Nahili Samurai

Mundane roads of Hampshire | October 29, 2008

Narrow, wet roads; surrounded by bushes, trees or fences. Nothing but mist or clouds. Even towns, narrow streets, narrow hotel coridors… It’s smothering me… Signs and rules everywhere. People are polite and politically/narionally/whateverly correct, just because they’re afraid of laws. Are these humans anymore?

Pakistani drivers, Chinese maids, Indian receptionists. Nightmare or slavery? Someone, please wake me up. Is it a tombstone or a country? My dear brothers, my dear Turkmen kinsmen! If something happens to me anywhere, please bury me in Choganly’s Turkmen cemetery; where sand and wind kiss the nameless graves. Where there’s blue sky and the horizon is clear. Where Quran is read without haste, without rules, without money… I won’t forgive you if you don’t guys!

The information bulletins in Russian, and Turkmens talking in Russian still depress me. But I still meet real Turkmens sometimes, who don’t talk business with me, who talk about soul, heart and dutar. Try talking deep with these people… Pakistani drivers get it, I don’t know about others.

Constrained with everything around you, there’s no escape. There’s too much of one thing and too little of other things. Can I sell my freedom for a golden cage (I know it’s old, but it’s true). I would rather sweep the broad streets of Ashgabat (no matter what my parents would say about this).

There’s nothing but souls and the Creator of the souls. Decorations are for statists. And don’t get me wrong, I mean it in a Zen way. You trust Zen don’t you? So predictable of you 😦


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