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Ink Dances
Rain forest song
Ink dances
What you don't see is fascinating
Rivers of children memorize texts
Listening/speaking predates writing/reading
I can do it. Enthusiastic. Feeling sound pre-language
Drum heart beat
Dancing Lao doctor gestures sky arms feeling free
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Young pregnant sick H'mong wife
Husband eats soup
We pay pay pay
Me only one
Tired
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Reading is power.
Meanwhile...
See with soft eyes
Gratitude
No mistakes in life art - happy accidents
Ink dances
Reveals point line shadow
Watercolor pencils
Creativity has no rules
Take a line for a walk
Create like a god, order like a king, work like a slave
Work like you don't need the money
Love like your heart's never been broken
Dance like nobody's looking
I am a short story
You are a novel
Leo
“A human life in China is worthless,” said Leo, 14, born in a Re-education-Through-Labor Reform Camp in Hubei.
His mom worked in the empty university library.
After school exploring forested hills on mountain bikes Lucky and Leo shifted gears where the rubber met the road. One day they stopped in an old quarry to play in dirt.
It was an abandoned country. An abstract concept.
They stood in a deep excavated canyon. High dirt walls bordered by pine, evergreen and blue sky wore sharp deep gashes after machine teeth gouged out dirt.
Workers harvested red clay for imperial jade tombs at the university where 15,001 students struggled to survive in a harmonious society. Students hiding from recycled Mao-styled uniformed security guards mastered eating, texting and casual sex.
They stood at the bottom of a bottomless pit.
“Everyone is a spy,” said Leo.
“How did you surmise this theoretical fact?”
“Life is my teacher. It’s our 5,000-year history plain and simple. Their job is to keep an eye on us. Think about it. We have too any people here and so, to monitor our behavior, attitudes and thinking, they recruit students and teachers as spies. Informers. Minders. They’re paid with passing grades or cash. My father was an informer during the Cultural Revolution. It’s Darwinian logic, evolution of the species. Survival.”
“I’m not surprised. This was common through dynasties. Perpetuate control and authority. The Central Party created a climate of fear. Husbands reported wives. Wives reported husbands, sons and daughters. Daughters and sons reported fathers, mothers, aunts and uncles. Concubines reported lovers. An evil cycle.”
“Yes,” said Leo, “evil is a myth. Everyone is a charter member of the
Big Ears Sharp Eyes No Mouth Society.
Our generation of informers and spies make good money. Knowing their place they keep their mouth shut to survive. Creativity is my meditation. I meditate on the comic, the absurd. Don’t take life seriously. It’s too short. If you laugh you last.”
“Thanks for life lesson #5.”
Lucky shared writing-living suggestions with eight new Chinese teachers.
Make your characters want something right away, even if it’s a glass of water. Characters paralyzed by the meaningless of life need water from time to time.
It’s your job to create conflict so the characters will say or do surprising and revealing things, educating and entertaining us.
Characters change/grow.
Kill your darlings. If a writer can’t or won’t do that they should get out of the trade.
A writer is a hustler.
A writer treats their mental illness every day.
Write like you’re dead. Someday you will be.
Ah the drama - the unfolding play observing sensational phenomena.
Entertainment is alive and well in Asia. It’s the entertainment capital of the world. Keep them stupid and happy. Children of all ages stay amused by cell phones, Lose Face fake social sites and the idiot box. They surrender their consciousness. Watch TV. Miss the show.
“Keep your hand moving,” he said to lazy Chinese robots. “The hand is directly connected to the heart. You are pure sensation. Be an anarchist. Take risks. Take a line for a walk.”
As a foreign language barbarian wearing a Tang Dynasty five-clawed red dragon, yin-yang symbol, a rising Phoenix and a crying crane flying through mist covered mountains he witnessed emperors screwing concubines inside Forbidden Cities with red lacquered emotional curiosities where visions of detached ebullient phosphorus streams wove silent abstractions of zither tonal quality in extreme bliss.
Manifestations of superior phenomenal detective analysis and forty questions of the soul redlined final exams.
“We know so much and understand so little,” said Lucky.
“I don’t understand a thing. People are more affected by how they feel than by what they understand,” said Leo. “On day one my teacher said, ‘I only want you to bring two things to class. Your ears.’” Hear ye, hear ye.
The Street - Quanzhou, Fujian, China
