And then there was Sun Wu Kong. The Monkey King.


If you like Chinese Literature you know who he is; one of the most important characters in Journey to the West and the most beloved mythical creature in all china. I think there is no book richer in symbolism, political comflict, philosphy, poetry, religion and historical happennings crammed in together in to a fantasy novel (maybe, perhaps, The Aztec). But then, I haven't read Three Kingdoms or Dream of Red Mansion. Those will have to wait because after the six tomes of Journey to the West and after I read Lu Xun's The True Story of AQ.

I love the Monkey King because he was born from a stone, the moon as his mom the sun as his dad, wild as nature, soul of a child, directly honest, you know? My kinda guy. I love specially the scene where he creates havoc in heaven, drinking all the heavenly wine, all the elixir pills (Aren't Gods glorified Junkies?) the Inmortality giving peaches, and so on... and then all the freaking Gods try to beat the living shit out of him, but you know, the monkey is the man! And Blam!!! He kicked everybodies asses.... it was only the great Buddah who could control the damned monkey, he said, if you can jump out of my right hand an come back I will give you what you want... bleh.. you find out the rest by yourself.

There is so much to it, how the author uses animals to simbolize certain gods or political figures, to represent so complex relationships as hegemony, feudalism and such. The most important and central part is the historical part, the pilmigrige from a monk of china to go to india in search of the sriptures of Buddah to copy them and bring them. It is said that the journey took 18 years.

Monkey is perfect but Pig is more human.... grab a good translation of the book and enjoy....

J.

Looks. Never blinks. Moves both of his open hands from side to side signaling his concern towards a situation when suddenly he stops, raises his legs and slam its to the ground at the same time moving his head to the side. But the music is the enhancer of the movements, of each action, of each expression.

What do I feel when I see 京剧 ? I just let my imagination flow and let the tones mix with the action to creat an inmense universe of peace and awe.

I only have one suggestion for Beijing Opera in these era, specially if its filmed, the lack of innovation from the camera men makes the acrobatics and face expresions of the actors dull. The sound system used to record the music is badly equalized. I wish I could help, but Im not sound engineer nor do I posses the mula to make cultural projects like this.

I just ask one question of thee, don't judge something you don't understand and don't say you don't like if you don't know the cultural baggage that hangs upon it.

Jack.

Talked to my friend from Iceland today, set to have Beijing KaoYa tomorrow night. Send an email to my friend from Portland who is now in Hawaii told him he is missing the best weather in Beijing, called my baby told her I miss her, flick on the flick flack and turned my head to the umbillical chord that connects me with the center of the universe and set my dreams to kiss the night space chaos sky... Oh... am liking the events, maybe the events are not liking me, but sometimes you just have to give a fuck. I miss my bottle of baby milk vodka and puffing on my green cigarrettes. Dull isn't it? Life pleasures are the malicious little things that torture you in the future. For all I care, at this moment, is to lay down in 朝阳门公园 listenning to good old floyd in plain afternoon and at sundown listen to Reflection by Tool , I would then want to head out to the Bed and Tapas Bar and get stoned drunk on wiskies and 雪花 arrive home and sleep on her arms till the next day. It would be great if no hangover would come from this, but lets be realistic in this unrealistic dream.

I went to 吉林市for the May holidays and got to meet my woman's family. I also had the opportunity to visit, see and touch (myself, am kidding!) the meteor that fell there in 1976 when Mao died. Peculiarly enough it happen the same night of his death. Have you ever touched (yourself?Just kidding again!) something from outter space? The only thing I could describe when I touched it its the coldness. I will try to post the pictures soon, just have to get time to do so!

Next a poem:

PO E TREE

PO E TREE

Like a mother to a son. The first glance, the look of God, when upon his first breath the pain of a world that he will hate to live but be scared to leave. And the mother, excited, her heart explodes into millions questions and hope and suffering and concern and what did you she call that? Pure altruistic love. Sudenly time and space collides and in a magnitude unexplainable in human language existence desist to exist, for death and life are the same thing and to be born and to die is the beginning and the end at the same time, and you know where am going, its all the same shit different day as one great poet used to say.

Poet Tree

And it grew from a seed fertilized by all the shit our society eats then defecates and most poets they seem not to grow out of that quantity of manure but some of them remember that real poetry cannot be written if first it is not felt, if you can write from the pit of your guts and transform those emotions into words it doesn’t matter how much fucks cunts and cocks you use in it, it will always be

Poetry

I was in a taxi a few months ago and I saw them, two kids, ages, maybe 6 and ten, outside on a corner of a street, their clothes talk of no money, their bodies of no food, but their faces,

Happiness of the poor is the truest of them all a smile for no reason than the reason we should all be happy for, for beign alive and being loved, God caressed their existence while merrily playing with the cups to beg money, dirty face, dirty eyes and all the dirty that their life might be full off, no worries but a smile, and shame and a tear felt from my eyes, who am I to complain, about life when I can say I pefectly have it all…

Poet and Poetry

I see the nigth sky turn to day as lightning bewildered my eyes, day turn to night as the moon encountered the sun and they started making love, and I seen in a bar two midgets drinking a pint happily drunk after the third round, and I have seen unicorns and dragons and giants and dwarf when Im happily stoned, I have seen tenderness, evil and spoke to too many people and am convince that in every art, in every song, in every sky, in every star, in every sport, in every job, there might not be poets or they may not be a poet but alas there is always

Poetry.