essay: #102: Origin of The Species

c. Somsak Pahna

World gone haywire.

Snow in Vegas and Malibu.

India continues on high state of alert. 

New origin of the species.

Discovered in deep, dark Mekong delta.

Hot pink 'cyanide producing' millipede.

"From a treasure trove of 1,000 new species..."

"Amazing how we can be so clueless and then get it right."

Says a friend meanwhile, in downtown SF.

And there lies the beauty.

Of our continuing Rites of Passage.

Stormy but always profound....

# transmission ends #

essay: #101: Atonement

c.lindseyyy

A beautiful moment.

Passed in history.
Eloquent and just.

A Speech.

Of such warmth.

Lucidity.

Humanity.

Hope.

Made me weep.

My son, proudly Generation Z.

Walks softly alongside.

Ever watchful.

Ever wise.

"That's cool ma, about Obama."

And smiles.

Friends, meanwhile.

Return from India. 
With tales abound.
Of a train station, in Jaipur:

"Foreigners, freedom fighters and politicians queue here..."

In the gist.

Of our ethereal world.

Every day. 

Is.

Bright.

Shiny.

Gloriously.

New.

# transmission ends #

essay: #100: the other hand

Friends find solace, in the arms of others.
And I, on horizons beyond.
All need to belong.
Politicians, to history.
Humanitarians, to their cause.
Refugees, each and all.
Some words ring truer, than others.
Like these...
For times.
So loud, so bright.

Ophelia, 08.

#transmission ends#

essay: #099: Annie Get Your Gun

c. Bruce Elliott


When a picture paints a thousand words...

essay: #098: Fade Into You

Drowning in the sounds.
Of Mazzy Star.
"A strangers heart without a home."
Haunts me, always.
As does the pomp and pageantry.
Of Beijing's polluted world.
Highways and byways.
Of untraveled roads.
Sweet soundtrack.
For a YouTube world.

essay: #097: Colour me Kubrick

Color me Kubrick.
Here and now.
Google earth me.

Splash me.

With colour and hue.

Zoom in.
Zoom out.
Ethereal eye in the sky.
Ever watchful.

Winter falls.
Blanket like.
Cold, crisp.

Share vino.
Move house.
Shoot the breeze.
With dark knights.

Friends drift in.

And out.

Let the games, continue.

While wheels, slowly turn...

# transmission ends #

essay: #096: Coffee & Breakfast

SATURDAY, 10AM TOWN HALL




From neon, last night.
To coffee and breakfast.
And makeshift movie sets.
Where fires roar.
Smoke bombs soar.
As Nic Cage's Knowing hits town.

And me.
Wandering amongst.
Debris of camera and cellphone.
Click of curiosity.
From paparazzi prone.

# transmission ends #

essay: 095 : Sweet strains of Piaf

I ponder.
With a mind, never at peace.
With itself.
Searching eternally.

Drove, through banks of fog.
6am, this morning.
God, it was beautiful.
Neon suffused.
Oceans mists.
Thought of Berlin.
The sweet strains of Piaf.
Drifting, through my ipod world.

Should I write words.
That make you weep?
Or smile, like atomic suns...

J'adore.
Every.
Last.
Drop...


# #

essay: #094: What lies Beneath

A once idyllic town.
Now a graveyard.
Bodies lie beneath.
Young and old.
I try to imagine.
But, can't...

Futures open up, again.
A big, beautiful blank page.
Path's diverge.
Into something better.

Friends swarm.
Life moves on.
What lies beneath?
I ask.
And I smile.
You either get it, or you don't...

# transmission ends #

essay: 093: Sunday

Happiness is...

essay: #092: Sign o the Times

Storm blows through.
Tail end of a cyclone.
Sultry.
Red sand skies.
And a man.
Lying on the ground.
Face down in metropolis.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

No one looks.
No one stares.
"Why are you lying there?"
I want to scream.
But I don't...

# transmission ends #

essay: #091: Anna's Lament

'Museum of purgatory'

A woman's silhouette.
Lights the treadmill.
By 6.30am's eerie glow.
"Motivation is a habit..."
Flickers the screen.

A man, meanwhile.
Guards a hydro-powered car.
In metropolis.
Tornadoes sweep Atlanta.
Room Service, guns, and Ricin.
Courtesy, Hotel Vegas.

Jakarta's idyllic rice paddies.
Volcanoes and ocean, too.
In my skin.
In my skin.
Scanners darkly and lightly.

Subtropical heat.
For days now.
Desert blowin' in.
An Environment Minister.
Spoke, last night.
Launched a book.
Spread the word.
Color me Kyoto.
Color me, next stop....
Home

# transmission ends #

essay: #090: The Diving Bell

Defunct satellites.
Fall from orbit.
As do stars.
Of the human kind.

Dreamt of him.
Again, last night.
On volcanic sand.
His skin was hot.
And life was good.

Coastlines dredged.
While others flood.
The Diving Bell.
And the Butterfly.
Simple, really.
Coming home, soon....

# Transmission ends #