Ha Noise Dave

It takes courage to raise kids with integrity, respect, and authenticity.

Dave releases streams of anger, bitterness and frustration allowing him to relax, expend and expand the sound. Dave is startled to hear the sound of his voice ricochet off substandard cold molten gray Hanoi cement block walls. His life is a cold cement wall. Echoes dance through his brain like little sugarplum fairies.

He knows the echo because he made it. He mixed the fine sand and quick dry cement. He slathered it over broken red bricks in circles with an abstract desire to make a work of art lasting for eternity which is how he thought of it the day he trow welled the paste.

Life gave him art and he used art to criticize life.

His voice manifestation expresses human vocal tendencies in a tight enclosed space near a gigantic liquid plasma television permanently implanted on a blank wall blaring news propaganda and perpetual adolescent reality soap shows about life next door where the family sits on cold red floral tile hunched over slurping from cracked rose bowls and shoveling steaming rice and green stringy vegetables into lost mouths yelling over each other in tonal decibels competing with their gigantic plasma television featuring dancing bears and pioneer patriots devouring rubber plantations, beaches for golf courses and farmland for glass and brass designer hotels with a double blade axe singing, in a high Greek-like chorus, their national anthem about greed on land, sea, and air, as water pianos played by a young Japanese wisp, her fingers a delicate blur of incredibly fast incantation musical channels dances near a woman garbage collector ringing a bell at 16:55 alerting people in Dave’s neighborhood it is time for them to bring out their daily garbage.

Remove the evidence. Bag it and tag it. Autopsy material.

Death Worship in Nam