Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Man on Golden Gate Bridge about to jump--Bottom line is Talk to someone, don't hurt yourself--

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Black Rice of Winter (after Paul Celan) by Kyi May Kaung

Black Rice of Winter by Kyi May Kaung.

One hour to kill
how better to do this
than reading the poetry
of Paul Celan.

Black rice of winter
we till you and till you
seeding ya kyaw sabar
and other grains that don't
taste right
and don't sell.

Black rice of winter
we till you and till you
and brave
compulsory delivery quotas
and not being able
to feed our own families and have
seed for next year
left over.

Black rice of summer
you failed us you failed us

it flooded and Nargis the Cyclone
took all of our children--
the fields
are full
of skulls and dead bodies and bloated

Black rice of winter we hate you
we hate you.

Black rice of winter leave me

Don't stick to my thoughts
don't stick to my clothes
don't stick to my being.

Black rice of winter go take
Metta to Paul Celan's mother killed
by a piece of lead.

Now the hour is effectively killed
there are only 30 minutes

Copyright Kyi May Kaung 11-14-2013


Saturday, October 18, 2014

Forever--a poem by Kyi May Kaung

So many times I passed by
and I did not look closely enough or
long enough
I thought it and I
would see each other
Kyi May Kaung
ျမန္မာ အနုပညာ။
``ေရႊတိဂုံ(၂၀၀၅)``....အမည္ရ ပန္းခ်ီကား။
.....``Shwe Dagon(2005)`` By Khin Maung Zaw

My highly acclaimed novella Black Rice, now $3.99

My highly acclaimed novella Black Rice is now $3.99 for both e book and paperback

Garuda is one cool bird --by Kyi May Kaung

Poem by Kyi May

Garuda is one cool bird

I never quite realized this
till I read Ka by Roberto Callosso

he is more powerful than all the serpents of this world

and rightfully so.

He fulfills the wish of his mother
who was tricked by his stepmother aunt

He'll eat all the black serpents of this world

he represents the power of Truth and Justice.

I sketch and sketch
his image from cyberspace
where he fights forever

it is no accident
the artists combined him
body of a man
wings and feathers of a bird
claws of a crab
beak of a bird.

That is what all artists do.

Ah Gotcha!

The Naga dragon twisting around in terror
got a taste of your own medicine have you?

Garuda has got you already.

Soon you'll be belly up and flat out and


in a birm garbage heap.

This summer we saw
so many dead snakes
in all

the garbage heaps on the beach

at Ngwe Saung and Chaung Tha.

No match
for the dead girl her genitals exposed
that the ABSDF young man said he saw
along the Burma-Thai Border but what could he do?

What can I do either?

Write a poem.

Put the dead girl into my novel Wolf.

Copyright KMKaung

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

CNN--thugs from local triads/gangs alleged to have been used to break up Hong Kong riots

Alzheimers--Glen Campbell's last song--

My novella The Lovers, in which someone gets shot, close to where I went to grad school--

Originally published in Wild River Review on line, The Lovers is the story of a ballet dancer from Chile, who has to leave her native land for political reasons, and emigrate to Philadelphia, in America.
Burmese-born author Kyi May Kaung lived many years in West Philadelphia while pursuing her doctorate in Political Science.
The Lovers has vivid local color while traversing the uneasy life of political asylees. The Lovers, print edition
The Lovers, Kindle edition

Monday, October 13, 2014

The Stinking Corpse--by Kyi May Kaung

Novel excerpt from dream nightmare--by Kyi May Kaung--

Dr. Khine awoke from a daytime dream-nightmare with a stink like that of dead humans or animals in her nostrils.

At first she thought it might be her weekly garbage.

Since they started charging for plastic bags in Marietta Land about 2 to 3 years ago, Khine had now had to buy plastic trash bags, but she did not mind.

They were on the whole, more reliable than recycling plastic shopping bags, which she had done for the last 25 years in The Nation's Capital.

Those had seams and tended to leak at the edges and corners.

And also, she was the one who had suggested them after she went to a conference in Berlin in the New Unified Deutchland, and bought a disposable camera, and they had placed a camera, just a camera made of cardboard, on the counter and no plastic bag.

It was very different from Chimerique.

Now shops saved the environment at the same time as they earned tax rebates for bag fees.

Khine carefully kept her shopping cart lined with one big heavy duty black bag, and an extra bag folded in her handbag, just like the Poles with their little shotka in the old days.

The purpose-designed plastic trash bags worked much better, and usually did not leak onto the new carpet of the hallways, with their golden scroll design on a black background.

But they took time to fill, and now Khine would combine both her kitchen and her bathroom garbage before disposal down the chute--the problem was the kitchen trash tended to smell after three days, when the gallon bag was only half full.

Khine used odor neutralizer in a white generic bottle.  It seemed to work, but this time--

Khine awoke fully and found she was in the little house in an outlying Yangone suburb.

Yangone was called Yangone (End of Strife or Enemies) but enemies still grow on trees, so Khine called it Rangoon, it was a point of major strife with her.

She stepped out onto the narrow wooden 5 x 15 feet veranda in front, raised on 3 feet pillars of concrete and mosquito-netted.

A bleached-looking corpse, male, was hanging on the right side from the teak rafters by a coir rope twisted around its ankles.

So that was where the stink was emanating from.

Dr. Khine went inside, finally found her close-work glasses, put them on her nose when she was 12 inches from the corpse, wrinkled her nose, pushed her spectacles up nervously, and walked around it, carefully studying it without touching anything.

It had a terrible bluish white pallor and gravity and the anguish and pain of death had pulled everything towards its head.

Khine tilted her head and stared at the distorted features and the thick black hair.

She didn't recognize him, but she could not be sure.

The head was upside down and near her calf level.

She considered using a pencil to close its open eyes and mouth, but in the end she did not.

.  .  .
Athena, Ariadne the web weaver spider and Diana the Huntress, RadhaKrishna, simultaneously male and female entered her head simultaneously and started to talk and act up.

As Athena, she took up her spear, and slammed it down on the worn shardoe teak plants of the small veranda, so it stood there shivering, causing an earthquake in the whole of Berm.

She leaned her shield on the wire mesh on the front of the house, facing the street, so that everyone knew Athena herself had claimed this murder investigation, and she would brook no interference whatsoever.

Athena's owl flew outwards in ten directions simultaneously, and alighted on high teak trees, twisting its neck and looking and listening attentively.

Ariadne, in life the victim of Athena, who had been jealous of her weaving skills, started spewing white liquid from her mouth, the strongest natural fiber ever, and weaving nets all around the small house and the trees.

Sensitively waving in the breeze, the nets would detect any infringement, cyber, nuclear, telepathic, personal, sexual, mechanical.

Radha Krishna, a former Untouchable, who had gone to school in Prince Town, leaned against a tree outside of the network, and calmly considered how he would use both sides of himself, to talk to both genders and anything in between.

The earth shook some more, and all the elephants and the banyan trees cried, for they realized the murder victim was someone very important.

The cannon ball tree made some more cannon balls.

Excerpt from my pol sci fi series 2131
Copyright Kyi M. Kyi May Kaung10-13-2104

The Elongated Ear of the Buddha--Poem by Kyi May Kaung


Elongated Ear of the Buddha by Kyi May Kaung.
(Composite or fictional characters)

Elongated ear of the Buddha/all hearing and omnipotent
but it isn't really that kind of religion.

I don't teach Economics now
just the Dharma
that's good.

After all a hobby farm
how much can we earn
selling farm produce

What's that?


Maybe scale down I do not know

Small hot house things more specialized and expensive and more difficult to grow labor intensive

"Oh Mother, don't buy anything,
don't go crazy in there--
after all, you can't really dig."

Dig it?

The former diplomat is still saying
he/she coined the term Saffron Revolution, in 2007.

Hard to think it is so relatively recent.

The monks walking the rain chanting the Metta Sutra

Japanese journalist Kenji Nagaii dying on the street shot point blank--

While I was in Philadelphia 20 years ago, writing Black Rice when I thought it was part of Once, then called
I Weep for You my Native Land
my classmates debated
the exact meaning of the term Point Blank--Kenji his death, no fuss made why Japanese gov took lying down

poor Kenji his chest cut open
poor autopsy technique
all swollen
not slim as in death

seen 2 like that
crudely stitched together

Other man killed by steel catapult balls--

his head shaved most likely in death--
as crudely stitched together

autopsy is not brain surgery

JFK's brain allegedly disappeared
in Bethesda, MD.

This is called Abuse of Corpse--actor FFS Free Funeral Society banned from acting since 07 went to see Arlington National Cemetery

My character Fleur washing and washing her hands
making only the female corpses beautiful
hot water bottles bringing back the bloom to their

Oh Ma Ma Elder Sister--I was so lucky
as soon as I left Mummy said
they came for me
10 cars and 3 tanks
in the yat kwet looking
for Daw Zin Zar Maung (made up name)

--Oh Ma Ma ma ma--
think about it, board meeting in Bali
if they came for me with 40 soldiers
JUST one beer magnate

how many would they come.

To arrest some one like him?

And then in Singapore
you know they sent a letter bomb?

What did you do?

The head of Singapore Intelligence at our board meeting regular nice guy looking  saying he's a poet like me

and he saw me in the swimming pool.

Not sitting in the back
I don't like to squish the ladies

I called Security, and they said fill the sink and soak the suspected letter bomb in water so I did

Beer Magnate beer magnate not so hunky dory lost my play ms Shaman/only posted to her as she said she would produce a play
never sent it back in SASE.

I hate people who are cavalier with other people's

Threw her used tissues after blowing her nose
right in the Ubud farmers' irrigation canal.

I observed, in 3 days, the water flowed 2 ways.

Copyright KMKaung

Saturday, October 11, 2014

The Xian Terracotta Warriors change gender in protest against abortions of girl babies--

Highly recommended--a non-Chinese artist draws attention to the imbalance of male:female ratios in India and China--brilliant--art as protest.
There has always been high female infanticide and selective abortions in China and now India, using ultra sound technology.
How does this bode for human trafficking in SE Asia incld Burma--
very very badly, already many women from Burma are being trafficked to China and elsewhere--Thailand to work as slaves in brothels or "wives" for Chinese men.
We should thank this very enterprising and creative and brave artist.
10-11-2014|By Flora Zhang, CNN

The Lecture on Forensic Pathology--from my novel 2131--Copyright Kyi May Kaung

1.  First strand of inspiration—Cracklin’ Rose--by Neil Diamond
2.  Play Me--by Neil Diamond
3.  Saya Aye Hlaing's economics lectures in Burma.
4. Grendel--by John Gardner
5. Norse legends, the Nebelungenlied.
Assorted dreams and nightmares.

Cracklin’ Rose you're a storm born woman (store-bought woman?)--POW-- Neil Diamond.
Play -- me--
You are the sun I am the moon
You are the words I am the tune
Neil Diamond

Song she sung for me
words that sprung from me
rhyme that sprang in me
fill the night
and what was right
became me
you are the sun--
.  .  . Neil Diamond.


Dr. Kaye Robinson feared very few things.  She feared least of all ghosts and dead people.
The People of the Berm Diaspora were all so uniformly traumatized, and so addicted to something or the other, that mere ghosts and skeletons and skulls had nothing on her, that is, until the skull she called Axe Wound entered her life.
It was the year that the joint congresses of Chimerique and Berm appointed her their Special Human Rights Envoy and Forensic Pathologist.

She remembered the first lecture very well. 
She went out there with a bag of about five skulls, to an 18th century operating theatre, now set up as a regular theatre and lecture hall.

The forensic anthropology students and the creative writing students, about 40 of them male and female, and very different ages, ranging from a perky-looking female in a sundress with yellow daisies printed all over it, and a nasty-looking male curmudgeon of perhaps 89 (her grandfather?) were arrayed on the seats in tiers to close to the ceiling. 
The old man was right in front, maybe due to his impaired hearing, and Daisy was right at the back, perhaps due to her extreme physical beauty.
Kaye did not know why she just knew they were related to each other.
She put her hand blindly into her duffel bag and pulled out a skull, and it just happened to be AW 1.
The axe wound had been made with an old iron axe. 
It might have killed him, and he might have been simultaneously decapitated with the second stroke, probably of an ancient sword, which had left a "stump" of vertebrae 2 inches in length.
Kaye Robinson didn't tell them, and she herself barely registered that the other dominant personality among her 365 alters or alternative personalities was Dr. Khine Hnin Gywe, originally from Berm, who has just been secretly assigned by Congress to draw up the Lists.
Kaye did know in the back of her mind that her backyard in Konroe, Tejas, abutted on the black wrought-iron fences of Amenhurst Cemetery, and she kind of remembered that she had already been there to recruit the couple, Rust and Rawe, and they had already agreed to help her.
But she could not be 100% sure, as she was also having a lot of lost time, in which she was either with the game tender Schon in the Grand Tetons signing for the annual meat supply, or she was a madam running a whore house in New Geat, she just was not sure.
But when lecturing she always assumed a position of high authority and omnipotence.  Hers was always the Goddess’ eye view, to go with her midnight blue suits and scarlet satin shirts which were just slightly tight, and usually had ruffles down the front.

But there was always Uncertainty nagging at her.

She wanted to, like her professor back in Berm, throw scholarly texts at the students at random, but she could hardly throw an ancient skull which was so rare and so fragile, not to mention precious.

But she did promise to send them assorted digital samples care of her teaching assistant.

In the end she barely got through with Axe as he got so disruptive.

Five minutes into the lecture, he started it.

She was pretty sure he started it.

She was saying, "This victim of a medieval head wound was probably killed by the axe wound to his head."

AW1 let out a loud guffaw.

"You academic types must state the obvious, mustn't you?  I was still cussing, even with my head split near in half.  Why else would that knight have struck off my head?  Out of vengeance on a man already dead?"
The students giggled.
The old man harrumphed.

Kaye hurried on, "I do apologize.  You're free to make any comment you like, but please save it for the end of the session.  If you make a disruptive comment, I will have you thrown out of my class."

This was what she always said to difficult students, including embedded Berm spies who would not let the students sleep.

"The hell I care.  I'm your prize specimen.  Throw me out then."

Their audience whooped and whistled as if they were at a ball game.

Kaye glared at them over the tops of her glasses.

I'll fail the whole bunch of you, she thought. 

She started to say something about the estimated time of death, but she subconsciously put her left hand in Axe's mouth as she did so, and he bit three of her fingers with his full set of remaining middle-aged teeth: Enough to draw blood and make her worry about tetanus or locked jaw.

She screamed and flung him away with her hand bloodied, and as a result skull AW 1 got thrown to the back of the room, where Daisy Print rose from her seat and caught him against her very soft bosom.

"Nice soft landing," Axe commented, "just the way I like it."

The students went hysterical.

From then on Dr. Kaye Robinson and Axe Wound were the stars of the Capital First Forensic Pathology Institute.  They were regularly booked on all the major late night shows on TV, and Dr. Robinson got a large number of checks written out in her name.

She used a lot of that money for her U.G. work.

Daisy bounded down the steps with all the aplomb of an eighteen-year old with bobbed hair.

Axe leered all the way down.

Dr. R. had to dismiss the class early, because they just would not stop chattering and all wanted to come up and say Hi to the new star.

As angry as you please, she dumped Axe back into her denim duffel bag while he was still in mid-leer.
So what if he hurt his head?
He was already dead.
She made sure the buckle was secure.

On the way home, on the cross-town trolley, she thought, "OMG, I didn't know he had any remaining intelligence.  OMG, the things I have been doing in my bedroom with all those skulls on my book shelves lined up in front of my books."

Axe Wound let out a loud yell of triumph.

That's when Kaye realized, oh my god, that it was even worse than she thought.

Not only could he think, remember, see and analyze and talk, he could also read all her thoughts.

Oh my god--she thought, as she clunked home in her sensible Berkfields.

Copyright KMKaung
Kyi May Kaung

US and mainstream journalism crisis--testimony fr 2009, by David Simon of The Wire--