Post Apocalyptic
*
They had been ruined. But there was always a way back. He made some very stupid and expensive mistakes; as if letting everyhthing go, self abnegation. It was always going to be; these mistakes; these bars at 5am, these places in darkened streets, girls dancing, girls behind glass, oh how he had wanted to be a normal man. But nothing was normal inside there; except in a sense things were coming back to what had been. Except he didn't want to go back. The old him was lonely, craving company, craving sex, accustomed now to the role of one man out. Oh how significant is this? Can't anyone make any claim to decency? But what was decent about these long days spent watching TV while the rent slept beside him; what was decent about forgetting who he was, what he was, where he was? These were most unusual times. But these mistakes would not be made again. He could walk through the valley. He could take care. Love yourself, the cafe owner kept saying. He show no respect. The latest project was to get him to pay for a trip to Phuket to see his family. If you love yourself don't go, the cafe owner Joie warned. I hear him talking on the phone: he has money, he will pay. I don't think so. Not anymore. If you love him more than you love yourself, then go. I don't think so.
The reclamation was slow. Chiang Mai was stifling hot; too hot to do almost anything, except pray for the passing; to lie around indolently during the afternoon; never to take care; to be resolved, passing through, that this was what we were; an ancient breed, more ancient than anyone could imagine, these little transient pieces of light, lost in love, lost in obsession; equally important was the way they went about it. Easy, easy, he declared, but nothing was easy, everything was alright, day followed night, but I just did something, no can do. No respect. That's what it boiled down to. Perhaps it was his own fault. They had met at a time when there was nothing much else in their lives. Too true, the colours. Too true, the pain. But it was stupid, self brought upon, just stupid, an old man whining in the wind, railing against the inevitable, unprepared to accept that much of life had already passed. He couldn't go back. His body couldn't take it. And he didn't want to go back to what he was before all this. So he made hay, short time, and the darkness was kept at bay, sort of. That was it, that was all. Broken, perhaps, but things repair quickly.
Diseased, perhaps, but diseases can be cured. He was a marked man and yet had avoided the mark. Nothing was fair.
Nothing in the way these things worked; nothing in his own gross stupidity; nothing in the way his head worked; he had felt for so long; walking those empty streets at 2am, there was no one else; nothing for the company; and so when he abandoned himself, just there, just like that, under the influence, nothing to be gained; he couldn't bring himself to go down the full path. There were others who would take care; better care; and in the morning I am with you, in the evening I haunt you, in the night he roams jealously along empty beaches and saddened larks, washing, watching, taking time, everyone the same, they are all there, they are all happy, while he is haunted and walking, walking, always, through the blazing heat and the cool of the night and the empty streets he knew so well; everyone sleeping but him. He wanted to become a different person. There was no way out. There was nowhere to be. He took a frightened leap through the burning ring; he embraced the halos on the other side, these frightened moves, this sad old flesh; humping so sadly, so desperately, through the morning noon and the old night, through crazy times and everything; and he was gone, gone now, gone to a better place.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/05/17/2901011.htm?section=world
Australia's embassy in Thailand has closed its doors and warned its citizens to leave central Bangkok if safe to do so, as troops with shoot-to-kill orders surround thousands of Red Shirt protesters in the heart of the capital.
More than 30 people have died and around 230 have been wounded in clashes between anti-government Red Shirts and soldiers trying to close their protest camps.
This morning the Thai government rejected a Red Shirt call for the United Nations to step in and broker peace talks.
The government extended a state of emergency to five more provinces, ordered schools to stay shut and declared two days of national holidays to keep civilians off the streets as troops battled for control of the city.
Some of the violence has occurred outside the Australian embassy and protesters also burnt a pile of tyres in front of the building.
The embassy will be closed until further notice and the Department of Foreign Affairs has urged Australians to reconsider any travel plans to Thailand.
They had been ruined. But there was always a way back. He made some very stupid and expensive mistakes; as if letting everyhthing go, self abnegation. It was always going to be; these mistakes; these bars at 5am, these places in darkened streets, girls dancing, girls behind glass, oh how he had wanted to be a normal man. But nothing was normal inside there; except in a sense things were coming back to what had been. Except he didn't want to go back. The old him was lonely, craving company, craving sex, accustomed now to the role of one man out. Oh how significant is this? Can't anyone make any claim to decency? But what was decent about these long days spent watching TV while the rent slept beside him; what was decent about forgetting who he was, what he was, where he was? These were most unusual times. But these mistakes would not be made again. He could walk through the valley. He could take care. Love yourself, the cafe owner kept saying. He show no respect. The latest project was to get him to pay for a trip to Phuket to see his family. If you love yourself don't go, the cafe owner Joie warned. I hear him talking on the phone: he has money, he will pay. I don't think so. Not anymore. If you love him more than you love yourself, then go. I don't think so.
The reclamation was slow. Chiang Mai was stifling hot; too hot to do almost anything, except pray for the passing; to lie around indolently during the afternoon; never to take care; to be resolved, passing through, that this was what we were; an ancient breed, more ancient than anyone could imagine, these little transient pieces of light, lost in love, lost in obsession; equally important was the way they went about it. Easy, easy, he declared, but nothing was easy, everything was alright, day followed night, but I just did something, no can do. No respect. That's what it boiled down to. Perhaps it was his own fault. They had met at a time when there was nothing much else in their lives. Too true, the colours. Too true, the pain. But it was stupid, self brought upon, just stupid, an old man whining in the wind, railing against the inevitable, unprepared to accept that much of life had already passed. He couldn't go back. His body couldn't take it. And he didn't want to go back to what he was before all this. So he made hay, short time, and the darkness was kept at bay, sort of. That was it, that was all. Broken, perhaps, but things repair quickly.
Diseased, perhaps, but diseases can be cured. He was a marked man and yet had avoided the mark. Nothing was fair.
Nothing in the way these things worked; nothing in his own gross stupidity; nothing in the way his head worked; he had felt for so long; walking those empty streets at 2am, there was no one else; nothing for the company; and so when he abandoned himself, just there, just like that, under the influence, nothing to be gained; he couldn't bring himself to go down the full path. There were others who would take care; better care; and in the morning I am with you, in the evening I haunt you, in the night he roams jealously along empty beaches and saddened larks, washing, watching, taking time, everyone the same, they are all there, they are all happy, while he is haunted and walking, walking, always, through the blazing heat and the cool of the night and the empty streets he knew so well; everyone sleeping but him. He wanted to become a different person. There was no way out. There was nowhere to be. He took a frightened leap through the burning ring; he embraced the halos on the other side, these frightened moves, this sad old flesh; humping so sadly, so desperately, through the morning noon and the old night, through crazy times and everything; and he was gone, gone now, gone to a better place.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/05/17/2901011.htm?section=world
Australia's embassy in Thailand has closed its doors and warned its citizens to leave central Bangkok if safe to do so, as troops with shoot-to-kill orders surround thousands of Red Shirt protesters in the heart of the capital.
More than 30 people have died and around 230 have been wounded in clashes between anti-government Red Shirts and soldiers trying to close their protest camps.
This morning the Thai government rejected a Red Shirt call for the United Nations to step in and broker peace talks.
The government extended a state of emergency to five more provinces, ordered schools to stay shut and declared two days of national holidays to keep civilians off the streets as troops battled for control of the city.
Some of the violence has occurred outside the Australian embassy and protesters also burnt a pile of tyres in front of the building.
The embassy will be closed until further notice and the Department of Foreign Affairs has urged Australians to reconsider any travel plans to Thailand.
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