whence others flock

A new set is coming straight into our teeth, we're ready and waiting with our boards unsheathed. The riptide is dragging us all toward the rocks, where one person ventures the others soon flock. The setting sun dazzles and shines in our eyes while not far above us a white drone now flies. I give it the finger as it passes by, a white mote bobbing against a clear blue sky, then turn on my axis to look at the waves, afloat in these majestic briny enclaves. The first peak we just watch, to study its shape, then off to the breaking point frantically scrape, our arms do the digging our legs merely rest while sticky wax irritates stomach and chest. The first guy he scrambles but is far too slow, then sits there the noobie disrupting our flow, whereupon we others venture farther out to improve our chances and display our clout. I'm in the position to ride this one in, with a few arm movements complete a half spin, then push up and plant my feet onto the deck, for obstacles I with an eagle-eye check, then turn at the bottom and back up the face, continuing onward at a dashing pace. Near two hundred meters the wave lets me ride as within my bosoms there wells up much pride, I dismount amidst a vast school of beginners, regardless of skill-set we all end up winners. Baruna is calling, ocean deity, he delights in fortitude and gaiety, so shine up your board-lines and come to the shore, adventure is waiting not far from your door.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

handful of chores

Now far from my native and beloved shores I've taken on merely a handful of chores. One is still the writing that you're reading here, that I have been doing for these many years, the others are surfing and making new friends, plus yoga and and drinking beer now and again. I'm learning the languages people speak here and facing a lot of my deep and old fears by going straight at them, taking them head-on, calmly celebrating the battles I've won. In truth I am feeling here Happy again, surrounded by Balinese women and men, whose honor is profound, whose traditions long, whose power is simmering, present, and strong, who fear neither plenty nor hard poverty, who all seem to welcome and smile at me. Therefore I will bend to my few chosen tasks, I'll let down most of my sheltering masks, and drink of the magical ambrosia that's everywhere here in fine Indonesia.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

old nasty habits

I gave it my all and now find myself drained, like some well-cut wood my libido's been planed. The old nasty habits learned lifetimes ago are once again messing with mine easy flow. I find myself handsome and soft on the eyes although deep within boils a cauldron of lies that robs me of pleasure and fills me with grief, in solitude smoking the tobacco leaf. The yoga is useful, it can calm the dread that fills me as soon as I rise from my bed. I must speak to someone who cares well enough to hear out my anger and sadness and stuff, who knows how to loosen the tangles that bind and harness Happiness, that keep me behind. A longer-term girlfriend would also good do, not someone I'm used to but someone brand new, who's willing to stand by me during this switch, who isn't a total or self-centered bitch. For now I'll keep surfing and honing my craft, and hanging with people who are quick to laugh, the swell it is calling, the future awaits, through all of these Balinese pintu, or gates.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

rivers of gold

To release the spirit from its mighty hold is worth more than mountains and rivers of gold. As soon as acceptance replaces foul yearning a flood of peacefulness then quenches the burning that's fueled by desire and need-to-control, two inner conditions both petty and droll. These weak mortal bodies play tricks on the brain, they make it go crazy when it could stay sane, demanding constantly to be held and fed, to sit on soft cushions and sleep in a bed. One surefire method to keep and hold sway is to practice yoga at least once a day, this helps you remember dragon number two that never stops chasing the first one in you. Put those hands together, raise them to your chest, so long as you're breathing your mind is at rest, then say without speaking the great Nameless Name that fuels the soul-fire with its endless flame.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

erheben und türmen

Die Wellen erheben und türmen sich dort, wir wollen sie einfangen – kommt mit uns fort. Wir werden die Bestien heute noch zähmen und aufpassen dass wir uns selber nicht lähmen bei unserer Mühe da draussen im Meer wo kaum Fische schwimmen (es stinkt ja nach Klär). Hier wimmelt es richtig an Krankheit und Fieber doch wäre mir nirgenswo anders es lieber mich diesen Herrausforderungen zu stellen, umzingelt von tausende magische Quellen. So kommt doch ihr Lieben, ihr werdet nicht jünger, Ersparnisse liegen nur da wie Kuhdünger, bringt mit Sonnenkreme sowie Sonnenhut, hier auf schönes Bali lebt es sich sehr gut.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

wanting to smoke

The pull of the kretek sits strong in my veins, it leaves me much wanting to smoke them again. This body I live in will die out some day, there's no other option and no other way, to enjoy my time on this planet I must, to lead a life devoid of sadness and fuss. Without access to my own tried-and-true method of keeping my body away from the death's head that smolders within each of these little sticks, I find myself doing what make me feel sick. How puny the resolve that lives in this flesh, that entered my chakras while still in the crèche, it is up to me though to keep doing right and not to give in to desire tonight.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

time to go

The fungal infections that ate at these feet are slowly conceding a timely defeat. It's been a few decades since there was relief from relentless itching and persistent grief. There too is a cockroach turned up on his back, he's under a constant, unending attack by hundreds of ants coming out of a hive, removing his insides while he's still alive. His death is a mystery – what is the cause? – did he eat that poison-soaked medical gauze? – or was it just the bastard's own time to go? – because he can't speak to me I'll never know. The girls at the market, I see every day, they know I can leave this place while they must stay, they giggle and laugh with me – flirting, I think – although they're not nearly old enough to drink. These kisses from Bali, my second time 'round, were give by insect and paved-over ground, I'll be sure to keep them from getting infected and hope that for Dengue I've not been selected. While surfing this morning I sure did have fun, was shredding for hours out under the sun, to paddle back out there made me feel fantastic, my joy is expanding and buoyant, elastic.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

just stand alone

He'd nearly forgotten how fine and world-class it felt like to bed down and sleep with a lass. His confidence buoyed by recent endeavors he saw himself once more as charming and clever at least to the point that he had enough stones to talk to the ladies or just stand alone. Compared to the fearfulness that used to plague him and cause him to feel like a shit-covered pagan his newfound ability held without fail as he talked and flirted with all sorts of tail. Such was the depth of his calm and transcendence that he didn't bother to finish his sentences but stood there while all the other guys talked or when things got boring he'd just turn and walk. Sometimes the basics are all a man needs to conquer his sadness, depression, and greed, to feel that he's once again truly worthwhile and not just some asshole who's wearing a smile. Among the things that man needs today: good food and fresh water and some hot bed-play to keep him from getting all messed up inside, to keep him from feeling his soul might have died. So open those columns and let people in, to fail to keep boning is a massive sin, forget all the bullshit that churchmen might preach, our deepest love-buttons we can't alone reach.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on domestic living

Bare feet pound the pave-stones outside of my door; I sit on a thin, purple mat on the floor. The walls they are tiled, the floor and steps too, with a bit of sweeping the place looks brand new. There are two cockroaches that live in the bath, they know only kindness and not my true wrath, I think they eat soap-scum and paper and gunk, by now they are used to my stenches and funk. The kitchen is small but has everything, from toaster to stove-top to kettles that sing, from ice-box to cupboards and all in-between, when dishes get soiled I make sure they're cleaned. There too is a house-cat who comes when she pleases who loves all my petting and passionate squeezes who purrs and meows when there's no one nearby who flees through the side door without a goodbye. It is somewhat lonesome, this much I admit, but no one disturbs me while I write or sit for hours and hours watching DVD, or enduring static-filled Indo TV. I sleep on the second floor, under a temple, at night it's so quiet it calms me much, mentally, unlike the traffic and roosters that used to disturb my slumber with ear-drums abused. From a rooftop platform I can see the sea, some rice fields, my village, and kites above me, with love in my bosoms I no longer plod, but rejoice to be on the Island of Gods.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on calling foul

Caught up in some nastiness that just won't pass, I stand here now hated, despised, like an ass. My pride got the best of me, I erred and slipped, I rocked at the gunwales and near swamped the ship, the error and fault of my most recent ways has haunted my dream-state and poisoned my days. With time things get better, at least that's my hope, I dare not to venture back down the foul slope, that got me in trouble not too long ago, where this train is heading I can't say I know. Oh well, more's the pity, I'll just watch and see, what new misadventures are waiting for me, an orphan and miscreant, scholar and fiend, solemn of countenance, hardy of spleen.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

just one thing

This mind is my own, no one else I can blame, for feelings of anger, elation, or shame, things never are constant or very stable, all I know is that I'm indomitable. Not hatred can rule me, not death and not vice, not pox and not sickness, not even head-lice, there's little to do now but sit silently, my rump in the dirt and by back to a tree, and watch as the seasons around me do tilt, and skyscrapers crumble – all things man has built. For this is my purpose, the one I now choose, there's little to gain and far less left to lose, but watching as shadows with each other blend, surrounded as needed by sibling and friend. So come now, ye hearties, once more to the breech, together our foes we've some manners to teach, for ours is the present, the future, and past, we've nothing to lose but a steady repast, we've so much to let go of, and to rescind, our time here is wasting so let us begin.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥