Beggars, prophets and loose skin

My Uruguayan brothers have absconded on hired wind-ups to the centres of hub-bub, hustle & trade. I'm neither ready or wanting to make that journey. The trip in from the eagle's nest was made in the relative comfort & security of and aged 4x4. This is Bali & thus these my preconceptions of comfort & security must be reduced to an absolute zero so as to guage new mean levels. I recall harrowing descriptions from past veterans of families bourne at speed through the maelstrom of Indonesian road chaos, no strings, nonchalant on the backs of 50cc metallic insects. But there in reality, through the darkened windows, buzzing, beeping, overtaking & threading in & about the dimming evening trafficing kept pins deep in already elevated eyebrows. It's child, father, infant, mother respectively riding.

No, for now I'll dry my little wounds, soak heat, stretch & sit quietly here contemplating quiet contemplations.

I lean back & turn. Up and left I can make out the punishments being served out at a hungry & toothy Padang Padang (so good apparently, they named it twice). My lazy eyes defocus a little & into the vision come the dispersed peppering of would-be warriors negotiating the mystical elasticities of the raceway, Impossibles. I relax, stretch up and through the thatch & thickening ages of branching flora reaching upward from below, a flash of sun tongues briefly on the curve of exposed breasts. She teeters delicately with arms akimbo, peering below to test the depth & pick a path from the lagoon across the coral back to the safety of the sand.

The sight of such a casual expose, overwhelms, fascinates & bewonders. A distilled punctuation of my absence from these more tropical climes.
Jolted suddenly back into the moment, a great wedge, bulbous & crawling with the penniless hurls cylindrical at first, then square before reeling unrelenting down the draining reef. Welcome to Bingin.


Aching but not unbearable, these pains remind me I'm in paradise. And there is sun in paradise. From the back of the knees down is all aflame with lobster boiled impressionistics - too telling of stomach-down set-waiting on a fat fish. Fire & smiles am I. Each gasp at from the brush past of a chair or unthinking vague swat at some lazy inquisitive insect flashes first heat then washed cool with recollection.

It's difficult with those ravenous contenders frothing, snapping & frantic pursuit of each wave them ambles in - my desires for more space & time in this dimension so too stretch & bend the boundaries, it is almost impossible. A leap to the feet far early & behind those heaving sections for a glimpse of deeper insight - these are foregone by the hustlers, chancers & hot-steppers whose mean is simple erection & straight-lining... but this lust too hastily slams portals & denies the inept inquisitives the inner sanctums & swiftly introduces them to an ugly brown cheese-grater below.I am here to enjoy however not to be judge & i see reflections all too familiar to be bold enough to voice any complaint.

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