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BKK, you only had smiles for me. But I was sadly, not pitiable – keep it, not able to heart back, barely to mouth back, to return the embracing welcome, with this cemented snot in my head, thanks to the english white senior fat royal bitch of a lady, with her red-rubbed nose and compassionate line of sight, line of spreading her sickness around like candies or a cool breeze in the midday insolation on the airfield, countinuing trapped in the isolation of the winged quarantine capsule. Two days after I was lying on my hotelroom, kept trapped by a flue. Did some random attemptable moves to treat, to recover by ignoring. Meeting friends, soften the cemented facial expression with smiles and illustrating stories, met my friends Amber and Eric, the husband in tow, living on Bali, challenging life abroad with successful blogging – I know why I despise that business – and Eric selling balls, not his, unfortunately, would earn some passion. Anyway. People change or don´t or don´t want to or are not aware of doing so. We went together to a touristic Muay Thai Show, which was on the athletic side impressive, but shallow as drained paddy field. So boring. Shooting after with the crew, blogging needs to earn its promotion. Couple of beers and a late night dinner with one of the actors, far from calling him a fighter, lovely guy thou and anyhow. The food poisoned my stomach and felt that close to a magic healing by drinking, on the next day this attempt made just everything worst. But hanging around on the room was no option. Roaming around in Chinatown, a roamer not a wanderer anymore – no lenses, no guidance, no sight in sight, only a feeling of havng a stopover in one of my favorite cities I could call home, easily and frivolous, avoided to stay close or kind-of-still nearby to Khaosan Road this time, and for sure the next time again. BKK is too huge anyway to stay only and on top in one of the most dull parts. I realized again how I love and missed the big, the real metropolises.
A homeless rubbing the top of his head, furious and complaining – supposable, listening to the raise and rage in his voice, at a branch of a tree, in front of a school, to the left a small channel, not a venetian, more vulgar in its motion and carriage business.
Another bum reading newspaper, studying a supermarket full size christmas promotion page, with one armed old glasses without lenses and nails as long as you can mistake his hands with claws. The micro consumption temples, for young and old – but not for the poor and the crestfallen, naturally, a credit card away from the finite fountain of youth, smelling like success. Impresses and disgusts me at the same time. Finally this move to treat my flue didn´t work out as well, I left with tears in my eyes. For a brief slow motioned moment I felt the weight of pointlessness, a black spot, a falling insatiable hole, eat you up from the inside, leaving behind plastic and bloodshot promises and an infinte loop of needs and carelessness. I bought half connected to and from consumption, bewildered wild, on an emotional warfare, a pair of closed shoes, for the posh clubs I never go to, for the trendy walks I never take, in one size too small, cause my feet are not used anymore to fashion, only to comfort. Another pair of flip flops, faked Birkenstock, causing blisters after a walk and getting lost. What a waste. What a hassle, what a realistic hassle.
The third attempt to distract me from surrendering me to the flue, getting tattooed. At one of the most lovely studios I have ever dropped in. Six Fathoms Deep. The studio loaded with Master of the Universe characters, toys, whole scenes. I felt like a kid, me as a boy. And how the studio shows off! Its uniqueness. A place full of treasures and the artists setting the distinguishing marks in particular. How I miss that, not the rustic spirituality, narrow-mindedness, but the megalomania, without being aware of, just because of surviving and riding the rigidity. My true inspiration. I wanna be inspired, not a guidance. Matt, one of the artists, did a great job, finishing, or shall I say continueing my forehead. And can´t wait to get the heroes of our childhood – Ralf – on the back of my feet, next year, dedicated to the soil of our friendship, let´s throw some sand out of the pit! But so far, well, the visit was a pleasure, a reminder, the snot still stayed put, dooged and increasing the pressure. In three days I will jump on a plane to Kathmandu and I will, I am yearning for.

But first some rules, understandings, hindsights and blindsides:

1. Don´t just widen your range of skills and abilities, practice!

2. Stop drinking and smoking. Practice!

3. Get back to vegetarianism. Why? I love animals, but I wouldn´t mind to kill, we are humans, we kill, loving or not.

4. Don´t you dare stopping to express yourself, pussy! Free yourself is a process, but do it at last! No being of freedom and love, it is almost worth the excitement, thou a peaceful balance of an embracing serenity, processing self-creation and disformation might be as adequate as challenging my emotional abyss. Bit more courage, if you please! Metropolitan cities like BKK, as much as I miss the vibrating varity and the madness of it corners, bruises and amorphousness, the unleashed commercialism lets me pull by my narcissism. And I fuckin hate it! This is so far from free. With all its new reinventions, promotions, opulence and aversion, decay, melting hubs and sinking pots. The metropolis is the alive standing ruin of the world, the real apocalypse, the final corrossion is only an act of conformity. Keep floating on the bloodstream of money, stay attached not drowning. There is no against or with the current, this is pathetic. Disorder is order as order needs mayhem. We are all and all what is. Weirdness doesn´t exist, only if you wanna buy or sell it. Weird is only that I still don´t give a fuck. I pronounce to free myself! Cut myself loose, the driftwood, the solitude, as a concept of multitude, broken walls, open the last gates and always a knife in my pocket, just in case. Be as mas as you can!
And no, mad doesn´t mean to party, to have fun, take drugs, drink booze or be as stupid as you are anyway.

More findings (to) follow…