Far Above, The Drifting Of These Curtains
*
It comes about that the drifting of these curtains
is full of long motions; as the ponderous
deflations of distance; or as clouds
inseparable from their afternoons;
or the changing of light, the dropping
of the silence, wide sleep and solitude
of night, in which all motion
is beyond us, as the firmament,
up-rising and down-falling, bares
the last largeness, bold to see.
Wallace Stevens
So this was the way of it, chequered pasts and chequered presents, colliding histories, so when he saw the boy standing on the corner it all came rushing back. Everything. The history, the books, the bars, the great congress of the night, before everyone died and Aids ravaged figures cluttered the saunas, desperate for one last embrace before a death worthy of Calcutta and Mother Teresa. Humour? There wasn't any. There was a coffee for the Bangkok security guard, who said good morning in elaborate, half decent English and he called, as he heard the birds call across misty paddocks, quark, quark, bells in the belfry, technology and multiple images cascading through ancient brain centres, a tendency to despair and the beauty of ruins out mobbed by a cascade of startling images; images which only made sense in context and in this era. The headache had lasted for days, placing him outside the mainstream. One cigarette in 23 days. Sobriety dates falling on deaf ears. Conscience cleansed. Jobs slowly being completed. Order resuming. I love you, he said, in response to the boy's repeated declarations; and it meant: I adore you totally but I'm not going to fall into some evil quagmire which is going to cost me a fortune; I'm not going to surrender my sane self or any other self to an obsessional all forgiving lust, to a terror of being alone, to long nights on the bottle and oblivion seeking behaviour as bad as he had ever known; as if young again.
The traips of collapse had accrued to him, curtains, muffled, echoing in the perceptions of others, but now, as everything changed on a daily basis, coming back into focus, back into decency, back into respect, he slept next to that overheated body, sometimes embracing him, sometimes not, but sleeping for once as he had never slept; comparing nothing, comparing all. A trip to the country, to Ratchaburri 115 kilometres outside of Bangkok, is planned for tomorrow, pung knee. Everything was heart ache, deeply broken, and yet daring to be happy he did nothing but fret; it's all going to end. As if he could care, after all this chaos. One experience much like the next. Three times he had been to Cambodia this year and still had never made it to Angkor Wat, instead watching with rapt attention as the wind blew the flags along the river course, as the boats crept together at the conjunction of the Tom Lesap and the Mekong Rivers, as the boys outside the hotel door spruiked their wares, China White, China White, no, why not? they shot back. Addiction. Problem, he responded. What problem? They asked. As if you didn't know. As if you weren't trying to set me up. As if his reputation at the hotel wouldn't go plummeting the minute he was spotted playing up with more than just the waiters.
The river was a place and a state of mind, of course, and every confluence of circumstance would lead them to those river banks, whether it was the ancient tribes gathering for ritual, or dance, or survival, or whether it was for stories for a newspaper long forgotten, with this impossibly flat grey land, drowned a million times over, stretching out either side of the deep, dusty gullies, the withering gums, the cheerful smile of station hands, the sure walk of the squatocracy, those times when he was flown out west to attend to the needs of graziers, and would find himself padding around rambling mansions far from Kings Cross, easy, easy, panting as they did, just make sure they come quick, easy sex, flash cars, flight after flight, as if determined to make it into the top one per cent of the world's most travelled humans; even now, each day involved something, somewhere, moving here, moving there, crushed in carriages where he was the sole non-Asian, catching sight of the occasional European, because they were on the streets of the capital again now, it being the European summer; these sour, astringent faced bitches cluttering up the airwaves and destroying the fine aesthetics of the day; all to prove what? That they had been slighted? That they could be nasty too?
It didn't make sense how awful they were; but many a foreign male commented on it; and the nice ones also commented; this is no place for a western woman. The European men don't even look at you, because they've all got gorgeous Thai girlfriends; and the Asians don't look at you, because they've all got gorgeous Thai girlfriends; so it's just a desert. Why don't you adopt some more male behaviour, and buy it? Easy. Half these boys are straight and would be happy to show a girl a good time. All you have to do is tip them in the morning. It's always done very graciously; in good humour. Everyone has fun. Oh, I couldn't, they would say. I don't like Thai men. Really, he raised his eyebrows, giving up. I adore them. And they're cheap. If you don't want to take my advice don't; stay on the shelf, just don't complain about it when the problem is so easily solved. Special for married couple, he heard the Patpong spruiker say; and chortled to himself at the horrified look on the wife; the curious, interested glance of the husband; who, like most men, was really up for anything when push came to shove. The girls, desperate after the curfew, beamed their 100 watt smiles at the slightest glance. And he shrugged them off, lady show, lady show, the spruiker said, leading them, he hoped, to Super Pussy. But when they got there they just kept on walking. They've been trying to improve the image of Patpong and get rid of the sleaze, he explained to his visitor, with the night markets and all. Well, his guest smiled, they might just have to rename Super Pussy if they're serious about that.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/world/africa/10605457.stm
Panic, chaos and despair followed the twin blasts which cast a dark cloud upon Kampala's experience of Africa's first World Cup.
Women were wailing hysterically, with some even doing the unimaginable, like foolhardily running across a road darting between the fast-moving vehicles. They said they no longer cared if they got hit by a car.
Sandra Akidi who had lost three family members in one of the blasts said she saw no more reason to live. "How could I lose three people at the same time?" she asked, crying.
Casualty figures after the blasts at the Kyadondo Rugby Club and the Ethiopian Village restaurant have been rising steadily, with 74 the latest figure.
Ugandan Health Minister James Kakooza says emergency measures have been put in place to cope with patients with different levels of injuries, some of whom are critical.
There are still several casualties lying on the hospital floor, some having only received the basic first aid. A woman looking at them before they were wrapped up in bandages said the sight at the hospital reminded her of a slaughter-house.
"I can't believe what I just saw. I've never seen so many people bleeding so profusely like this, with flesh thus exposed," she said.
Police have cordoned off the scenes of the blasts, and onlookers - some of whom are keen to follow every detail of the aftermath - can only watch from a safe distance, as the hitherto places of merry-making turn into deserted police search areas.
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/07/13/2951690.htm?section=justin
Prime Minister Julia Gillard's Cabinet is scheduled to meet today to decide on a revised climate change policy, as election speculation grows stronger.
Ms Gillard says revising Labor's climate change policy is one of her her final priorities before calling the election.
She has already ruled out putting a price on carbon until at least 2013 - but says the Government will look at other initiatives including renewable energy.
Greg Evans from the Chamber of Commerce and Industry wants the Prime Minister to consider tax breaks to improve energy efficiency.
"Economic incentives for business to actually invest in new plant and equipment," he said.
Greens Senator Christine Milne says the Government's measures must be strong in the absence of a price on carbon.
"Now is her opportunity to really show that she understands the climate science. That she understands there is a national consensus about energy efficiency," she said.
"It makes sense, it makes power bills cheaper and it's good for the climate. Why wouldn't the Prime Minister do something ambitious in this regard."
Ms Gillard says there needs to be stronger community consensus before the emissions trading scheme can be put in place.
She has indicated that will be part of her re-election pitch to voters at the next election.
http://cloudappreciationsociety.org/
It comes about that the drifting of these curtains
is full of long motions; as the ponderous
deflations of distance; or as clouds
inseparable from their afternoons;
or the changing of light, the dropping
of the silence, wide sleep and solitude
of night, in which all motion
is beyond us, as the firmament,
up-rising and down-falling, bares
the last largeness, bold to see.
Wallace Stevens
So this was the way of it, chequered pasts and chequered presents, colliding histories, so when he saw the boy standing on the corner it all came rushing back. Everything. The history, the books, the bars, the great congress of the night, before everyone died and Aids ravaged figures cluttered the saunas, desperate for one last embrace before a death worthy of Calcutta and Mother Teresa. Humour? There wasn't any. There was a coffee for the Bangkok security guard, who said good morning in elaborate, half decent English and he called, as he heard the birds call across misty paddocks, quark, quark, bells in the belfry, technology and multiple images cascading through ancient brain centres, a tendency to despair and the beauty of ruins out mobbed by a cascade of startling images; images which only made sense in context and in this era. The headache had lasted for days, placing him outside the mainstream. One cigarette in 23 days. Sobriety dates falling on deaf ears. Conscience cleansed. Jobs slowly being completed. Order resuming. I love you, he said, in response to the boy's repeated declarations; and it meant: I adore you totally but I'm not going to fall into some evil quagmire which is going to cost me a fortune; I'm not going to surrender my sane self or any other self to an obsessional all forgiving lust, to a terror of being alone, to long nights on the bottle and oblivion seeking behaviour as bad as he had ever known; as if young again.
The traips of collapse had accrued to him, curtains, muffled, echoing in the perceptions of others, but now, as everything changed on a daily basis, coming back into focus, back into decency, back into respect, he slept next to that overheated body, sometimes embracing him, sometimes not, but sleeping for once as he had never slept; comparing nothing, comparing all. A trip to the country, to Ratchaburri 115 kilometres outside of Bangkok, is planned for tomorrow, pung knee. Everything was heart ache, deeply broken, and yet daring to be happy he did nothing but fret; it's all going to end. As if he could care, after all this chaos. One experience much like the next. Three times he had been to Cambodia this year and still had never made it to Angkor Wat, instead watching with rapt attention as the wind blew the flags along the river course, as the boats crept together at the conjunction of the Tom Lesap and the Mekong Rivers, as the boys outside the hotel door spruiked their wares, China White, China White, no, why not? they shot back. Addiction. Problem, he responded. What problem? They asked. As if you didn't know. As if you weren't trying to set me up. As if his reputation at the hotel wouldn't go plummeting the minute he was spotted playing up with more than just the waiters.
The river was a place and a state of mind, of course, and every confluence of circumstance would lead them to those river banks, whether it was the ancient tribes gathering for ritual, or dance, or survival, or whether it was for stories for a newspaper long forgotten, with this impossibly flat grey land, drowned a million times over, stretching out either side of the deep, dusty gullies, the withering gums, the cheerful smile of station hands, the sure walk of the squatocracy, those times when he was flown out west to attend to the needs of graziers, and would find himself padding around rambling mansions far from Kings Cross, easy, easy, panting as they did, just make sure they come quick, easy sex, flash cars, flight after flight, as if determined to make it into the top one per cent of the world's most travelled humans; even now, each day involved something, somewhere, moving here, moving there, crushed in carriages where he was the sole non-Asian, catching sight of the occasional European, because they were on the streets of the capital again now, it being the European summer; these sour, astringent faced bitches cluttering up the airwaves and destroying the fine aesthetics of the day; all to prove what? That they had been slighted? That they could be nasty too?
It didn't make sense how awful they were; but many a foreign male commented on it; and the nice ones also commented; this is no place for a western woman. The European men don't even look at you, because they've all got gorgeous Thai girlfriends; and the Asians don't look at you, because they've all got gorgeous Thai girlfriends; so it's just a desert. Why don't you adopt some more male behaviour, and buy it? Easy. Half these boys are straight and would be happy to show a girl a good time. All you have to do is tip them in the morning. It's always done very graciously; in good humour. Everyone has fun. Oh, I couldn't, they would say. I don't like Thai men. Really, he raised his eyebrows, giving up. I adore them. And they're cheap. If you don't want to take my advice don't; stay on the shelf, just don't complain about it when the problem is so easily solved. Special for married couple, he heard the Patpong spruiker say; and chortled to himself at the horrified look on the wife; the curious, interested glance of the husband; who, like most men, was really up for anything when push came to shove. The girls, desperate after the curfew, beamed their 100 watt smiles at the slightest glance. And he shrugged them off, lady show, lady show, the spruiker said, leading them, he hoped, to Super Pussy. But when they got there they just kept on walking. They've been trying to improve the image of Patpong and get rid of the sleaze, he explained to his visitor, with the night markets and all. Well, his guest smiled, they might just have to rename Super Pussy if they're serious about that.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/world/africa/10605457.stm
Panic, chaos and despair followed the twin blasts which cast a dark cloud upon Kampala's experience of Africa's first World Cup.
Women were wailing hysterically, with some even doing the unimaginable, like foolhardily running across a road darting between the fast-moving vehicles. They said they no longer cared if they got hit by a car.
Sandra Akidi who had lost three family members in one of the blasts said she saw no more reason to live. "How could I lose three people at the same time?" she asked, crying.
Casualty figures after the blasts at the Kyadondo Rugby Club and the Ethiopian Village restaurant have been rising steadily, with 74 the latest figure.
Ugandan Health Minister James Kakooza says emergency measures have been put in place to cope with patients with different levels of injuries, some of whom are critical.
There are still several casualties lying on the hospital floor, some having only received the basic first aid. A woman looking at them before they were wrapped up in bandages said the sight at the hospital reminded her of a slaughter-house.
"I can't believe what I just saw. I've never seen so many people bleeding so profusely like this, with flesh thus exposed," she said.
Police have cordoned off the scenes of the blasts, and onlookers - some of whom are keen to follow every detail of the aftermath - can only watch from a safe distance, as the hitherto places of merry-making turn into deserted police search areas.
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/07/13/2951690.htm?section=justin
Prime Minister Julia Gillard's Cabinet is scheduled to meet today to decide on a revised climate change policy, as election speculation grows stronger.
Ms Gillard says revising Labor's climate change policy is one of her her final priorities before calling the election.
She has already ruled out putting a price on carbon until at least 2013 - but says the Government will look at other initiatives including renewable energy.
Greg Evans from the Chamber of Commerce and Industry wants the Prime Minister to consider tax breaks to improve energy efficiency.
"Economic incentives for business to actually invest in new plant and equipment," he said.
Greens Senator Christine Milne says the Government's measures must be strong in the absence of a price on carbon.
"Now is her opportunity to really show that she understands the climate science. That she understands there is a national consensus about energy efficiency," she said.
"It makes sense, it makes power bills cheaper and it's good for the climate. Why wouldn't the Prime Minister do something ambitious in this regard."
Ms Gillard says there needs to be stronger community consensus before the emissions trading scheme can be put in place.
She has indicated that will be part of her re-election pitch to voters at the next election.
http://cloudappreciationsociety.org/
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