I want to change more. Yes, it sounds a little bit stupid, I know. It´s not that I feel uncomfortable with the man I am today. So far I can say it is a man, that man, whom I am used of. But change, change is such a beautiful shot of awareness. Bam! Fall back, float, weightless… wander on stony ground, get your shoes dirty and your feet wobbly. Red dust. Yellow dust. Black dust. White dust. Dusty dust. Inhale… this life! The variety of possibilities. The pressure of excitement. The diversity of choices. Change is everywhere. Everything changes permanently. So why you don´t grab a slice, take a bite. Wrap with your tongue the squirty freshness – Have you ever watched, I mean, investigated people eating ice-cream? Aweful! It reminds me to dogs licking pussies. Or sucking. Be careful, on your left, the chocolate is melting down in a resolute drop. He catches the drop with relish, a smooth move with his bright pink mouth plaything, a knight´s lance searching for bloody ice cream, up the brown wrinkly waffle, crossing the thin chocolate-crusted border, into the cooling creamy pleasure of iscreeeeeam. Over there, she is sucking a two-scoop-ice-cream-tower, once, twice, wow, I can feel the haul in the corners of her throat, yelling, “Shut the fuckin´ door … don´t batter with the ram again. Not cool. You wanna to take revenge? Drown us in Gin, bitch.” So she goes about again, wide openend, across the crispy chocoloate border, which is spittle-sodden wafflemudd already. And than quick but not disgusted, still with joy and lusting, back, carefully, if that icehill breaks, you gotta spit it out right on the table, in public, so give a little bit pressure with your tongue against the hilltop, nice, nice, that´s how you do it, baby. And leave with your lips a swing of your bright heart on the trimmed hilltop, yeah, creamy kiss, well done. If I have ice-dream in my hand now, you know how stupid I would look like. And there was nothing else melting or dropping. Awful! Male, female. When it comes down to ice cream, Hieronymus! What an orgy. Suckers and lickers.
Change is an addiction and I am highly addicted.
At night, when I take a seat on my hot black-leathered folding chair, with my milk, a home-made ashtray and last but not least smoke, watching the sunset behind the glowing silver water tank, investigating my neighbours, preparing supper, preparing to sleep. Following ascending planes, leaving Angkor International Airport out of dark clouds. Expecting flash and thunder, looking at a rainy season´s rage. Enjoying the cooling breeze, containing already lusting drops of pre-cum. This balcony makes me horny. And shortly before the culmination, before the tremendous horns of heaven set free their furious volume and divine spittle, streaming in myriads of waterfalls down the pipes, down to earth, a fragmented force of fruit bats appear. Seems the hotel is located for some of the dudes in their entry lane, leading to the Royal Independence Garden of Siem Reap, where they have a lovely unquiet banquet, daily, next to a Pagoda and to one of the most expensive hotels in town. So the bats are safe. They are not hunted. Anyway. They are not predator enough to sentence them to be dewinged and chopped, roasted, a delicacy. Maybe. I prefer to watch them, their black flattering silence, like a hunter´s shadowlessness. Poor fruit bat. So many tourists beneath, blood from all around the world.
Changes are rarely more meaningful than impacts or a punching bag. But when they happen aware of all my dazed senses and mindful doubts, than it´s a lightment! An explosion! With a golden path on its silken leadership, with a wink of fortune, given and serving, discovering the blaze of color, the smell of a butterfly´s fart – romantic strawberry smelling buffalodiarrhoea.
But that basically happens before, read the signs! I pushed myself, well, no, actually I don´t have to push, I love to get rid off, everything, anything, me, myself and I – please at first. If I could afford, I would clean my life up every year.
I am throwing half used pastes, pasta or even – No, this I keep, I still have some weeks left here. But it has begun. The cleaning process is knocking on my doorstep, sticking its huge brush against the shiny white tiles of the long pretty common hotel hall. The beat of awakening. The big skinning. The transformation. The preparation. The Leaving. I have to leave. Sometimes it´s all perfect, but it doesn´t feel right, whatever that means, to be there.
It´s a ritual, a purification, I jump in an iron maid with all my compassion and anticipation, but instead of receiving me cheesy, I shred myself into slices. With each ritual the slices are getting larger and wider. Well, that´s what I hope.
If I have to buy milk, I pour the last, randomly more than a last, gulp, like it or not, or just flush it down the canalization. So my refrigerator is always empty and never loaded. Hilarious!
I can´t go to the barber obviously and my beard is since last year, when I tried this alternative of a ritual instead, shaving me mother-naked – excuse the mustache, highly restricted area.
Getting tattooed? I am running out of space.
Out of hair and flesh.
No, I don´t suffer a compulsion to wash, anymore.
Yes, I can be a prig, but not that strict – work on exceptions, that´s all what I am sayin´.
Change your surrounding, moving over furniture? Not around.
Colour your hair? Seriously? Again? No hair.
Start to find yourself a hobby? Now you scare me.
So I gotta deal with my holdings.
I create my own scapegoat, stuffed with all my sins, humanity and godlessness, chase the black sheep into the void. Go da hell, you fluffy pimp! And yes, in the end, it´s exhausting. Just writing about is exhausting, who must you suffer. You don´t have to endure this, ok? But when did you discover a new feeling the last time? You remember? A new hormonal jerk-off, glueing your senses, manipulating your desires and your well-known, standing in the center of an exhaling supernova. No? Me either. But I would love to explore this exhalation.
Every morning, when sunlight turns my lids into a rage of unaccomplished dreams, that´s why I wear a grind-protection, I help myself up, turn, so my legs are now out of the bed, resting, used in an abscence of awareness, on the AC-cooled tiles, mirroring framing red curtains and half of a palm tree, on which bottom side of its leaves I can see the swimming pool. Waking me up, as an experiment, I tell myself a couple of times, well, let´s say twice, “It is a gift to live.”. Short mantra, I confess. But, regularly, I stand up, after the mantra thing and putting some underwear on, on my way to the bathroom, I have to cross the eat-in kitchen – what a stupid phrase, and I find at least, lying around like anti-personnel mines – another stupid phrase, death-dried crickets, in any size, making that nasty crunchy noise when you step on them. The all come after sunset to die on my apartment, like shipwrecks, with a last blast in their tattered sails reaching the damned port. Do I have to feel something now?
Everyone needs materialism. Even if we don´t know, we own it already. Having a mother nowadays is materialism. Being a mother is facing addiction. Fucking lots of changes and choices, I guess. Not accepting materialism is living on a never-existed island and shitting behind a palm tree, neither aware of why we shit behind and not in front nor knowing, that we are on an island. So don´t bother me with your values of another world, Hippie, this is the only one, so deal with it. Beauty is worthless facing nature. Ah, get that smile out of your face, beauty doesn´t exist, only available in summer, ask your the dealer for reservation. Peace. Welcome to paradise. Everything is illuminated! Materialism is the perfection of boredom. Sucking creativity, passion and abandons you in feticism, so called sexuality. I am a materialist, I love to consume, with each sense of my present. Not raised by wolves and my mother is not nature, with huge breasts, blond and a heart deep like a vagina. No. I am middle-classed materialist. I waste anyway.
Yesterday I was told, if they (Khmer) have serious problems, for example your wife needs surgery, because she is pregnant, you bring her to a doctor, man, not to woman, because when they see blood, they are often too scared.