Sweet-tooth

Very much like powerful pistol shots these attacks on the vacuum seals at Cosan, on Mangkubumi. The sharp, pointed ends of the straws could not hope to match the tightly stretched plastic lids, certainly not when thrust by a limp young lassie’s hand. Innumerable failures ringing out, half the café ready to leap beneath the tables and embarrassed blushes from hijabs in particular in the caverns of the dessert places like Cosan. Last weekend Yanuardi had blinked & blushed himself upon hearing of desserts on his very own patch. A serious Javanese reader in his mid-30s, across a broad range of the modern & contemporary, never yet come upon such delicacies. Desserts? Dessert places? No sweet-toothed gals thus far in Ardi’s near orbit, safe to say. That particular cohort in Jogja was strictly 16 - 22-3 year olds, a quite recent generation. Cosan and one or two other such cafes had opened on Mangkubumi in the last couple years. Now they were legion, on Mangku and a number of other streets. Only 11 - 12 years ago we were happily sipping kopi joss with authentic hot coals sizzling in the bottom of the glasses, just up from the rail line off Mangkubumi. The becak drivers, buskers, beggars & trannies had painted a pretty little scene on the benches & stools of the warungs. Much change in the Special Region in Central Java, in what has been a very brief span. Delivering meals, kopi & iced juices to gated communities, big houses and even nightclubs last weekend enabled Ardi to keep on with his intellectual passion. Earlier in the month it was pleasing startling the lad a wee bit with the mention of the great literary triumph of the gig guy in Beijing. The English transl. now available, a perfect gift was planned, after a preliminary reading of course. Incidentally, two nights ago at the student demo within the large grounds of the municipal offices on Malio, the youngsters had torn out of the complex when one and then a second cracking shot had blasted from the military in attendance. Ardi guessed tear gas, though he hadn’t been in the vicinity to hear the force of the detonations.

 

                                                                                                        Yogyakarta, Indonesia

Lachrymose (Oct26)

 

Filipina with stroke victim it appeared. (The day following Manager Billy discovered car accident, fellow on bicycle. Length of hospitalization not revealed.) Maid had enabled Madame to skip out to the library to pick up some reading. Hardbacks…Fred Forsyth & Cath Cookson GROAN among the rest when she returned. Smoke haze returned, hopefully to put an end to this show in short-order once and for all, blanket the malls, bring the MBS monstrosity crashing to the ground and return the forest & jungle. Indo VP Joe Kalla had a point the other day telling them here they ought to be grateful for 9-10 months of good air from their neighbour’s tree-cover. Met with predictable outrage. Point occurring at some juncture earlier catching the bus: the ecological devastation from these seasonal burn-offs is as nothing compared to what has taken place on this island in particular. Far too much of a challenge for all the boosters: this place was simply never ever meant to be. Ecologically, a 5-6mil. city on the Equator was preposterous, completely counter to the natural order. Couldn’t be simpler. Colossal error as it turned out. A/C may have seemed the greatest human ingenuity 45-50 years ago, as bruited by the local founding father gone to his grave earlier in the year. Good complacent bullishness on the matter much harder to sustain presently. The corporate capture of a number of rich old culture's—Chins, Indians and Malays—a lamentable, lachrymose matter, painful and gruesome to behold. This poor man had a few deals left in him yet in fact, gathered three other chaps to the table. He & maid had been awaiting their arrival. Prior to the first entering girl had helped her sir to his feet, big chap185cm/95kg. Helped him rise, straightened shirt cuffs, put a few stray hairs back in place. Ready. Ready, but not moving. Two-three minutes standing in place. (Wife not returned at that point.) They were slowly, slowly about to make off it seemed. A wheelchair stood folded beside the door, but no move in that direction. Chauffeur OTW, he would help? No. No. The key man must have called telling he was just about there. Readying for the greeting; fitting necessary reception. No. 1 man slow to arrive turns up with a thin dolphin snout, steel-rims, unassuming, like. Likely sizeable investor in the palm oil plantations in Sumatra & Kalimantan. Cowboy capitalism take-no-prisoners. Wife sat off to the side for the duration. Had she been included in the handshake after she arrived? Entirely ignored thereafter. Leg-jigging White last to land a fatty who couldn’t settle. Big dollars involved plain to see, FAT contract. Jitterbugging all he was worth Whitey. Dolphin opposite made him nervous. Chief among the wifely duties was to keep herself trim-slim; late-40s, a little handsome. Fragile, but an adornment. Forsyth & Cookson. Could the maid last out? An easier position than Erny the Timorese in the Sims Avenue block recently loaded with a ahma early onset dementia. This guy was still sharp upstairs, astute with his investments. Wife could not possibly have coped, and the kids… (Poor bastard.) Why the need to receive Dolphin on his feet like that, really? Why? Over 300 PSI readings couple of days now, schools closed. In Sumatra itself over 1000 and yesterday in Kalimantan reached 1800. The entire town of Pekanbaru reported evacuated.

NB. Originally written & posted in these pages October 2015; the current smoke haze 11 years later same, same.

 

The Street Pleads, V (Jogja)

It was always tricky judging ages, particularly when one could never see oneself clearly. Often these older guys could in fact easily turn out one’s junior. From a distance this chap looked an oldie, second half of his 70s, perhaps. Closer-by it was a different matter. The street and weather cruelly aged everyone, of course. When the man took a seat opposite Kopi Kenangan on the bench, a breather was assumed. That may have been part of it, but at the same time this was an occasion for sorting his haul. Rather than the usual large polypropylene sack slung over the shoulder, this chap used cheaper, clear plastic, narrower and not as long that he carried in hand. First he took out a plastic drink container that held a couple inches of tea in the base. Straw removed, followed by the lid, after which the man quaffed the contents. Carrying his drink on top of his haul was the initial thought. Thereafter, he began sorting the different containers at the upper level of his load. Like for like, one went inside the other. Some containers were smaller. Straws and lids too were for the smaller bag, which was carried under the other arm. Lids were a thinner, cheaper plastic; they must have had some value; not as much as the firmer, heat-resistant cylinders. From memory straws were completely valueless, but this man did not dump them in the adjacent bin he had cleared. Our tall Malay in Geylang Serai came mornings to the front bench at Mr Teh Tarik at the market to slake his thirst with the remains in the coffee & tea glasses. Rarely did the man fail to get refreshment at those trays. An unusual critter, heavily leathered like all of them, rake-thin; solitary, naturally. Somehow in his acquaintance there was a costumer of some kind with whom he was on good terms. Once or twice a week the man paraded these fantastical getups from the opera stage, some kind of Malay wayang or Arabic troupe in question. Headdresses, capes, elaborately tailored jackets with gold epaulettes, raised collars & ballooned sleeves. It defied description. Magnificent; a captivating pageant. The 271 Year street parade here in Yogyakarta couple nights back held nothing better. Likely the shows limited the alms the Malay received; there was never anything witnessed passed to him. For the chap himself, that was no doubt a willing trade-off.

 

        Yogyakarta, Indonesia

 

Publication news: Cave Man - Patrika Aranyak

 

Here is another Indian publication, in this case up in the NW of the Subcontinent, Rajasthan. Again, like the previous (Shiva), “Cave Man” was first penned, 10 - 11 years ago and forgotten since that time. 

Beginning with the Batu Caves outside KL, the development is toward caves on the other side of the world

Patrika is journal in Hindi; aranyak forest (associated with deep contemplation). 

Free on the site, (1.2K words), –

https://patrikaa.com/research/current-issue.php

Some navigation is necessary to find the piece on pp. 84-86

Publication news: Buccaneers & Pirates - Penned In Rage Journal (Oct26)

This new publication appears in an aptly named online literary magazine, based in Hampshire, UK. Penned In Rage is concerned with Sub-Saharan Africa, where much rage would be understandable given all the region has endured. My work inspired by the diaspora from the Horn down in Melbourne comes from an association that goes back over 25 years. 

Earlier publications of mine centred on the region have appeared in Wet Ink (now defunct, but archived), Pendulum Papers, New World Writing, & elsewhere.

This short is free online, 790 words, —

https://www.ellaspoems.com/pennedinragejournalfiction-pavle-radoni%C4%87-buccaneers-pirates

NB. This piece has now been nominated by Penned In Rage for a Pushcart Prize.