tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75862760499871051122024-03-21T22:26:46.702-07:00laquaissjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-38686702413595365962010-05-17T10:07:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:37:07.575-07:00Lullabyif you were the photon and i was your electron,<br />could it be that we could generate electricity.<br />behind closed doors i was your whore,<br />pampering to your tastes in false distaste.<br /><br />i purred, you howled, we fucked for hours,<br />(i should have warned you my lyrics were explicit).<br /><br /><br /><br /><em>see my lover, see how the sun highlights her, her golden skin, akin to such implicit sin,<br />see how high she sits in her moucharaby, singing me her secret lullaby.<br />this is my lover, her, i’ve discovered, her masks i’ve uncovered and i’ll take no other</em>.<br /><br /><br /><br />these are the lies that slipped through my thighs while i cried out that secret lullaby.<br /><br /><br /><br />if i was your Aton, now rendered your automaton,<br />and you, my Marquis now maimed through domesticity,<br />then has this amatorial, celestial kiss<br />become nothing but a bestial bliss?<br /><br />i purred, you howled, we fucked for hours.<br />(i should never have listened to your crude intentions).<br /><br /><br /><br /><em>but lover, i love her, this is forever, we can get through whatever, i swear i’ll deliver,<br />i mean it this time, i told you you’re mine, i will not resign, now sign on the line, promise you’re mine,<br />i meant every word, however absurd, however inferred, however unheard, i give you my word.</em><br /><br /><br /><br />these are the lies that slipped through my thighs while i sang that last lost lullaby.<br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-75817064146823828342010-05-17T10:02:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:38:57.654-07:00Young SoulsYoung souls get involved, in matters not of their own,<br />young souls claim a role, they were not meant for,<br />Let them play the clown, or bark around, or take the town in their newfound crowns,<br />young souls only live once,<br />Stop the clocks!, it’s entertaing to watch<br />these rabid dogs with their rusty brain cogs<br />and warlike hogs.<br />Let them play hard and fall on their ass,<br />before your judgement is passed,<br />Amen.<br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-75597767917335164012010-05-17T09:48:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:24:06.919-07:00Teenage Vices<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijEw1GTjWOcWoNi_01NsRVajGRgmgEa0tvU7O6R6e1izSpvwXwFMqQEyxSsnhXyGs6bMIhS5QPCmi8qXkrM6j0yIIVl96ZCXwCF0ZlVdu68AuMb0ie1hXJMoJh4dlqzf-ZxzhUB2MNQ4/s1600/sjlc1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472290925266634722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijEw1GTjWOcWoNi_01NsRVajGRgmgEa0tvU7O6R6e1izSpvwXwFMqQEyxSsnhXyGs6bMIhS5QPCmi8qXkrM6j0yIIVl96ZCXwCF0ZlVdu68AuMb0ie1hXJMoJh4dlqzf-ZxzhUB2MNQ4/s400/sjlc1.jpg" /></a> <div></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPwUa0dmdkfR2xgRevGb7rWfFosBT-wNNoxD1WZlkyozmPm2psqjmGU6CDQbvg6K8uwHnuP_kiUGjNdaJ1ii1nchKKQpI32wC-9kz5D1sEpAaOEd1-e332szHUo8oo4Tj1VINZpSnICc/s1600/sjlc4.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 390px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472290919663121570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPwUa0dmdkfR2xgRevGb7rWfFosBT-wNNoxD1WZlkyozmPm2psqjmGU6CDQbvg6K8uwHnuP_kiUGjNdaJ1ii1nchKKQpI32wC-9kz5D1sEpAaOEd1-e332szHUo8oo4Tj1VINZpSnICc/s400/sjlc4.jpg" /></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclWjT3l69uAN_aRwVwS7PNnnsS2F2UENxR3CIwVOdQx-G-fEyD8kuPqBsv-Vtak4pY8EClfy63X07NXhIZKGStuVLpowZjFSduw5wJffOZ_4nXDleOxW1q6uN5KvVdofjTg2UCvU5YFE/s1600/sjlc2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 208px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472290913595568738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclWjT3l69uAN_aRwVwS7PNnnsS2F2UENxR3CIwVOdQx-G-fEyD8kuPqBsv-Vtak4pY8EClfy63X07NXhIZKGStuVLpowZjFSduw5wJffOZ_4nXDleOxW1q6uN5KvVdofjTg2UCvU5YFE/s400/sjlc2.jpg" /></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0caFb43izSPV-yqNWOzxj6-KYICAd-27xoCxwXwYTiARnrN4x-xw3l9dFcLsnmjUKZ0b2GQ8aXzlcbqcT_AN1Pq218bf1PkgFQIXgqpNeg7aTzD01QC48nElL10c0SlkQHxk-I9Zk3U/s1600/sjlc3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 291px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472290907212516114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0caFb43izSPV-yqNWOzxj6-KYICAd-27xoCxwXwYTiARnrN4x-xw3l9dFcLsnmjUKZ0b2GQ8aXzlcbqcT_AN1Pq218bf1PkgFQIXgqpNeg7aTzD01QC48nElL10c0SlkQHxk-I9Zk3U/s400/sjlc3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-7885986611382144372010-05-17T09:45:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:37:57.277-07:00Dear Diary<span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Day One</strong>.<br /><br />He comes to my room. There is that tingle when our arms nearly, maybe, almost, brush up against each others. I’ve got a circus in my belly, anticipation is clawing at my gut. I’ve got to piss. I’ve got to cum.<br /><br />Catch me offguard and kiss me hard on on the mouth, force my lips to let you in. Bite, bite, the back of my neck and it zooms, this electric energy, all the way down my spine and to my cunt. It’s messy. He tastes like smoke and whisky.<br /><br /><strong>Day Two.</strong><br /><br />I’m clumsy. I’m tripping over my words, they stumble on my tongue and fall out from my mouth. They land on the ground and he delicately steps over them. I want to sway to the ocean in your walk . I want our skin to morph.<br /><br />I hear him, hard breathing in my ear, deeper inside me. We break. A million pieces of him and pieces of me on my bedroom floor, oops, where am I, that’s you, thats your piece, this is me, this is my piece. We’re a mess. You’re lost in me and I’m lost in you.<br /><br /><strong>Day Three.</strong><br /><br />If I were a spider, I’d have eight long arms to wrap you up and keep you warm. If I were an apothecarist, I would bottle up your laughter and taste. Just in case I forget this moment. (I never will). You shall be all mine, only mine. I will keep you in a little box under my bed.<br /><br /><strong>Day Four.<br /></strong><br />He’s waiting for me downstairs. I don’t care. Sometimes I don’t even realize what I’m saying until I’ve said it and it’s out there, I can’t take it back. The words are just hanging in the air waiting to be swallowed up. A smile, I bite my lip, your mouth is open. your lost meanings are attracting all my senses.<br /><br />I hurt you purposely, I wanted to see you cry, to test you.<br /><br /><strong>Day Five.</strong><br /><br />We take up arms, our past mistakes that manifest as ammunition, we stake our territory and hurl words, bullets of hatred, spit out the anger across this vast no mans land, once my bedroom, now war torn, the gaza strip has shed less blood than I have tears. you dont break my heart, you carefully peel away the scotch tape holding it together. dont do that. fix it.<br /><br />We make a play, find a strategy, pinpoint the weakness, we drill away til we splinter, crack and crumble. A pile of dust, an empty promise, hollow words. your lost meanings make perfect sense. Fuck you.<br /><br />We seek refuge in vengeance and pride, regathering strength in our respective corners. - in the blue! in the black! weighing in with a heavy heart! I stand at 7 feet tall! Statuesque! Amazonian! Indestructible! If only in appearance! (I want you to be the one shouting my name).<br /><br />Raise the white flag, call for armistice, I’m tired.<br /><br /><strong>Day Six.</strong><br /><br />You watched me paint, you liked my lines. it’s been a while since I’ve picked up a pencil. But hey, I could trace your features. I could close my eyes and trace your lines. you fucker, you seeped into every possible surface of everything I see.<br /><br />I have to keep myself busy, I hope you understand, I can’t sit staring at the walls all day, and this room is heavy with smoke, empty cigarette boxes, an empty stomach. Bedsheets I need to wash, fuck you. fuck these last remnants of your scent. fuck the songs that all sing out your name, your face. fuck you for these lost memories, they make their way home at the most inconvenient time.<br /><br />I have to keep myself busy. But other boys, they don’t feel like you. I got a boy who looked like you. I put my arms around him and let him kiss me, I shut my eyes and pulled away, he didn’t taste like you. I walked away.<br /><br /><strong>Day Seven.<br /></strong><br />Once upon a time when we were young and reckless and in love and gave freely, we raced on through, running on a full tank of searing hot emotion, we had no rules, no guidelines, or anyone telling us what to do, we ventured forward pouring ourselves into the great big sky and all the infinite possibilities the open roads ahead held for us,.. We jumped in, rolled up the volume, rolled down the windows, put our full weight on the gas and drove for a lifetime, and found ourselves at the end of the world, still young, reckless, in love and giving freely. </span><br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-24108631651167545632010-03-02T12:22:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:38:13.673-07:00Doogram<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvU9sEBMPiLGIRVzrQbPUuKzNVAurHfuQqr2qz-ISNsBhmD3VlwbijhiNRtX7nEIfC8bCGAGVyNs86axmP2PAwLqHzv9JkqoJ2YOcOpXRIrxgmLLg95rIncY_3neCiK09Z1QK-a6bg8s4/s1600/treegram.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 313px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472291797365305682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvU9sEBMPiLGIRVzrQbPUuKzNVAurHfuQqr2qz-ISNsBhmD3VlwbijhiNRtX7nEIfC8bCGAGVyNs86axmP2PAwLqHzv9JkqoJ2YOcOpXRIrxgmLLg95rIncY_3neCiK09Z1QK-a6bg8s4/s400/treegram.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>1949</strong> ; George Orwell published his dystopian novel 1984, in which the world is split into three totalitarian regimes, Oceania, Eurasia & Eastasia. The state of life is under constant government surveillance (Big Brother is watching you), public mind control & perpetual war. 60 years later the FDA has approved the VeriChip, an implantable computer chip which is inserted under the skin. Under the pretext of being used for medicinial reasons, these chips can also be tracked down. We are one step away from New World Order.<br /><br /><strong>1955</strong> ; John Wyndham wrote a post-apocalyptic novel of a pre-industrial, fundamentalist Christian society that survived a “Tribulation” where genetic invariance is considered blasphemous. Although not directly stated, the Tribulation is implied to have been caused by a nuclear holocaust. (the mutations & description of sailors suffering symptoms consistent with radiation sickness).<br /><br />Distance from: North Korea ; 5409.24 kilometers / Washington ; 16355.23 kilometers<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />what is fiction what is fact, this is art perpetuating life?<br /><br />or,<br /><br />everything you can imagine is real. -Pablo Picasso<br /><br />or,<br /><br />doodling diagrams. <em>Doogram.<br /></em><br /><br />my conclusion ; This is good. I will imagine the revelation of; the Land of Topsy Turvy, The Land of Do-as-you-please & The Land of Goodies. and World Peace .<br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-53579371244968469882010-02-24T06:30:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:40:05.565-07:00Ladies Night<span style="font-family:georgia;">(Prelude).</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">three beautiful girls in hot minidresses, two with short hair, one with black tresses,<br />all with long legs like smooth velvet kisses, looked like real bitches, but really were jesters.<br />they sat down in a hotel lobby.<br /><br />an indian man, his demeanour was bland, his complexion was tan,<br />approached them.<br /><br />the indian man; "it is okay, i take this chair?"<br />beautiful girl number fun; "you may take it -"<br />beautiful girl number cool; "but you can't sit in it."<br />beatiful girl number craz-ee; "HaaghLogh???"<br /><br />he sits down.<br /><br />the beautiful girls exchange tired glances but all were excited at the prospect of dancing,<br />so they ignored his advances, with unspoken understanding.<br /><br />the indian man; "it is okay, you come to my room?"<br />beautiful girl number fun; "do you have a mirror?"<br />the indian man; "Yes! Yes!"<br />beautiful girl number cool; "do you actually look in to it??"<br />the indian man; "Yes! Yes! Everyday at 8 o'clock!"<br />beautiful girl number craz-ee; "HaaghLoghhh?" </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"><em>beat.</em></p></span><p><br /><br />do you see what i see, these beautiful ladies, who obviously, are of high pedigree.<br />and the cheek of this freak, who thinks he can seek, what is obviously so out of his league.<br /><br />Men, my word is not Hammurabi's Law, but let me point out some flaws,<br />we're not damsels distraught, our love can't be bought,<br />we're not some common coin slot, albeit for big shots.(!)<br /></p><p></p><p><br /><strong>Tips for Boys.</strong> </p><p><br />When you see a beautiful girl in a bar and you wait until she is about to leave before you ask to buy her a drink,<br />don't be surprised if she gets to "To go".<br />When you're with a beautiful girl and she won't let you in her Forest of Dean, don't cry, beg or threaten to enter with your wooden axe.<br />This is sad, pathetic and rape; respectively.<br /></p><p><br />And Ladies, let this be your motto. </p><p><br /><em>Getting all dolled up, kiss the bouncers at the door,I know I'm looking fly, so I head to the dance floor.</em><br /><em>Bat my luscious lashes, to get another drink.Cuz I always get my way, with a smile and a wink.</em></p><p><em></em> </p><p><em></em> </p><p><em></em> </p><p><em>.</em></p>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-66864192692547849382010-02-23T04:49:00.000-08:002010-08-20T15:05:27.779-07:00Selling the Future<div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">here, everything is topsy turvy, here, people go swimming in the sky, they jump and flail their skinny arms and up and away they fly.</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">once i had a friend who's mother was the moon. his father was the wolf that howled the prettiest tune. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">so she came down from the night, on to the earth and they had a little date, nine months later my friend was born, he had rough hair and a pale face. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">we used to play this game, we'd swim out into space. we'd paddle to the edge of our stratosphere, where the air was thin and clear. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">getting past this was the biggest hurdle, we'd huddle in synergy to conserve our energy, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">see, out past this thermosphere and exosphere, out past that queer fear of never knowing if you'd ever get back to topsy turvy here, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">out here in the greater universe, our bodies would transvere and our voices would converse. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">you could just lie on your back and float on and get lost. past this solar system and into the next, into different galaxies, balancing our bodies and steadying our breath.</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">it'd be just the two of us together, not needing any other, we'd soar amongst the comets and asteroids, we'd dodge black holes, star births and voids. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">oh these cheap thrills that spilled with reckless danger, this was life without a doubt, but these interplanetary joyrides, i would always chicken out. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">i'd start kicking back with all my worth, towards our far flung earth, but my friend would stay so serene, he would float on and on and just enjoy the scene. </span></div><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">here everything is topsy turvy, people are walking sideways, no one can move forward, no one can go back. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">i went to have my future told, but it was missing cuz i'm changing at every step. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">my fortune teller said my aura was strong, but she took my hands and gasped. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">she said, girl, make a decision on where you're going in life, i said woman, i'm just here to enjoy the ride. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">but even in this topsy turvy land, demanding hands always pushed for something grand. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">so, sick of just smashing shit up, refusing to let this bitter clairvoyant tell me what's what, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">i bought ten pots of glitter, and high and half wild with predatorial gleams in our eyes, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">my friend and i, settled for nothing less than the superfluous. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">see, i suppose people get lost in their own different ways, some just blaze away the days. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">see, when i was young my mother always had a big bright pair of silver scissors, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">she said i used to weave the fabric of my imagination so tightly i'd lose all my receptors. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">everytime she came to find me, i'd hide and watch her look for me inside my mind. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">she'd have to cut through the tapestry of my made up world, to come inside and get me as i swirled, twirled and whirled.</span> </span></span></span></div><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></p><div align="left"><br /></div></span><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">.</span></div></span>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-25780589753841838842010-01-22T11:40:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:40:54.303-07:00Single Lover, Sing it Louder<span style="font-family:georgia;">the earth beneath her crossdresses, undresses, destresses, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1000 feet tall, she calls to the laws of the universe, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">they disperse and gather, form orderly lines and quietly let her bend space & time </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">atop an astronomically high cliff at the southernmost tip of the edge of the world, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">She lures in confabulations, approximations and established equations, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">the mathematics of Euler, then she hurls a concoction of words, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">to challenge the rhyme of these paradigms,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">up high on this cliff, at the southernmost tip of the edge of the world, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">these numbers & letters, they completely forget us, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">forget to round up the sum of One, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Because i am not i, I am the sum of One. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Up high on this cliff on the southernmost tip at the edge of the world. </span><br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-77956697105954817682010-01-21T00:43:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:41:34.000-07:00Morality is Fleeting in Lust / Sanity is Fleeting in Love<span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">who knows what love is. It’s wanting to die, it’s wanting to live forever. It’s having nothing and wanting nothing except just to be with that person. It’s having nothing but each other, it’s you and me against the world. it's forgetting that the rest of the world even exists because everything u need, want, is right here. It’s saying fuck money, fuck a job, fuck success, fuck life, I have you. You, you, beautiful you with the heart of gold. It’s never thinking, let alone worrying about the future, because whatever happens, I have you. It’s never growing old, because you know together you’ll stay young forever, this feeling will last forever. It’s never planning, because you’d be happy to go anywhere and do anything at all, because life is so good, I have you. I can go anywhere, I could stay right here, I don’t care, I just want to be with you. It’s inspiration. It’s realizing, what the fuck have I have been holding myself back for, why the fuck am I trying to chase a different dream, I’ve always been happy with you, how could I be happy without?? It’s making love, over and over, until he’s pounding you so hard it hurts real damn good and the bed is soaked and you scream, stop I’m gonna piss, and he’s pounds even harder, saying piss, just piss on me, I don’t give a shit and you cum so fucking hard your head spins, your toes curl and you sigh, you cry, you die just a little and in the afterglow, while he’s spent and snoring, you are reborn, you need to shout to the world that this, THIS is what love is. </span><br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-89130379410649663302010-01-21T00:27:00.000-08:002010-08-20T15:01:49.092-07:00GESTAPUG 30 S. PKI folly or the first phase of a foreign encouraged coup? <br /><br /><br />This essay explores the events before and after ‘G-30-S’ in an endeavor to help clarify whether it was a PKI (Indonesian Communist Party) conceived folly or the first phase of a Machiavellian coup whereby a foreign encouraged campaign could be justified to wipe out an unsophisticated PKI. The sources presented within this essay attempt to reflect the arguments, opinions and involvement from both points of view – a disastrous pre-emptive communist folly or a ‘Reichstag fire’.[1] The early hours of October 1st 1965 saw the commencement of a change of power in the sixth most populous country in the world, which did not conclude until a further 23 weeks of excessive bloodshed and turmoil had passed. The events in 1965-1966 brought to power Suharto and what has been described as his 32-year ‘New Order’ dictatorship. The term G-30-S (Gerakan September Tiga Puluh – GESTAPU or Thirty September Movement) originates from a confusing radio announcement made the same morning (October 1st) by an obscure Lieutenant-Colonel Untung, proclaiming the formation of a Revolutionary Council but one still under the leadership of President Sukarno. Within hours the suffix ‘– PKI’ had been added to it, although at this stage there had been no indication of their complicity. <br /><br /><br /><br />In 1955 President Sukarno held a conference in Bandung proposing a non-aligned and anti imperialist movement of the Third World. He upset the US administration by calling for independence from the western powers, especially the US who perceived Socialism, Non-Alignment and self-centered Nationalism as alternate forms of Communism – the if you’re not for us then you must be against us syndrome[2]. Subsequently by 1956, the Eisenhower administration “relying on the policy of plausible denial”,[3] had “begun to grope its way toward a second, covert track of policy augmenting its official diplomatic track” [4] using the CIA to back a number of rebel groups in the outer islands. In particular, Sumatra and Sulawesi, who wanted independence – or at least a greater degree of autonomy – from 'Javanese Colonialism' under Sukarno. The US strategy was to play upon this division as a means to decrease the power of Sukarno, they hoped by backing these break away states they would gain their support and influence them to have a pro American attitude. <br /><br /><br /><br />However due to poor intelligence and irrefutable evidence of deliberate covert action,[5] "by mid-1958 the Eisenhower administration had been forced to acknowledge that its Indonesian intervention had failed." [6] Thus, since the mid 1950s the CIA had been involved in Indonesian political affairs[7]. William Blum, (who worked in the State Department until 1967 and later with former CIA officer Phillip Agee in the mid-1970s) is adamant in his opinion that the CIA "had undoubtedly infiltrated the PKI at various levels, and the military even more so, and was thus in a good position to disseminate disinformation and plant the ideas for certain action."[8] They felt Sukarno was becoming too powerful and extreme in his opposition to them and the failure the Agency-backed military uprising did not deter them. "Various reports of the early 1960s indicated a continuing interest in this end"[9] and their intent became to isolate Sukarno in Asia and Africa. It was even quoted in an official CIA memorandum of June 1962 that it was “... agreed to liquidate President Sukarno, depending upon the situation and available opportunities."[10] <br /><br /><br /><br />Tensions further intensified in 1964 when Britain proposed the creation of a new Federation of Malaysia by merging the Federation of Malaya, (independent since 1957) with Singapore and two giant, British-administered territories in Borneo; Sabah and Sarawak without local referenda. Sukarno felt it was their right to have them to decide whether these territories wanted to become independent, or to join with either the Philippines, Indonesia or to merge with Malaya. The Department of State was against any plebiscite, and a Memorandum from the Secretary of State, Benjamin H. Read to the Attorney General, Robert Kennedy, prior to Kennedy’s forth coming meeting with Sukarno in Tokyo included the following point: -[11] “4). It is highly desirable that the solution coming out of the tripartite talks be one that the parti-cipants themselves develop. But one form that this might take but which we should not mention to any of the participants is for the Malaysians to guarantee to do in North Borneo exactly what the Indonesians do in fulfillment of their UN pledge for a ‘plebiscite’ in West New Guinea – but only if there is no subversive or guerrilla warfare in the intervening five years” (Emphasis added) <br /><br />(Note- Sukarno had had to promise a referendum for the indigenous people of Irian Jaya to be carried out by 1969 as a UN imposed condition on assuming its sovereignty). <br /><br />However, the reason this was strenuously avoided by the British was their fear that the outcome of the vote could not be as easily controlled as Irian Jaya's plebiscite could be.[12] Whilst Sukarno expected the support of the USA in backing his demand for the self-determination for the peoples of British Borneo, the reality was that Washington was concerned that this new-found stand of independence would mean they were no longer under the influence of America's power. Their refusal convinced both Sukarno and Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, General Abdul Harris Nasution that America was in collusion with Britain. <br /><br /><br /><br />It was during this time that American fears over the 'Domino Theory'[13] caused their deep involvement in the fight against the nationalist Ho Chi Minh in Vietnam, driving him to seek closer ties with his communist neighbor, the Peoples Republic of China. Their actions there were subject to much criticism by both Sukarno and Nasution and they saluted the struggle of Vietnam's National Liberation Front. After increasing tension, Indonesia finally withdrew from the United Nations and the World Bank in January 1965 in anger over Malaysia's winning a seat on the Security Council. Anti American sentiments increased in Indonesia and some offices of U.S. Oil companies were seized. There was a great fear that they would be nationalised at any moment without compensation even though the American Managers were still permitted to remain. It was decided that something was to be done, according to American views, Sukarno was growing too confident over his success in asserting sovereignty over Irian Jaya at the expense of the Dutch. His plans for non-alignment with the Western powers and the setting up of rival to the UN known a CONEFO (Conference of Newly Emerging Forces) the following year and “his latest boast that he will explode an atomic bomb in November”, [14] was disconcerting them. <br /><br /><br /><br />On August 17th 1965, Sukarno proposed in his Independence Day speech that a ‘anti imperialist axis’ of ‘New Emerging Forces’ would be established, from Peking via Pyongyang and Phnom Penh to Jakarta. Although this idea was never realized, it did instigate a closer relationship with China. Thus, it was only less than seven weeks later that the bloody massacre, named G-30-S, occurred. In these events, what was the role, if any, of the CIA? <br /><br /><br /><br />"It is argued that GESTAPU was not an action by progressive or dissatisfied middle level military officers, nor a creature of the PKI, nor was it stimulated by President Sukarno. GESTAPU was an instrument directly in the hands of General Suharto and most likely a creation of the CIA. For the purpose of "saving Indonesia from communism", in a desperate situation. GESTAPU served the crucial function of providing a legitimate pretext for the drastic extermination of the PKI. It was calculated to put the reigns of power quickly into the hands of Suharto and to place Sukarno in a restricted position."[15] <br /><br /><br /><br />Evidence of this claim lies with one of the few surviving victims of the ‘G-30-S’ affair, Minister/Chief-of-Staff of the Air Force, Omar Dani. After his release in 1995, he finally had a chance to speak out, insisting that “the CIA was deeply involved and Harto was the hand they used.” He reasons that “At that time, there were no generals in Indonesia who could carry out an intelligence operation as sophisticated as G-30-S.”[16] Correspondingly, Green confirms U.S. involvement and Dani’s statement by saying “I know we had a lot more information (about the PKI) than the Indonesians themselves…The U.S. supplied information was far superior to anything they had.”[17] (Here he is referring to the Martens’ List, explained further on in the essay.) <br /><br /><br /><br />However the story that is widely believed by most is in the rumour that a Generals’ Council was aiming to take over the government on October 5th, Army Day. The CIA Study[18] believed that there was a Generals’ Council whose purpose was to devise a way to protect itself from a purported plan of Sukarno to crush the army. In a supposed pre-emptive action, these generals, Gen. Ahmad Dani, Maj. Gen. Suprapto, Maj. Gen. Harjono, Maj. Gen. S. Parman, Brig. Gen. D.I. Pandjaitan, and Brig. Gen. Sutojo Siswomihardjo were abducted and eventually found dead in the LUBANG BUAYA (Crocodile Hole) to the South of the Halim air base. The public was told in a mass media propaganda campaign that the Generals had been castrated and had their eyes gouged out by members of Gerwani[19] when in fact the autopsies, done two days before the campaign was released, showed “all the victims had been gunned down by military weapons.”[20] The consequence of this report would’ve evoked anti-communist sentiments in the public, because it exaggerates the horror of the murders and blames the PKI. This evidence correlates with Johnson’s theory that ‘G-30-S’ provided the excuse needed to annihilate the PKI. Furthermore, a CIA Memorandum confirms “They (the Army) have instituted psychological warfare mechanisms, control of media pre-requisite to influencing public opinion and have harassed or halted Communist output.”[21] Was PKI participation induced to provide the excuse for its destruction? <br /><br /><br /><br />There are, in fact, indications of an agent provocateur in the unfolding drama, one Kamarusaman bin Ahmed Mubaidah, known as Sjam. According to the later testimony of some of the arrested officers, it was Sjam who pushed the idea of the hostile Generals’ Council and for the need to counteract it. At the trials and in the CIA Study the attempt is made to establish that, in doing so, Sjam was acting on behalf of PKI leader Aidit. Presentation of this premise may explain why the CIA took the unique step of publishing such a study – to assign responsibility for the coup attempt to the PKI so as to ‘justify’ the horror that followed. But Sjam could just have easily acted for the CIA and/or the Generals in the same manner. In the same study, it is stated as Sjam being a “double agent” and professed “informer for the Djakarta Military Command.”[22] He apparently was a trusted aide of Aidit and could have induced the PKI leader into the plot instead of the other way around. Sjam had a politically chequered and mysterious background, and his testimony – at one of the trials in which he appeared as a defendant – was aimed at establishing Aidit as the sole director of a PKI coup attempt. What was the nature and extent, if any, of PKI involvement in the alleged Putsch attempt? The semi official account stated that the PKI’s aim was not to seize political power for itself but to prevent the army from eliminating the Party after Sukarno's death. <br /><br /><br /><br />One question that has never been answered by those who call G-30-S a PKI ‘coup’ is, why would the Indonesian communist party (PKI), then the third largest communist party in the world, have staged such an action and not called its supporters out onto the streets? In fact, a report made by the American Consul in Medan, clearly states, “The PKI offered: no meaningful resistance.” [23] <br /><br /><br /><br />An interview last year with former Bureau Chief of the CIA in Jakarta Hugh Tovar, he insists that “the US did not in any way help the army suppress the communists. The communists attempted to launch a coup against the government by using the military and the Army reacted. But there was no way that the US had a hand in that. The CIA did not do it…We did not know anything about the communist attempt to overthrow the Indonesian government. That was a surprise to everyone.”[24] <br /><br /><br /><br />If the CIA claims to have not helped the army in any way, how can they deny the State Department Cable sent from Washington to Jakarta on October 29th outlining its policy on Indonesia. “…army…must take initiative to form a military… provisional government, with or without Sukarno…Begin to influence people and events…Small Arms and equipment may be needed to deal with PKI.”[25] And how can they deny their policy towards Indonesia if it is documented in a Memorandum so easily available to the public? “The U.S. in particular will certainly be affected favorably by the degree to which the U.S. can now provide limited aid the military leaders feel they require.”[26] Tovar contradicts Green’s Telegram to Washington by insisting that only communication equipment was given to Suharto, “no small arms nor any arms of any kind” and maintains he knows nothing of the Rp50 million given to Adam Malik. Also, Marshall Green continues to deny the significance of the involvement: “We only supplied walkie-talkies, not money”.[27] Unfortunately for Green, his prevarication is exposed in the official documented history of the National Security Archives: “1. This (telegram) is to confirm my earlier concurrence that we provide Malik with fifty million Rupiahs requested by him for the activities of the Kap-Gestapu movement. [1-1/2 lines of source text not declassified].” [28] Why would this information be classified if indeed the CIA had nothing to hide, and had not given money to Suharto? <br /><br /><br /><br />It was not until 1990 that further information was disclosed about American involvement concerning the Martens’ list, a comprehensive 5000 plus name list from the highest powers to the lower echelons of the army right down to ordinary villagers believed to be ‘communist’ operatives. (Similar to the Phoenix Program used in Vietnam) Robert Martens, a former member of the US Embassy's political section in Jakarta admitted in 1990,[29] “It was a really big help to the army. They probably killed a lot of people, and I probably have a lot of blood on my hands, but that's not all bad. There's a time when you have to strike hard at a decisive moment.” [30] This controversial list was the one handed to Adam Malik[31] via the CIA and was the instigator of the mass slaughter that would follow. One that would be described as “one of the worst mass murders of the twentieth century” [32] It was their intention for a swift destruction of the PKI to curb Sukarno's authority. In a cable sent to Washington, dated October 5th, US Ambassador Marshall Green wrote: “Whatever the background … army in control, and it has important instruments of power such as press, radio and TV. It also has cause in murder of six top leaders if army chooses to use it and has already begun to do so…Muslim groups and others are lined up behind army PKI has suffered serious setback for its endorsement of, and perhaps participation in, discredited Sept. Movement…Army now has opportunity to move against PKI if it acts quickly…Momentum is now at peak with discovery of bodies of murdered army leaders. In short, it’s now or never…” [33] <br /><br /><br /><br />The uncertainty Green shows in whether the PKI participated in the October abductions highlights the hypocrisy shown in the enthusiasm to take advantage of the situation. Further on, his recommendations to Washington were to: “Avoid overt involvement as power struggle unfolds…However, indicate clearly to key people in the army such as Nasution and Suharto our desire to be of assistance where we can…Maintain and if possible extend our contact with military, and: Spread the story of PKI’s guilt, treachery and brutality.” How can Tovar deny CIA involvement when instructions are stated quite clearly in this cable to generate anti-communist hatred? Although it could be said that Green was merely being an opportunist, a statement made by his predecessor US Ambassador Howard P. Jones at a Conference of Chiefs of Missions in Baguio, the Philippines, on 10 March 1965, is of significant importance. He informed senior American officials that – “from our viewpoint, of course, an unsuccessful coup attempt by the PKI might be the most effective development to start a reversal of political trends in Indonesia.” [34] (This would consequently allow the Army to be free to crack down on the communists). Further evidence of American objectives was documented almost a year earlier: “Our basic objectives with regard Indonesia (sic) continue to be what we can do to keep Indonesia out of Communist control…” [35] <br /><br /><br /><br />These factors suggest the US did know of the ‘Coup’ and played a major role in instigating it. Due to the Truman Doctrine[36], and the ‘Domino Theory’ one would have expected the US to have stepped in with armed intervention, to prevent the ‘spread of communism’ as it had dominated a large part of their foreign policy. However, they were not involved to that extent. Perhaps it was because they felt it was unnecessary to send in troops to fight the PKI because they were aware the PKI could offer little resistance, and because they were aware it was not a PKI pre-emptive coup. Maybe they knew through their discussions they had had on their “five-phased program” of covert action, [37] and the money they would continue to disburse from their “black bag operation”; [38] the Martens’ list they had compiled, and with their tacit approval of an agenda prepared by Suharto and his inner group of advisors and co-conspirators, that the PKI were to “no longer exist as an organization” [39] and that the military backed regime would take over, under the rule of Suharto. <br /><br /><br /><br />The blood-shed continued and Soharto became emboldened as more pressure was put on Sukarno. “Sukarno’s attempt to save his position through Cabinet appointments, which included some PKI members, only served to further alienate much of the already hostile military leadership. In practical terms, Sukarno gave almost carte blanche to Suharto to ‘restore order’ in a letter of 11 March 1966, which was referred to as ‘Supersemar’.” [41] "The US Ambassador Marshall Green could hardly withhold his jubilation". [42] KOGAM – Order number One – was issued on March 12th, whereby the PKI and all affiliated groups, were to be dissolved and permanently proscribed throughout Indonesia. Suharto at last had authority to act on own initiative and was only required to report to Sukarno on action taken.[43] <br /><br />_______________ <br /><br /><br /><br />BIBLIOGRAPHY: <br /><br />ARCHIVED AND OCCASIONAL PAPERS 1. Brief History of the Allen Pope Case, box 114 PSF files JFK Library, 14 March 1966. 2. U.S Central Intelligence Agency, Research Study: Indonesia -The Coup that Backfired, 1968 . 3. CIA Memorandum,Declassified Documents Reference System, Arlington, Virginia, 1975 volume. 4. David Johnson, Gestapu: The CIA's "Track Two" in Indonesia, 1976, reprinted October 1995, – http://www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/54b/033.html also at http://www.isnet.org/~G30S/David01.html 5. Paul. H. Salim, The Gestapu “Coup”, Soc.Culture.Indonesia Newsgroup, 1995, copy at: – http://www.isnet.org/~djoko/G30S/Salim02.html 6. I Gusti Agung Ayu Ratih, Soeharto’s New Order State: Imposed Illusions and Invented Legitimations, (Presented as the final paper for Master of Arts in Southeast Asian Studies- History, University of Wisconsin- Madison, Spring 1997) – http://www.geocities.com/mkb_id/arsip/Ayu/ayu_finale.pdf PUBLICATIONS 7. Benedict Anderson and Ruth T. McVey, A Preliminary Analysis of the October1, 1965 Coup in Indonesia, Ithica: Cornell University, 1971. 8. Malcolm Caldwell, (editor) Ten Years’ Military Terror in Indonesia, Spokesman Books, 1975. Contributing authors also include; Ernst Utrecht, Oey Hong Lee, W.F. Wertheim, Carmel Budiardjo, G.W. Satyajit, Adil Rakindo, Ingrid Palmer, Richard W. Franke, Lenny Siegel, and Peter Dale Scott. 9. David Ransom, Ford Country: Building an Elite for Indonesia, (pp. 93-116 of The Trojan Horse: A Radical Look at Foreign Aid – Palo Alto CA: Ramparts Press, 1975 revised edition) - (Public Information Research) http://www.pir.org/ransom.html or http://www.cia-on-campus.org/internat/indo.html 10. Joseph Burkholder Smith, Portrait of a Cold Warrior, G. P. Putnam's Sons, NY, 1976. 11. Brian May, Indonesian Tragedy, Graham Brash (PTE) LTD Singapore, 1978, 2001. 12. Loch K. Johnson's, A Season of Inquiry: The Senate Intelligence Investigation Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1985. 13. Encyclopedia Americana, Volumes 9 & 12 etc., Grolier Incorporated, USA 1985. 14. Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers; The Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000, Fontana Press, 1989. 15. Audrey R. & George T. Kahin's Subversion As Foreign Policy – The Secret Eisenhower and Dulles Debacle in Indonesia, The New Press New York, 1995. 16. Volume XXIII Foreign Relations of the United States 1961-1963 (Southeast Asia), Government Printing Office, March 1995. – http://dosfan.lib.uic.edu/ERC/frus/frus61-63ix/index.html 17. William Blum, Killing Hope, Common Courage Press, 1995. 18. John Prados, Presidents’ Secret Wars; CIA and Pentagon Covert Operations from World War II through the Persian Gulf, Elephant Paperbacks, Ivan R. Dee, Chicago, 1996. 19. Stanley Karnow, Vietnam; A History, Penguin Books, 1997. 20. Damien Kingsbury, The Politics of Indonesia, Oxford University Press, 1998. 21. Adam Schwarz, A Nation in Waiting; Indonesia’s Search for Stability, Allen and Unwin, 1999. 22. Volume XXVI Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964-1968,: Indonesia; Malaysia-Singapore; Philippines– Government Printing Office, also available at George Washington University’s National Security Archive, www.nsarchive.org 23. Richard J. Aldrich, The Hidden Hand - Britain, America and Cold War Secret Intelligence, John Murray, London, 2001. PERIODICALS AND NEWS MEDIA ARTICLES 24. Life Magazine, 11 July 1966. 25. WF. Wertheim, Suharto and the Untung Coup – The Missing Link, Journal of Contemporary Asia, Vol. 1, No.2, Winter 1970, pp. 50ff. (no longer in English on web) [44] 26. W.F. Wertheim, Whose Plot? -New Light on 1965 Events, Journal of Contemporary Asia Vol. 9 No.2, 1979. 27. Peter Dale Scott, The United States and the Overthrow of Sukarno, 1965-1967, Pacific Affairs Vol. 58, Summer 1985, pp. 239-64. – Public Information Research Site – http://www.pir.org/scott.html or http://home.sprintmail.com/~pir/scott.html 28. Kathy Kadene, San Francisco Examiner, May 20, 1990, – Public Information Research Site. –http://www.pir.org/kadane.html 29. Lisa Pease, JFK, Indonesia, CIA & Freeport Sulphur, Probe Magazine, (Part 2) – Vol. 3, No. 4, May-June, 1996. –http://www.realhistoryarchives.com/collections/hidden/freeport-indonesia.html 30. The Latief Case: Suharto's Involvement Revealed, Journal of Contemporary Asia, Unknown Date. 31. Marion Wilkinson, Hidden Holocaust, Spectrum Section, Sydney Morning Herald, 10th July, 1999. – http://www.huaren.org/focus/id/071099-01.html (Free copy site) 32. Benedict Anderson, Petrus Dadi Ratu – Suharto’s Coup [1 & 2], review of Colonel Abdul Latief's Defence. Speech at his trial in 1979, printed in Tempo Magazine, 10-16 April 2000. – http://www.malaysia.net/lists/sangkancil.html 33. Tempo Magazine, No. 21/I/January 30-February 5, 2001, – Cover Story: They finally Speak Out…, i) Introduction – http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/index-uk.html ii) Omar Dani & Halim Perdana Kusuma - http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/cov-2.html. iii) The CIA was Involved & Suharto was the Hand.. http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/cov-3.html iv) Subandrio’s Story – http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/cov-4.html v) Subandrio: “I was victimized” –http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/cov-5.html vi) Dr. Greg Poulgrain, Research Fellow, Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane., 1965. - Suharto’s Sight were set On Dhani & Subandrio. - http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/cov-6.html vii) Irfan Budiman,Purwani Diyah Prabandari, Dwi Arjanto and Setiyardi/CM.,The Year of Living Safely, – http://www.tempo.co.id/majalah/arsip/1st/edition21/cov-7.html 34. Tempo Magazine, No. 48/I/August 7-13, 2001. Books: The Sensor and the CIA. – http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/eng/bok-1.html 35. Tempo Magazine, No. 04/II/October 2-8 2001, Index – http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/arsip/2jp/jap05/lit-list.html i) Seno Joko Suyono, Purwani Diyah Prabandari, Gita W. Laksmini, Arief Kuswardono (Jakarta), Ahmad Fuadi (Washington, DC) A List Behind the Bloodbath – http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/arsip/2jp/jap05/lit-1.html ii) Ahmad Fuadi ,Interview with Kathy Kadene, on her San Francisco Examiner Article, "The US government and CIA destroyed the PKI" – http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/arsip/2jp/jap05/lit-2.html iii) Interview by Purwani Diyah Prabandari, of CIA chief Hugh Tovar:"The CIA did not do it" –http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/arsip/2jp/jap05/lit-3.html iv) Asvi Warman Adam, Reconstructing, piece by piece, – http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/arsip/2jp/jap05/lit-4.html v) Yusi, Avianto Pareanom, Setiyardi, Gita W.L.,The Ford Foundation – a Two-faced Charity? http://www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/arsip/2jp/jap05/lit-5.html FOOTNOTES [1] The Reichstag fire on February 27th 1933, during what could have been a close election, was blamed by the Nazis on the communists and enabled Hitler to justified theirs and the Social Democrats’ persecution and to use it as a pretext for issuing emergency laws and suspending many basic and guaranteed rights. It is generally believed that it was deliberately lit by the Nazis. (Encyclopedia Americana,Vol 12, p. 692, Grolier Incorporated, USA 1985). [2] John Prados, Presidents’ Secret Wars; CIA and Pentagon Covert Operations from World War II through the Persian Gulf, (Elephant Paperbacks, 1996), p. 130. [3] Audrey R. & George McT. Kahin's Subversion As Foreign Policy - The Secret Eisenhower and Dulles Debacle in Indonesia, p. 7 referring to Loch K. Johnson’s, A Season of Inquiry: The Senate Intelligence Investigation (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1985), pp. 58-59. [4] Ibid, pp. 84-85. [5] (The Allen Pope Case) Ibid, pp. 179-182. Also: Richard J. Aldrich, The Hidden Hand – Britain, America and Cold War Secret Intelligence – John Murray, London, 2001 – Chapter 26, Working Groups: Special Operations in the Third World, p.590 & 24n - Brief History of the Allen Pope Case, March 14, 1961, box 114, PSF files JFK Library. [6] Ibid. p. 18. [7] William Blum, Killing Hope, (Common Courage Press 1995), pp. 99-103; 193-97 [8] Ibid, p. 100; & Joseph Burkholder Smith, Portrait of a Cold Warrior, (G. P. Putnam's Sons, NY, 1976) pp. 210-11. [9] Ibid, p.195. [10] Ibid, p.195, from Note #16: CIA Memorandum, June 18 1962, Declassified Documents Reference System (Arlington, Virginia, 1975) Document 240A. [11] Volume XXVI p. 30. of the "Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964-1968,: Indonesia; Malaysia-Singapore; Philippines” (Vol. XXVI-FRUS) - #13 An Enclosed Memo in a Memorandum from Read to McGeorge Bundy; the President’s Special Assistant for National Security - Washington January 13,1964" [12] Vol. XXVI-FRUS pp.166-67. #77 Memorandum of Conversation on a Military Contingency Talk [Reascertainment (sic) in Malaysian Borneo] in London with Stewart & Foster, (Brit. Embassy); Bundy, Green, Cuthell & Conlon (US Govt.) - Washington September 28,1964" [13] “The assumption that if one country in South-East Asia were to fall to the Communists all the other countries in the region would fall, one after the other, like dominoes.” (Encyclopedia Americana, Vol. 9, p. 276, Grolier Incorporated, USA 1985) [14] Vol XXVI-FRUS p.274. #129 Memorandum from the Director, Far East Region (Blouin) to the Assistant Secretary of Defence for International Security Affairs (McNaughton) - Subject: - “Further Deterioration in Relations with Indonesia” - WashingtonAugust 3,1964 [15] David Johnson, Gestapu: The CIA’s “Track Two” in Indonesia 1976, reprinted October 1995, [16] Both quotes are in an Interview in Tempo Magazine – Jakarta, January 30-February 5, 2001 [17] Kathy Kadene, Washington Post, May 21, 1990. [18] U.S Central Intelligence Agency, Research Study: Indonesia: The Coup that Backfired, 1968 (cited hereafter as CIA Study) [19] The Communist Party’s women’s affiliation. [20] Benedict Anderson, Petrus Dadi Ratu, review of Colonel Abdul Latief’s Defence Speech at his trial in 1979, printed in Tempo Magazine, April 10-16, 2000. [21] Vol XXVI-FRUS p.362 # 172 Memorandum Prepared in the Central Intelligence Agency, Washington, November 9th, 1965. [22] U.S Central Intelligence Agency, Research Study: Indonesia —The Coup that Backfired, 1968 (cited hereafter as CIA Study) p.107. [23] Marion Wilkinson, Hidden Holocaust - Spectrum Section - Sydney Morning Herald, July 10, 1999, Cable from American Consul in Medan, November 16, 1965 [24] Tempo Magazine, Interview of Hugh Tovar by Purwani Diyah Prabandri, October 2-8 2001 [25] Marion Wilkinson, Hidden Holocaust - Spectrum Section - Sydney Morning Herald, July 10, 1999, Cable from American Consul in Medan, November 16, 1965 [26] Vol XXVI-FRUS p.362 # 172 Memorandum Prepared in the Central Intelligence Agency, Washington, November 9, 1965 [27] Tempo Magazine, The Sensor and the CIA, # 48 August 7-13, 2001 [28] Vol XXVI-FRUS p. 379 # 179 Telegram From the Embassy in Indonesia to the Department of State, Djakarta, December 2, 1965. [29] Tempo Magazine, October 8, 2001, referring to Kathy Kadane’s interview (see next note). [30] Kathy Kadene, San Fransisco Examiner, May 20, 1990 [31] Ibid. [32] Life Magazine, July 11, 1966 [33] Vol XXVI-FRUS p.307 # 147 Telegram From the Embassy in Indonesia to the Department of State, Djakarta October 5 1965 [34] This event was recorded in Audrey R. & George McT. Kahin's Subversion As Foreign Policy - The Secret Eisenhower and Dulles Debacle in Indonesia,, page 225. (As quoted from the typescript Statement of Ambassador Howard P. Jones as documented at the Hoover Institute Archives). Author's Note: For some reason this document (archived at the Hoover Institute) was found not to be worthy for inclusion in the Official Records of Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964-1968.- Indonesia; Malaysia-Singapore;Philippines. For instance, in a search throughout the 857 pages of (Vol XXV1- FRUS), the nearest hints one can glean in reference to the March 10, 1965 Baguio Conference of Chiefs of Missions are as follows: a) Last Paragraph of Document #115: Telegram #1784 (Dated Djakarta March 8, 1965 5.00 p.m.) From the Embassy in Indonesia to the Department of State, Repeated to Manila for Bundy and FELG, and to CINPAC, Medan, and Surabaya. p. 248. Quote:- "(AIDTO 1055 received after preparation this message but presents no basic inconsistency with USAID proposal in paragraph 1 above. Will reply part 1 following Baguio discussions. Response part 2 being provided separately.)" Source: National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) RG 59, Central Files 1964-66 POL INDON-US. b) The next Official Document #116 - a Memo from Cooper to Bundy, (Dated Washington, March 13, 1965), refers to a suggestion of Ambassador Jones outlined in an "attached" document (being Telegram #1850 from Djakarta, March 13, but NOT attached to the above Archived Memo (of NARA,RG 59,CF 1964-66, POL INDON-US) [ i.e. Nothing in the Official XXVI-FRUS Archives about the Baguio Conference of Chiefs of Missions.] [35] Vol XXVI-FRUS p.167. #78 Circular Telegram From the Department of State to Certain Posts, Washington, October 22, 1964. [36] Truman Doctrine (1947) states its purpose “to help free people to maintain their institutions and their integrity against aggressive movements that seek to impose upon them totalitarian regimes” -Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers; Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000, (Fontana Press, 1989), p.479. [37] Vol XXVI-FRUS pp.162-64. #76 Memorandum Prepared in the Central Intelligence Agency for the Department of State, Subject:- “PROSPECTS FOR COVERT ACTION” Washington, September 18, 1964 – N.B. This includes – between Paragraphs 5 and 15 – the Archivist note: “[Here follow paragraphs 6–14, which contain an outline of a five-phased program and assessment of [text not declassified].]” [38] Vol XXVI-FRUS pp.379-380. #179 Telegram From the Embassy in Indonesia (Ambassador Green) to the Department of State, - Djakarta, December 2, 1965 [39] Marion Wilkinson, Hidden Holocaust - Spectrum Section - Sydney Morning Herald, July 10, 1999, Quoting Army Authorities in November 1965. [40] (Surat Pemerintah Sebelas Maret, the authorizing letter dated March 11, 1966). [41] Damien Kingsbury, The Politics of Indonesia, (Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 64. [42] Vol XXVI-FRUS p. 417 # 200 Marshall Green, Telegram From the Embassy in Indonesia to the Department of State, Djakarta, March 12, 1966, 1000Z - Quote: “2579. 1. Indonesia has just gone through its own perculiar form of military coup. At long last Sukarno has pushed his luck too far, and his plans to dump top army leadership and bring known-Communist in as Army Minister have triggered army action to curb his power. Way coup handled preserves Sukarno as unifying force and establishes army’s legitimacy. Army believes both of these are essential. At same time Suharto has KOGAM order number one full authority if he chooses to use it.” [43] Ibid. p. 417, footnote 3 to # 200 Marshall Green, Telegram From the Embassy in Indonesia to the Department of State, Djakarta, March 12, 1966, 1000Z [44] Note: Web sites are prone to deletions and changed URLs– Use of GOOGLE is recommended to locate an alternative site. <br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-59597286327253960562010-01-04T12:02:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:30:05.900-07:00Redemption & Vodka<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSp8lzjACyse5Xvz2mD_4nAvOxNWrXiUX2bnXHIOLGDYqlBHSEmBY2u9I-EUEdZ7aJiHSnS_dv7YoAeVTOLYae8kG1Fzr7RayCd7Kj2Ll8McsUCjcah38uFCobvty1yJeFwfaxiWVQYh8/s1600-h/vodka.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 246px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429472237499329202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSp8lzjACyse5Xvz2mD_4nAvOxNWrXiUX2bnXHIOLGDYqlBHSEmBY2u9I-EUEdZ7aJiHSnS_dv7YoAeVTOLYae8kG1Fzr7RayCd7Kj2Ll8McsUCjcah38uFCobvty1yJeFwfaxiWVQYh8/s400/vodka.jpg" /></a>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-32108602589714331232010-01-02T01:55:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:30:30.698-07:00Honey & Milk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumen48ggTfc6Dh9f0yD9XwGWNMUF3fcv9afV93HCJmKgil0H3b-UtOe1zibbNZJY5HFsbVIRElyc0yv6CSnrQSWrKDjssYfUQpyRY97K8ildJl1nmfOoktN4c-K279wTy2-29xpFPNyg/s1600-h/honey1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 291px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443349164131056322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumen48ggTfc6Dh9f0yD9XwGWNMUF3fcv9afV93HCJmKgil0H3b-UtOe1zibbNZJY5HFsbVIRElyc0yv6CSnrQSWrKDjssYfUQpyRY97K8ildJl1nmfOoktN4c-K279wTy2-29xpFPNyg/s400/honey1.jpg" /></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDvID2AP26y7hpAp_G4ob7rq4YL40wwTCGkC6xVUid2vdyfJX2I1_G-JC-lPhkxzqgfYq-QTkKcRDJKjB6RwpX80qYRJM1-xR3x5pF5YCPSDHEpmA1GDpx6pY6qJEb7q4d7SC-aIU1kY/s1600-h/honey.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnmq5i9DHr3A4OrTwKb8hyphenhyphen_sfB0URJGnu59nD-JSyO0cPCSYqQzH9ejxNcPrlLJb7W9vk26sMmY09TH6NGJIckkZuMlPMUpbeyoyWp4lcJEiVxXka1_UQNGXU_ltthlRC40iNX-sZgj8/s1600-h/honey2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 291px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443349168498048994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnmq5i9DHr3A4OrTwKb8hyphenhyphen_sfB0URJGnu59nD-JSyO0cPCSYqQzH9ejxNcPrlLJb7W9vk26sMmY09TH6NGJIckkZuMlPMUpbeyoyWp4lcJEiVxXka1_UQNGXU_ltthlRC40iNX-sZgj8/s400/honey2.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi22tLuvLLsVuOKidjxc0usEuuxiGyQEldDTI1bYVe_xzxnfmnVfmvEBqeCsfButN9PkFS_8UcMi_1p18VY5yqmZ_MBT_D1wDbmMJ2-XyzTYROkK2YjasWh1QlQ3r0cfA8L0n6-zSVG00E/s1600-h/honey3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 291px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443349174144971490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi22tLuvLLsVuOKidjxc0usEuuxiGyQEldDTI1bYVe_xzxnfmnVfmvEBqeCsfButN9PkFS_8UcMi_1p18VY5yqmZ_MBT_D1wDbmMJ2-XyzTYROkK2YjasWh1QlQ3r0cfA8L0n6-zSVG00E/s400/honey3.jpg" /></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxc5cPBMq3NpAIXwyizzIhth64L6vb9TCAiR_WPshzPPDZjJ1fy7TboDJISOXfn6lrsrMwbcvu92pt63lNYNgB6Zj2Ug4_oL_4et1OsBmC6J4tCeoCiHDfdUOnfHs7hW9SznZa0kiGEEU/s1600-h/lust+one+copy.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGRajiR8aX0rBtunFIpZqrAejro_5udfDoqugDfm-7SClHkjK9DBalZprdKNVk0S717WnhyuBZQb3D108bMOVOGFhjwId6rR93ie4ofs_n2cQD2hFjdjSlwpfgWTuXd3oFb4COXF_ur0/s1600-h/lust+three+copy.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwG8sd-Wtz5F13ynJsNegcHe4dQxFwN3KPlAKmFY0fowSI5xOrVWrsbUxG8lmEZcudYd9OKdNBAAaSBz603pYO1u4gJieih-JNuzTPa4wYFPdErLuXGw49ATulWhj4JYyNSxE9pj9tnHI/s1600-h/lust+two+copy.jpg"></a></div></div>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-2295473937848385912009-11-24T23:27:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:42:06.106-07:00The Pirate & The Princess<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilu4cXfAtdnnzQ16YipBC-l8xRn0FMejOU7GkFpVUJqui0WynC7_uzRvzlb2wqtBtYrsdp_zn1m3BZnM69NL5bBS9io4KBlZyQHr8XEavYrV0b4xvcNoL8F8XhhAyoO4IucBocfzMIywY/s1600-h/luca.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqe867ElfZg4c-OWCE-m8WCjUeJ4ymdr230uepwmaEatjVqhUGqEA8ehXUMMkoa1hepgPi27OeUKnItwUeeeiM7mISIbVmpa6YIH9EavGZSpS2FJxUfF2_hGSjc4ypY0xfmOHBEK18jc/s1600-h/luca2.jpg"></a>In Miami, the pirate called Keid Eridanus,<br />danced with such violence, such menace, such malice.<br />according to lore; he explored and he roared,<br />all through his jungle. He never did rest.<br />but when lethargic August rolled in the sun,<br />Keid stopped and he cried; "My Love has begun! She is the One."<br />for the curious, spurious, Princess of Sirius,<br />had flown in with the easterly wind, Mirzam and Procyon.<br />She said; this is the locket, in a felt box,<br />wrapped in gold paper, in a chest with a lock.<br />it's hidden, it's secret. It's written - you'll keep it.<br /><br />The Pirate, god bless him, he tried everything to open her heart,<br />so that she could sing,<br />her song of freedom from her broken kingdom.<br />He took her aboard his ancient ship,<br />he made her laugh with his quick wit,<br />he wined and he dined, almost losing his mind,<br />for she never gave in, she never gave him the key.<br />She said;<br /><br />you cannot be coarse, for it cannot be forced.<br />you cannot cut, this Gordian Knot.<br /><br />The Pirate, frustrated, his rage culminated<br />into liquid erruption.<br />He begged and he wept, he wrote letters of depth<br />but with his violence, her song had gone silent.<br />Eight full moons passed, he thought he'd lost her at last,<br />then one day they met, she was full of regret, she couldn't deny, what she felt inside,<br />his fascination with life, gave her inspirational highs,<br />his high ambition, sparked her life's ignition...<br /><br />She realized,..<br /><br /><em>I miss you Mish.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br /><em>.</em>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-39474048918513175502009-11-18T04:20:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:30:56.208-07:00Synodic<span style="font-family:georgia;">an artist went mad at the sky today<br />his fever burned hot, his hands like conflagration<br />his paint caught the heat, it burned incandescent<br />he threw it up high, causing cloud iridescence<br />like a liquidized fluorescent mineral<br />it splattered and hung in the cumulus humilis<br />he sat on the grass, satiated with sweat<br />and without warning, broke down and wept<br />the tides had begun chanting his name<br />a premonition, a coalition between them and the moon<br />a celestial body, which was now round and full<br />demanding his sanity, through it's gravitational pull<br />he knew what i knew, that when the sun set<br />his logic would leave him, alone in regret...<br />the moon makes me crazy, the mascons attack!<br />they render me violent, but i take it all...<br />no. fuck you.<br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:78%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-dIE0nN6Wr5tWRasq50yWmbgI8Bc96hnnwNGt-2XgY04biC8U7dr5mMOsECnYeY9ijAzRya_tcRetO2MZnJT27n1Krd6rcFfQHosrPJibjrWWcofx_sx1Wo2fbf8IPH2QvZfHq7_qhM/s1600-h/sonofthefirstmoon.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 219px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443351195197888386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-dIE0nN6Wr5tWRasq50yWmbgI8Bc96hnnwNGt-2XgY04biC8U7dr5mMOsECnYeY9ijAzRya_tcRetO2MZnJT27n1Krd6rcFfQHosrPJibjrWWcofx_sx1Wo2fbf8IPH2QvZfHq7_qhM/s400/sonofthefirstmoon.jpg" /></a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-13923202646155587792009-11-18T03:49:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:43:17.585-07:00Love Letter l.<div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Your tongue in my mouth,<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">The sweetest fruit I could find, </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">After all seven wonders </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">And the garden of time. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I rest in your shadows, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Free reign to explore, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">With my lips as my tools, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">To conquer your soul. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I trace the curve of your back, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">The line of you neck, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I whisper my magic, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">To no great effect </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">And when the heat rises </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">And the lust settles in, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I’ll twist and I’ll turn, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">To drown in your skin. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Inhaling your scent, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I relish the taste, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Until I’m falling down deeper, </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;">In your embrace.</span></div><br /><p> </p><p> </p><p>.</p>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-50657917462265638802009-11-18T03:47:00.000-08:002010-08-20T14:43:05.352-07:00Love Letter ll.<span style="font-family:georgia;">once there was a boy, who was every high school girls dream.<br /><br />he was tall, with fabrizio curls and jagger lips,<br />he had it all, the prettiest girls, who played right into his tricks,<br />he played ball, drank jack and loved wanton womens hips,<br />he was small, but injected with too much pride, it was genetic.<br /><br />his twenties approached, those light days of mansion house vodka, cheap and plentiful ganja.<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">nights lost to sleepless dawns spent cradling a bottle, two strips of valium and blabbering away the comedown.<br /><br />his twenties approached, that endless age where the future is imminent and your looks aren't sufficient.<br />days blazed into dusks spent in unventilated rooms, waking up too late, waking up too soon,<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">realizing you haven't amounted to much, <em>but what's the fucking rush, tomorrow is still a pill away.</em><br /><br />once there was a boy, who i thought could be redeemed.<br /><br />i shed eleven tears for him and then i revved the gas,<br />i didn't have the time for him, it had been, it had passed.<br /><br />his twenties encroached while he lived at home, under the watchful eye of his mother.<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">he cursed all his girls, he forgot his big plans, always, always blaming another.<br /><br />his twenties encroahed, a heavy reality of bills to be paid, shit to be maid, plans to be laid, a life to be gained.<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">but this boy, he'd lost all his nights and his days, his dusks and his dawns, his youth had all gone.<br /><br />once there was a boy, who i soon forgot,<br />because there's more to life that i want, than to sit and to rot.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">,</span></p>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-4219473051520212812009-11-18T03:45:00.001-08:002010-08-20T14:42:34.733-07:00Love Letter lll.<span style="font-family:georgia;">perfect you are. sharp soft edges<br />cant seem to stay that way<br />like a chrysalis<br />where are you<br />when you blur<br /><br />ingrained in my memory<br />my eyes are closed but i can paint you with my fingers<br />fragmented, your laughter spills<br />it’s such a mess<br /><br />structuring pieces of you together<br />wanting to know the history in the lines of your palms<br />you are a carnival in my belly<br />broken through me like an invasion<br /><br />your words resound in me<br />like an eclectic choir in caverns a million years deep<br />your scent clings to me<br />like a devil tattoo crawling through the cracks of my spine<br /><br />perfect you are. sharp soft edges<br />cant seem to stay that way<br />like a chrysalis<br />where are you<br />when you blur<br /><br />i stay in this quiet<br />like I am underwater<br />hoping to melt into you<br />like the smoothness of the Sahara<br />millions of piecesof you and I scattered all over my bedroom floor<br /><br />oh it’s such a mess<br />where do I end<br />and you begin....</span><br /><br /><br /><br />.sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-17600277647329271662009-10-11T07:12:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:43:53.167-07:00Tanah Airku<p><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:78%;"></p></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">In this country, the land is as fertile as a young virgin, it is richer in color and thicker in texture. The hills are like your mother’s bosom and the rivers like the veins on your grandmother’s hands. The fruit is swollen with honey and juice, it is ripe, ready to be picked all year round and a palette of a million shades of green grace the leaves, the trees and the grass. The air is hot and heavy, its breath is warm and moist like your lover’s. The harsh sun has bled the sky dry of all color, it has inhaled in all the shades of blue and left it a blinding white.<br /><br />In a particular village on a particularly strange Friday, an old man in a field got his cane stuck in the mud. A week later it was two meters taller and sprouting frangipanis of which the old man had died under, still standing upright, one hand grasping a branch, in his blangkon and sarong. The thick white sap of this tree had seeped out from the cracks of the wood and dripped on to his body, melting into his skin, completing full rigor mortis. His body was so solid and heavy, the villagers couldn’t move it, they tried, and they tried, they pried his hands away, they found it had taken on the texture of the tree. Over time, the old man solidified, his features molded into the bark. Perplexed after waiting, because waiting is what the rest had done best, the people congregated in front of the old man’s corpse, because congregations are important, especially in perplexion. They brought offerings and threw rice, they prayed with their hands in the sky, they touched the man’s branches and picked at his leaves, put them in their purses and left feeling relieved. They chattered away like monkeys, musing at his vegetation, it is the lushest green, the most vibrant flower, was this an omen from above or an abomination?<br /><br />During the 7th ceremony of the fifth day of his funeral, the old man’s first daughter received news of her inheritance, her late fathers’ austere, colonial-dated estate in the city. It was the last deed on his family name and he was the last of its sons. It was a home guarded by two canons and infested with spirits. Guards paraded the facade, shooting at barren women who came to ride the artillery to be blessed with fertility, the dungeons beneath shook under their feet, rooms whispered their histories and shamans were called but no medicinial plants could avenge the bloodshed of that house of dead.<br /><br />The first daughter called for her dayangs and packed her belongings, she sent them ahead, to prepare her arrival. Sawah, the oldest of them. Rempah, the most passionate and wild, Darah whose skin was as black and thick and smooth as the stroke of midnight, dressed in their finest lace kebayas they were an impressive procession walking down the street, everyone stopped to stare, they stared at hints of flesh flirting through their lace kebayas, they stared at the black shadows drawn on their temples and red painted lips, at their proud tall backs, carrying bundles and bags filled with red onions and chilies and turmeric to hang on the doors, at the scissors in their sashes to place beneath their pillows and the surety of their stepping, their precision in their gait. They walked on, they walked on.<br /><br />On the roads leading into the city, the juice of stewed rubbish drips slow heavy drops from the rusty trucks. The gaudy graffiti on the windshields tell of a prayers from a mother, some return promises of sexual fervor. The drivers hands are stained black and wherever they walked, their intrusive stench burned the insides of everyone within their proximity. The closer to the city, the blacker the air.<br /><br />The first daughter observed her surroundings. Accustomed to open fields of her village, she had slept outside every full moon and now found how tight and narrow streets could be. She had been spoilt, like a fat pig on a roast she had been fed well by her dayangs and they had bathed her every night for three full hours five minutes and seven seconds. Now her skin sagged with age and the omnipotent creases of the folds of her fat hungrily sucked in the delicate fingers of her dayangs slim hands, none wanted the task of oiling her body with coconut milk after her long bath. She leaked fat from her sides yet still the men came to her.<br /><br />Dark men came some with cocks so big and some with cocks that tasted like spices and reeked of hot vices, white men came, their repression driven crazy by the heat of the seven suns, men who’s eyes had been slit by the devil himself, that’s what the locals said, they came, the city was coming, everyman came. The country became known for it’s skilled and insatiable lovers and hot blooded and irrational politicians.<br /><br />She fucked and she fucked, she sold her soul every night, that fat bitch’s thighs didn’t tremble, they thundered. the fat smacked together and made a terrible sound, but the men always went down. When her appetite was not satiated, she sold Sawah, the men bid to bone the virgin, their tongues salivating with spit. Sawah screamed and she cried, it was the same night the forests burned to dust in a fire. The house became an ongoing orgy, a rotation of musical beds, it was rife with violence.<br /><br />When her greed was not satiated, she sold Rempah, who, of war-like exhibition, burned the house down with her hot fiery breath,. The fucking spread to the streets like a fornicating virus, it was rife with disease.<br /><br />When her lust was not satiated she sold Darah, who was made to stand over an old pedophiles face without her garments of lace. She did so willingly and as he looked up her legs, her lips squeezed out one drop of thick black oil. He grabbed his new wife, he’d fuck her all night, til every last drop of that hot oil could be got.<br /><br />In the city, the land is hidden, concrete has sucked all life from the soil and manifested in erratic building upon building amidst row upon row of metal frames and plastic coated everything. It is a dirtier, messier, cheaper, Chaos theory exemplified. In the city there is a street, one long street from a phallic shaped tower with the nation’s wealth burning at it’s zenith, ending at the largest congregation of expensive vagina, as the locals referred to it. It is the longest, hardest, straightest street, it’s buildings are all made of glass and they glint in the sun as they reach to pierce the sky. In these sensible cubicles little people are hunched, over their screens, wondering where has all the life gone?</span><br /></span><br /></span><div align="center"><br /></div><p> </p><p> </p><p>.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHLexmS28SsyGuMZZtZGp1b3F0_-c-JU530SlUDaHCfsEGT5tXGIU84Vpn8q6E_ITDaEcqmDuq8KIhHd5PPK_ak4FBfCfPF-g_qKaQwENzvnfJJdFiMwnmrs9ha33S61SdQEkyIkdTnc/s1600-h/s8.bmp"></a></p>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-80527660896550638882009-09-27T07:32:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:33:28.465-07:00Bali<span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8M40ysjPg47R3Ftt34tZtAILeWRhukMk5EVf0YQOhQzSRRsLqV5HIf-Ldzb5hoOk-euAQfyOEm2pQTbCmRmUlOFz7q9V81TawmmUTkZVCykaQofYQtpUGQ2ChHqXTy1bDJCCfzAs8RY/s1600-h/h92.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400734153195033042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8M40ysjPg47R3Ftt34tZtAILeWRhukMk5EVf0YQOhQzSRRsLqV5HIf-Ldzb5hoOk-euAQfyOEm2pQTbCmRmUlOFz7q9V81TawmmUTkZVCykaQofYQtpUGQ2ChHqXTy1bDJCCfzAs8RY/s320/h92.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ-0XPYDhdzavZFgT66B3cDTv4MD-2EUbXT5-y2EQeb-5KqXIei_ybS2hRxeKdEofHH4198FR24pYqnvjo4MsLlrgDcWx2yg3VXR5-_dNc0q76jkGXOLFCiTMm9oIsH5AoyVUW3KMdlo/s1600-h/h93.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400733766687398178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ-0XPYDhdzavZFgT66B3cDTv4MD-2EUbXT5-y2EQeb-5KqXIei_ybS2hRxeKdEofHH4198FR24pYqnvjo4MsLlrgDcWx2yg3VXR5-_dNc0q76jkGXOLFCiTMm9oIsH5AoyVUW3KMdlo/s320/h93.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbpPcj_6IW_kGzKouVW6IrrMfNqLA9wtMqTWuLV1WSNMHOEitVgJf1PJWcybX4sdhuzLMVnVsQ-MdJSveyj4m1X-yQpffwiOrcledkmfGt8nlJxGttLYAxm21z6-3cRUoTvwC25JoCK0/s1600-h/h94.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400733313463891874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbpPcj_6IW_kGzKouVW6IrrMfNqLA9wtMqTWuLV1WSNMHOEitVgJf1PJWcybX4sdhuzLMVnVsQ-MdJSveyj4m1X-yQpffwiOrcledkmfGt8nlJxGttLYAxm21z6-3cRUoTvwC25JoCK0/s320/h94.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XxdYq7Dz8igxB-n-i6jFv__Q1qNGKdUBXGB6WTSn6T8dusjZqQxGS3rbZhgbBTNyBKK50I_X9IUe5INMzshzLvxZeXorwt6cgkr2_d9hErlUKK9Nl3-cbTxhjxEA6iJHW95-EWRo3Jk/s1600-h/h95.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400732828429038514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XxdYq7Dz8igxB-n-i6jFv__Q1qNGKdUBXGB6WTSn6T8dusjZqQxGS3rbZhgbBTNyBKK50I_X9IUe5INMzshzLvxZeXorwt6cgkr2_d9hErlUKK9Nl3-cbTxhjxEA6iJHW95-EWRo3Jk/s320/h95.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHW7wj4QbPjLgtbPe9NFqposB8tLWNysyLvQLGMrxRCFoPiJeU8EFD1ZVPrIXPvb7xMrMo89ZxGpGZNIUvj-U0EnLJEJiIIDSVThG2vo7i4RooMHSF4RhMmzotr_YaqlKmely6uTJTCo/s1600-h/h8.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400732340445722626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHW7wj4QbPjLgtbPe9NFqposB8tLWNysyLvQLGMrxRCFoPiJeU8EFD1ZVPrIXPvb7xMrMo89ZxGpGZNIUvj-U0EnLJEJiIIDSVThG2vo7i4RooMHSF4RhMmzotr_YaqlKmely6uTJTCo/s320/h8.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvgc18ACGg_AM_SOiyvubk9DVcKS3k0hDk4uKyebHlhpP0BWreQ7-pRazH6evEpRFXzZb_NAVSt2rMd9x3X9MTftji8rtvuM8TdbjqTt2waR0OKWwEWorbin1qk4Y1aedhHdOduqG19k/s1600-h/h96.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400731910160653746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvgc18ACGg_AM_SOiyvubk9DVcKS3k0hDk4uKyebHlhpP0BWreQ7-pRazH6evEpRFXzZb_NAVSt2rMd9x3X9MTftji8rtvuM8TdbjqTt2waR0OKWwEWorbin1qk4Y1aedhHdOduqG19k/s320/h96.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNUlpl43lLLq9HaUfv1DtCjDi3nHgaQdTAr5Anz8_Rshyphenhyphen-yPmAUH9RiDKhk1U0bhd5CpCMf0lfGrUTQbLakWvSEBlQf2Dv317a9yqda1b51D9uCG0DiZ0G-KOKpWDEnJli65TQeDxUc0/s1600-h/h991.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400730150162534274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNUlpl43lLLq9HaUfv1DtCjDi3nHgaQdTAr5Anz8_Rshyphenhyphen-yPmAUH9RiDKhk1U0bhd5CpCMf0lfGrUTQbLakWvSEBlQf2Dv317a9yqda1b51D9uCG0DiZ0G-KOKpWDEnJli65TQeDxUc0/s320/h991.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeUGmEn4Jcu_NAQbiw2Wf604LWYLHELbLaKQWRQYo6ftrPe_GK4BlhasU4gm4VaULlGg7yGxZ6QZs7D-Qnak675Gtz1ufdm2sn7l8DLv6iDlHGhsDzmT_U8zZFf_FWwWzV8wCFJJRL6c/s1600-h/h99.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400729619762912258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeUGmEn4Jcu_NAQbiw2Wf604LWYLHELbLaKQWRQYo6ftrPe_GK4BlhasU4gm4VaULlGg7yGxZ6QZs7D-Qnak675Gtz1ufdm2sn7l8DLv6iDlHGhsDzmT_U8zZFf_FWwWzV8wCFJJRL6c/s320/h99.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpoEvRWmRG6xcn-BkFn78Ovv7Axy6bmhrkeSmvWgBgHFxrXsHPF-ITSQjP7GpT7iWYIZJqUsW-Gi6IPozCj8aMQHi92IGLborXjo90ZfnKOh1KElVgwNEReiRARpk5I3rNixk19sM2KA/s1600-h/h98.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400728946183660034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpoEvRWmRG6xcn-BkFn78Ovv7Axy6bmhrkeSmvWgBgHFxrXsHPF-ITSQjP7GpT7iWYIZJqUsW-Gi6IPozCj8aMQHi92IGLborXjo90ZfnKOh1KElVgwNEReiRARpk5I3rNixk19sM2KA/s320/h98.bmp" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzFszAeu7h-lskPZnDY77gZiT3Q-R9SPa23fiOnjCe3LLGl-yGHwovdPSsNKIIVr8j5U_D5Y31oBq8vHELumS7P-mt20jnOB3UHXf2r36nakMpVkpCNhLzhKU9uFjoX9eDsau72zu2QM/s1600-h/h2.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400727678004431234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzFszAeu7h-lskPZnDY77gZiT3Q-R9SPa23fiOnjCe3LLGl-yGHwovdPSsNKIIVr8j5U_D5Y31oBq8vHELumS7P-mt20jnOB3UHXf2r36nakMpVkpCNhLzhKU9uFjoX9eDsau72zu2QM/s320/h2.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLEmLZUFKMOFS1fnEZGKZWWfNPPCAo47OfWNv_-c5nfdWIDdiQYeSrhHkWtNFkFLbojjKOR4452k_LY0DxaCuIB5N0_azNq_dgF0jF44vriAFW5urPNElM00BYLyo5S_e5nqL4d5TN3PQ/s1600-h/h6.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400725042780056658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLEmLZUFKMOFS1fnEZGKZWWfNPPCAo47OfWNv_-c5nfdWIDdiQYeSrhHkWtNFkFLbojjKOR4452k_LY0DxaCuIB5N0_azNq_dgF0jF44vriAFW5urPNElM00BYLyo5S_e5nqL4d5TN3PQ/s320/h6.bmp" /></a> </p><p></p><p align="center"><br /></p><p></p><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgcYMl5mqzkX99PQMuoaUCOO0dXe8z_m0aAluEgX5n7vCvZi7F9Dn1jd694dz1ObBm54Un37CeegBPoiwR9-myncWX1SFaJf_UlSSQ4ltDrfBvzmTEfWRQ0SI_081pcEnMFE8K_qn_ls/s1600-h/h1.bmp"></a></p>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-5394580352479275462009-09-27T07:25:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:44:21.561-07:00King Solomon<span style="font-family:georgia;">He is tall, broad, black,<br />he rides the Dragons back.<br />He is strong, fierce, wild,<br />he is Midnights' Only Child.<br />He is the one no one dares attack,<br />for once he slew a multitude,<br />of Warriors far and wide.<br /><br />The Oldest Son, the Only One,<br />the one as fierce as Middays Sun.<br /><br />He was my Lover, the stuff of dreams,<br />he was besieged by a thousand Valkyries.<br />Yet he stood his ground, he kept his crown,<br />as he was the one, no one dared decieve.<br /><br />Such strength and determination, one day he'll rule the nation.<br />His Iron Fist, his Golden Heart, he was born to play the part. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I can see it in his face, one day he'll rule the human race.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><br /><br />.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></em>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-52453662776669848512009-09-19T07:57:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:44:47.890-07:00Devil Rides a Winged Barracuda<span style="font-family:georgia;">the city streets are stripped bare of the cars that cloak its curves,<br />like venus de milo stretched out on her side.<br />you can see the shape of the land. she is voluptuous, calm, her breathing is settled.<br /><br />the city night is a harlots make up, the dark disguises the smog thats stained<br />the crooked pavements. crooked trees.<br />at night, it's space. lights and speed.<br /><br />i drive recklessly, haphazard turns born from blurred vision.<br />the silhouettes of other cars distilled to thier two angry flashing lights.<br />i gun the engine. 170 in one hand.<br />i gun the engine. i rape the land.<br />she is sleeping and i am her incubus. a devil in a winged barracuda.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><br /><br />.<br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-22215623797417898142009-09-14T06:03:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:45:27.126-07:00Panting for Promises of Love<span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">i shed a tear for beautiful girls,<br />faces with features so rare,<br />spiked with dresses easy to unfurl.<br /><br />so young and reaching sexual maturity,<br />so quick to believe they're more than a fuck,<br />nubile lolitas, one gets them so cheaply.<br /><br />girls, hold on to your panties,<br />bat your eyelashes and play the game,<br />just beware of the man oozing sleaze.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOvGajFU60wSEhJByUO2AlDkw_VuxTNQ5d6ycNG_LYKgtnZRVwuJc3IipeVD0labjib5901ILstN5qw_AOxL4hdQnkG-vRJ7qX_iVOlNeoN5BkWIHgrQOQ1X1KCwAS_DEOavk4w8fO1M/s1600-h/undress.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPZxFEDfzn63yqqOnkkKDLGXn3RB4chfVz5GbievnfBOjuTGvQuH0eSeh6DnPZxK7BNaShBZkKMbbwiAzv1Ky43fTcM9ALuGGKuGuq54t1RDQG5AabZ_RKXaYfTR_taYyzP5UoIZVY68/s1600-h/undress.jpg"></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VXWFL-93LuwakupXwI316Jqe29JyhplK7HlF92jER4YweOxuWGGzBOt-heCsrbGVEOnj-OaXAF1KZP_bZ0CB646XTvOv5Ljd_ir4CQN8sWr4QS241HB35bPEpQ9WVBYR5tNKrOzPMOU/s1600-h/smoke2.jpg"></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGvD1pQ460kuv5D9BV6e_yDKYfZWIj7J-Dxy7GzYFgMF5arZTIU-HVYkgWtXV4_wqglq8pp_RHK09RNON9W-8p4_DSt4u8wdKLsP7jq_VLn-GwV0Y9O9GbceTFfmPLDhuOS8nYpHCTDE/s1600-h/girl.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ASDoz2PKAv38TSbLWs4hsAFd_0wv7M8LP-XXp-PD2TxyzOiYiAlQhpV0W71kGxop4YC-8q2GJcUZKO-zM9McyQBAQ4jeUyB2ogY3IGC8f0tyo37nf3d66JBGzsecOodW43oXaNlB17U/s1600-h/wine.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2H4X86Nfg1px8a_aD9EcsvoFDrkHtFPlfl_7NDWl6huYGwLnxLadwhkg3aP-4LN546iTWH23M5Hs3d1-TaaCv_hUTBFditSD1LkXw2I4heJpWs4fjt5e5Q8RCQ1aTImPw6ujNrmCzJo4/s1600-h/undress.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUJfJGXTPxiE6FuVjgw1Jp8k3Ww6PsqhCu6AVubkZx3C0uUeg09RlOt6ls4yZA1-lU5C3QPWwzQioWkF_3DN0eSyH-UIf5qYJrAYmiVq06ThO4bTdDCwS9KOvp4HJnP4nxMpHUXRVkTA/s1600-h/wine.jpg"></a> <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdsQnLkU-WtRLGG2obXVsvVqQdoX-AYu-MpfoZP5IVrOft8xSHeGkJjCP8MuGElGJQ7fhsSfIMAl_8zKbi0W2U3SJpkKytgoevzXvWbpRPIlWUw_87raAlgwm-HfdwpDJnv5CIZuNCNIk/s1600-h/smoke2.jpg"></a><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLb5TE4SZtMJDBATtcyqYpGwhYpFdP2J2ol0-noNP9Q6zjDkDePWUqIwfURrOzCGTfcnwTwIcyhWMUi1Sifc1x_PCHCxYH5q76UlK0KVSKmmHLr3DsRoEkkOmrE7t-QP8M0u6jA7ABr4/s1600-h/girl.jpg"></a><div></div></div></div></div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-56309143894752138932009-09-10T23:48:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:45:59.895-07:00Charlie & Alice<span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><em>This is for Xj & B. My Coke & LSD.</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">alice wore garments made of fairytales, that were pinned together with principals, her insolence was subtle and savvy, her skin soft and her gestures looked like how gemulai and selam berselam flow off your tongue. She was a mother to the country, a product of a Catholic school, a microscope to the world.<br /><br />charlie was amphetamines in lace, only dropping when there were no distractions, Charlie was Jupiter and brilliant, the Artic and the Amazon, simultaneously, autonomously, erroneously. she played it like a video game, she played it loud and fast, she played it in the sun with her pockets full of pills. she had so much love to give, not enough to get. charlie was a.d.d. with o.c.d. and every imaginable tangent yet.<br /><br />alice lived in an infinite amount of worlds, she had a thick notebook. it was stuffed with so many extra pages, it looked like a bride throwing confetti. All the different doors to all her different worlds were in here, all her sensories danced a waltz at her fingertips, all her binaries got their plotlines straight. she was always tapping her fingers, she tapped over the inky bumps and dents of her pages. she tapped at the doors with her fingertips she whispered softly to the wood. rubbing velvet on her face, the grains in cream on her thighs, her fingerprints against each other, ba da da, ba da da.<br /><br />charlie's street where she lived was on the main stage, center stage, in the spotlight. life was weird, life was fucked up, but she wanted it like that. Life passed by like stills in a movie, like wooden boards with painted scenery, projectors flashing photographs. Life was trails of trains choo choo chooing on the tracks of rolled jades, charlie was a jack of all trades, the local Ace of Spades. she'd seen it all with young eyes, she'd lived to tell the tale twice.<br /><br />alice loved charlie right off, from the word go, she was on. turned on, on top, on it, to ride it, to win it. charlie had this rage, alice cooled her down. alice blew the breeze that blew into the car, on to charlie's face hanging out the window. charlie loved going fast, but with alice, everything was like in slow motion. alice showed charlie a secret, she opened up her book, she spread her pages wide and said, come inside charlie. i know you like to explore, she said. put your lips here between my pages and whisper to come in. charlie rapped out poems on the pages, alice tapped out rhythms on her spine, on the lower part of charlie's back, where the skin was warmed by summer sun.<br /><br />the paper started getting wet, the ink began to stain, the book began soaking through, the pages began to rain. <em>you've whispered on the gates of Ceylon, </em>on this Sacred Island you shall find Serendipity and a gateway to the Gods.<em> </em>charlie came in, she slid through her skin and into the lines upon lines, the lines of Ceylon. Here you will find Ninety Thousand Verses of dharma, artha, kama and moksha. Here you will dance with Holy Queen Anula, and dine with the Righteous Crown of Pandya.<em> </em>charlie danced and she dined, she licked her plate clean, she got drunk on wine and closed the book shut. <em>I need a rest, six pages left, pump the bass, sing the ref, i've lost my breath. </em><br /><em></em><br />charlie was amphetamines, never dropping when it was hot. like the deserts of the Middle East, to the left a little, a little to the south, closer to the beast. She found Monrovia, Liberia and here the rains caused hysteria. Delirious with heat and wet, alacrious with skipping steps, charlie battled with Prince Johnson in the Congo town, she tied him up, she rode him down, right onto the ivory coast. Victorious and proud, she'd made the Mysterious bow, on their bended knees, charlie was amphetamines, never dropping when it was hot.<br /><br />alice shut her book, <em>stop your rapping and your rhyming,</em> the temperature is climbing<em>, stop your whispering and entering, </em>these secrets are blistering, the temperature is rising. alice swayed her hips and her hands moved like the waves of the ocean, she slowed down her motions and pursed her lips, kiss me here, <i>gentle, gently,</i> kiss me here and i'll show you many more worlds, lose you in a maze of 360 degree turns, that's the helix, that's the ellipse, this is all in spacetime, here in my pseudosphere. <em>can you feel my skin burn,</em> can you feel this cosmological constant pushing out my lips, that grip, at the tips, with the whips, at their clits?<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">charlie played it loud and fast, charlie played it like a video game, charlie's fingers flicked through the ink, the tips, of the lips, with the whips, on the clit. charlie was the Amazon, charlic was the Arctic, charlie had her Valkyrian, with her pages open at the slit, she explored every inch, she dipped her fingertip in, she stirred the black and white text, the rest of her sex was seeping black ink. her pages turned in sync, her pages, they were wrecked, her bursting book was vexed, it was sopping wet. monsoon rains from her thighs spreading stains of black ink, alice's pages and pages of brides with confetti, all thrown in sync, all in the rain.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTOxuJpXsLWuAMIJnthDadpCxVQ1IeuKi3-EpCLagf_gw5MbRZ_DyN_bj4mTC4sNPRkwWYL-_6WoksAV_D2RCh6DSzcSLEnmyKNC1umrFSvL6RvWg3ODIwBHhFF6Ebl1sMQghH5yfhnYo/s1600-h/x1.bmp"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA1B_NxcigyqdB55Bk4xNMomGQJ2pWR2TIqRNHizens7QYaNR2ONgOZ8iPiOvBcgKx2zwhAC5iML0EKNnwQG4jj-AcTNeTzX5v1SntG8BLqRMFdJ3xluy1krtZ4GAviWXiTEfaQ6a6h0/s1600-h/x2.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400691504732876450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA1B_NxcigyqdB55Bk4xNMomGQJ2pWR2TIqRNHizens7QYaNR2ONgOZ8iPiOvBcgKx2zwhAC5iML0EKNnwQG4jj-AcTNeTzX5v1SntG8BLqRMFdJ3xluy1krtZ4GAviWXiTEfaQ6a6h0/s320/x2.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcABaQYfjtxcW9QVqMoHbr3WL7TfTNvajTatV4Q51p2ZVuFmrUsXWpmwye2LkeAKfMCeJ4ngxHTEYEHbSA5BGFOWtTjYL0JPGSfwKDhNMdYMSrn644zHFvk-TMBIaXt4UpINdzArksb58/s1600-h/x3.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400690721940921698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcABaQYfjtxcW9QVqMoHbr3WL7TfTNvajTatV4Q51p2ZVuFmrUsXWpmwye2LkeAKfMCeJ4ngxHTEYEHbSA5BGFOWtTjYL0JPGSfwKDhNMdYMSrn644zHFvk-TMBIaXt4UpINdzArksb58/s320/x3.bmp" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuxWIc6-zGdkxxWK__RjbIozWvzF3OkeDRM49WTaDENX-S1DQoSzf6DXxrwo_NjshUnliibn7jiz7iQxzXabkZGNml92alaZ4OdtsgkqAWI7W2qHsLDDAp9zwTf8gDFvfiOMfBjJ0-y4/s1600-h/x5.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400689670046822034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuxWIc6-zGdkxxWK__RjbIozWvzF3OkeDRM49WTaDENX-S1DQoSzf6DXxrwo_NjshUnliibn7jiz7iQxzXabkZGNml92alaZ4OdtsgkqAWI7W2qHsLDDAp9zwTf8gDFvfiOMfBjJ0-y4/s320/x5.bmp" /></a><br /><p></p>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-68838618639111058062009-08-20T12:07:00.001-07:002010-08-20T14:46:58.325-07:00Yfke<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBZ6avMMp2YGB1Hf5rdd8uF0WPBSYqI1fTg8OGzBkXkI8UChn6Rjud0TVo8VQAmMTTuJGJLCfuTERBY4SW-DOWkzc2s0BPo-UTFpeLF8f5F9GEIdnUl-e-HLKg6JoJEp9HHdlQKRVfW4/s1600-h/mom.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 369px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386149841449831874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBZ6avMMp2YGB1Hf5rdd8uF0WPBSYqI1fTg8OGzBkXkI8UChn6Rjud0TVo8VQAmMTTuJGJLCfuTERBY4SW-DOWkzc2s0BPo-UTFpeLF8f5F9GEIdnUl-e-HLKg6JoJEp9HHdlQKRVfW4/s400/mom.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">She sits cross legged, her skinny legs like a puzzle of flesh before her, leaning against the side of the bed, facing the double bevelled glass doors through which the morning sun flows, showering this little room in fragments of broken light. Dressed in a flimsy nightgown stained with bleach and time with her short angry hair protruding in dangerous spikes, my mother has a haphazard look about her, as if her being was sketched quickly and thoughtlessly by the hand of God. Yet, there is something meticulous and deliberate in the way she is holding her cracked grey compact mirror up to her face, inspecting her skin with such intense concentration that the lines of her forehead crease in protest. The room is heavy and still from the heat of the sun but she does not sweat. She never sweats, she is a lady. There is an abandoned Dunhill left to burn in the pale blue and white china ashtray beside her and a steady stream of dirty smoke curls around her, dancing against the light.</span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">Oblivious to the incoherent cacophony blaring from the morning news she reaches for her jet black eyeliner amongst the clutter of apricot and taupe blushes, jade green and tacky blue eyeshadows, Estee powder and crumpled balls of tissue covered in smudged graffiti of black mascara. Her neck arches back as she looks down at her reflection, making her catlike Chinese eyes appear lazy and regal and her gaze arrogant as she sweeps the pencil across the top of her half closed eyelid. Dropping the eyeliner carelessly, she smudges the corners of her eyes with her pinkie finger, a talon really, dipped in blood red polish until she is certain that perfection is attained. She works quietly, never cursing or getting frustrated by the awkward position of her bony wrists and wrinkled hands that tell her history and age from the veins trying to burst through the skin. She wears Dior lipstick, rouge 863, to camouflage her small sharp teeth, stained yellow by years of cigarettes in cafes, bars and the bedroom. In this mood my mother is all fangs and talons wearing the richness of red. </span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">My mother is an artist, her face is her canvas. This is a ritual for her, a slow and immaculate decoration, creating a beautiful mask to brave the world. She is beautiful, elegantly beautiful with eyebrows that arch, asking questions to those who dare to meet her gaze. Her bone structure is fine, her features a contradiction of delicacy and angularity. Her beauty, her manner, the rigid way she paints her face, scrutinising every line and every pore, her proud expression, are incongruous to the rare glimpses of honesty one sees when she wakes up in the morning, when she laughs. She is so many things and in the quiet of the morning, alone in her chrysalis, her metamorphosis occurs and she emerges, wearing her make-up like the cloak of a new personality.</span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>.</p></div>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7586276049987105112.post-67793627233162866212009-08-20T12:07:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:47:16.519-07:00On the Equator<span style="font-family:georgia;">There are too many things to see, to describe. My senses are overwhelmed by this montage of colours, shapes and textures. A palette of a million shades of green grace the leaves, the trees and the grass. A coconut tree rises into the sky; an awkward skinny teenager embarrassed by his height. The ground below it gasps from thirst; it’s deeper layers protesting and attempting to rise up, as if to say, “Here! Let ME search for water!” It is cracked, hard and dry; a thin layer of dust covers this patch of the desert. Sporadic clumps of fat grass, rumput gajah, have gripped on and survived. They are the colour of limes and their bellies look worn, as if their greenness has been stained by the bright midday sun and turned to patches of ochre as consequence. Their veins are clear against the background of yellow. Beyond this barren scene there is a sudden explosion of foliage, the way a tropical landscape should look, stretching away into the distance. It breathes a hot and heavy air, blurring the sky above it. I can feel the sun beating down jungle rhythms on my back and droplets my sweat seep from my skin and splatter on to the page as I try to recreate this paradise in my battered orange notebook. My pencil scratches at the paper; I want so much to capture everything but how do I even begin to describe this heat, the lethargy it brings, the faded scent of hibiscus and grass?<br /><br />The sky is cloudless, still and white. People always think that tropical countries are set against a backdrop of azure blue skies and turquoise waters but they are wrong. The harsh sun has bled the sky dry of all colour, it has inhaled in all the shades of blue and left it a blinding white.<br /><br />See, redemption lies in the beads of sweat dripping from this lazy, hazy, heated summer skin, but now the skies have resigned themselves to a vacant grey and turbulent rains signal the coming of anika. the sun plays hide and seek with me, a bollywood dance behind polluted clouds, i stick my middle fingers up high at them. Obstinate, self-important, heavy masses of grey, fuckers are wreaking havoc on my tan. Fuck them. They’re like the politicians of the tropical skies. Like how all ugly things are envious of beauty, they loathe to see days drenched with heat and lust, gallivanting in a shade of nude. Fuck these slash dash slash fanatics, they stole the rays from the sun and replaced them with turgid words.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6dTSRJIg_-2ORnhA74-iH2Y3jpWErUOmft588N5alG7keqGQNvfCODGxjXu5lHDpzF-mUMh7yxpau_AwopcFf3Vo8_zvjJvqsvWf2Cki8Z2VI2NCT8kG2OmtXFKjkQVGe48FCQXOhrE/s1600-h/n616680092_5998206_2923258.jpg"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367604879020716690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6dTSRJIg_-2ORnhA74-iH2Y3jpWErUOmft588N5alG7keqGQNvfCODGxjXu5lHDpzF-mUMh7yxpau_AwopcFf3Vo8_zvjJvqsvWf2Cki8Z2VI2NCT8kG2OmtXFKjkQVGe48FCQXOhrE/s400/n616680092_5998206_2923258.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367604237960143426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH9wB8QQPHn5VI8waffEgMoTvX5CV20mCRwibNRupu5AAzxYFFm7M3s_s65t4Dx4ErZLnk7Yk00b6LcsMp8bfRnCQgDIc28yOQgdf_jOpU4ApOTJDR0Slxnnte7ymG4pXxh2wnhwitx4M/s400/n616680092_6376428_612268.jpg" /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnoYi3bVNXNNu44FCYkNb-SzXXtV5ouFpFYqi1GSnNshyDinujMZ-W0kukAU2XC7FzTTeZZi8HdWhVOG34sD3KR9_pZPzWbseDfDHnEUKNZQ12Zkn8g4afX93MoDeYhG52foghuKbOuQ/s1600-h/n616680092_4371584_1457834.jpg"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 297px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367603861996933906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnoYi3bVNXNNu44FCYkNb-SzXXtV5ouFpFYqi1GSnNshyDinujMZ-W0kukAU2XC7FzTTeZZi8HdWhVOG34sD3KR9_pZPzWbseDfDHnEUKNZQ12Zkn8g4afX93MoDeYhG52foghuKbOuQ/s400/n616680092_4371584_1457834.jpg" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimwobTxWeQEYKhP9VN7rUFQh87o-Jjw4GOBUiY5LQ29YlNCMc5SWYA0Bw0dVT4r0bQ3YnpCS2JJO4iWcK3L4bhHhvy_TZMEISnB2-3F3zIX_NedL8zO0y-SfvxAibgiIfglZqIM5dzZo/s1600-h/4694_151408085092_616680092_6376566_4824078_n.jpg"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span></a> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_kQblGY3sHG0Puyk9VPSxRO5aNbKrhXp9W_sZJRoXBY5INl9B7zDSH8u9Zu1ygL9YpnrbJIC2QwGnN31xfaLek2V71iNvkcO4bCtgOT7dw57WWWHikQ49Db1kVbbABQ1ZMYapRbBjTM/s1600-h/n616680092_3367851_6109.jpg"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVGzApxrei6dgGiH1lEiAJU4tUD2NhQ8M4Y2QVHlUNl_oFVLU0fb5bM-6ArPzDMtw-Dd39vZfCPu-Qn2ZqDb31UyBjm4yhx36dASk0VoIrE3bfnCu_hDTRiYKeHrZ-OZe18HY7dx_24o/s1600-h/n616680092_3077781_6317.jpg"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span></a><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Verdana;font-size:10;" class="Apple-style-span" ><div><div><div><p align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;color:#333333;"></span></p></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>sjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08873005482202769877noreply@blogger.com1