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... The Barking Dog Show Is Back ...

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Sawasdee Khrup, TV Friends,

In the space of four days and nights, some new canine presences, or social upheavals in the pecking order of local night-roaming packs, have caused "barking off" or "howling down" contests to emerge again at random intervals in the wee hours.

This hasn't been going on where we live for three or four years, after two major league opera companies of canine divas and choir dis-banded after the disappearance from the neighborhood of the top-alpha-male dog.

On a strange wedge shaped piece of land just behind our house almost fully occupied by an ancient giant Bodhi tree (Thai : 'Po : Sanskrit 'Bodhi : Latin : 'Ficus Religiosa), and evidently owned by no one (most probably, given the size and age of the Po tree, there was a Wat there once, we think) : as usual the abandoned, or, you might more accurately say, "supernaturally de-comissioned," spirit houses or shrines (hi-so Thai : 'sanphaphum : up-front about animism Thai : 'baan phii) ... litter the tree's base.

All of which is in keeping with very natural human "spiritual" cultural forms in that what is most potent, has the most mana, within the temenos (within the boundaries that define "sacred space") : outside those boundaries has a potentially dark force. The Po tree outside a Wat, would be thought by many Thais to be a natural dwelling place for Phii, hence an appropriate place for damaged shrines.

In fact there are many Phii there, and we talk to many of them; they seem to all have friendly intentions towards us, and many have fascinating stories like how a local quite crazy drunk got his paralyzed arm because he dared to take-the-piss on the tree one-night; the Phii threw a branch down on him causing him to have a stroke and paralysis (this is actually believed by many people in my neighborhood).

On that strange little piece of land, under the Po tree, a neighbor who loves chickens and who raises fighting cocks maintains a flock that shrinks and expands with the seasons.

We are used to the sounding off the roosters beginning around 4-5AM, can sleep right through it.

But, just recently, in the last ten days, some newly arrived rooster with endless energy and lung power of Pavarotti, sounds off at all times of night ... and day.

If his version of "kaka dodo doo" was anywhere in the normal range of rooster hymns, and battle songs, and mating calls, as desribed in the ancient Indian sacred text, Vattleabeakarama, both human and Orangutang here in this old human meat-package could slumber on, each having their own dreams, even feel serenaded by his songs.

But we suspect this rooster has been brought up in some dangerous cult of Kali's demonic aspect, like the Thuggee, and has learned dark-side mantra-tantra.

Because all of his cries sound very much like hoarse screams that are a distortion of the words "I'm a turkey."

We are trying to control ourselves because, honestly, we have violence and loathing in our heart towards this huexolotlin (Aztec for turkey, pronounced in contemporary Mexico as whaa-kaa-loath-hee) imitator which is, of course, disrupting that transquility of our internal meditations on the beauty and mystery of our own dual incarnations, which we are trying to collect in written form to be published, modestly, as "The Greatest Story Ever Told."

We feel like going outside, and uttering the deadly mantra "Kay Eff Cee," and destorying him, but every time we have used that kind of power, it has always come back to haunt us as an existential trauma exponentially related in freakifying power to the negative intention expressed : i.e., a bummer.

And what if this Rooster is a re-incarnation of Chalchiuhtotoliq, the Aztec God, known as "Precious Turkey Night" : a God of pestilence as well as mystery ?

We have always feared a sinister plot hatched by certain forces who consider our singular co-habitation of Orang and human anathema and abomination, who are jealous of our uniqueness. In the human world, most of the time, you kill people, or drive them to ritual suicide, before you make them divine, after all.

Thanks for reading, because, you know, "suffering shared is suffering diluted," as Ur-Orang once said.

best, ~o:37;

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