Free LONTAR issue #1 by Jason Erik Lundberg (editor) Page B
Authors: Jason Erik Lundberg (editor)
The Tuk Tuk Diaries: My Dinner With Cluster Bombs . He is currently editing a forthcoming anthology of Laotian American speculative art. You can visit him online at thaoworra.blogspot.com.
Like a young monk we call "Ai,"
More slippery than a rat or some diamond dog of war
Watching bunnies clobber tigers who ate the sweet ox,
Full of havoc meant for Albuquerque or ambitious Betelgeuse,
Will you shrink into some chrome cobra, an analog anaconda
Or a steady horse boxed in on some Neo-Napoleonic animal farm
Dreaming of dynamite and tasty electric sheep black as busty Kali?
Maybe it's true people are made of monkey minds or
Aimless pig heads scowling like Beelzebub among his flies,
Watching a floating green world of cock crows and denials
Yearning for a bit of heaven, the honey of angels but not the bills,
A world that cannot be translated as we sing the blues
Well met, remembering lone and level sands, the mighty works,
A raven laughing like Prometheus, David unrepentant
Yelling for Lilith more than Rachel, more than glittering Eve
Among all of the painted pillars of wisdom in the rain
Coated in the cobwebs of a tiny orange spider with her perfect recall
Of former lives worth stealing between sanitized salutations.
In memory of Harry Harrison (1925-2012), et al.
The Yellow River
Elka Ray Nguyen
Elka Ray Nguyen (Canada/Vietnam) is the author of one novel ( Hanoi Jane , Marshall Cavendish, 2011) and the writer and illustrator for three picture books for children ( Vietnam A to Z , 1,2,3 Vietnam! , and The Gecko Who Grew and Grew... ). Born in England and raised in Africa and Canada, Elka has spent the past 16 years in Southeast Asia. She lives in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, and has an author's site at elkaray.com.
Three months ago, just after I turned eighteen, I began my mandatory military service. While guys attending university are exempt, and my grades were good, I lacked the cash for a higher education. I figured that the army wouldn't be so bad. At least it'd get me away from my dad and his new wife, who has a voice like a chainsaw.
I was posted to Kon Tum province near the Laotian border, in an area so remote that it made the village where I grew up seem urban by comparison. Along with three other guys I am charged with patrolling the Yellow River by boat, our route taking about six days up and four days back, all of them through thick, gloomy jungle.
Supposedly, we are on the lookout for smugglers and poachers, although why any criminals would choose to navigate such a torturous route when there are plenty of easier unmonitored options, I have no idea. Naturally, I am in no position to ask. Even my superior, a twenty-six-year-old named Loc, has no clue. We are just following orders.
Besides me and Loc there are Binh and Chau, both of whom, like me, are greenhorns. Chau is short and fat and Binh is tall and skinny. Binh's parents own a pho shop in Binh Duong, which means that he's practically a city boy. Chau's folks grow coconuts near Ben Tre. He spends most of his free time looking at nude photos of his supposed girlfriend on his mobile phone. I doubt that he's ever met the girl. Both Binh and Chau are scared of the jungle.
"More fucking rain," says Chau, pushing his wet hair from his eyes. "We can't leave in this weather."
It has rained steadily since we left our base two days ago. Normally, I wouldn't care, but yesterday Binh and I came down with chills and fevers.
"Better tie those down," says Loc, pointing to our duffel bags. Last trip out, a bag of supplies had snagged on an overhanging branch and fallen into the river. I'd managed to retrieve it, but all of our rice had turned moldy.
Chau does as he's told but continues to bitch. Loc and I ignore him. Even when the weather is decent and things are going fine, Chau complains constantly. The only time he stops whining is when he's eating.
Standing knee-deep in the river, I hoist a jug of gasoline into the boat. This
Like a young monk we call "Ai,"
More slippery than a rat or some diamond dog of war
Watching bunnies clobber tigers who ate the sweet ox,
Full of havoc meant for Albuquerque or ambitious Betelgeuse,
Will you shrink into some chrome cobra, an analog anaconda
Or a steady horse boxed in on some Neo-Napoleonic animal farm
Dreaming of dynamite and tasty electric sheep black as busty Kali?
Maybe it's true people are made of monkey minds or
Aimless pig heads scowling like Beelzebub among his flies,
Watching a floating green world of cock crows and denials
Yearning for a bit of heaven, the honey of angels but not the bills,
A world that cannot be translated as we sing the blues
Well met, remembering lone and level sands, the mighty works,
A raven laughing like Prometheus, David unrepentant
Yelling for Lilith more than Rachel, more than glittering Eve
Among all of the painted pillars of wisdom in the rain
Coated in the cobwebs of a tiny orange spider with her perfect recall
Of former lives worth stealing between sanitized salutations.
In memory of Harry Harrison (1925-2012), et al.
The Yellow River
Elka Ray Nguyen
Elka Ray Nguyen (Canada/Vietnam) is the author of one novel ( Hanoi Jane , Marshall Cavendish, 2011) and the writer and illustrator for three picture books for children ( Vietnam A to Z , 1,2,3 Vietnam! , and The Gecko Who Grew and Grew... ). Born in England and raised in Africa and Canada, Elka has spent the past 16 years in Southeast Asia. She lives in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, and has an author's site at elkaray.com.
Three months ago, just after I turned eighteen, I began my mandatory military service. While guys attending university are exempt, and my grades were good, I lacked the cash for a higher education. I figured that the army wouldn't be so bad. At least it'd get me away from my dad and his new wife, who has a voice like a chainsaw.
I was posted to Kon Tum province near the Laotian border, in an area so remote that it made the village where I grew up seem urban by comparison. Along with three other guys I am charged with patrolling the Yellow River by boat, our route taking about six days up and four days back, all of them through thick, gloomy jungle.
Supposedly, we are on the lookout for smugglers and poachers, although why any criminals would choose to navigate such a torturous route when there are plenty of easier unmonitored options, I have no idea. Naturally, I am in no position to ask. Even my superior, a twenty-six-year-old named Loc, has no clue. We are just following orders.
Besides me and Loc there are Binh and Chau, both of whom, like me, are greenhorns. Chau is short and fat and Binh is tall and skinny. Binh's parents own a pho shop in Binh Duong, which means that he's practically a city boy. Chau's folks grow coconuts near Ben Tre. He spends most of his free time looking at nude photos of his supposed girlfriend on his mobile phone. I doubt that he's ever met the girl. Both Binh and Chau are scared of the jungle.
"More fucking rain," says Chau, pushing his wet hair from his eyes. "We can't leave in this weather."
It has rained steadily since we left our base two days ago. Normally, I wouldn't care, but yesterday Binh and I came down with chills and fevers.
"Better tie those down," says Loc, pointing to our duffel bags. Last trip out, a bag of supplies had snagged on an overhanging branch and fallen into the river. I'd managed to retrieve it, but all of our rice had turned moldy.
Chau does as he's told but continues to bitch. Loc and I ignore him. Even when the weather is decent and things are going fine, Chau complains constantly. The only time he stops whining is when he's eating.
Standing knee-deep in the river, I hoist a jug of gasoline into the boat. This
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