Spread your wings

Butterfly rests on forehead
Feelers probe eyebrow
Scalp
Ear
Touch
Sit as mountain

Clouds

morning
east clouds
sing with pines
evergreens
afternoon
clouds dance west
through forests
granite 
old mountain
new clouds
river flows

MK 89

Private Burmese school.

Parents rule fool.

Dr. Scary and Mrs. Marbles.

Ear material.

Mandalay fire department.

Burmese females wear flowers in their hair. Everyday.

Black Sea Oil

Men constructed an oil platform in Giresun harbor, the cheapest port along the BS. Pump money into economy.

A giant erector set. Takes a month, Derrick. Pull it out to see. Drill. Pump black gold.

Pump me baby. By low sell high. The more you drill the more you bill. ABC.

That explains everything, said a female student speaking with courage and clarity in Giresun why stupid immature men over the age of 30 still live at home with mama. Chains of love are heavy deep real.

They'd rather spend their money on fancy designer clothes, guns and expensive cell phones and go hungry.

What you don't see is fascinating.

Share a story with Grade 4

Many tribes love to look back. Is it safe yet?

It’s all passion and illusions of suffering. A genetic molecule of fear, healthy doubt, uncertainty, surprise and adventure. A childish innocent curiosity lives in the present. As people age they want and need the past.

Living in the past is time consuming, said a kid.

Yes, said a teacher, Focus on your needs not your wants. Your need for freedom and freedom from need. Needs manifest a desire for a memory or a ghost or a regret.

We are all passing through. Humans look back to see if they see in their vivid reptilian imagination their ghost.

A ghost from a family or friend looks for clues at their personal ground zero. They’ve evolved from distant galaxies. Java man was discovered here 40,000 years ago. Accepting an evolutionary premise, their DNA star chart continues its genetic dance today. 

Oh, and one more thing. Don’t let school interfere with your education. See you tomorrow.

A wandering teacher lived in talking monkey zones. They eat rice. They drink water. They fuck. They breed. They wash one set of clothing and hang it on bamboo. They burn down the forest. They breed, work and get slaughtered. They harvest brooms. Shamans bring rain.

Tropical downpours allow people the luxury to wash cars. They use faint energy looking behind them wondering, all the wondering and wandering and milling around. 

Food is cheap. Let’s eat mantra. This has nothing to do with simians. It has nothing to do with the two women sitting in a dark warung neighborhood food joint near a private school outside Jakarta.

The warung faces a tall cinder block wall. Chickens, goats and cats prowl, peck and forage through garbage. One woman sits in a deep meditation. Her friend parts her hair looking for insects, cleaning her scalp.

They take turns cleaning and inspecting. This genetic behavior is repeated in zoos, jungles and rain forests. Chattering storytellers play the gamelan, pounding out 40,000 year-old tunes.

Heal people with music. Music is the fuel.

Males wash toy machines and study accumulated grime under long yellow curling fingernails. They play chess waiting for passengers. Checkmate, said Death.

They visit the warung to chat up girls while eating spicy rice mixed with tofu, chicken, veggies, green chilies and deep-fried snacks. One explorer creates a Brave New World. Forging new futures with cold, detached logical intention they create an assessment on process in a data based star cluster.

Men know the music. Women know the words.

Creating her dream in Nepal.