Sunday, April 3, 2011

Grief, a grievous thing

Thailand. Bangkok,
Sunday, 03 April 2011.

The matrass of this dingy room at the Nutcase Shorttime Guest House - I guess I have to call it something the dirty crap place lacking a real name - is hard underneath my Farang *ss, trying hard to ignore to sounds outside, the Bangkok world outside the room of this Soi 23 prostition rife dumphouse guest house, courtesy of Nong...young ladies of the night, originating from the Barren Fields of the Isan provinces up north of Thailand's impoveriched country site, taking quick but cold water showers, the sounds of female garments being washed with flower scented shampoo, hung over corrosive balconeys, the grunts of of their latest customers waking up to hung-over morning head aches, the result of Go Go bars' whiskey Tailandes aplenty, but at least a "fine" and satisfied feeling in the male member down yonder, underneath the carefully groomed English or German beer belly...

Six weeks in Pattaya's rowdy nightlife, losing my summer's savings big time on Chang beer and stupid bar fees have taken care of my feelings of grief, a grievous Farang guild complex over Moo's cardiac arrest and subsequnet death causing a writer's block - first time for everything - but moreover, desolation and a misplaced Alone In The Sahara sort of thirsty loneyness...

No Phom Pho Emiel coming over to my New Star Guest House for chess, no Kees De Mafkees stopping by for a nightly chat on his way home from the Beach, no countless number of Thai yings waiting for my return to my Soi Sip-Ett New Star Guest House, hoping for a warm place on my bed instead of a winding place on the beach, corrupt Thai Thamruat waking them up for the obligatory 300 Baht fine...

No Mad Belgium frolicking with the Hotel Wh*re, aka Miss Sandwich, coming to my room stark naked demanding his girlfriend back, holdiong a bottle of 100 Baht Hong Thong whiskey in the left hand and jerking off his erecy member with the other, courtesy to numerous sackets of liquid Kamarga, orange flavoured, down hiss swollen belly, Thai whiskey and Ya Ba at 300 Baht a pinkish pill...

No Father and Son Norway and their passion for Ya Ba, apart from sandwiching Miss Sandwich - hence her nick - nor the two black haired, olive skinned Swedes who spoke everything but Swedish but equally keen on a threesome with our aforementioned Hotel Whore...

None of all tha freakish shit - and much more - could take me out of my writer's Bloque- or my feelings of noir mourning...now lying here, back in Krung Thep, back at Nong's secret "sexercise Place" away from her seventy plus Norwegian sugar daddy's suite at the Sangria-La Hotel, I feel like magically touching down on the main landing strip of sin city, down on Planet "Horny" Earth's number one party place..back out of the haze and smack back in the Land of the Holy Thais...

Yeah, welcome home, Mistel Farang Han-sss

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