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.

 

Hanford novel excerpt

Here's an excerpt on Hanford from A Century Is Nothing. Enjoy.

My team dived into, under and through massive Columbia waterfalls near tributaries where the confluence of Northwest rivers gnashed their teeth, snaked, roaring past abandoned Hanford nuclear plants where 55 million gallons of radioactive waste in decaying drums left over from W.W.II slowly seeped 130 feet down into the ground toward water tables. 

Tribal survivors ate roots and plants garnished with entropy. 

Fascinating. 

He turned another fragile yellow page marked Top Secret Evidence.

“It’s called Technicium, TC-99,” said an Indian scientist on a shuttle between reactors. “This is the new death and we know it’s there and there is nothing we can do to prevent it spreading.” 

“The waste approached 250 feet as multinational laboratories, corporations and D.O.E. think tanks vying for projects and energy contract extensions discussed glassification options and emergency evacuation procedures according to regulations. Scientists read Robert’s Rules Of Order inside the organized chaos of their well order communities. 

“Hanford scientists, wives and their children suffering terminal thyroid disease ate roots and plants sprinkled with entropy.    

“The postal worker and the nomad talked over a counter while a frantic mother yelled at her daughter, “DON’T Touch The Stamps” because at her precocious age curiosity about colors blended itself toward planetary exploration developing her active imagination. 

“Holding a nebula in his hand he told the woman how, up in the invisible sky, are all these really cool galaxies which means we are a third the life of a 3.5 billion year old universe and she said, ‘That’s interesting. I never looked at the stamps before,’ handing him change.” 

He returned Omar’s papers to the folder and traveled beyond the forest on comet star tails.

Peace.

P.S. Zeynep in Turkey says the "Famous Dancing Meatballs" are alive and well, although some are in treatment for an anxiety disorder.