haiku 25 Sep 2018

Eight weeks lost at sea

Burning his boat to survive

Brave Adilang lives!

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

dreamstate writing 26 Apr 2018

The following are particulars from this morning’s dream.

I and another were in the crystal clear, aquamarine ocean trying to figure out where waves might be breaking that we could surf on later, but the current near the beach was very strong and the rocks that formed part of the ocean floor there were sharp and jagged. A traditional Indonesian outrigger boat arrived, whereupon I am my companion left the sea.

Then, I was sheltering from the noon sun in a partial clearing under palm trees and other tropical vegetation, near the ocean, sitting on a wooden park-bench with at least one other entity, who was dark blue in color and sat behind me and to the right. Seeing movement to my left, I looked over to find an orange-skinned local woman turning a suckling pig on a spit over a fire. When I greeted her in her tongue I heard a voice say Selemat Pagi, which means Good Morning, to which I responded with Selemat Soreh, which means Good Afternoon. The voice near the woman echoed my response. Without ceasing in her task of spinning the small roasting pig and with unseeing eyes staring right at me, she opened her mouth, out of which white fluid flowed unabated to splatter on the white-gold sands below. I turned away from her to make a comment about what time of day it was to the blue-skinned fellow behind me and to my right, at which point we were approached by an entity resembling an old friend of mine from Bali who has long dreadlocks. The newcomer tried to drum up enthusiasm for a surf trip on his friend’s boat to the reef, where the waves were breaking.

From right to left across the clearing walked a very pregnant woman with dark hair and light skin wearing a light blue and white floral dress whose hands were covered in a dusting of a white substance and whose forearms bulged with thick muscles. The blue-skinned entity told me that the forearms are controlled by the front edges of the ribs, which in the physics of the dreamworld made sense to me.

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

two great lands

We're over-excited hereby to proclaim a new research project, a bright knowledge-flame. It is a joint venture between two great lands, both ready and willing to meet the demands that pure, honest science requires and needs to bring forth hard data and satisfy creeds. Within the next fortnight our rocket will fly from a floating platform up into the sky, the waters are managed by Indonesia, that fine, willing partner to Grigovia. The vessel is not manned but steered by remote, its systems will analyze tiny space-motes for traces of metals (titanium, gold), soon space and its riches will be ours to hold. We're planning on mining the asteroid field – who knows what vast treasures its members might yield? – this daring endeavor we'll do by robot as we sit here watching from couch, chair, and cot. The robots are programmed to set up a base for meeting and gathering in near-Earth space all of the materials, fragments, and chunks that will be poured over by our science-monks. For more information log onto our site; tune into our broadcast that runs day and night; rejoice with us as we soar into the skies where what might await us remains a surprise.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on leaving Kuta

I hold fast till the last day, refusing kids who beg and pray and badger me both day and night to buy a bracelet – brown, black, white? Then comes Mary, eight years young, whose pitch is crass, incessant, fun, who won't believe I'll buy one soon, whose mushrooms, “Take you to the moon”. I give her less than she asks for, I claim that I am very poor, I take her small and flimsy thing, she says “OK, better than nothing”. We leave fair Kuta before nine, our engines haul and buck and whine and drag us through the darkened hills, we take much care and do not spill. A storm has slicked our moon-lit path – great burst of light, a booming wrath – but now the night is calm and cool, a taxi driver hits his brights, can't seem to pass us on the right, we slow way down, give up the fight, I curse and yell that he's a fool. Great mounds of dirt cover the lanes, force us to slow way down again, as if from nowhere they appear, with naught to warn that they are near. Then I spy a red barrow whose owner causes me much fright, who interrupts our steady flow, out in the street – no warning light. We get waylaid by crafty men; they sneak us past the ticket pen; they bribe police and harbor boss; ours is not sting or pang or loss, for they defraud their government to feed their kids and pay the rent. No berth awaits us once aboard, no slightly bowing deck steward, we settle down right on the deck, avoiding many sticky flecks. Bali greets us pleasantly when something drops down from a tree and hits me square upon the head; I don't complain for I'm not dead. We make good time and maintain speed, for hurry there is never need, a road-side cop tells us to slow, I speak his tongue – he lets us go. I climb in through the side window, where only weeds and gravel grow, I have no keys for the front door, we settle down upon the floor, sleep for one hour, then awake, as violent screams the walls do shake. There's spitting blood, hurled accusations, this has been a strange vacation, full of laughs but violence too, oh fair Indo – I love you.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

in Kuta Lombok

I went to town to look around and took in many things: I saw one cow – don't ask me how – and one bird with brown wings. It sang a song both loud and strong to flee its cage it sought, wreathed in a cloud of burning trash – sad things mankind has wrought. The ride this morn was swift and fleet we slept perhaps three winks, in captain's berth we sampled mirth, the ferry did not sink. Now through this cabin we explored while sleep into our brain-pans bored, we looked in cubby; cranny; nook; as wave and sea the vessel shook. There was the book by Chairman Mao – his lesson, guide, and rule – three fancy shirts, a dead cockroach, some bits of foam, a toilet brush, the AC vented cool. Then through the hills and sopping fields our caravan did wander, in search of places rich in surf from here to there and yonder. We quarter in a spartan room, the basics they are present, my company is quick to laugh – indeed she is quite pleasant. The waters glint with plastic junk, so much it can't be counted; now off to rest, to try this bed, with consciousness dismounted.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥