Power outs in this particular part of Southeast Asia are not uncommon. Good thing my power’s brimming.
The way words cradle soft poetry like the dusk holds the moon is testimony to the dull-edged and curvy tenuousness of all things revered. Possessions are fleeting and words burn quicker than any home or wilderness, and despite its specific vulnerability, words are the sinews of solidarity, human reactions are born from speech and scripture, convergence of enlightenment across all faces, common progression fueled by words…the same little letters rearranged like river currents and animal stampedes, can blister into violent, unadulterated arrays of concentrated hatred, honed like sharpened blades and livid arsenals poised with clear precision, words that surround the dark hearts of human beings can turn beautiful generous innocence into a blinding, vile, indiscriminate murderer. That’s why politics scare me so.
Sometimes it’s fun to dress ideas with fancy words and take them to the dance to watch them drink so much punch they stop making sense.