Boy! Had that cheap Myanmar house painter landlord Tan found somewhere ever crawled outta some jungle. Vibes blasting like radiation from that inner core. Six years here, via Thailand. A spot of clarity in the exchange brought out fighting now in his own region too, after Yangon and Mandalay. Short, stocky, elaborate tattoos with a symbolism outside any of the known, inked in forest hideouts by experienced urban artists. (How crude were the JNA tags of sixty years ago—Jugoslovenska Narodna Armija, that Frane the Dalmatian & others needed to live with well past their use-by dates.) Late 20s-early thirties. Ijin, he seemed to say for his regional centre, where communication lines with parents & family were still open. (Nandar from the Korean dessert place on North Bridge Road reported nothing from Mandalay city itself these three year.) Stretched fingers of the hand at the ear for the saddle of the phone. Mone Yin it was perhaps for Ijin. On the Shan Plateau would be about right, couple hours north of Mandalay, Chang Mai 6-8 week march. Bab had been hesitant to follow Olga Ilic over the Northern border into Italy in the early ‘50s. This young man no doubt had been left little choice. Te-zuh-dje-bade lit him up nicely, boyish suddenly on the second hearing. Again, a pic, from close by the round of the shoulder, face turned away as if flinching or reeling, chin pointed.
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