Blue Black David and the not quite so white sun browned Woman from the south

In the blue of the bathroom light she examines her face in the mirror. Reaching for a glass of water from the clay jug by the sink, she walks to the window and peeks through the wooden louvers, her eyes trying to adjust to the still darkness outside.  No, there is no one there.  A new moon, it must be.

Rambling thoughts skimming, her vision uncomfortably blurry, the birds not yet started. Each day a new bird, some winged creature she had never seen before - toukans, yellow weavers, togrons, egrets.  Rivulets of the ravages of another bad night and too much gin.  "This place is getting to me.  Why am I so lonely?"
But she sees something outside.
Strange.  It is not real. A dark, tall figure in a long green cape, something ready, some danger at the middle of his body, something scary in the pointed hood, on top of his head. 

David, the night guard!  Perched on the stonewall, gingerly, he balances himself, left arm extended straight forward, right elbow bent back, bow fully and dangerously poised, arrow pointed and ready. 
“Is he going to shoot?”   She looks across the yard, the thumping in her heart, the fear.

Like an avenging blue black angel and most certainly very drunk he staggers across in full magic take, dance steps one – two and mock shooting his arrow at imaginary targets.   There is nothing there!  

First to right, one!  Shoot the top of the tall corn stalks not yet ready for harvest. 

Then to the left, two! Shoot the black beans slightly lower. 
Straight up! Three - shoot through the dark azure, not yet morning skies – a hint of constellation madness in his bucktoothed grin.

Scientific factual doubt

Male or Female Tiger Swallowtail?

Dreams

Grandes sonhos pontuam meus pensamentos

no fazer dormir
a inocência
do meu querer.

Fantasmagoric dreams place periods
onto my thoughts
lullabye to sleep
the innocence
of my wants.

Dialogues seem tired

There is very little dialogue left in the world. Dialogues seem tired.
So I return to my monologues, in my search for this house in the interior.

Beyond Ganga Devi, Indian folk artist of the Mithila tradition and her incredible story (I am still searching for pictures of her latest work, when she abandons the formalities of the tantric geometric traditions of godly symbolisms and paints stark scenes in the hospital where she dies in 1991, of cancer, at 63.)

Beyond Ganga Devi, I cannot stop reading this guy’s blog, Will, he says, is thirty two, a Gemini and he knows books. He quotes with a firm hand and if one reads it carefully, one begins to imagine we all live in the world of fantasy.

Today in his blog I found mention to a children’s book co-authored by Brecht – “Die drei soldatten”, published in 1931.
Provoking children to ask questions: Why me and who ate the rainbows?

See the end of this post to get to the rainbow bit.

In a mixture of quotes from various sources and original text, he tells us about Brecht’s poem “Die Drei Soldatten” – Hunger, Mishap, and Consumption. Very much worth a visit because it reminds me of today, in our world.

In the end of the poem, 
"With the death of God, the invisible becomes visible again. The class war is revealed.”

Back to dialogue I say, if you decide to go to Will’s site, do scroll down to the end of that post to find out about Who Ate the Rainbow? in yet nother book:

"When Uh-oh the rainbow is cut in half by a kite string, it is eaten by a big fish, which is in turn eaten by a duck, which lays a rainbow egg. The snake eats the egg and acquires rainbow colors. When it touches a withered tree, the tree is immediately restored to life and even bears rainbow fruit.


Uh-oh...”