“Oh God, a jumping spider on my shoulder, oh my God!” acting, throwing around her limbs like a possessed marionette of a drunken master. Like a cruel divine dwarf has just unlocked the Hell-let´s-destroy-this-world button.
“Oh my God, this is sooo spicy!” Waving with her hands in front of her mouth, to cool herself off. Dipped the spring-roll in an ordinary chilli-sauce. What you are eating at home, oat with oat? – Sorry, I am pissed. No internet. No work. More pressure. I can be wherever I want, if it comes to work, I am, still, a freak-out. Especially if your main tool is operating randomly. If internet is, still, a gift, not ordinary, not global, not 24 hours. I move from spot to spot. Spending money on coffee, shakes and margharitas, to stay and wait for a transfer rate, just enough to send an email, or two, if the spot is hot enough. Paying 500 $ monthly and wasting time and money – so when it comes to work, how can you not freak out, surrounded by so many real hot spots, waiting to be shooted, filmed, explored, conquered or just embraced.
Today it´s two weeks ago Travis died. When I pass his tattoo studio, I expect Travis sitting on his wobbly plastic chair, crooked, starring on his computer screen, photoshopping, struggling with his website, watching “Dethklok”, searching for new Karaoke songs – metal songs about crocodiles. Smoking, sweating, brewing some new ideas to adorn his studio. Smiling. I miss his smile and how it turns into a naughty gloomy grimace, during telling a chapter of his life story. The game of ventures has begun. His studio is located in an upcoming area, stretching the Pub Street down west, down Sok San Road. I hope someone will keep it running, in memory of Travis, in aware of his dream, to install a space for art and artists. No more bars. Not one more Happy Pizza – they are shit anyway – restaurant or a tours-and-tickets stall. I would love to keep it running. Travis was a fucking brilliant and generous character, you don´t find at each corner, in particular in Asia, around that shit-roads with bumming and hanging around dropouts and fools. It´s a small community, tolerated in a small city, placed in on eof the most important center of tourism in southeast asia, reigned by a corruptive and remorseless government.
People are dying around the world in far more worst circumstances and not that self-inflicted. Live fast and die whenever it is not worth to. But if it happens nearby, to your heart. If someone died too early on your schedule, on my schedule – I just returned. We had plans! … it sucks.
“You know Travis loved conspiracy theories. He was lying next to Dave the last 3 days.” Guess he knows everything.
The funeral of Travis was more traditional, less religious, even say sounds strange, because the line between tradition and buddhism is as thin as fart of a buddha. He was thick wrapped in a white shroud. Allover. Prepared in a fragile but simple timbered coffin. The bottom side crushed in half – too tight for an old dragon. Before the last act of the ceremony, the cremation, the attendants, family members, friends, rubbernecks, take a final look, in dead-shut eyes, a corpse and its last grotesque face. Face to face. “Goodbye and remember me. We will meet again.” Gaze on gaze. Resting, in peace for a moment of recall. And if you like to smell, it might stink awful. It, the progress of rotting. So the attendants stopped the funeral service as he was starting to unwrap Travis head. Fair enough. A wonderful picture of him decorated his dis-appearance in a charming and humble way. Like he was. Old school. Couple of days after Soya told me she met him at Old Market on the day he died. I don´t wanna quote her at this point. Only she can and should tell the story, their dialogue. She left me in reflectiveness. I will always keep this in my memory. Thank you, Soya.
Afterwards, later in our amusement, at a local kind of beergarden, usually noisy and with a beer tower on the table, I said, “I love my parents”. – She is picking smooth at the golden parts of your heart with her untainted and sincere perception.
Starting a computer course next week. Topic, “How to build a website?”. Pretty excited. We will see how I think about this in a couple of weeks. If I still have students, after they realized, “Fuck, that´s tough work!”.
Oh, and I was in Phnom Penh. Just for 32 hours. It felt so good to sit on a bus again, traveling. I had the pleasure to join an unusual cambodian wedding party at a bar called Showbox, which reminded me of Berlin. Punk. Art. Punk art. With a classy touch. The rest I explored on Tuk Tuks, from and to the busstation. You do what you gotta do. If you see a friend maybe the last time for a couple of months, you wanna say goodbye, am I right? Being on the road, raise some dust, enough to ride. Being drunken and canned at a wedding party in Phnom Penh, seeing Tori, a gift on top!
– On this occassion I also had the pleasure to watch and later listen, holding his inspiring speech, W. Shakespeare he choosed, a tiger…
Whispering in monologues.
Marking safe ground.
A ritual dance on a fire of silence.
The cold silence of chains.
Whole body protected by black poked color.
Like a magic cape.
A hidden place to spell the truth.
A true world.
Stretched on close metres.
Enough to fear lonesomeness.
Enough to fear lonesomeness.
Teeth gnawing bars.
The gates of justice.
Memorial of understanding.
Marking safe ground.
Shy and broken.
To stay away.
From their grounds.
Broken tears in a tomb.
Mirroring a fire of revelation and retribution.
Colored in voices of a glowing hidden cage.