.

Checkmate, said Death. I always make the correct move.

Existence precedes essence. Flame your life.

Literary Outlaws

Music is the fuel.

Welcome to Planet Insane Asylum. You are released on your own recognizance.

Create a new world. Ride a bike. Explore. Life is the destination. Warrior attitude.

Understanding by design. UBD.

Your story emerges from nothing. Discover a point of departure a direction.

Only the mad ones sing with the fools.

Events, characters, setting, impressions. Energies and frequencies.

Remember Coco speaking in Fujian, China watching 15,000 university students walk past old village people. "They are all peasants."

Years later the rich Chinese man in Laos served you fresh green Fujian tea at the Luang Prabang guesthouse. "Children are tools," he said. He had two. They arrived in a Raging Rover using GPS.

Discernment with sensitivity.

Engaged by a stimulus. Disengaged from a stimulus.

Truth-Force.

Signal-Noise

High season in Vientiane. Perfect for drawing twilight as scooters mumble putt putt exhausted fear based laughter succumbing to circumstance.

Yoke said a verb is a condition.

Her insight was victorious. Word got back that all but three 8th grade students were caught cheating on their Lao exams. No surprise there. Delight in their sly cunning attitude. Oh, to be human.

Determination chopped ice, shifting passive years, gears and fears into a zonal transparency of blank eyes. Is-land tourists became localized stimuli wandering blank.

It's a meaningful coincidence.

We are literary outlaws.

Explanation is a well dressed mistake.

We connect the dots forward. Play an infinite game of chess.

Checkmate, said Death. I always make the correct move.

Existence precedes essence. Flame your life.

Memory Fragments

Live in the present, in the eternity of the instant.

On the 27th he absorbed reflections in a small village. Attracted by no tourists partly cloudy skies.

She undressed. In her silent beating heart she knew the man couldn't, wouldn't save her. She was happy with him for his playful kindness.

She signed. He tried to understand her willingness to share their intimacy. He was a slow patient lover. She trusted her instincts. After knowing him for nine months she accepted soft passions with conditions of intimacy. No kissing. No cunning linguists.

One-eyed blind.

On the 28th he said, I prefer doubt to certainty. I am more interested in the traces than the object. I love the fragments.

On the 29th he asked her, Where do I place this fragment? What country what continent what city village or heartbeat? Every heartbeat contains worlds of possibilities and probabilities.

Keep it simple like a breath, she said.

On June's final day she asked him, Do you like small? Skin on skin? Yes kneading her shoulder muscles, easing out tissue from her supine sublime spinal chord erasing tension. Her smile said, Yes. Her relaxation exhaled.

On 1 July she spoke with hand wings. Short, fast and deadly.

She dreamed of writing a short story, perhaps flash fiction. She made a pot of green tea.

Nervous, she selected a pen. She unscrewed the black ebony Mont Blanc summit. She opened a black notebook. She started with flowing calligraphy letters.

My life began in a village. I don't need to leave my village. My village is the world.

She drew a picture. It looked like this.

3 July said, tourists find and travelers discover.

A dreamer with controlled imagination passed a broken traffic sign near a golden pagoda...

SLOW CHILDREN...word lightning bolts - blue butterfly, white sky, green flowers, red leaves, songs of invisibility, piano shadow.

How do you spell loss? Accept loss forever.

Memory contains an entire world.

A blind painter paints from memory. A laughing blind poet scribbles symbols. 

"A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom," - Robert Frost

 

Phonsavan, Laos