Sempai [sage older role model in Japanese vocabulary] Dwight Kondo born 1950

Sempai Dwight Kondo’s lost art here–[my opinion

From extraordinary writer Sempai Kondo,
who writes in our local lexicon —

Title: The language of a common man
Author: Dwight Kondo

The world is simple to a common man.
Our language is abrupt and direct.
Ask us why things be as they are,
why soldiers die, why mother’s cry
for deadly causes wiser men project.

[common man’s apostrophe punctuation–
mother’s is singular possession,
a mother’s cry, –powerful! –but
miscued because supposed to be
plural mothers — no problema, because
dual meanings enhance the vision of
mothers’ worst suffering –the
death of their Creation-Child]

[for deadly causes wiser men project
is the heartstopper ironic theme
–subtler than satire, the deepest
wisdom. Cult of the intellect —
Western world has succumbed to the
decadence of intellect/fame/fortune]

There was a time it was a crime
to teach a dark or poor man to read.
Those who knew the secrets of books
knew to rule, that secret they must keep.

[utterly metered — flows like a river —
fluent energy, not to mention mystery —
secrets–that secret –singular priority
–they must keep, the rulers]

But today we have the internet
Smart men need only google.
And a common man can only think,
dare I consider myself an equal?

[incredible pathos — one cannot
quantify the quality of mercy —
conventional book smart inversely
correlates with wisdom — the
smarter you think you are via
books, the more foolish you
become by losing sight of life
experience — mercy comes from
experiencing life & putting
together your heartfelt results
via wisdom, not from the cult
of your intellect — to quantify
mercy is to fool yourself into
believing you are superior to

But those who have toiled over too many books
dare not accept their work as futile,
So at the drop of hat,
they’ll blast a common man that
dares question how wise promotes evil.

[key is how wise promotes evil —
incredible choice of words/
manner of speaking]
[As we speak, two-thirds of the Democrats
in the U.S. House on Capitol Hill
want us out of Afghanistan; conservative
GOP bastion George Will triggered for
withdrawal a year ago today — covering
for moderates finally to come out of
hiding to enable withdrawal. Hillary
enclaves in 2008 lose to moderate GOP
candidates today via our economic
tailspin, the inverse of Obama
enclaves, where liberal Dems remain
healthy but want us out of Afghanistan]

all rights reserved
By Dwight Kondo
Pahoa, Hawaiian Kingdom

Immediately hearing the first details of the murder suicide of a woman and daughter in Makiki, I knew that it was PTSD and the shooter was either a Iraq or Afghanistan war veteran. I announced that to my visiting friend who was reading the sad story from his cellphone.

“Stupid! my friend denounced. “Why didn’t he just take himself out?!?

“I bet the guy was a vet and he had PTSD. I predicted.

Reading further, my friend confirmed the fact that the shooter, Clayborne Conley, 43, was a 2004 Iraq War veteran with Hawaii’s 29th Infantry Brigade. The 29th occupied Iraq at the one of the most dangerous periods of that illegal war. It was the time when SF fools like Don Rumsfeld and ‘Prick’ Cheney disputed an insurgency. When Shrub declared, “Mission Accomplished! and “Bring’em on! And when what were lies exploded like the booby traps now called IEDs. And when visions of friends’ body parts, pain, fear and anger are all who are left, a young man can only promise himself not to forget the sins that he has committed for country. That even killing or raising mayhem for official reasons, some think foolishly, a just God should excuse. And deep down we know it feeble to think God makes compensation because you’re American. As if murder and maiming (and plant theft too) under the color of law allows you to try and lead a normal life after.

Then you come back home. But you have left so much behind. Things like friends, innocence, half your mind. Your dreams and your faith still remain stranded in the landscapes of occupied lands. And the only things that you can bring back is silent rage, shame, guilt and fear. And betrayal. Betrayal because you can never forget the lies that gave you license to kill, invade, occupy and plunder. It is not hard for a good person to see in short order, in Iraq or Afghanistan or Vietnam, we are the Nazis and the Commies rolled into one. You have become everything that you once thought you had to fight and hate.

So you can’t really come back home. You have promised yourself that you would not forget your dirty contribution to human history. Now believing that what was all once so good was a deception. Deceptions like stupid television series like Little House on the Praire or The Waltons. What made you once feel proud and safe was fiction. Come home! Live, love and laugh. And forget what you have paid so dearly to learn. That is near impossible or do we learn to be callous?

Forget the Neocon war. Forget those dying in Obama’s. You can rise above it all! Take some pills or even their money.

But you have promised yourself to not forget and so it grows impossible to control your dreams. The same story keeps reoccurring, you wake and wonder if you killed that child, was someone even shooting at you? Who else was in the house you watched destroyed? And only in our dreams did we dare to look into that shattered house, only to discover there our own dishonor. It always happens so fast, quicker than you can check. The adrenalin that pumps through you since that day has stained your sleep forever, because a doorway to war remains unhinged in your soul.

Sometimes when the moon is waxing and the harvest won’t be too far along, I know brethern and veterans feel the urge of this great tide. Reality becomes fluid as we are deluged with memory. There are times that it is painful to dream of a better world after having been fooled and deceived to do some of the things we have done. It is the same moon that we saw on those lonely and angry nights. It is the same moon that had us longing for home, peace and love. It is the same moon that bathes a distant kill zone of that criminal war, that renders everything ghostly and suspicious. And as the moonlight played tricks on our minds then, it does so now again and these poor young men, some the best that we could ever produce, remain stranded in criminal wars .

And the only thing besides practicing my defense before God, is how to convince mothers not to allow their children to war.

Aloha and Mahalo Ke Ahua


Sempai Kondo’s allegory not only bears re-reading. It is a powerful enough vision to sustain re-interpretation, though of course only at the level of detail. Our Sempai’s message was always clear, though always subtly drawn. It is a great, great achievement. Sempai Kondo is our unspoken treasure.

“I shot a 50 in the air.
‘thought a’saw a full bird
right over their.
They lie and strut, order and threaten,
their cause is a career,
our lives their investment.

calibre firearm, southern simplicity
seeing an army officer, far above the
grunt [homonyms their/there], the
brass popper’s intent
is more medal popping, bursting
out of blood boils rendered swollen
full from the grunt’s bleeding wounds.

Incredible work of art from Brother Kondo.
Treasures in earthen vessels, baby.
2 Corinthians 4:7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.


Excerpt from novel: Secret Gardens of Puna
all rights reserved — author Dwight Kondo

The drill sergeant reached for me, paused and smiled knowingly then turned and went to the smaller asian standing near by. He was the only other slant eye in our training company.

He pulled the smaller inductee before the company and and announced, “This is what your enemy looks like!
The slight Japanese fellow stood still in embarrassment and I realize that he was picked on because he was quite smaller than me.

I was already the company champion in pugil sticks and had gotten into a couple of fights with some whites and won. The drill sergeant knowing this, I assume to this day, did not want to have the other recruits anymore afraid of the yellow race than they would be soon enough in Vietnam.

When we reached the first open area at the end of ‘Sniper Alley’ on the Song Cae Long Canal heading deep into the U Minh Forest, we found a pair of Huey Cobra gunships that had landed. We had watched them wrecking havoc just beyond the line of huts belonging to
Vietnamese that had been relocated from contested areas. When other boats reported sniper fire from beyond the hootches, the Cobras went to work. The volume of fire that they unloaded was indiscriminate and merciless. Maybe two shots, maybe nothing, was answered by a million.

I again felt only sympathy for the asians caught in the murderous barrage of miniguns and rockets. They were forced to live along the canal. Anywhere else beyond 300 meters of the banks was a free fire zone.
To be seen there, meant to be killed. And there too was their rice patties.

The tracers ricocheting skyward where like souls being scattered toward Heaven.

When one of the pilots approached our beached ‘Mike’ boat I was struck by the fact that he looked liked a German pilot from World War 2. He asked for a soda and we obliged. I asked him what was happening out there beyond the hootches where they had been firing.

He said that they had come a bunch of ‘gooks’ crossing a field and when the Cobras came they had not choice but to just lay down in the grass. He said the Cobras just began to crisscross the area with minigun fire and soon, nothing moved.

I asked him if they were Viet Cong or not.

He just said, “Fuck it! They’re just a bunch of fucking gooks anyway!

I said, I was a gook, remembering even then the nearly sneering face of that drill sergeant.

The blond helicopter pilot told me I wasn’t. He told me I was an American.

I think it was there, at that moment that I began to unravel the body of thought that had me believing –fooled into thinking such.

It was from that moment on, early in my tour in Vietnam, deep in the jungles of the Mekong Delta that I realized that something I once loved, would be left behind and never come home with me.

I realized too, that all the evil that was Nazi Germany, that I was taught to hate as a child through movies and propaganda, that was part of my reason for enlisting and believing this cause just, was not only in the past and it was not necessarily German.

It was apparent to this young history student, that our–America’s endeavor in Indochina was the same as Hitler throughout Europe.

Your mind is less trustful when one realizes that the evil he thought he was fighting, was everything that we had become in Vietnam.


Do you know that age reckoning has our Vietnam War
40 yrs. ago even longer ago to us today than WWII was to us in 1970? And much longer ago than the WWI doughboy ole’ geezers/American Legion Rip Van Winkles/8th-century Japanese tale of Urashima Tarō/Rumpelstiltskins of WWI’s 1918 year were to impudent WWII post-1920 born A-hole Isamu Kanekuni’s 442nd genre? East Asian age reckoning imbues wisdom with age. Just the same, over the long stretch of time, Brother Kondo’s wisdom counters Kanekuni’s generational impudence amongst post-1920 born kids. Brother Kondo’s sage verses salve our soul. Amena, baby.

He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,
a greyhound’s gently tautness;
he seems to wince at pleasure,
and suffocate for privacy.
[such is the camouflage
countenance of Sempai Kondo]

He is out of bounds now. He rejoices in
man’s lovely,
peculiar power to choose life and die–
when he leads his black soldiers to death,
he cannot bend his back.
For the Union Dead by Robert Lowell

[Sempai Kondo by actions leads us to
authenticity –authenticity is
not narcissism or self-centeredness.
It is a fluid transparency of self in
all we do and with all whom we love.
Thus the great paradox: When we share
ourselves authentically, those
with whom we share find themselves
confronted with an invitation to be
themselves, too. They find their
authentic story in the sharing of our own.
Thus the gift of self or the gift of presence.

“In Poetry -—which has this superiority over all the other arts, that its medium, language, is the least imitative, and is in the most complex relations with what it expresses.

That statement was made by the great George Eliot. Yes, the novelist-poet George Eliot [Mary Evans].

The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier
grow slimmer and younger each year–
wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets
and muse through their sideburns . . .

Shaw’s father wanted no monument
except the ditch,
where his son’s body was thrown
and lost with his “niggers.

For the Union Dead by Robert Lowell

Robert Lowell

peculiar power to choose life and die–

powerful incredible choice of words –
counterintuitive, really!! You don’t
choose to die. You choose to live by
your martyrdom to universal truths
of compassion, grace, sympathy, concern,
and consideration for everyone/everything.

The stone statue of the abstract soldier
grows slimmer and younger each year–
wasp-waisted, Brother Kondo dozes under his
position and muses through sideburns . . .

Sempai Kondo’s
peculiar power to choose life and die–

powerful incredible choice of words –
counterintuitive, really!! Sempai
doesn’t choose to die. He chooses to
live by his martyrdom to universal truths
of compassion, grace, sympathy, concern,
and consideration for everyone/everything.

But then again, life is not always what it
seems. We’re all Jekyll/Hyde, just as great
Biblical figures David [murder] & his son
Solomon [greed/depravity/decadence] were.

Ngugi shows how one side is not completely
one or the other.

Treachery of people who lived through a time period.

Ngugi could have concentrated on these acts, vilified their perpetrators and thus created simple bad-boys to serve his plot. But A Grain Of Wheat is much more subtle than that. In many ways, these people are victims as well. Their only advantage is that, for a while, they have power on their side. And it is the struggle of motivated people that must wrest this advantage from them.

A Grain Of Wheat presents characters who suffer for what they do, struggle to achieve what they want to become. They want to remain faithful to their convictions, but in a time of strife motives are often provided by the most pressing influence, and often that does not have right on its side.

Thence life’s paradox — reality is not what
it seems

Vintage Sempai Kondo –
“Get chance to make’um, so no scared’um.

Wow!! Voila!! Inspiration in perpetuity/4-eh-vah!! Enjoy!! 🙂 Ai!!