Deejayed last night at Karma Bar, sort of my personal Kilombo back in the old days in Munich. Great food, lovely bar, good Karma. Anyway. German guy called Christian, great and lovely – good Karma, anyway, manages with Loch, my private little benefaction – hail, there he smokes!, during Lee, an ex-Skate Pro and the owner, fucked and lovely of course, returns from his native country. And not to forget, the lovely and yummy chef, rarely met yet such a physical person, which cast her into erotic in a intense way, even if I don´t reply to digital request, she is BBQ! Anyway. Completing the karma with a bunch of good guys, regulars, enjoying affordable drinks and browse in the bible of expats, Gossip. If you wanna know what´s going on, shut your ears and open your eyes. The naturally reaction on living in a different culture, dealing with the same shit on the surface, but deep down isolation, protecting your stand, status and historical personality rooting still in a different ground. Hold. Preserve. Survive. Building their places of enlightment, sacrificial altars of a breakout. Restaurants, bars, brothels. Imagine you couldn´t order a pizza, pasta or a cooling drafted beer. And a lack of or abscence of home venues. Oh, sake! We would have to be aware of, identifying and questioning permanently and not just solve your personal sacrification with ignorance. I don´t fucking care if you speak Khmer fluently or not, for how long you are already staying in Cambodia or if you can cook khmer food and know how to fuck in town for free. Consistency doesn´t make you a better person. Consistency is relative. You are relative, so don´t bore me with you tributes and honours. We don´t share anything. I am only curious, how mad culture can transform when it fears to be wolfed down by the hunt of self-determination – a less romantic term for freedom, and the hunger for self-worth. You are creepy and your book of enlightment is a collection of drowning rebels, mostly closed-minded like a broken branch, in the fey hook of a cute legless puppy. I remembered a lot the hint of Tori, one of the good, she gve me when I arrived here in April. “Don´t be too smart.” I am starving for a hypermegacritical, analyzing, deep throating oral fucking conversation! So I pretended to be smart and waited. Now guess. Right. Nothing, just more ignorance and splitting the scene, the funky lurky expat bunch, the circle of friends, my circle yes, I exclude, I do, I don´t like all of you, because I don´t have to, the good, the bad, the ugly. Traveling and opening my mind doesn´t mean I am not walking the beat of the vicious circle called extranative life anymore. Anyway. You might have been your lifetime a melting piece of shit. I had some very interesting conversations, teaching me in mistrust and wrongfulness. Teaching me it is possible to find the good ones, search for them off the beaten tracks and I mean, the tracks screwed by expats. Us. Yes, I am one of them.
I need a bible.
How can I sort all this out, put it in the right way, in a world, living in a surrounding where one finding was never that imperative, Aufklärung is an illusion, a dialectical utopia, a diaorrhoea of helplessness.
Fortunately there is immediacy, my more and more good company.
I remember a conversation with William, a descent guy from the UK, yes, since whatever here and speaking fluently khmer and anyway… he amazed me with his straightness and so I myself by his potential smartness, suprised by a deep feeling, I barely dare to say, but it was a positive thinking one. His family, including him in person, experienced a bit of shitstorm, fortune fired with some serious scary impacts on their genealogy. So I said, during I struggled with my DJ-set, picking up the red line, distracted and vodka-ed, “Seems someone put a spell on your family.” “Again?” “Someone cursed your family, Dude!” meant more as a joke, but his answer dumfounded me. “My family is blessed, man!”
Every concept is descriptive. Every description is a concept of perception. Created by man to dehumanize, to indoctrinate, to rule and control human. – What happens denying any kind of categorizing, blockading our pretended cramed idea of justifying and manipulating the indoctrination, beside the fact that this is sort of daring the impossible, by existence of an utopian concept. Imagine not feeling the need of judgement, of complainment, of having an impact on your surrounding. Why are frogs disgusting? Why does something look disgusting? Why we think something is disgusting?
Back to the digital turntables. I bought a mixer at a shop close to Apsala market. The first soundcheck ended up smoking, in many ways, but in particular the scorchng board. So next day was booked in front with rides to service stations – and repeatedly a stay at the waiting area of International Angkor Hospital. I overstrained my ligaments at the marathon.
What´s wrong Cambo!
At first the moto accident; broken collarbone, three broken ribs, stitches, abrasions and a left behind pebble in my foot. Secondly a broken knuckle on my left hand and now a ligamental strain. All this in less than a year. Might I have to feel rejected? If I would look at it in a dramatic way, maybe, but shit happens anyway, with or without drama. Everything was fine and ready to set Sok San Road on fire – not. My software didn´t synch with the mixer, so only one channel without precue to mix. Elliot, an expat photographer, demonstrated how to mix without precueing, just by pressing the button synch and fade-in carefully. Tried to explain him I am old school, why should I play “Run to the hills” on twice the speed? Try to mix Electro with Black Metal, auto-generated, IT–DOESN´T-WORK-DUDE!!! Even though he suprised me again with one of his stand-up slams. My meanwhile drunken cambodian brothers leaning on my back and napping in my lap, complaining that I don´t have time to drink beer with them, get wasted and later go to karaoke club. In between the holy-fuck annoying Elvis interpreter, whom I offered he can play four or five songs as a break, so I can relax, lift my foot up for a while and enjoy the entertainment. Finally he started to treat me as his sound engineer, needling me the whole night with “Can you switch the microphone on, I wanna sing.” “Fine, why you don´t ask Christian for your own personal stage, you can sing and enjoy your damn ego and overestimation of your capabilities a whole night. I am here to play music not to serve you, sorry, Elvis.” – Now fuckin leave the bar before you are hard-left. So you might imagine, it was fun, but far from deejaying. Later heavy rain, the first since nearly 2 weeks – the classy two-weeks-dry-season of the rainy season, started, nobody was able to leave or join, the best setting for Black Metal, but I was merciful with the hippies. One of my expat friends left, gesturing his incomprehension playing such music in a beautiful surrounding like Siem Reap. Yes, Black Metal is not for paradise, bullocks! I left Karma at 5 a.m., slept till 4 p.m.
The cook (Sorry I forgot – again – your name, bong-srey, shame on me!) asked me if I want to deejay at Karma every night. I would die of liver failure and brutalization, simultaneously.
Expat scene, scenes, show offs, pretenders, illusionists, life travelers, however you call yourself, I am NOT smart.
Thank you Karma, Lee, Christian, Loch and for a still beautiful night, you metaled my night!