good evening hanoi

this is good. they have fine quality coffee. i dug my pocket and spent some dongs, the vietnamese currency, to take home a few bunches of arabica as well as moca.

with some help of raihan, i've got what i was looking for as well, a cappucino maker.

why not try to use it tonight to make some cups of coffee? wanna join? come, maybe we can smoke some shisha too...

red flag at dusk

it's coming through a hole in the air, from those nights in tiananmen square. it's coming from the feel that this ain't exactly real, or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.

it's coming through a crack in the wall; on a visionary flood of alcohol; from the staggering account of the sermon on the mount which i don't pretend to understand at all...

it's coming from the sorrow in the street, the holy places where the races meet; it's coming to america first, the cradle of the best and of the worst...

it's there they got the range and the machinery for change and it's there they got the spiritual thirst. it's there the family's broken and it's there the lonely say that the heart has got to open in a fundamental way...

i'm sentimental, if you know what i mean; i love the country but i can't stand the scene. and i'm neither left or right i'm just staying home tonight, getting lost in that hopeless little screen. but i'm stubborn as those garbage bags that time cannot decay, i'm junk but i'm still holding up this little wild bouquet...

where there's a great will...

...there's a great wall.

the faith

at times we found it is a lot much easier to decide what we dont want, than to know precisely what we actually want.

we turn from one way to the next to avoid a traffic jam while actually the direction it takes will only bring us away from our initial destination.

home.

the guest

knock! knock!

"who's that?"
"opportunity!"
"can't be!"
"why not?"
"oppotunity knocks only once!"

speeding cars

myanmar, flores island, china and home. these are four places from where and about where i keep receiving news these days.

the mailboxes and the inboxes are filled with sentences explaining about the colors and the songs, the shouts and the smells from those locations.

the news keep coming like speeding cars, from everywhere, as if the news were made of light.

before we go...

it was taken on the top of a birdwatching tower in the middle of a frozen forest, somewhere in the north.