Ground Zero
*
We couldn't be there; not just to see. It all fell backwards. There were other signs. He was sure there was a solution. He followed the story back to its origins; the meeting he walked out of, the bar where he met his friend, surrounded by girls, as always, Soi Cowboy where they went, and the same street where he met the first Baw and where everything collapsed in upon itself. He should have known that a relationship which began the following morning with four shots of vodka before breakfast would end in disaster; but he wasn't thinking straight; and two months later his head was mash and he sat in meetings listening to Americans drone on about God, as if they had any effing idea, the most boring, the most mundane people on the planet, and he realised: nothing can cure you, have fun in the day, listen to these eff wits and let it pass; because we are here now, in the heart of one of the most fascinating cities on earth; in an apartment he couldnt afford, in a life that was encircled by crazy days. Aready he was tipping the security guard handsomely. Some of the boys did not have ID cards; and the endless succession would have raised eyebrows in almost any other country. Here they just smiled and thanked you as they pocketed their 100 baht tip.
And he would find himself playing snooker in the early hours with handsome Chinese boys from Chiang Mai, or be offered all sorts of things he could not understand; because these things would pass. No customer I only get 150 baht, the boy complained. He's 18? He asked the mamasam as they left. Yes, yes, he was assured. I don't want trouble. Well they were funny. They didn't like walking much. They didn't like going out of their area much. They crash landed in a thousand ways and yet here was the edge, the knife that would display. You can live a perfect life here. Well not if you keep wasting so much money on sex workers. Twenty thousand dollars he put aside for the purpose; and already he was half way through. It couldn't work forever. He would have to go and live in Calcutta. Away, away with you; let us work through the passages; let us see the shimmering light as it broke across the Bangkok skyscrapers; let us see the morning lioght and time immemorial and a dancing suite, let's see what we can make. Show me, show me, he said, and they laughed, laughed, nothing was serious; boom, boom, 500 baht, 500 baht, he said, pointing at the girls lurking along the side of the road near the Kareoke bar. This was where they felt comfortable. He wasn't going to blame anyone.
Already they were merging together, their pretty faces, so he rang falun dafa and decided it was time for some spiritual practice. He saw Chris and thought: I wish I was like you; clear eyed, older but handsome, clearly in tune; the gathering storm, a glistening train wreck, all gone. He had lived on the streets of Bangkok as a passportless alcoholic foreigner for years; and would point at an old lady on the street surrounded by garbage and wave cheerfully. She look after me when I was there, he explained, bring me food every day. And every day passed. He was just so struck by the geometry, by the ancient breeds, by the searing skyscrapers and the beauty of the architecture; by the cheap cheerfulness and by the urgency of staying off the piss; of not smoking ice and yabba with the street boys, of not going crazy in that wanton way when he would open his eyes and want to get smashed; when people would say, oh my God, I didn't realise that about you; until they saw him in the midst of lost time; and then everything came back into focus. No one was going to help. You'll just have to learn to live with yourself; as Peter used to say.
He was always going to do this. There was always going to be some point when everyting came unstuck. When the magic curled around his bones like a serpent out of Stargate, and everything that was available would come to him; and the glacier that had becvome his heart would crack and break just like that and he would find himself hopelessly, briefly in love with some impossible thing; and there was always more sex to cure those many ills. If ills they were. When he listened to the Americans drone on about God in a way that would deeply embarrass most Australians, he knew the crooked path was the straight path for him and the flocks of boys and pigeons and dancing queens; drag shows and "won't you stay, just a little bit longer"; hey big spender, spend a little time with me; all the basics, the prancing boys beaming out at the audience because they had never had so much fun; and shadows that stalked every walk; and the irrepressibly cute and the way we went; it was ok, he should have said yes, be open to everything, no power; power all gone, he would say; and they were young, they couldn't envisage any such thing; a mere glance was enough and they were off; even for him,for everybody.
And so the resolution lay in curdled time and plains that were invalid, existing only in the imagination; but in a place so altered it bore no relationship to any world, reversed or not; and now he watched them, and had come to know the Asian men so well; they were shadows; sometimes they didn't do very much; and at other times everything bore fruit. I am the youngest son; maybe that is why I am the way I am, the Cambodian boy said; admitting, like few of them ever did, to some gay inclinations. But they all asked the same question: you like lady? They couldn't conceive of not. Sometimes, sometimes, he would reply, and now had become aggressive enough with his dealings to make sure he got what he wanted. There was no other way. Don't let him see you like this; someone advised; and his heart snapped into a thousand pieces and he showed up at meetings in various states; and then time took its slide and every view, every vista, every angle, was exhilarating; as if there was no other place on earth but Bangkok where one could be truly happy; where the boys with their moto ci's whisked you from one part of the city to the other for the price of a coffee back home; where pleasure was ill defined; going for the dive; and where every piece of exhiliaration made for a better person. It was his birthday tomorrow. Time to begin anew; again.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://news.smh.com.au/breaking-news-sport/socceroos-need-goalfest-to-avoid-exit-20100620-yoa6.html
Socceroos coach Pim Verbeek has made it clear Australia need a Balkanic eruption against Serbia to have any chance of avoiding the World Cup exit door.
Needing a win over the Serbs and favours from elsewhere to enter the round of 16, Verbeek believes Germany will beat Ghana in their final match on Wednesday (THURS AEST).
And that means Australia will need lots of goals to beat the Balkan nation in the match being played simultaneously in Nelspruit to rectify a skewed goal difference that could see them exit the tournament even with a victory.
Advertisement: Story continues below
The Socceroos' gutsy 1-1 draw with 10 men against Ghana on Saturday leaves their World Cup on a mathematical knife-edge.
If Australia beat Serbia and Ghana beat Germany, the Socceroos qualify for the second stage.
An Australian victory and a Germany win won't be enough unless the Germans and/or Australia slam in plenty of goals to balance the goal difference equation in the Socceroos' favour.
So Verbeek has foreshadowed loading up on goalscoring options to help conjure the right result.
"We have to go for it, we have to win this game, there is no discussion," Verbeek said of the Serbia match.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1288055/Michael-Jacksons-children-to-school-time.html?ito=feeds-newsxml
After years of living as one of the most closely protected families in the world, Michael Jackson’s three children are to attend school for the first time.
In an emotional interview to mark the first anniversary of the singer’s death, their grandmother and guardian Katherine Jackson has told The Mail on Sunday that she is determined to give Prince, Paris and Blanket a more conventional upbringing.
Until now, they have been taught at home, in keeping with Michael ’s policy of keeping them largely hidden from the outside world.
‘I’d say I’m a little less strict but I’ve tried to follow the way Michael was raising them,’ she says in her first interview since he died of a suspected heart attack on June 25 last year at his Los Angeles home.
‘But they don’t have friends. They don’t go to school. They have private lessons at home. They’ll be going to a private school in September for the first time.’
The 80-year-old great-grandmother laughs at the idea the children could ever have a wholly normal life, but says they have a healthy routine of daily schoolwork, karate and swimming.
She says there is hardly a day without visits from members of her extended family to her home in Los Angeles. ‘Having them around has helped the children immensely. They go places together and have fun. They listen to Michael’s music.’
Katherine has come under media scrutiny again in recent weeks after reported comments by her husband, Joe Jackson, who said she was in part responsible for Michael’s death – a sentiment he has now retracted.
And last week her youngest son, Randy, was rushed to hospital with a heart attack, but he seems to be recovering.
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1288055/Michael-Jacksons-children-to-school-time.html?ito=feeds-newsxml#ixzz0rN3gH2Fc
We couldn't be there; not just to see. It all fell backwards. There were other signs. He was sure there was a solution. He followed the story back to its origins; the meeting he walked out of, the bar where he met his friend, surrounded by girls, as always, Soi Cowboy where they went, and the same street where he met the first Baw and where everything collapsed in upon itself. He should have known that a relationship which began the following morning with four shots of vodka before breakfast would end in disaster; but he wasn't thinking straight; and two months later his head was mash and he sat in meetings listening to Americans drone on about God, as if they had any effing idea, the most boring, the most mundane people on the planet, and he realised: nothing can cure you, have fun in the day, listen to these eff wits and let it pass; because we are here now, in the heart of one of the most fascinating cities on earth; in an apartment he couldnt afford, in a life that was encircled by crazy days. Aready he was tipping the security guard handsomely. Some of the boys did not have ID cards; and the endless succession would have raised eyebrows in almost any other country. Here they just smiled and thanked you as they pocketed their 100 baht tip.
And he would find himself playing snooker in the early hours with handsome Chinese boys from Chiang Mai, or be offered all sorts of things he could not understand; because these things would pass. No customer I only get 150 baht, the boy complained. He's 18? He asked the mamasam as they left. Yes, yes, he was assured. I don't want trouble. Well they were funny. They didn't like walking much. They didn't like going out of their area much. They crash landed in a thousand ways and yet here was the edge, the knife that would display. You can live a perfect life here. Well not if you keep wasting so much money on sex workers. Twenty thousand dollars he put aside for the purpose; and already he was half way through. It couldn't work forever. He would have to go and live in Calcutta. Away, away with you; let us work through the passages; let us see the shimmering light as it broke across the Bangkok skyscrapers; let us see the morning lioght and time immemorial and a dancing suite, let's see what we can make. Show me, show me, he said, and they laughed, laughed, nothing was serious; boom, boom, 500 baht, 500 baht, he said, pointing at the girls lurking along the side of the road near the Kareoke bar. This was where they felt comfortable. He wasn't going to blame anyone.
Already they were merging together, their pretty faces, so he rang falun dafa and decided it was time for some spiritual practice. He saw Chris and thought: I wish I was like you; clear eyed, older but handsome, clearly in tune; the gathering storm, a glistening train wreck, all gone. He had lived on the streets of Bangkok as a passportless alcoholic foreigner for years; and would point at an old lady on the street surrounded by garbage and wave cheerfully. She look after me when I was there, he explained, bring me food every day. And every day passed. He was just so struck by the geometry, by the ancient breeds, by the searing skyscrapers and the beauty of the architecture; by the cheap cheerfulness and by the urgency of staying off the piss; of not smoking ice and yabba with the street boys, of not going crazy in that wanton way when he would open his eyes and want to get smashed; when people would say, oh my God, I didn't realise that about you; until they saw him in the midst of lost time; and then everything came back into focus. No one was going to help. You'll just have to learn to live with yourself; as Peter used to say.
He was always going to do this. There was always going to be some point when everyting came unstuck. When the magic curled around his bones like a serpent out of Stargate, and everything that was available would come to him; and the glacier that had becvome his heart would crack and break just like that and he would find himself hopelessly, briefly in love with some impossible thing; and there was always more sex to cure those many ills. If ills they were. When he listened to the Americans drone on about God in a way that would deeply embarrass most Australians, he knew the crooked path was the straight path for him and the flocks of boys and pigeons and dancing queens; drag shows and "won't you stay, just a little bit longer"; hey big spender, spend a little time with me; all the basics, the prancing boys beaming out at the audience because they had never had so much fun; and shadows that stalked every walk; and the irrepressibly cute and the way we went; it was ok, he should have said yes, be open to everything, no power; power all gone, he would say; and they were young, they couldn't envisage any such thing; a mere glance was enough and they were off; even for him,for everybody.
And so the resolution lay in curdled time and plains that were invalid, existing only in the imagination; but in a place so altered it bore no relationship to any world, reversed or not; and now he watched them, and had come to know the Asian men so well; they were shadows; sometimes they didn't do very much; and at other times everything bore fruit. I am the youngest son; maybe that is why I am the way I am, the Cambodian boy said; admitting, like few of them ever did, to some gay inclinations. But they all asked the same question: you like lady? They couldn't conceive of not. Sometimes, sometimes, he would reply, and now had become aggressive enough with his dealings to make sure he got what he wanted. There was no other way. Don't let him see you like this; someone advised; and his heart snapped into a thousand pieces and he showed up at meetings in various states; and then time took its slide and every view, every vista, every angle, was exhilarating; as if there was no other place on earth but Bangkok where one could be truly happy; where the boys with their moto ci's whisked you from one part of the city to the other for the price of a coffee back home; where pleasure was ill defined; going for the dive; and where every piece of exhiliaration made for a better person. It was his birthday tomorrow. Time to begin anew; again.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://news.smh.com.au/breaking-news-sport/socceroos-need-goalfest-to-avoid-exit-20100620-yoa6.html
Socceroos coach Pim Verbeek has made it clear Australia need a Balkanic eruption against Serbia to have any chance of avoiding the World Cup exit door.
Needing a win over the Serbs and favours from elsewhere to enter the round of 16, Verbeek believes Germany will beat Ghana in their final match on Wednesday (THURS AEST).
And that means Australia will need lots of goals to beat the Balkan nation in the match being played simultaneously in Nelspruit to rectify a skewed goal difference that could see them exit the tournament even with a victory.
Advertisement: Story continues below
The Socceroos' gutsy 1-1 draw with 10 men against Ghana on Saturday leaves their World Cup on a mathematical knife-edge.
If Australia beat Serbia and Ghana beat Germany, the Socceroos qualify for the second stage.
An Australian victory and a Germany win won't be enough unless the Germans and/or Australia slam in plenty of goals to balance the goal difference equation in the Socceroos' favour.
So Verbeek has foreshadowed loading up on goalscoring options to help conjure the right result.
"We have to go for it, we have to win this game, there is no discussion," Verbeek said of the Serbia match.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1288055/Michael-Jacksons-children-to-school-time.html?ito=feeds-newsxml
After years of living as one of the most closely protected families in the world, Michael Jackson’s three children are to attend school for the first time.
In an emotional interview to mark the first anniversary of the singer’s death, their grandmother and guardian Katherine Jackson has told The Mail on Sunday that she is determined to give Prince, Paris and Blanket a more conventional upbringing.
Until now, they have been taught at home, in keeping with Michael ’s policy of keeping them largely hidden from the outside world.
‘I’d say I’m a little less strict but I’ve tried to follow the way Michael was raising them,’ she says in her first interview since he died of a suspected heart attack on June 25 last year at his Los Angeles home.
‘But they don’t have friends. They don’t go to school. They have private lessons at home. They’ll be going to a private school in September for the first time.’
The 80-year-old great-grandmother laughs at the idea the children could ever have a wholly normal life, but says they have a healthy routine of daily schoolwork, karate and swimming.
She says there is hardly a day without visits from members of her extended family to her home in Los Angeles. ‘Having them around has helped the children immensely. They go places together and have fun. They listen to Michael’s music.’
Katherine has come under media scrutiny again in recent weeks after reported comments by her husband, Joe Jackson, who said she was in part responsible for Michael’s death – a sentiment he has now retracted.
And last week her youngest son, Randy, was rushed to hospital with a heart attack, but he seems to be recovering.
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1288055/Michael-Jacksons-children-to-school-time.html?ito=feeds-newsxml#ixzz0rN3gH2Fc
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