Sam and Dave Part 4

Greetings,

Inside every family’s deep dark Hanoi space was a main room and altar for dead relatives, candles, fruit, burning incense a spirit food, and the black and white and color images reminded me of the Chinese artist in Maija, the poor pig village near the Fujian university where I lived for two years riding my bike across hills up and down narrow dirt back roads,

watching butterflies mate in the dust, old people threshing rice in fields, a woman lugging piles of white cauliflower to market in her bamboo baskets suspended on a bamboo poles, down long small tight dusty paths past athletic shoe shop sweat shop factories filled with morose girls and women hunched over threading clacking Butterfly machines making uppers, lowers, tongues and seamless survival wages until I reached a narrow street to sit drinking Chinese green tea with a man in his little shop. 

Further up the hill were small wooden shops with appliances, family market stalls, street food, electrical stores and butchers. In a small mud and brick place was an artist. His job was drawing pictures of dead people. 

After someone died a relative gave him a common small black and white image, the kind from 1949 when the country declared itself free, independent, and open with 3 Represents and benevolent Chairman Mao (our grandfather bless his heart) smiled at the masses.

Before he told the peasants, “Eat Grass.”

It was an image used throughout their life: in documents for residence, work, school and party politics. The people had the three iron rice bowls. A guaranteed living space, guaranteed work unit, and guaranteed rice rations. It was a great deal. Everyone was treated the same, wore the same clothing, said the same thing and followed the leader, like kids playing a game. No one got out of line. Comrade. 

Metta.

Sam and Dave Part 3.5

Greetings,

After I’ve made them yell three times I will answer with a whisper. They can barely hear me so they yell again and again. I have conditioned them to my living nightmare. 

Finally, to teach them a lesson I will answer. Softly. They can’t hear me. They have to raise their voice to compete with the other yellers around them. I reject them for yelling at me. I am easily distracted and I nurture the chaos. Ah, the glare of bright artificial ancestor passion for pain and tongue lashings. 

Two ghosts whisper. ‘Give them 1,000 lashes. With your tongue.’

‘I have 1,000 arms and 1,000 eyes. I am infinite wisdom on the ocean of wisdom.’ 

Ha Noise people grow up in small tight spaces where people yell and make racket and talk over each other and don’t listen and yell louder to be heard and others block them out or ignore them completely and the yelling gets vicious like the starving dog downstairs, howling, “Feed Me!”

Dave pisses in his underwear and his wife lives in her pajamas. They are a cheap red pastel flowering cotton brand decorated with brown pandas. He yells at her and the kid because he had little choice in the matter when his father and mother told him he was going to marry the slob who learned to yell and ignore her parents which is how they evolved into this higher intelligent life form. So they can reproduce.

Strange true tale. The other day I passed one of those narrow minded little hovels guarded by doors and rusting sliding gates. The narrow alleys are filled with these sardine dwellings. Discarded sofas, people cooking in the alley using round perforated coal, workers hauling cement, bricks, wires, stones, creating methods of production: knife, hoe, scythe, axe, hammer, control stick elephant, stick. All fine, well and good means.

In the street packed with screaming, beeping careening cycles, garbage carts, kids playing fast and loose and women selling produce from broke bamboo baskets was a dead dog. A chilled out sausage dog, splayed legs, glassy brown eyes. Inert.

This spectacular spectacle attracted all the people pouring from their shops; sewing ladies held a thread in air, a woman chopping greens held a leaf, a man oiling a bike held a can, a woman working meat caressed a knife dripping blood, a girl held her balloon, a retired man held his glass of urine beer, a grandmother held her future - all staring at the dead dog as rush hour motorcycles beeped impatient noise trying to negotiate through the crowd so they could get home to families, lovers, food, television and their beloved pet. If they had one.

A man came out of his small dark space (millions live in the dark where you can’t see history and hide from strangers) and grabbed the dog’s two rear legs, picked it up and lifted it into the air. It hung down. He resembled an old painting of a hunter holding a wild hare following a successful hunt. After wild dogs flushed it running wild, running filled with fear, afraid and free.

He was in shock so he just stood there, holding the dripping dead dog as blood formed a small pool on the street surrounded by all the angry confused voices of friends, neighbors, strangers pealing like bells in his brain saying something, offering suggestions, advice, warnings, predictions, songs, rituals, chants, musical operas, significant silences, stares, no appropriate words inside, outside the mystery so he stood there holding the legs and then he gently laid the dog closer to the gutter and the dog’s body eased itself into itself and the man turned away from the people, noise, confusion and returned to his dark interior space.

Metta.

Produce Children = Future investment

Greetings,

Yes, possible signs of intelligent life exist in Vietnam or Cambodia. Rumor control reports. Merely existing mind you. 

‘Mind yourself, how you go dearie,’ whispered an Irish ghostwriter Druid in Donegal. Well remembered.

Take my neighbors for example. Sam and Dave. Sam is the kid, Dave is the father. These are not Viet names. If they were they’d be named Binh and Thin and New Yen, like new yin instead of old yang. 

Dave had kids so he and his wife can yell at them. So they will have someone, anyone to take care of them in old age. When they are sitting on their bamboo recliners absorbing 10,000 smells from the kitchen. 

It was an arranged marriage after a three year courtship. Her parents demanded $5,000. Cash. Up front or no deal.

They pretended to need kids to support them in old age but when you’re young and naive pregnancy is always an option. 

It’s easy to have kids in the 13th most populated country on planet Earth. There are 85 million hard and fast rules of parenthood according to the wildly popular and heavily censored Party book, “Produce & Consume.” Get married early, the pressure is on. 

You do not want to be unmarried and sad, lonely and well forgotten. Loneliness dramatically increases the chances of heart attacks, strokes of genius, and arterial vestiges of debilitating forms of social upheaval and social instability in a well mannered society. 

Extreme pressure is on the girls to find a husband. Girls in Sapa, which is not part of this tale, illustrates the value for rural girls to get married at the ripe old age of 16 and start producing genetic forms of themselves. Petri dish. Wash and tear.

Metta.

Tools & Future Plans

Greetings,

After seeing a film The 11th Hour I've reposted this entry. Narrated by Leonardo DiCaprio, the film illustrates human greed, corporate power, and consumption habits. There are excellent commentaries by scientists regarding the scale of Earth being consumed.

Save the Earth is more like Earth doesn't need saving. Earth is a natural biosphere. It is a self generating ecosystem. Humans need to change their attitudes and behavior. 

Human animals developed tools. They have learned how to plan. They can visualize the future. Intelligent life on Earth is a rumor.

Earth is a property. It produces natural resources. As we know, humans have developed an insatiable appetite for: minerals, water, forests, fossil fuels, animals, and laughter.

The BP oil disaster in the Gulf is a perfect example of human stupidity based on corporate greed and power. This is compounded by lies, deceit and finger pointing. No one wants to take responsibility for the consequences.

Create the market for shampoo products. It's all petroleum based. Rinse your brain.

As Wade Davis says: "You are either a human or property." The property is being consumed. Greed. Market. As a speaker says, the means and the ends are distorted. Humans are creating their own extinction.

On Earth inside the Milky Way galaxy filled with 100 billion stars is a small town. In the town is a market where people meet, eat, drink, walk around, sleep, talk, gossip, sell, barter, trade, buy, cry, beg, laugh, and use tools to make things.

What are tools? Tools are things to make things. They make something and use it to make other things. This is called human activity. People once used stones to sharpen other stones to make tools.

Can you show us someone making something?

Ok. Here is a man using a mechanical tool to make a gold bracelet. His tool is made of iron, steel and other materials. It uses energy to work. A woman works makes money and buys the thing. Her friends see it and their desire creates demand.

Where does the energy come from? The energy comes from machines converting sun, wind, ocean currents, burning coal and processing high grade uranium 235 isotopes into energy. 235 is capable of sustaining chain reactions producing energy to run machines called plants.

Do you mean a plant is a tool? Yes. A plant is a living organism and very valuable. As well, there are plants that kill humans, like hemlock. Plants collect energy from the sun to grow. Humans harvest plants for medicine and food and so on.

If a man and woman combine their tools can they make things grow like plants? Yes. More like weeds. This human activity is called procreation. Earth has about 6 billion examples and signs of intelligent life is rare.

Show us another tool. Ok, A woman's fingers are tools. She uses her tool to sew colorful objects on a piece of fabric with another tool. The tool is a metal needle. Humans evolved opposable thumbs enabling them to grasp objects. Her thumb is opposable to her forefinger allowing her to use the tool with precision.  

We have time for one more tool. Show us a good one.

This man lives in a poor rural village in Sichuan, China. He is a tool like the gold worker and the seamstress. They are controlled by others and used to perform unpleasant tasks for someone else. They are the means of production in a social and economic sense.

He is using a tool to make new tools. I said this at the beginning of today's story. The stone tools he makes will be used to make a wall, another tool. 

Why do they need to make another wall? They already have a famous wall.
The Chinese have been building walls for 5,000 years. It's in their genetic makeup. 
What is genetics?
A sledgehammer. 

Thank you for your attention.

Metta.

11th hour action site...

Metta.

Gadget man to the rescue!

Greetings,

Well before human fingers painted with blood, animal fat and ash on French and Spanish cave walls, and scratched images and dreams on sacred Aborigine sites; and well before humans in Mesopotamia etched Sumarian symbols on wet clay using sharp reeds and animal skins and dried parchment; and well before Gutenberg invented the printing press and well before paper, pencil, pen, illuminated vellum manuscripts, canvas and diverse materials there was THE GADGET!

Early humans were busy hunting and gathering. Survival was the game.  

To connect or not to connect, that is the question. Let's do the numbers. Text me baby. 140 characters dance.

Here is an image of a calculating machine gadget morphing into a super human computer capable of crunching millions of numbers, data and esoteric trivia. In REAL TIME.

...A portion of the brain acts as a control tower, helping a person focus and set priorities. More primitive parts of the brain, like those that process sight and sound, demand that it pay attention to new information, bombarding the control tower when they are stimulated...

In 2008, people consumed three times as much information each day as they did in 1960. And they are constantly shifting their attention. Computer users at work change windows or check e-mail or other programs nearly 37 times an hour, new research shows. Read the small print.

  Hooked on Gadgets...

Save my life! Save my marriage! Save me from electricity! Give me ash, blood, paper. Give me real time.

Give me a Cambodian man pedaling laboring a one gear gadget bike pulling a cart loaded with bags of cement. Give me two men pulling a cart loaded with discarded cardboard. One man squeezes an orange plastic toy - SQUEEK, SQUEEK telling residents to bring out their paper products. The plastic toy is his 21st Century gadget. 

Give me a man ringing a bell. Give me 221 seconds inside a time tunnel to cement a deal before I have a heart attack from the stress. My gadget addiction is killing me. Before we have sex my wife and mistress make me wear a gadget. This gadget nullifies the sensation of direct and immediate experience.

I'm a gadget. A living breathing, laughing gadget. I have a gadget son and a gadget daughter. They are artificial intelligence personified.

I have the precision of an umbrella and sewing machine on an operating table. 

Metta.

Asia's long now.