I wrote this one while sitting in a Thai bus stop station in Bangkok after the sun had gone down...
Zen: “A scandal of rarebits, ascended masters, and 5 blue tits were not in a church on Sunday. So, I went and had a smoke to think about it; and the bus stop gate opened and closed letting so many energy fields through and in and out, even the relentless reflections in the glass windows were vibrating: such a soup; not least the loudest absorption was to close down and sleep from the familial buzzing.
Then a strange bird sounded on the blower double Dutch, never a language I ever understood, but they seem to know it well the world over wherever there’s a lot of people waiting to travel and some wonder-dust gets a microphone in their hands.
Up above outside in the heart of the night an alien, just there, could have been looking down, spying, who knows, might have been a government drone, same thing. I imagined trying to talk to one, ended up thinking constricted nonsense: Ning-Ning, very-very, chop-chop; and then I forgot where I was in the greased flow so very slippery, angels and fairies aside. I was sure the Japanese would agree when you begin it is best to just keep on going notwithstanding the rarebits the shiny breeze and the passing machines of course.
10 sticks of sunder later, Miss Pretty, accompanied by the sundown frog and his decadent attraction base walked into the story and went straight to a long table. 22 ladies in waiting helped her to sit down. Then all dissolved in a fine mist that came and took them all away into another coffee moment.
Monk: “Ah, coffee.”
...
The bus came then and I couldn't write anymore, so I guess this is the end of this part of the story...
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End of part eleven
Image from Pixabay
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