A body is required

Greetings,

The needle put a solution into his veins, knocked him out and when he really woke up he couldn’t remember a thing.

He was tall, wearing a green silk shirt, brown leather pants and Indian moccasins. There was bandage on his right arm from the needle. The clear white plastic bag hanging from a hook when he reclined on the chair was gone. Before they attached electrodes to his chest to monitor his heart rate.

The room was clean. No tables with wires, tools, syringes, masks, machines. A woman eased him out of the chair and walked him down the hall to steady him. He retrieved his down jacket, baseball hat and a plastic bag holding a useless pink tongue. She escorted him through the complex to another office.

A woman with dark hair waited in the reception area.

“Here, these are for you,” handing him brilliant purple, yellow and orange flowers with long green stems.
“They’re beautiful,” he slurred. “What are they?”
“Tulips. From my garden.”
“Do I know you?
“I’m Michele, your friend. Must have been some good drugs.”
He smiled. “Yes. It felt like five minutes.”

“You were out 1.5 hours.”
“Really? I had no idea. I don’t remember time now. It’s been erased. I’m now a stranger to myself. I died back there.”
“Good. One needs to die before they can live. May I take you home now?”
“I don’t remember where it is.”
She turned to the receptionist. “Do you have his address? Thanks. Let’s go.”

The cabin was surrounded by bamboo. He found a key in his pocket and opened a door.
“It’s small,” she said.
“Yes it is. Would you like some tea?”
“No thanks. I have to get home because I have a Wednesday deadline.”
“What day is it?”
“Monday.”
“How many words?”
“They want 1000 and I usually give them 1400. They can cut what they can’t use. Here’s my number. Call me if you have any trouble.” She placed a piece of paper on a table next to an hourglass.
“I’ll walk you out. I need to have a look around.”

Peace.

A title is required

Greetings,

It says nothing. It reveals deep dark silent secrets, heart pulsating memory.
It is a short string of letters with blank white face spaces in places. It says nothing.
Nothing is filled with _________ . (fill in the blank)

You are blank. You draw a blank. The blank is created by your subconscious dream machine.
Eye - mind - hand. Your machine is fully functioning and capable of emitting highly charged radioactive electrons. You are a spinning swirling mass of electrons existing in space.
Space is empty. You are a vacuum in space filled with absolutely nothing.

This is not a test. There is no final exam or grade. However, the elemental particle grade may be a little warped in space places so please watch your step near edges. Nothing is clearer.

"We are all born mad, some remain so." - overheard on a Chinese bus filled with pigs going to market.

Peace.

English Circle

Greetings,

Weekly English Circle began at 1930 with a crowd of curious, hungry, familiar and new faces waiting to hear and share stories. The venue was a bland empty white room with a few scattered plastic and wooden stools. It faces a huge open plaza, so we suggested, "Let's go outside, under the stars."

One frail girl kid in green said, "But it's cool outside."
"Will cool kill you?"
"No."
"Then let's go," so they regrouped in a circle under stars.
"Ah, wonderful fresh air. Breathe deep. Let it all out."

Topics included: personal circle introductions, study strategies for the TEM-4 in April, strange syntax language challenges, arranging words in some sort of meaningful order on a piece of paper, converting 2,400 miles on the black bike to 3,862 kilometres illustrating distance, persistence and perseverance relationships to writing words, how they accumulate, and students sharing their ideas on English language skills.

A little circle below a big black sky.

Peace.

Take it all

Greetings,

Grind up the sausage, inner gears grinding out a hollow form. Form whom the school bell tolls.

"Jazz is not a what, it is a how. If it were a what, it would be static, never growing. The how is that the music comes from the moment, it is spontaneous, it exists in the time it is created. And anyone who makes music according to this method conveys to me an element that makes his music jazz.
- Bill Evans

Naive native girls here are overdressed jazz and undersexed blues. Their Confucian grounded modesty is outnumbered by males 16-1. Terrible short and long odds speaking of strange cosmic relationships. "Text me baby and I will reveal deep secrets of lust and desire," she keyed quickly masking her public face.

As a Socialist sociologist in a Shanghai university of the perverse universe recently remarked in an on-line education publication, "In Chinese schools the conventional wisdom is that people shouldn't ask questions, they should simply take. Many, many students can't think for themselves. That's a huge problem."

Peace.

Remote

Greetings,

Debate was minimized in their official calibrations. Polls suggested approval. It was a Plutocracy.

The people with the most money had the biggest free speech.

This truth did not go down well when it hit the airwaves and the media liked it like that. They programmed happy Idiot Idol endings. Tax dollars were allocated for causes. Full employment became the norm. Factories hired Norm to build washing machines with spin cycles for 24-hour entertainment circus channels.

Subvert the Constitution, lie and spin.

"Keep them fat, dumb and happily complacent," was media's mantra.

Someone dreamed as rally parades and bands marched through the land. They started near one ocean working, playing, and sweating marching smartly pounding war drums, eating, sleeping, procreating children, raising them, marrying them off, burying their parents dreaming their desire and suffering. Rising before dawn they soldiered onward like Christian zealots through all their days until they reached the distant ocean.

Then, with wild abandon, they rushed into the shining sea of pain and pleasure, where they were baptized in the name of the father, son, holy ghost, wandering ghosts, itinerant exiles, refugees, garbage collectors, children of all nationalities, races, religions, creeds, indigenous marginalized people. And they gave thanks.

“Praise the Lord,” a woman preached, stripping off her clothes in cold ocean tides.

A man from Nebraska seeing a naked woman in the ocean for the first time yelled, “This takes the cake” blowing out the celebration candles. “Mission accomplished!”

They did not have naked women or oceans in the corn husker state buster. They had combines and fields of amber waves of multigrain high in fiber, not blue wet waves. Somebody was all wet and he loved it.

“My oh my,” said a woman rising from the confines of her rehabilitation chair. She crawled through falling sand inside an hourglass.

“Let me take you down, ‘cause I’m going to Strawberry...”

Children watched everything from a Council Bluff where Native American tribes of their nation gathered for a Ghost Dance ceremony. They shared a spirit vision with a Northwest tribe called the Kalapuya.

Peace.