Day of My Dreams

Dance in serious moonlight  ...  

Dance-sound-letter-word-music-silence.

There are 50+ million bloggers in the states. States of confusion. Let’s be various. Live forever. Young/old people love social networks like Facelookbook, You R Fabulously Boring and Twitter Little Sparrow. Fast, short, deadly.

It’s exciting to live fast, short and easy. Deadly is short, fast and deafly.

If I suffered from Attention Deficit Disorder and everyone suffers because existence is suffering, or the illusion of suffering I’d be a hummingbird practicing social twittering. Kiss my type.

Anxiety meets a tourist, I love you. Tourist whispers, I’m behind in getting my images up on Instant Grandmama and Where Is My Face?

Hello Beauty, said Mirror. Once upon a spacetime dance there was a humbling life changing experience. Laughter is life learning dialogue.

Rita hoped to teach at a rural school 50 km from Siem Reap.

HOPE4NOW, a Danish crust-based charity organization sponsors the proposed school, My Grandfather’s House.

They require volunteers to have a criminal background check. As everyone knows knowing unknown all powerful authorities do not issue this forged bureaucratic paper to aliens, nomads, tricksters, orphans, amputees, landmine survivors, vagabonds, poets, mendicants, blind seers, Grave Digger, word janitors, itinerant weird genius storytellers or literary outlaws.

Someone passed the Talking Sheep Test. Proceed to go green. Nothing to declare.

I exist outside adult time.

If I begin this dance by calling it Angkor Draft you may surmise in theory it is about a local beer, said Rita, archeologist. The swill is popular with tourists and locals, the latter consuming huge quantities to cement circumspect construction deals. It’s a urine-based liquid syntax favored by thirsty red dust-covered grammar-based human naturalists unloading huge backpacks with a weary sigh of relief.

They’ve traveled far and wide to reach this epic point on their life quest.

The average tourist spends 3.5 days of their life in temple city consuming 9.6 large bottles of Angkor Draft.

*

Angkor Wat was built in 1113. It is the largest religious monument in the world.

It is dedicated to Vishnu. A symbol of the divine, Mount Meru towers in the center, surrounded by smaller peaks, courtyards (continents) and a huge moat (oceans).

After the 13th century it was a place of Buddhist worship. Extensive wall galleries and carvings depict battles, regal processions, heaven and hell and the Hindu creation epic, “Churning The Sea of Milk,” where gods and demons cooperate to create the elixir of immortality.

Galleries include conflicts between Devas and Asuras and the Battle of Lanka.

Angkor reinforces a minute human scale.

How did we feel here, asked the storytellers. Serene. Impermanent calm and centered.

Book of Amnesia Unabridged

Apsara Dancers by Rita

The dancing hall at Preah Khan is where dancers don’t smile. They dance. They are slave dancers. They dance for the king. He is the god-king. He resurrected his desire creating new temples and new decrees for dancers.

They dance for the mighty and powerful. They dance Khmer myths and stories about families, war, conquest, harvests, seasons, sun and moon.

They are life/death dances. They dance to celebrate life. They dance the celebration of tranquility. They dance or die. They wear tinkling golden bands around wrists and ankles. They wear diamond diademed crowns and shimmering silk clothing. They do not smile. Their faces are frozen in the trance of dance.

One dances to escape the tyranny of life.

She’s danced all her short sweet life. The Hall of Dancers is surrounded by columns, portals and broken jumbled green mossy stones. Stones whisper dance.

Thick gnarled silk-cotton roots crawl toward dancers. Dancers weave through exposed roots, past Shiva and Vishnu, the preserver and destroyer of life. Dance is motivated by emotional expression. Movement never lies.

Dance is about itself. Free creation is a playful way of existence.

Book of Amnesia Unabridged

Martha’s Zen Card

I am a short story.

You are a novel.

It never occurred to Matt to buy indigenous cultural music while traveling.

Martha his girlfriend considered it essential.

Music made her edgy and alive.

When she heard music she danced.

She returned to her primitive self.

She danced naked.

Ballet. Flamingo. Tango. Cha-cha. Lambada. Waltz.

He wrote naked verbs. They loved naked. Naked cherished syllable skin music.

They wrote danced and lived like they were dead.

One day they will be. It's now or never.

They were free. It's the way to be.

Culture is what you are. Culture means you can forget.

Nature is what you can be.

People are nature's tools.

Passing through Body Sat Quiet in Asia on a three week, “Look, don’t think” holiday from frozen Europe they happened into an 8th century tourist town music repository.

They smelled music before they saw it. Seeing music is an art form. Synesthesia.

In music like life the end of the composition is not the point.

A music boy handed Matt an orange book. Write your melodic request here. Matt opened the book. A vignette floated free.

An orphan girl popped out of blank pages: I am sorry. Goodbye and good luck to you and your family. These are our famous last words. Big vocabulary. Tongues speak. Small life. Big chance. Yeah. Yeah.

The Hunger Angel watched 24/7 in the big leagues.

Sanitation workers in green environmental vests with broom music swept streets for the New Year. Make it new. Make it new.

We should be so lucky to have crystal clean sheets.

Every day is a new year.

One day is like a minute.

One minute is like a day.

That's relativity. All my relatives are dead.

Never trust an atom. They make up everything.

When you know what you don't know you realize character with social intelligence, integrity, humor and courage.

Courage is an unknown word in our head and heart. Running away is our way. Every day I have the blues. No one loves me but my mother and she could've been lying too.

You absolve in the rhythm when you have adequate life experience.

Silence and hunger are identical naked twins.

Fear and Ignorance produce Expectation & Greed.

I am good at two things:

Eating and sleeping.

Fighting and fucking.

Laughing and crying.

Reading and writing? That's for idiots.

The less I do the fewer mistakes I make, said Insecurity.

The fewer mistakes I make the less I am criticized, said Fear.

It's easier to do nothing, said Doubt.

We know the essence of survival. Keep your fucking mouth shut.

One day, Bliss’s part-time lover said, buy me a TV.

NO.

You have a job, a mother, a 12-year old daughter, two brothers, no father and no husband. I gave you money to buy a bike for your daughter and she lost it, money for clothes, money for medicine, money for food, money for temporary naked lust and currency sobriety. You play me for a fool. You’re fucking crazy.

Her arrival was sporadic at best. She visited at 8:37 for a shower, fucking and another shower.

He explored her lips, thin neck, small ears, crest of skin throat, narrow brown shoulders, pinpoint breasts with tongue talk, flat belles letters, long legs and played his way into her valley of potential.

He loved giving her oral pleasure.

Edging rose lips long and deep.

Slow sweet.

Little man in a boat sang, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.

She reciprocated playing his bone flute.

Riding the pony, priming her G spot grinding hard and fast she exploded with precision and extra ambition whispering, Give me a baby. Give me a baby.

He deferred chromosomes. Fat fucking chance, there's no way under the tropical son I'll give you anything but short time, money, temporary love and the high hard one in your strike zone with runners in scoring position.

Here’s the pitch.

She stayed until 9:45 and left for work at an upscale spa wearing aromatic Grecian urns. He gave her 20 bones. Feed me.

Familiarity breeds contempt.

Get out of my life, said Telepathy. You are subservient and I am stupid to put up with this shit. He creased her indifference into a cumulus cloud. It rained goodbye and good luck.

She sat on the bed with her back to him. Sniffle, sniffle.

Her fake tears formed rivers named Regret and Hopelessness and Indifference.

Fish behind twelve Lao dams to provide electricity to Thailand fed 60 million Asians downstream in deltas.

His NO created black-eyed daggers. They stabbed him with hatred, loss, self-pity, violence and starvation. Revenge is best served cold with DNA.

They put on death masks.

Your mask eats your face.

They walked out into tropical heat. Separate directions.

Waves of loneliness shuffled down a broken street. Children dying of malnutrition at a health clinic on the coroner of Hope cried as desperate mothers received free blue placebos.

The day after tomorrow belongs to orphans and lucky losers with Wabi-Sabi.

Wabi - the beauty of the most ordinary circumstances and objects.

Sabi - feel one's own sharp existence.

Martha and Gratitude danced through life.