Fried Ego

Alive is a miracle

Smile - We will help you practice

Hunt with a camera

Words are dancing airplanes

winging southwest one orange balloon morning

over Mekong 

Words weave shuttles

Fire

Spirit

Fog, river, a boat, fast current, mystery, yellow glow coasting flow

A bell shatters silence
Japanese sensitivities in a cloud

break

Mekong sings puzzling pulsating futures
wearing an umbrella

protecting statues

reading glazed eye travel books
gripped by opticians

loving lost favorable vacant eyed distrust and disquiet

The Book of Disquiet

Disquiet chopsticks probe teeth
smiling tremendous

labor unrest

as a character

a wisp of porcelain skin lowers her eyes

Gestures use people

Writing down bi-lingual laughter

a mother sings

cradling her infant - a sling was the first human vehicle

at 40 kilometres/hr

distracting eye candy
shields fleeting retinas

real eyes realize real lies

Accelerate around a dream

eating itself

a lotus blossom

grows from mud

Fried Ego

Create Art

Less talk and more drawing are essential in life, Z said.

To write and draw mean the same.

Experiment with circles, dots, triangles, squares, lines and curves to reach existential levels of realization. Connect the dots forward.

The asylum is a prison and protection, said Rita.

You create art to explore your sense of self and find out how you feel you are, rather than whom you think you should or ought to be, Z said, drawing her future.

Make the right choice for the wrong reason, Leo said.

Make the wrong choice for the right reason in the right season, Rita said.

Z discovered quest-ions were repeated. 1,001 quest-ions ran around her Turkish restaurant looking for answers. Quest-ions grew tired of repeating themselves.

This is so fucking boring, said one quest-ion. We are abused. We are manipulated and rendered mute. Useless.

Think of it as a test, said another quest-ion. Patience is our great teacher.

I’ll try, said another quest-ion.

Yes, said a quest-ion, these non-listeners have a distinct tendency to say nothing and say it louder than empty silence when they’re leaving, their faces turned away from eye contact, potential real heart-mind communication and growth.

Echoes drifted in through around silence and ignorance. I’ve seen that too, said a quest-ion, who, until this moment was silent. My theory is that it’s because of genocide, fear and ignorance. It’s also a delicate mixture of stupidity or indifference, said another quest-ion. I suggest it’s their innate Buddhist belief. They suppress their ego. Non-self.

Why’s the most dangerous quest-ion, said Lucky addressing quest-ions.

Remember Leo in China asking why and ending up carrying shit at the Reform Through Re-education labor camp near the Gobi before becoming Chief of the Cannibals wearing an alarm clock around his scrawny neck reminding everyone of Time?

Yes I remember, said a timeless prescient quest-ion. Leo was one smart cookie, whatever that means. He figured out unique survival skills in a desperate situation. He knew the fundamental difference between book smarts and street smarts.

How do you explain fear, asked a quest-ion.

The Language Company

Burmese kids. No fear.

Laughter is beauty

A man pushes an empty wheelchair across airport tarmac.

Boarding pass woman does eyeliner. The 'modern' stainless steel global glass hair port design hasn't reached Vientiane time warp.

Laughter is the Beauty.

Transitions are radiant and clear.

One life, no plan, many adventures.

Intention. Mindfulness. Impermanence.

Ancient stories. Music is the muse in Luang Prabang. Clean air, excellent light, brown Mekong, green elevations, deep valleys and long visions.

Hey Orphan, your Mystery bike is faster now.

Yeah, we visited a shop in LP after seeing the old tire hanging on a nail next to a white shirt drying in the sun. He was a nice guy, filled the tires, blasted Mystery with water, soaped and scrubbed it down, air hosed it dry, oiled the chain, re-calibrated Shimano gears and said, I'm going to Japan next year to see my family.

Fabulous Fables

The world is a myth. We live in a fable.

I used to be someone else but I traded him in.

Traveling isn't supposed to be fun, said an American father to his whining son sitting on a cafe balcony in Istanbul overlooking the Bosporus, it's an adventure.

I don't find. I discover.

Mai's hearing evaluation.

Anthony from NZ came, met, talked, promised, took her out, tried to seduce her, failed, left. Mai is resigned to her former life, massage and laundry scrubbing under the paternal gaze of her older sister who sits in perpetual admiration of her mirrored reflection.

How does her awareness and disappointment register in her POTENTIAL for unrealized dreams?

How does her silent resignation and understanding comprehend lost chance, all the complexity w/o expectations?

In the false dream of star rain they moved a wooden toy pawn,
the salad bar in silence welcomed cool air from a brown river,
children pressed noses to a rolling window, laughing.

An archeologist skips through star puddles into Angkor Wat excavations.

Freedom sings stones,
selling a Blue Pumpkin to a Cambodian land mine amputee w/o a left leg
selling DVDs to fat tourists talking with their mouths full.

An Enfield spinning the Wheel of Time, rejoicing in small miracles rumbles in Pokhara, Nepal.

Sit in meditation.  

We do laundry by machine, said Language Animal.

3.8 billion years ago a black hole captured a star the size of our sun. It sucked the star into its empty mass. The star exploded the black hole. The escaping energy created streams of light we see today.

At that moment 20 raindrops trusted intuition.

To travel is to feel.

Indonesia asked you to return. You said thank you, farewell. Hello Hanoi.

Orchids remember you. The apple tree you planted at Gardenia is growing. Roots buried deep below blossoms lie fragrant with memory.

In and out dialogue.

Discover what speaks to you.