soooo cool

i have spent the previous week frequenting buea night clubs.

when life reduces to a series of snug voyages along unknown roads at arbitrary times, you can claim to be a connoisseur, as you appreciate a foggy night on a paved road with the front seat to yourself. the night was becoming foggy and few people were passing through the puddles of motor oil and mud at the mobil station. i offer six hundred francs to the driver for imagining that the two remaining vacant seats are inhabited by ghosts that have paid teh full fare. pleasant squabble from the back seat. the town has residents or benefactors in high places: the road is paved and there are handsome buildings, even a church with marble façade. later i am sipping cognac on the verandah with two young women who tell stories of chimpanzees, parasites and enchntment in the littoral. earlier in the day an american émigrée returning for a visit took the brave decision to confront me about my comment that her baby was adorable and had a very big head. she said that being outside of texas didn't give me licence to call things as they are. most americans do not know whether or not they are racists, fat heads or sexists, so they have invented something called political correctness to prevent themselves from ever finding out. truly i was shaken but i thanked the woman for her honesty in confronting me and promised never again to refer to a child's adorably big head.

at this point i thought it a good idea to insert a quote from some japanese poem or story, or a conjecture about why the word connoisseur is spelled with oi, when it came into use in English, but the book sat in my hands without my looking at it. the dictionary stayed on the shelf. my mind drifted to how it would feel to accidentally cut my leg with a machete while trimming grass. nothing serious, but i'd be more careful next time. now what should stop me from picking up the dictionary. my contrarian attitude forces me to violate the principle of not taking sides on whether or not to commit an action, so the dictionary is retrieved. it shows that the word is spelled with ai in french. the only other useful book in my house leads me to believe that at least as late as 1704 the language itself was called François and not Français. none of the successive rides were so memorable, though there was a moment when i felt i had perfected the slant of exasperation in my eyes and the calmly upturned hand that says you're a fucking thief give me teh rest of my change, because your nerves get overworked from expressing yourself more conspicuously.

with trembling hand, Konko strung together these words:
Of mystical isles, of Hosai,
I have known two and ten.
Believe only in the Pure Land.
I shall believe in Lord Amida.
the words were barely legible. again Konko wrote:
Should you seek Kannon,
Believe not in Fudaraku.
Should you seek Fudaraku,
Believe not in the sea.