Sleep in.
Bump into people from last night.
The rush to the restaurant while
others detour to the police. Turns
out everything is more common than
we think. Why do they sell it if
you can never wear the outdoors
for fear of your own neck?
Happy farewells at the door, then
Sleep in.
Malls and aircon, not buying anything
from markets, seeing the movie and not
paying for it. The duty free
in the wrong direction.
What to do with this inconvertible
money?
22/2/2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
not blind horses
Start with a ride to the Mekong.
She wears an orchid. Yellow is the
colour of royalty.
4 islands: unicorn, phoenix, turtle,
dragon.
Cross the Mekong and eat coconut candy
and all kinds of wines.
Then tuk-tuk on bikes, for tea
and fruits with chilli salt. The banquet
lunch and the guide also the tourist.
Sampans back through water coconut palms
to the boat with warmth for a drink
and company for crazy dancing.
21/2/2011
She wears an orchid. Yellow is the
colour of royalty.
4 islands: unicorn, phoenix, turtle,
dragon.
Cross the Mekong and eat coconut candy
and all kinds of wines.
Then tuk-tuk on bikes, for tea
and fruits with chilli salt. The banquet
lunch and the guide also the tourist.
Sampans back through water coconut palms
to the boat with warmth for a drink
and company for crazy dancing.
21/2/2011
30 degrees
Sitting in the airport, fan blowing, hiding the
fact that it is more than 30 degrees right now.
The locals are on their phones
but the tourists are familiar and waiting
with blank expression, checking boarding
'receipts'. And mismatched accents.
Looking out through the glass windows
that every airport seems to have, see
navy-dark green mountains and plenty
of clouds. They are far off, far
from the happily flat land for
bicycle riding.
The murmur is gibberish to us. Quacking
with the odd trace of 'real' accent,
and we stand, waiting for the delayed
plane, calling 'cheat' at the cards we
were dealt by strangers.
20/9/2011
fact that it is more than 30 degrees right now.
The locals are on their phones
but the tourists are familiar and waiting
with blank expression, checking boarding
'receipts'. And mismatched accents.
Looking out through the glass windows
that every airport seems to have, see
navy-dark green mountains and plenty
of clouds. They are far off, far
from the happily flat land for
bicycle riding.
The murmur is gibberish to us. Quacking
with the odd trace of 'real' accent,
and we stand, waiting for the delayed
plane, calling 'cheat' at the cards we
were dealt by strangers.
20/9/2011
'only walking and primitive vehicles allowed'
Bicycle ride through childhood.
Coconuts on the beach.
Bargaining for t-shirts
and watching the ladies trying to reach.
Sweet milk in the coffee
and banh beo stuck in the teeth.
If we are not waiting for
the clothes to get adjusted,
then it is sitting by the water
watching tandem bikes go by.
The creatures are on the river,
and the kids are on the bridge.
We wait for tourists in cafes
and pick up tailoring.
Coconuts on the beach.
Bargaining for t-shirts
and watching the ladies trying to reach.
Sweet milk in the coffee
and banh beo stuck in the teeth.
If we are not waiting for
the clothes to get adjusted,
then it is sitting by the water
watching tandem bikes go by.
The creatures are on the river,
and the kids are on the bridge.
We wait for tourists in cafes
and pick up tailoring.
motorbikes
Over excited, skipped the days
before. 1, 2, 3,, hee-yah
motorbike ride through the
outskirts of the city. The
new over-eager guide who
saw the guerillas in the
war. French and Americans in the
bunkers overlooking the river.
The old lady at the rice
museum, the living exhibit.
And the paddy farming in
the blood.
Elephants winning fights in
the arena. Strength over
the sheer untame-ness of
the lions. The emperor
trying to survive.
18/2/2011
before. 1, 2, 3,, hee-yah
motorbike ride through the
outskirts of the city. The
new over-eager guide who
saw the guerillas in the
war. French and Americans in the
bunkers overlooking the river.
The old lady at the rice
museum, the living exhibit.
And the paddy farming in
the blood.
Elephants winning fights in
the arena. Strength over
the sheer untame-ness of
the lions. The emperor
trying to survive.
18/2/2011
the lady's picture on the wall
and the citadel with its moats
and defenses: outer encirclement,
forbidden city, the second emperor
avoiding his wives and concubines,
the dowager empress' tea and waiting
room. Oppression in the size of trees
and expanse of park.
Dinner and attempted sweets. Dress
ups and eating through the din
of one-stringed instruments.
rice flour cakes and shrimp bits
Banh Beo: 'here we go! fancy the special, hue seasonings to a single.'
Cha Tom: 'it has a private taste and appetite towards the eaters'
"crispy like broken bubble"
17/2/2011
and defenses: outer encirclement,
forbidden city, the second emperor
avoiding his wives and concubines,
the dowager empress' tea and waiting
room. Oppression in the size of trees
and expanse of park.
Dinner and attempted sweets. Dress
ups and eating through the din
of one-stringed instruments.
rice flour cakes and shrimp bits
Banh Beo: 'here we go! fancy the special, hue seasonings to a single.'
Cha Tom: 'it has a private taste and appetite towards the eaters'
"crispy like broken bubble"
17/2/2011
halong
There is a caw as we circle the umbilical boats,
pride flapping as we turn.
The rocks stand witness to great events
that have reached into this harbour
and left their marks.
The temple on stilts winks in the dawn
atop its isosceles perch.
The tenders chop the calm and swaying waters.
I smell fat on the galley stove.
No need for comfort of lifeboats
as we slowly weave through the
short and long ones.
Rubbish stacked high on every beach.
We leave the designated crowd behind,
look forward to direction-less grey
and seas with only distant shadow
of features, opposed to the
surrounding circle of old judges.
15/2/2011
pride flapping as we turn.
The rocks stand witness to great events
that have reached into this harbour
and left their marks.
The temple on stilts winks in the dawn
atop its isosceles perch.
The tenders chop the calm and swaying waters.
I smell fat on the galley stove.
No need for comfort of lifeboats
as we slowly weave through the
short and long ones.
Rubbish stacked high on every beach.
We leave the designated crowd behind,
look forward to direction-less grey
and seas with only distant shadow
of features, opposed to the
surrounding circle of old judges.
15/2/2011
Artemis Leader
With hope sent away on wings to the sky
She knelt at the shrine and burned
in the dimming. I felt my fingers
tingle.
And the outboard chugged away
when I felt every 'thug' in the
rattan underneath.
To pilot in darkness, her children
raised before us as she
descended.
14/2/2011
She knelt at the shrine and burned
in the dimming. I felt my fingers
tingle.
And the outboard chugged away
when I felt every 'thug' in the
rattan underneath.
To pilot in darkness, her children
raised before us as she
descended.
14/2/2011
caves
The smooth bit of ribbon trailing through
waves that look like the cave ceiling.
Like an ancient plasterer leaving their
marks, fleeing from passing invaders.
Red and black paint from 19 oh six.
Prehistoric remains and flags in the
breeze.
The old man stares at the woman
buying chocolate bars.
Southern bathers feeling their way
through the chill.
And the rock suspended on stilts
while the kite wheels away.
A hunt for the sun, direction
through the dragon's children.
Limestone perfume and smell of
jackets, coal barges and silence.
14/2/2011
waves that look like the cave ceiling.
Like an ancient plasterer leaving their
marks, fleeing from passing invaders.
Red and black paint from 19 oh six.
Prehistoric remains and flags in the
breeze.
The old man stares at the woman
buying chocolate bars.
Southern bathers feeling their way
through the chill.
And the rock suspended on stilts
while the kite wheels away.
A hunt for the sun, direction
through the dragon's children.
Limestone perfume and smell of
jackets, coal barges and silence.
14/2/2011
no fear of falling. no sight the bottom.
Sliding down as casualty
across the bamboo bridge.
You hope your feet survive
if not - hold onto the lady at the ledge.
Sunshine a distant memory.
The mechanic hum so new and jarring.
Search the streets for smoke and coffee,
night time a dragon.
Wait for the queen of spades.
The bumps of the way back up,
mystery out in the fog.
Above and below feet sucking in.
Left alone no form or mercy.
Gift to me the sound of trees,
strung along across the border
where danger awaits.
An image in
a word.
Hold close until mists part
and all is smog again.
11/2/2011
across the bamboo bridge.
You hope your feet survive
if not - hold onto the lady at the ledge.
Sunshine a distant memory.
The mechanic hum so new and jarring.
Search the streets for smoke and coffee,
night time a dragon.
Wait for the queen of spades.
The bumps of the way back up,
mystery out in the fog.
Above and below feet sucking in.
Left alone no form or mercy.
Gift to me the sound of trees,
strung along across the border
where danger awaits.
An image in
a word.
Hold close until mists part
and all is smog again.
11/2/2011
mists encroaching
Boy sharpens a knife on the back
of a ceramic plate.
River running like wind through trees.
Wet drips like the anticipation of
coffee. And a towel on the line,
swaying in time with the back two
legs of my chair.
Toes grow cold but the smell of
woodfire reaches inside and tells the
body not to fret.
Timber smells of home and concrete is
easy on the arches.
All around is white, but as in
a cloud, a dream of malaria pills,
phantom itches and fish sauce.
There is a walk to come, but for
now, the sitting, rocking, en-opening to
feel the chill until it is warm, will pass
until the longest moment fades away.
Snapshots, scribbles, memory condensed
to one smell, one tiny frame, not
colour but texture, not size but
sense.
And then the tapping gets insistent,
the smoke smells of time-to-eat,
the TV flickers in Chinese under
Vietnamese, under local commentary,
and universal understanding of
shot composition and bad acting.
And stepping away but bringing some
indelible part, like a sliver of building
timber with you in your pocket.
11/2/2011
of a ceramic plate.
River running like wind through trees.
Wet drips like the anticipation of
coffee. And a towel on the line,
swaying in time with the back two
legs of my chair.
Toes grow cold but the smell of
woodfire reaches inside and tells the
body not to fret.
Timber smells of home and concrete is
easy on the arches.
All around is white, but as in
a cloud, a dream of malaria pills,
phantom itches and fish sauce.
There is a walk to come, but for
now, the sitting, rocking, en-opening to
feel the chill until it is warm, will pass
until the longest moment fades away.
Snapshots, scribbles, memory condensed
to one smell, one tiny frame, not
colour but texture, not size but
sense.
And then the tapping gets insistent,
the smoke smells of time-to-eat,
the TV flickers in Chinese under
Vietnamese, under local commentary,
and universal understanding of
shot composition and bad acting.
And stepping away but bringing some
indelible part, like a sliver of building
timber with you in your pocket.
11/2/2011
mandala
Hear the string-only version of a
song written by people who never
even knew this place could be.
Bicker between yourselves about the
best way to 'capture' the town,
not realising that you offend much
more than the small child strapped
to the back of his sister's arms.
Once upon a time a dragon invaded
but tried to leave a buffer around
these wood-choppers.
The mist falls, or is that, rises away,
and the unshrouded shows grey,
brown, slight stain of sweat and
plummeting body temperature.
No more birds now. Only man's
incense, the thing with the bees.
Invader folds towels in foreign turtleneck,
older people bury rice, stitching time,
watch the ghosts watching us
ride away all to that tune, a scent of
smoke you can't quite place.
10/2/2011
song written by people who never
even knew this place could be.
Bicker between yourselves about the
best way to 'capture' the town,
not realising that you offend much
more than the small child strapped
to the back of his sister's arms.
Once upon a time a dragon invaded
but tried to leave a buffer around
these wood-choppers.
The mist falls, or is that, rises away,
and the unshrouded shows grey,
brown, slight stain of sweat and
plummeting body temperature.
No more birds now. Only man's
incense, the thing with the bees.
Invader folds towels in foreign turtleneck,
older people bury rice, stitching time,
watch the ghosts watching us
ride away all to that tune, a scent of
smoke you can't quite place.
10/2/2011
walk -->
Two apples sit beside each other
on a dining table set for three.
The fork points outwards,
your toes direct me.
And underneath unforgiven sun,
where burning tyres smell like hope
and progress is represented by
stone-terraced highways cut into mountainside,
we sit and haunt the scratching sounds of movement.
There is not enough time, but
you can make it if you just listen.
Birdsong, prosperity, one can only
assume, is in turn 'assumed' by
the sound of another town. A city of
rush and manic, where up at sunrise
means face the day with no more
than dirty dregs, tailored jacket
and a view of the roof on the
cafe behind you.
You hang your washing by the
diner, seeing mountains only in
mind's eye, while ignoring the
old lady shampooing her hair
beside the scooter, on a sidewalk
invaded by delayed action:
frustrated WANT.
10/2/2011
on a dining table set for three.
The fork points outwards,
your toes direct me.
And underneath unforgiven sun,
where burning tyres smell like hope
and progress is represented by
stone-terraced highways cut into mountainside,
we sit and haunt the scratching sounds of movement.
There is not enough time, but
you can make it if you just listen.
Birdsong, prosperity, one can only
assume, is in turn 'assumed' by
the sound of another town. A city of
rush and manic, where up at sunrise
means face the day with no more
than dirty dregs, tailored jacket
and a view of the roof on the
cafe behind you.
You hang your washing by the
diner, seeing mountains only in
mind's eye, while ignoring the
old lady shampooing her hair
beside the scooter, on a sidewalk
invaded by delayed action:
frustrated WANT.
10/2/2011
sleeper bunks
Longish train trip, comfy enough
sleeper bunks.
Card games
dirty socks
one toilet sink too much pressure
the other not enough.
'Windy' minibus ride up from
Lao Cai to Cat Cat.
Hotel switcheroo
man with t-shirt
squished into elevator, backpacks, all.
A restaurant on lvl 7
deliver baguettes.
Best impression-of-stunned-mullet
competition as lift opens onto
cloud carpet stretching around the
crowing roosters, pink and blue hotel facades,
bonsai trees and hills.
Cold, but not too cold.
Wet bathroom, interesting level of
water pressure, but then again,
we are:
on the roof.
Chimneys, sunrise, lethargy and crankiness
from bizarre train journey turning
into
something not unlike -
bird chirp. Green hedge in a pot
empty beer bottles, al fresco dining
sets, chairs scattered near to (not
around) tables, in upward-facing-
greet-the-sunshine glaring over
white cloud river.
The rooms face South and
East.
Cameras aren't big enough. Not wide
enough. Memory must suffice.
Hey, I'm not sleepy anymore.
10/2/2011
sleeper bunks.
Card games
dirty socks
one toilet sink too much pressure
the other not enough.
'Windy' minibus ride up from
Lao Cai to Cat Cat.
Hotel switcheroo
man with t-shirt
squished into elevator, backpacks, all.
A restaurant on lvl 7
deliver baguettes.
Best impression-of-stunned-mullet
competition as lift opens onto
cloud carpet stretching around the
crowing roosters, pink and blue hotel facades,
bonsai trees and hills.
Cold, but not too cold.
Wet bathroom, interesting level of
water pressure, but then again,
we are:
on the roof.
Chimneys, sunrise, lethargy and crankiness
from bizarre train journey turning
into
something not unlike -
bird chirp. Green hedge in a pot
empty beer bottles, al fresco dining
sets, chairs scattered near to (not
around) tables, in upward-facing-
greet-the-sunshine glaring over
white cloud river.
The rooms face South and
East.
Cameras aren't big enough. Not wide
enough. Memory must suffice.
Hey, I'm not sleepy anymore.
10/2/2011
<-- break glass to release door
There was a growl and a hum and i wondered
what day would bring.
The soft-toed slippers boarded the plank
and queued like no other species she'd seen.
If for a moment her eyes were held by
a brightly coloured scarf -
or hat -
it made her feel as if something could still be done.
The smell was nothingness, sterile plastic
with top notes of ozone.
The elevators made a mess of things
and all around (including the floor
and the chair she approached with caution)
was
white.
8/2/2011
what day would bring.
The soft-toed slippers boarded the plank
and queued like no other species she'd seen.
If for a moment her eyes were held by
a brightly coloured scarf -
or hat -
it made her feel as if something could still be done.
The smell was nothingness, sterile plastic
with top notes of ozone.
The elevators made a mess of things
and all around (including the floor
and the chair she approached with caution)
was
white.
8/2/2011
9:55 am
Leave it alone
she said
before proceeding to recite the
vowels of the alphabet (in order of importance).
They stood there with their
3-tipped hats
and surveyed the expanse.
An endless-seeming apocalypse
of green trees,
old growth,
fuzzy slippers,
warmth.
In the midst of all this
the girl with dizzy eyes
began to recite her ode to finality.
And we shifted the coconuts, while
sitting on our deckchairs.
8/2/2011
she said
before proceeding to recite the
vowels of the alphabet (in order of importance).
They stood there with their
3-tipped hats
and surveyed the expanse.
An endless-seeming apocalypse
of green trees,
old growth,
fuzzy slippers,
warmth.
In the midst of all this
the girl with dizzy eyes
began to recite her ode to finality.
And we shifted the coconuts, while
sitting on our deckchairs.
8/2/2011
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