Desire

Ling shows up. Eat. Bed. Desires. Fatigue. Joy.

Trembling breasts, her eyes closed, arms over her head.

I am buried in her forest.

Discovering blood filled purple lips and vagina.

Throbbing photons of pulsating waves allow her the bliss of love.

Slow and gentle. Touch.

Sing a song of pleasure principles all morning.

Dance in slow motion.

Senses are pure immediate and direct.

Curiosity in the purest sense.

One story - theme - small vs the big - treachery & humor, revenge, betrayal, alienation, loneliness, boredom.

                - locale

                - time

                - characters

Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death and as sweet as love - Turkish proverb

Awareness in the moment.

Smile. We will help you practice.

See the Beauty and Cruelty without hope or fear.

The Middle Way - detachment and wisdom.

Our perceptions are empty.

Suffering is an illusion.

Passion and process.

It existed somewhere between an object and a concept.

King Louis Says Bye-bye - TLC 68

King Louis’s temp visa expired. Someone conspired. Who did it? Only the Shadow knows. And then, lo and behold, the tall handsome paranoid excommunicated hulk of a Roman ruin fled.

He gifted two native teachers a used bottle of stomach medicine, an empty pickle jar and a keening Irish green bottle of olive oil.

He carried eight bags of Roman history to his lover’s car. Ms. Linguist, his x-factor for what it was worth considering their short-term tumultuous erotic relationship headed for the auto-gar bus station. Next stop – Instant Bull.

On July 5th management called THE HULK into the office.

“We are not sending you to Moscow.”

He shriveled into his seat. Whoops, I really fucked up big time.

“Yes, you did,” said the Director. “You made life miserable for Bursa staff. Your archaic cavalier chauvinistic attitude was abysmal. In other words you were a colossal jerk.”

“I need to get this down now and make sense of it later,” said Zeynep scribbling a film noir treatment.

Louis thought he was smarter than the average bear. He was Yogi-Fide, denied, stratified, petrified and ossified.

“Anyway,” continued the Director of Barbarians, an obscure title minus power, “you won’t see Moose Cow with this company. There’s no way José we’d even consider sending you to a sister company in the frozen north with your attitude.”

“What’s going to happen to me? O my goodness gracious great balls of fire. Don’t tell me I have to return to the glorious land of unemployed free Mandingo slaves hawking refrigerators, microwaves and washing machines.”

“As you well know you’ve overstayed your tourist visa,” said big D. “This is a legal problem and we can’t help you there. You are in violation of residency laws and will leave today. You will not be allowed to return to Turkey for 3,000 years. We are giving you official notice that your contract with TLC is terminated effective immediately.”

“Great Scott. I had such grandiose plans for conquests and adventures roaming ruins, scaling Byzantium towers and feeding beggars Simit as freezing dawn broke bread while eating delicious black olives, freshly sliced tomatoes, winding my big time watch out and,” pausing for dramatic effect...“I need to get to the verb.”

“You’re fired.”

Charbroiled on searing heat. Skewered. King Louis was flame grilled and basted with spice is-land juice.

 The Language Company

Dance Now. Think Later.

My life dance is ambiguity, acceptance, independent detachment and creative imagination.

Dance is isolated yet cooperating and independent. I believe in the magic of dance.

When you dance for a fleeting moment you feel alive.

What do I see? I see a circle of movement, a connected unity, language in space. There are five rhythms in dance.

You start with a circle. It’s a circular movement from the feminine container. She is earth.

Then you have a line from the hips moving out. This is the masculine action with direction. He is fire.

Chaos is next, a combination of a circle and line where male and female energies interact. This istransformation.

After chaos is the lyrical. A leap. A release. This is air.

The last element of dance is stillness. Out of stillness is born the next movement.

I’ll dance until I die.

What is life?

Dance.

the blind man and his daughter

He wore a felt hat. He gripped a wooden staff. His face was long and sallow.
The girl was 11. Wearing cotton, her face was solemn, shocked.
Both wore plastic flip-flops.
She held his hand.

They came to an intersection. Small buses, bikes, lost fat Europeans, orange robed wandering monks, silver vans. Women carrying bamboo baskets spilling oranges negotiated pavement.

The girl led the man across the street.
Their pace steady, yet hesitant.

She was his eyes. He trusted her implicitly.
A stranger drawing in his notebook watched them.
He pulled a 20 Kip note from his pocket.
He gestured to the girl, Take it.
She froze.

She spoke quick Lao words to her father.
Questioning, doubt, healthy uncertainty in her eyes.
The stranger gestured the 20.
She remained still.

He got up and slowly approached her. His hand extended the money.
His hand said, take it.
Her small hand emerged with caution. Her small fingers accepted the gift.
She smiled placing her hands together.
Her fingertips touched her chin meaning, Thank you.

She whispered to her father, it's 20.
His blind eyes darted back and forth.
He mumbled, Thank you, joining his hands.

His wooden staff hung in the air like a pendulum.
She led him away.

They disappeared.