a diddakoi and her travelling caravan

I miss the 60s. In more ways than one. One, I was born after the 60s ended. This is one of my deepest regrets. And I don't know how it happened. After all, I am an ideal flower power candidate. I would have done extreme environmentalism, free-love and hippiedom to a tee. I was born too late. Yet when I see John Lennon and Yoko Ono on that bed, when I see the pacifist protests against Nam, and the Beatles crossing that road, I am full of nostalgia. For some reason that feeling is stronger than nostalgia for anything I actually experienced. I have never got over the 60s I never saw. Abba rings my bell. I love those ridiculous flowered bell-bottoms. Tying myself to a tree with chains to prevent a woodcutter mowing it down is right up my street. Here I am, filled with longing, and hoping, maybe sometime in my lifetime, I will be part of a big revolution, just like my hankering for those 60s.

Dear Richard Dawkins, I am writing with regard to selfish genes that are operating on the roads of Colombo. I am writing this because I feel that it gives much evidence to your theory. Let me illustrate. Driving on the roads of Colombo is a case in point regards the operation of selfish genes acting in a microcosm of time and space. Take the operation of the road rules. Signals. I have finally figured out why the selfish gene does not use them if they are turning off or changing lanes. It is to give vehicles behind them an element of surprise. And also, if they do indicate through their signal, that means that selfish gene at the back can overtake them, even at this last minute. And they don't want that. They must keep the lead until the last possible moment. Take also the case of overtaking. Selfish genes driving cars behind, must never indicate that they are going to overtake because then the selfish gene in front, would move the vehicle to the middle of the road, even if they ar...

I like maps I think because I feel I am linked And not so isolated as my heart feels. And because I know that there is still A place to go to And that all possibilities of A home Have not yet been exhausted. I like maps because their colors and forms tell me that life is not black and white and that being flat on the floor is only temporary. I like maps Not because they give me direction But that they tell me I can get to one place From so many directions and I can tell my mind to stop doubting so much anymore. Maps are good Because I know That though love dies Though friends are harsh There are still places Where I can still find some gentle conversation And a quiet welcome. I like maps because they also show me direction to places that don't exist for anyone else hidden in the borders and peripheries where I can hide and no map will ever find me.

Where have all the words gone? Have they been swept with the waves of loves that cannot be? Have they been turned into stone when friends did not hear you anymore? Have they been used by so many voices that they have become only sounds? Have they been bloodied and muddied so often that they stopped coming round anymore? Where are the words? I just want a few words to still the silence not very many, really, not much at all Just about enough Maybe to say I am sorry 3-4 will be about enough. Can I buy some words today? Cos I don't own any anymore I am rich, but so poor in words I've been trying all the usual shops But they say they are out of words now Some say that it is cheaper to buy petrol for 10,000 cars, than words Can I then just borrow a few words from you today? Just enough to tie the loose ends before I go I promise I will use them quickly And return them Still quite new And then I really will stop asking anymore.

What does one write, when one loses all her words? How does one feel, when all feelings died slowly over a low fire? Where does one go, when home has become a shell on her back? Who does one love, when love has only sucked all generousity and kindness? When does one rest, when sleep has died in the night?