2013.05.04 Far Out Son of Hindu and the Ramblings of Hanuman

This is what I wrote the other night. (more then a month ago)
Theres a baby downstairs that cries, it roars crying like Al Pacino did in The Godfather, one of the most piercing and humiliating scenes I have ever seen in my life. When I hear that baby crying I can hear the sounds of an adult, crisply and clearly. It is an unhappy child. I hear that little thing open up like an orchestra and unleash a cry of disbelief and complete inability to contemplate the word Help.
The disconnect between mother and child, is subconscious; intrinsically, the mother loves the child naturally like any other mother would. However, somewhere buried deep within the realm of subconsciousness, lies an impasse. The predicament affords no luxuries to the owner. The disconnect, is an involuntary space between that, which makes a woman perform as a mother (and therefor the ability to recognize the babies directives), and the conscious mind. This impasse, is an irritant in the junction of thought streaming, which is where the mind breaks down the components of thought, and separates them into recognizable, and characterizable streams, relating to categories of psychological contemplation. This is how we produce thoughts also, where certain streams bind together to create an opinion or conviction. The amount of any particular stream dictates the direction, form and benevolence of the thought and ultimately influences any subsequent actions.

These streams are influenced by both internal pre-recognized experiences, which in of them selves are a packaged containers of streams varying in intensity depending on the circumstance, and new previously unreconciled ingredients which come together to generate convictions which are usually based on pre-established stream containers additional cumulative values.

Southern India Railways

2013.01.30 INDIA In transit.
Ah, necessity: the mother of invention: I’m on a train going from Bhopal to Garabja in Goa. The journey has now become my destination. The train I’m on is a sleeper car on a 28hr trip, its quite possibly the lcoolest thing I we er done in my life. I feel like a giddy child or a boyscout because its like what every kid dreams about. You jbare going somewhere and yet you are in bed and your room is rumbling and shaking and there are cool noises like the horn of the train like a distant foghorn on a foggy night, and then there’s the stuff outside, its night and you are going through uncharted black terrain but all you can see are the stars and occasional lights in the distance on a black horizon where black trees swish past a black sky. There no color. And then there are other trains passing by for a few seconds the sound is that unique sheering abound of wind compressed between two fast moving objects
Accented by the sounds of bogies on welded rail. All you want is to see another face like an inserted subliminal frame in a movie. The layers of sound low black soft heavy percussion of the underside of the train the bogies and thick gasket suspension play a warm comfortable song of affirmation and the rattle of loose metal brushing fingers against the creaking superstructure makes for a romantic symmetry of memory forming experiences…
Its a sleeper car so there is the whole part of making your bed with which is traditional bedding with laundered and pressed “12 Rose Bedroll for Southern Railways” white cotton sheets Wool Blanket and pillow that add another dimension on this new reality.
***
I had a fairly good sleep, a touch uncomfortable with the stuff in my pockets keeping me awake because I left my pants on. I am on a side bunk in a two tier carriage, which means on the left side there are four bunks head to window feet to corridor, and on the right there are two bunks aligned with the wall, I’m in the bottom one so I get a great view out the window while laying down.

I just woke up 7.30am stop in a mountain town called Kalyan apparently a lot of spaghetti westerns were filmed there and Bollywood. Certainly it has the looks.

Bahrddy Vartell is what the hawkers say when selling Bottled Water.

Istanbul #447

I had another dream about Istanbul and going swimming.

Its not really a recurring dream but I do keep dreaming about a warm place where there are a lot of people who are not necessarily my race and dont necessarily speak my language but there isnt ever any kind of distress about that. Maybe thats the magic of dreams that your brain manufactures certain conveniences in this case the language barrier because the rest of the content of the dream is more important.

Ive had these dreams a few times in the past, its always very near water. I think I associate Istanbul with water, and sunsets, the colors Brown, Black, Pink, Gold & Dark-Green, these colors are reflected on the surface of the water, in warm evenings of post workday swims off well warn concrete or stone steps that you know have been used by hundreds of generations. Older portly gentlemen with grey hair dip in an out of water in dignifying and therapeutic traditional exercises.

The smell of turkish cigarettes, and the smoke from food stands marks the air with a sense of wonder and an added layer of dimensionality. Pomegranates, dates, cheese, fortified butter, and other foods I dont eat regularly are around me.

Is this a dream about comfort, security and the feeling of actually having some control over your life?