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  • hardie karges 4:30 pm on September 18, 2010 Permalink | Reply  


    This world is science fiction, the fractal edge of the universe in the process of expansion, chaos meeting the void, waves crashing on the beach, the fragile border area between existence and non-existence. This is Interzone, the international zone, the chaotic border where languages fall flat and desires become erect. Modern standard Pidgin English is the lingua franca according to the fashions of the day, Chinese language torture, the tongue of half-baked smiles and crocodile tears. This is science fiction; this is World War III; this is reality. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and have no idea where I am. I search an empty mind for the most recent memory, any memory, anything. What’s a computer without an operating system? Insert boot disk. Finally a reference point emerges and the rest can be extrapolated. Sometimes I wonder if a different memory had popped up, then maybe the entire extrapolated world would be different. Is history constantly shifting its point of reference? IS there such a thing as objective reality?

  • hardie karges 9:22 am on September 14, 2010 Permalink | Reply  


    Time travel is the best kind. You don’t have to move a muscle or start an engine. You just flip the pages of memory and sit back and enjoy as images pass by on the projection screen of your mind’s eye. There’s only one drawback; it involves getting old. So, as with most of life itself, it all works out in the long run; the less you’re able to travel in space, the more you’re able to travel in time. Don’t laugh at that old guy with spit dribbling down his chin; he’s trucking in his mind.

  • hardie karges 4:57 pm on September 8, 2010 Permalink | Reply  

    You Can’t Fight Customs 

    The Customs guys in Houston had a little table set up on the ramp to the airplane for the international flight. I’ve never seen anything like that, so ignore it. They flag me over. I’m Mr. Profile, by the way. They have a picture of what the typical bad guy looks like; it’s a picture of me. Hey, can I help it if I’ve got an eccentric flair for fashion? I’ve got carry-on luggage, so immediately I’m suspect. Under US law, if you’re carrying more than $10,000 in ‘monetary instruments’, then you gotta’ report it. No big deal; I know all that. I travel all the time; it’s a way of life. I deal with Customs officials all the time; it’s a way of business. I even do my own Customs brokering, so know the rap. They think I’m trying to be a smart-ass. They want to see all my money and such so we do that, counting every penny. Back then, ATM’s weren’t so popular, so I had traveler’s checks, plenty of them, since I buy handicrafts. It all added up to about $9,300 or so, well under the limit, or so I thought. Let’s wrap this up and get on with our lives. But no, the guy with the badge is getting excited. He leaves and comes back a few minutes later, telling me to follow him on to the plane. Like a good citizen, I obey. We go into the cockpit, where he informs me he wants to ‘know what that bulge in my pants is’. I shit you not. I had to pull down my pants for some pervert with a badge while two pilots and a flight attendant looked on. I guess know I know why it’s called a ‘cockpit’.

  • hardie karges 8:02 am on September 4, 2010 Permalink | Reply  


    The World’s Oldest Backpacker hit 50 (countries, years old, states of mind) with no regrets and unrepentant. Someone asked, “How long you been travelling?” Thirty years and counting…. Turning fifty was just like old times, alone and lonely, abandoned by my friends, walking the streets of London without an umbrella or a prayer. The rain hovers around me like weak soup, reminding me of why my ancestors left so long ago. I find solace in a pasty pie and a pint, and I’m glad for it. All that’s behind me now, older but wiser.

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