Monday, June 3, 2013

wherefore art thou . . . ?



(introduction)

Okay, so I haven't written anything for quite some time.
That's just how it goes, I guess.
But what the hell do I know, really?
A far better, much more experienced writer than I once replied when asked what he planned on writing just after his first novel made the bestsellers list. He said:
"I answered then that I didn’t have to write anything next, not a word, and that all my books together said everything that I had asked them to say. I do not enjoy writing at all. If I can turn my back on an idea, out there in the dark, if I can avoid opening the door to it, I won’t even reach for a pencil. I guess that that is the place that I have come to. But once in a while there’s a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, “I will not let you go until you set me, in words, on paper"."
Unfortunately that same writer went on to, quite a few years later, churn out more than a couple of second-rate, disappointingly bad novels that needn't really, in my very humble opinion, be " . . . set in words, on paper"; that all his previous books had, in fact, said everything that he had asked them to say and that he was only cheapening those words by trying to regurgitate them over and over again.
That being said, he still remains one of my favorite authors.
Past work does count for something.
A lot, actually.
Perspective. Use it or lose it.
Those are his words.
I guess that we can all lose our perspective from time to time.
Perspective is everything . . .

Saturday, October 6, 2012

BEAT DOWN


"You can beat my kid if he gives you any more trouble."
Yeah.
This was the translation from Akha to English.
We all stared at each other blankly--each one of us secretly wondering--hoping that there was some kind of translation error.
The words came from the student's mother. He had apparently been asked to leave the school temporarily a few days prior for continually interrupting class. She was appealing to the head of our school and to us, his teachers, on her son's behalf in the only way that she knew . . .

Saturday, August 25, 2012

STOLEN (a.k.a. Army Crawling Towards Enlightenment)


How is one supposed to feel after all of their important possessions have been stolen right from under their feet?
Ummm ...
Angry as fuck?
Confused? Disoriented? Vulnerable?
Yes, I would say.
All of these things.
Stupid? Foolish? Embarrassed?
Yes. All of these things, too ...
Oh, and little crazy, for sure ...
Yes. I have felt them all.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

DIRTY LAUNDRY


So, here's the deal:
I have a maid.
I didn't plan to have one, didn't ask for one, and certainly don't need one. She just kinda came with the little one room apartment that I am temporarily renting here in Saigon (a place that my sister has dubbed the "heroin shack" after seeing it in the background during a recent "video chat". Yeah, oddly-placed, distorted background lighting (they LOVE fluorescent bulbs here in Southeast Asia) has a way of making any place seem seedier and creepier than it actually is...).
It's kind of the "norm" here in Saigon: the maid thing.

Monday, July 30, 2012

HARMONICA "SHORTS"


BANGKOK, THAILAND
As I made my way through the various stages of security throughout the Bangkok Airport, I walked straight through the Metal Detector ...
No problem.
Smooth sailing. 
You see, I feel that I have become somewhat of an expert at "preparing" at this point.
The belt has been removed. Pockets emptied. Any and all jewelry safely tucked away in my backpack which was rolling through the x-ray scan at that very moment...
I've also got this one nailed. The X-ray machine/carry-on routine.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

BICYCLE "SHORTS"


VIENTIANE, LAOS
Yeah. It's another "sketchy" rental. At least this one has gears (4 of 'em!).
HERE is a friendly recommendation for anyone traveling anywhere:
RENT
A
BICYCLE
Renting a bicycle serves many purposes:
FIRST and foremost: Any traveler that is, or has been gone for any length of time is in danger of becoming, or has already become, a slovenly, formless, outta-shape slug....

Thursday, July 19, 2012

HOOCH


That cackle was starting to freak me out a little....
I had just tossed back the shot of colorless homemade "hooch" that she had shakingly poured from an unlabeled plastic bottle and placed in front of me. It tasted of whiskey and the sea and of strange things unknown. It went down like napalm and I reacted dramatically - the way that an amateur reacts: with a frantic head-shake, and a rapid, machine-gun-like exaggerated, exh-a-a-a-a-led groan.
It was voluntary - that groan. I realized it even as it was happening. I could have just as easily prevented it. I'm sure that with very little effort, I could have probably scaled it down to, say, little more than a barely-perceptible grimace. Yet, I voluntarily chose that amateurish reaction and I wasn't even sure why. Perhaps, I thought, that was the kind of thing that might pass as a compliment in that small shack along the sea. Regardless of the motive, it earned me another unsolicited cackle.
Each one freaked me out a little more...