Jan 8, 2006

China Cat Sunday

In the midst of the rainy typhoon season, the sunflower has yet to truly blossom. As spring slowly approaches, the gentle green buds of the sunflower protectively cocoon the fragile petals of wine, women, song and hopefully that missing petal.

Under the ominous eyes of the colonel, time slows as the bumiputih with a molcajete pounds out his beat drowning out the white neon noise. Over the acrid vats of boiling fat the fragrant scent of the exotic pasilla begins to whiff through the air.

Dropping their drumsticks, the hunters awakened by the beat of the molcajete begin to emerge from Plato's cave. Frantic kuah-covered fingers of the quislings desperately attempt to manipulate the alien keyboard that operates the golden arches of Delphi as the civit cat cries out from night jungle.

Amidst a shower of pearls is a loving spoon of many colours.

The sweet seductive taste of the ice-blended teak twin towers has grown bitter.

Hujan Membawa Rahmat.

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