The front line of desire;
where we're sold labels and lifestyles.
Recreating us to sell us back to us;
becoming the ashes of our vanity's fire.

I told him the labour fee was for him alone.
he did it at home?
Who told him to take it home?
I've finished all my materials
30 thousand NT is all I'm giving
MY SALARY IS 10K
It's fair.
it's for my husband
Exactly, they'll help you make the rest!
It's not my cash
WHAT IF YOU GAVE IT TO THE WRONG PERSON?
Everyone thinks differently.
I'm sorry.

It's a hot day.
in mid-december.
What the **** is this.

I expected cold
That's what I came to Taiwan for.
i guess the world had other plans.
******* hell.

What am i doing?

I'm watching the old ladies run about
with the old men
Strings of coral and jade
around their frail wrists
And pocketfuls of money
i will probably never see

There's another old lady
carrying boxes of food
selling lunch to the loud jewellery sellers.
she's seen better days,
But she looks happy.
at least i hope she is.

The chestnut girl isn't here today.
i hope she is, though.
she's cheery all the time.
i need a bit of cheer in my life.

My parents have left me alone.
how the hell do i run this booth
i hope nobody comes to ask me for anything
even if i should hope they do.
we haven't made anything in weeks.

The jade market is loud
and the smell of sandalwood incense and rotting nails lingers
like when i accidentally cook too much pork
with an inadequate amount of onions and salt
and the smell assaults my apartment.

I wish you were here.
you would love the chaos.

My dreams
do not come attached to
the ideals of my people
or the sacrifices of another country.

Instead I am poor
and mine are clinging to life
the very idea of existence.

Mundane flashes--
not adventurous endeavors
nor flights around the world
this is what richly folks do.

Simply a mingler
someone whose life
flourishes around the bends
of florescent street lights
and panhandling
nearby a farmers market
just after sunrise.

This remnant is few
as these are neighbors
local countrymen
who stoically face
the world's deviation
and deprivation
from coexisting

by the bonds of
agriculture and personality
even as a beggar
it is but a joyous memento
to a world that
no longer thrives.

Would that I,
a lowly grunt
could make more than
the average runt
just out of school,
degree in hand;
While I survive
on meager plans.
Equality is a grand concept
full of flaws
and many steps
that most among us
will never see-
for man is not known
for his humanity.
We strive to be better,
but what do we gain?
A fistful of debt,
and a mountain of pain?
And what do we learn,
except that life isn't fair?
Playing cards with a bad hand
and a dare?
That bleeding hearts and open minds
will make us quite impaired
and are considered bad qualities
that make us unprepared
for the lambast that life is,
for the spears of betrayal-
for the knowledge that everyone
as some point is a failure?
We enter these halls
as creatures of learning,
yet exit these doors
suspicious, discerning-
our youthful optimism
shattered and dashed
by ancient old teachers
with an impressive moustache.
So, what is the point
of institutional leeching?
Is this how we want
our teachers teaching?
Do we condone the lack of equippable smarts,
instead replaced with limited starts?
Or perhaps yet, there is another solution-
Quit hampering learning with political pollution?
Maybe thats an option-
maybe it's not;
but I'm a student;
that's all I've got.

Spent today at a Flea Market with she,
All for nothing, nothing for free,
Bought some clothes for she,
A potplant for me, no ****,
Food and books I didn't need,
All for nothing, nothing for free,
Anything old was new again,
Vendors on the gravy train,
All for nothing, nothing for free,
But, I had fun today for free,
Sunshine and good company,
Simple things in life are free,
Flea market was such fun with she!

Buy fish! Fresh fish! Sir, you drive a hard bargain!

Covent Garden.
Midnight.
Revellers and tourists combined.
The market is heaving.
Last trains are leaving.
An eclectic mix to broaden the mind.

Covent Garden.
2am.
The place is pretty quiet.
Pubs have closed.
Clubs.... God knows.
The tourists have frozen their riot.

Covent Garden.
4am.
A drunkard stumbles by.
Flood lit shops.
A rickshaw stops.
The backdrop against a reddish
sky.

Covent Garden.
6am.
Blokes lurk down Langley street.
The glint of a blade.
A blur in the shade.
Lava tip of cigarette falls to a strangers feet.

Covent Garden.
8am.
Commuters emerge from underground stations.
Workers prepare.
Visitors beware.
Pick pockets attracted like gravitation.