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At 3.30 am wake-up call to leave Bangkok, off to Sri Lanka.
After three days in humbug city, enjoying a chat with an old sailor from South Africa, who did a stopover in Pattaya, delivering a catamaran to Singapore, who has circled the globe already three times, living on a boat with his scottish wife for not less than twenty years – I know, terrible romantic, “There she blows!” terrible me. – Avoiding successfully booze and the silly strangeness of Khaosan Road, delaying a highly necessary, but not that urgent – no pain, no rain – visit at a dental clinic till impossibleness, instead chatting with a tattoo artist about my next ink session, I did nothing than churning some smoggy dust in the dirt. Reflecting about my unpassionate desire for a females´ glance, the odour of an adventurous hormonal satisfaction. Why I don’t give a fuck about a fuck, for fuck sake! Why I have to be ashamed. Why I feel psychological sick, affecting my body with exclusion and disgust. Why love doesn’t open it’s heart or why I need this stupid pumping organ anyway. Why I don´t think more down-and-dirty, if I am already there, you rotatable dick! Breaking the patterns into pieces. Even if it hurts. No there is nobody waiting for me out there. What a infantile naive fiction. How men tries to find relief in this lubricious imagination – where there is no solace for a grieving bum. I am a freak. Everyone of us is a freak, especially the freaks who putting so much effort not to be, to be upright, be safe, fullfilling their duty to live a happy life. You are the show, even if you put me behind bars. You run the show. I wished I’d could refund the entrance ticket.
Mother love me.
Father be proud of me.
World accept my legacy.
Here is your ticket, blown into heavy acid pieces.
And it turned out quite barbarous in the early days, this was never supposed to happen, it’s a loop, a hula hoop, strengthens your fears and anxieties, deported to believe and spread your gens into the vast of the universe.
Anger. Self-hate. Need of self-worth. Leading to shame, compulsion under compulsion, maturating into anger, repulsion.
This was Bangkok. Beside, being surrounded by travelers, hanging around in the lobby of the hostel, sharing, exchanging, competing their experiences and plans. Me? Sitting off target, pretending being in my world, which is actually true. I don´t want to talk, answering question where to go why to go, instead to go, somewhere to feel like everywhere and in the center of all-what-is. Tolerating their admiration to live here, free, independent, achieving your dreams. I can see it in some of their shifty eyes, feeling normal and boring. Yes, I live every day my dream, without doing nothing for, no suffering, no self-doubting, no self-beheading, no nothing or everything at all, because this is paradise, so true, you, you – YOU! – nothing.

Suvarnabhumi Airport, couple of torture chambers later – I was with another white, but the rest of the economy class an army of traveling believers, mainly elderly, uniformed, men debonair in the typical tailored asian dress, which only suits them, not the rest of the world, looking like ludicrous descendants of Bruce Lee or a madatory of Confucius. Bluish grey two-piece. The women in white shirts, scrolled colourful, in a golden longyi. Carrying white sling bags, adored with finely embroideries, orange and green, with “Assembly is happy and good life” in sanskrit and english of course. A grey hand luggage, with an ID card on, name and a picture, identify them from Shan State, Myanmar. Some of them monks, representative rolled-up in orange sheets. My window seat was already occupied. I didn’t claim for it at the check-in counter anyway and I assumed they will be for the first time of their humble lives above the clouds. Then they will see, there is nothing, just extensiveness. Of course you want a window seat to discover, me sitting curiosity at the ready in the last row. The without exception female SriLankan Airline crew wearing Saris, petrol, with an hydra of blueish orange peacock eyes printed at the front, disclosing a uncovert look on their chubby naked hips. I felt delighted – fuck off western ideal of beauty. As the plane took off, the flying tunnel was saturated with devotions, asking presumably for permission to enter the never-ending kingdom of heaven. After an aweful english breakfast – hail colonialism, I fell half asleep and I felt the back of the cute old woman next to my seat, leaning against my shoulder, the snore plucking up and down her spine. I didn’t question, turned her back on me or not, and interpret it as a sign of confidence, just to sob inside me, touched, like a monkey at a temple, receiving a peanut.
And I mantraed to myself, “Today is a new day, a day full of opportunities, everything can change, all at once”, feeling blessed.