Intersections

I am listening to "Eighteen Musicians" by Steve Reich.  

Outside a clear pane of glass, past  a tall green spiky cactus stretching it's arms into blue bird songs

People saunter in early light. A young Indonesian nanny carries an infant, spoon feeding the echo

of white cat paws trailing flip flops,

A young father pedals his son, Fabian, sitting in a small seat, exploring the world with new eyes,

A young bike boy negotiates boredom, an old man wearing tight laces studies the future pavement in front of his old eyes, another old man

struggles with his activated cell phone inside worn baggy green shorts, spinning inside life's little intersection, waiting for a call to save him from poverty, loneliness and abstract metaphors. Life is a metaphor.

Sitting in the sun, a woman across the street spoon feeds her wheelchair mother love. Her mother swallows and smiles, remembering clearly when she did all the feeding,

Children in pink pajamas collect brown leaves, smelling white glowing hibiscus. 

Metta.

 

Sugule Ali, Pirate Spokesperson

Mr. Ali and his band of Somali mischief makers has the right idea in a crazy yet reasonable perspective on how it works. "Think of us as the Coast Guard."

He and his merry men are holding a Ukranian registered ship off the coast of Somalia. In a sense you might say he is the Robin Hood of the High Seas. They want a cool $20,000,000. Cash. 

He's willing to bargain. "It's called deal making."

The ship, according to a report in the NYT linked below, is loaded with tanks, artillery, grenade launchers and ammunition. It was heading for either Kenya or Sudan, depending on who you ask. The Kenyan military says it belongs to them. Others suspect it's intended to support rebels fighting in southern Sudan.

Ali has an excellent sense of humor. 

When asked if he was afraid of being attacked by American vessels surrounding the ship he said, "No. You only die once." 

And when asked why he needed $20,000,000 to protect his men from hunger he answered, "We have a lot of men."

Metta.

Show me The Money

The Chinese Office of Propaganda

Here's a link to an American Scholar article by Ha Jin on the Chinese Propaganda Department. Chilling. True. Self censorship creates and manifests fear inside the system. 

He says, "Censorship not only chokes artistic talent but also weakens the Chinese populace, who are forced to be less imaginative and less inventive. The crisis in education has been a hot topic in China for years. Why are so many Chinese students good at taking tests but poor at analytical thinking?...Besides the commercialization of education, the absence of a free, tolerant environment has stunted the growth of students and teachers."

I made this exact argument in my novel, A Century Is Nothing, based on my experience teaching English for two years at a private Chinese business university in Fujian. 

Metta.

A rural Chinese elementary dorm. Eight kids per little blue room. "Fairyland to live. A paradise to learn. Cradle to become a useful person." 

The Propaganda People

The Poetry of Scissors and Glue

There is always an element of sweet delight discovering another zone of peace and tranquility. Such-ness.

Once upon a time before someone, perhaps being blind, invented a written language they carved symbols on clay with a sharp stick, a reed.

The 20-year old Mont Blanc 149 piston fountain pen has been repaired for a cool $160. They replaced the nib threaded insert, internal plastic coupling device that locks the barrel into place when not in use and changed the piston machinery. It's a sweet feeling, this "art of writing" instrument. Been around the proverbial block and then some.

Compared to the new thicker Chopin model spilling red ink this is quick, light and sliding on the paper. In this case Moleskine. Sweet touch.

Happy writing. Say something others think but are afraid to say. Get it down now and try to make sense of it later.

Metta.

Sweet surrender

Early darkness at 4:32 a.m. Moon, stars frog song. 

Deep thunder broomusic. Spin colors, inside through spectrum. Pulse and signal.

The voice of water. Simplicity, serenity and sanctuary. 

Imagination's ink. Frequency and vibration. Making color poems in class. Engage your senses. 

Mind maps. 

Once upon a blue sky the yellow sun sang a long song

the voice of water played forever

dancing, creating, flowing sweet music.

Metta.