10 year old wordream

Greetings,

Yes, a year now a days glancing toward assessment of healthy foods. Fourth graders are teachers. Simplicity, sanctuary and serenity. Draw wisdom in red, green, blue, black. 

The cosmic free writing class of curious explorers. Begin an admirable multi-hued rainbow experience. Inside/outside their small infinite portal. No fear. Dialogue of light and color spectrums. 

The Little Prince. What is essential is invisible to the eye. Accepting responsibility for living things, planting new gardens, new colors, green life promise, their beauty, truth, creativity, art, dance, music, joy, kindness and compassion. 

How you manifest this reality, this waking dream, this transience, this small immediate flash of lightning. Gratitude releases all the beauty.

What color are your dreams? 

Why are you so relaxed when you play?

I have nothing to prove.

Metta.

Dream big - draw big

Greetings,

This is the day of my dreams: The color of a hammer on brick. A trumpet, cement smoothing tool, dance.

A bike. Free wind pushing a child. A clean clear air song. High grey clouds.

Process becoming: Butterflies: yellow, white, brown, black, orange speckled. 

Closing down the connections. Absolving thieves their mysteries. Selling toys.

I am the Rocket Tourist at 20% operating capacity. 

The Marxist tools of production: knife, hoe, axe, elephant control stick, scythe, hammer.

Her daughter's card was the Master. Her card was Intensity. His card was the Rebel. After a dinner of grilled salmon, green salad, black olives, and fresh hot bread in Bursa they went to a cafe high above the smell and music of a river.

The river flowed strong and fast from Green Mountain. Dancing with stars was a silver-white crescent moon. They listened to water as the river cried. It was cold (May) and she wrapped his long soft leather jacket around her shoulders. She was happy.

Her daughter sat across from them drawing in this book (filled with transformations and great powerful understanding. Waves) and drinking hot chocolate. She was happy. Although now, only 8 and a strong willed child, she was a guest performer musician (piano) and character actor. She looked at them and said, Being correct is never the point.

Please put the blue sky on the white table. Unfold it gently. It is fragile and may be slightly creased along the horizon.  

Am I a clown searching along the ground for an appropriate mask?

Am I this or am I dreaming? 

Metta.

Art Women

Greetings,

The sewing woman returned to her guesthouse early with her girlfriend to change clothes, spit into red roses and splash water on her face.

She kick started her cycle and they went to the market, deep inside the labyrinth to her corner stall. She unlocked multiple locks, stacked wooden shutters and dragged out her sewing machine, ironing board and iron.

She lined up manikins. They wore her work: exquisite yellow, purple, blue, white shimmering silks decorated with sparkling faux-paws silver stars, moons, and small round reflecting balls. Her work was for women needing refinement, special elaborate occasions; weddings, funerals and engagements.

She did good work and stayed busy. Serious fittings and adjustments. 

Her sewing universe: process, fabric, measurement, ironing backing, a ruler, white chalk to mark pleats, cutting, sewing machine treadle, edges, pins, threads, trimming edges, hand sewing clasps, shiny connections, ironing.

Inside this slow prism threads of nets flashed light and shadow, needles danced through cloth in endless conversations. The needles talked about traditional values and the opportunity cost. They perform quick precise calculations to establish a stop-loss figure

smashing blocks of ice inside a bag with a blunt instrument creating a symphony of hips rolling outside these unspoken words as a homeless man with a pair of tired brown pants thrown over a shoulder using a solid walking stick sits down to rest and shy women avert their beautiful seductive deep pool eyes

women manipulate stacks of printed government issued paper trusting a perceived value in exchange for goods: meat, fruit, gold, fabric, counting and arranging denominations inside broken beams of light, cracked cement, lost mislaid wooden planks, debris, feathers,

jungles, jangled waves surveying commercial landscapes with the quick dispatch of dialects as Black H'mong girls far away near Sapa rivers and waterfalls express their creation story

Metta.

 

 

S-21

Greetings,

This is from Wikipedia.

The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum is a museum in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. The site is a former high school which was used as the notorious Security Prison 21 (S-21) by the Khmer Rouge regime from its rise to power in 1975 to its fall in 1979. Tuol Sleng in Khmer; [tuəl slaeŋ] means "Hill of the Poisonous Trees" or "Strychnine Hill".

Here are the security rules at the S-21 prison.

When prisoners were first brought to Tuol Sleng, they were made aware of ten rules that they were to follow during their incarceration. What follows is what is posted today at the Tuol Sleng Museum; the imperfect grammar is a result of faulty translation from the original Khmer:

1. You must answer accordingly to my question. Don’t turn them away.

2. Don’t try to hide the facts by making pretexts this and that, you are strictly prohibited to contest me.

3. Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dare to thwart the revolution.

4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.

5. Don’t tell me either about your immoralities or the essence of the revolution.

6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.

7. Do nothing, sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something, you must do it right away without protesting.

8. Don’t make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your secret or traitor.

9. If you don’t follow all the above rules, you shall get many many lashes of electric wire.

10. If you disobey any point of my regulations you shall get either ten lashes or five shocks of electric discharge.

read more...

Metta.

Egyptian Art

Greetings, 

These images are from a mural at an Indonesian school where I had 100 ten-year old teachers a year ago. They graduated to Grade 5 and I graduated back to Vietnam and the University of the Street. The kids said, "there's book learning and there's street learning."

read more...

Metta.