The Final Escape
*
Stranger stranger, danger danger, and yet in these familiar streets there was no danger, except that of running out of money; and so he set out to explore, to create dramas, to find unhappiness in comfortability, to betray the very thing he had sought. And in the process to betray all those he had built up around him. That was the process of creating loneliness. He was determined to do it. And then he went back to sleep next to that over=heated body, that cheerful grin, worried, sought for, aching hearts and broken minds; all of the terrible garbage he had inherited; all of the brittle past and broken futures; all of it dissipated in the languid heat. He knew his way forward. He knew there was nothing to be gained by dwelling in the past. He stopped by The Balcony on Soi 4 and instantly felt like a drink; and even though the German man next to him drank a Watermelon Crush; non-alcoholic; he felt desperately like a drink just because of the very notion of being near a gay bar; of watching the circus, the passing parade. They were all so angular, such precise reflections of themselves, clichés before they were born, that he could not think of anything more on earth he would like than another round of oblivion seeking; so he downed his soda water and headed straight back to the apartment; where he burst through the door and loudly declared to Peter, the young Australian multi-media artist who was staying with him for a week or two: I feel like a cigarette.
Don't you ever feel like drinking? he asked. I get bouts of it all the time. It was true; he would be in the "Seven", the 7-11s that dotted so many streets of Bangkok, and his eye would drift up to the litre of Black Label for 1199 Baht, and all he could think of was those days, well more accurately nights, with Baw when they drank away a fortune and went all over Bangkok, the Sanctuary, the Country bar, and he would say in the infinite slip time: these are the male prostitutes, there is the foreigner, here is the place where I am the only one. There were so few foreigners about. But now, all of a sudden, there were Europeans on the streets again; and when he tried to explain that Australians were different to other falang, friendlier, more open, more fun loving, it fell on deaf ears, for to them a foreigner was a foreigner, a strange, non-understandable beast, something to be dreaded and feared, or avoided, or just not understood; walking ATMs, wealthy, cashed up, strange, with strange concerns - they didn't wash more than once a day and ate strange foods nobody could possibly want. Did he go back to his old life, his street life? "Sometimes I would cry I had so little money; I know you are not happy but I am only a child, I don't know, I can't help you."
"I have the heart for you," Baw said, "I love you, I like you," but already he knew it was a lie, written and grounded in future problems, a desire not to let go a ready source of cash; fluent in the ways of men, dark sources, instant intimacies, smirking smiles, compassion between slaves. Are you working in the bar tonight, he asked Mr Yung, who was camping it up on his sofa; giggling, stretching his young, slightly pimply form. Yes, he whispered; which meant he would be up there on the board walk, giggling and walking, and everything would be easy, normal, and time would march for free as they paraded in front of the half a dozen customers in the almost empty club. Everyone wanted a foreigner. They had more money; sometimes were drunk; mostly were easier to deal with, less demanding. The foreigner like him, they said of his boy; and even now they taunted him with tales, foreigner ask me for my phone number at "Seven", I say no, I have boyfriend, yet in these masterful places where everything was wrong, in the such recent future when he had run so totally off the rails, everything was fine in such delicious economy. He reached out to touch. The man handed him a booklet of photographs. Take your pick. The ones marked "approved" are working now.
Peter spent his days downloading music and cluttering up the lounge room, and already he would miss him when he was gone. They went out to Immigration and extended his visa; that enormous government building with the giant circular floor, a masterpiece of building, of modern architecture. This is not third world, he said, gesturing; and Peter shook his head above the giant marble floor, no. There's nothing like this in Australia, he added; and it was true. That poky bloody hole that is Immigration in Sydney. Compare it to this. They had lunch in the food hall, already going native, used, now, to the fact that they were the only Europeans around, facing no hostility, just the occasional curious look; and he had an ice cream sundae while Peter queued for his visa extension. Everything was going to be alright. It was such a strange, unusual thought, one he had so rarely had; and yet it seemed like that; that he was finally home, that if there was a heaven on earth he had found it in brief peace and attenuated, functional love, in handsome company and good friends, easy companionship, marching forward as if into a glorious noon; always there, always proud, always happy; delighted to serve you sir, honoured to sleep with you tonight; fully functional, fully awake, in a state of permanent bliss; having finally escaped.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.theaustralian.com.au/politics/julia-gillard-to-reveal-labors-climate-change-election-policy-on-thursday/story-e6frgczf-1225891240558
JULIA Gillard will speak at the National Press Club on Thursday but her office has played down expectations she will release her climate policy.
Federal cabinet met today to discuss a revised climate change policy, which remains one of the key issues identified by the Prime Minister to be resolved before she calls an election.
While climate change remains at the forefront of the political agenda, sources close to Ms Gillard played down the prospect of an announcement on the issue on Thursday.
This raises speculation about the substance of the announcement and suggests Ms Gillard is unlikely to call an election this week.
The Prime Minister is sticking with Labor's plan to delay the emissions trading scheme to at least 2013 and today acknowledged that many Australians were disappointed by the failure of the ETS.
“I understand there are millions of Australians disappointed that we have not yet been able to put a price on carbon, I am disappointed by that too,” she said.
Ms Gillard, speaking to reporters this morning, stressed a deep community consensus had to be built before a price could be put on carbon.
She said there were “other steps” the government could take on climate change and her government would take the time needed to get climate policies right.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5jxGP-oVYL2TkU3zW5vbNXmh4Hbhw
KABUL — Three NATO soldiers were killed in an attack in southern Afghanistan on Tuesday, the alliance said, but gave no further details.
The deaths bring to 356 the number of foreign troops to have died in the Afghan war so far this year, according to an AFP tally based on a count kept by icasualties.org. The total for last year was 520.
The United States and NATO have 143,000 troops in Afghanistan fighting a Taliban insurgency, with the number due to rise to 150,000 in coming weeks.
A photograph of a photograph.
Stranger stranger, danger danger, and yet in these familiar streets there was no danger, except that of running out of money; and so he set out to explore, to create dramas, to find unhappiness in comfortability, to betray the very thing he had sought. And in the process to betray all those he had built up around him. That was the process of creating loneliness. He was determined to do it. And then he went back to sleep next to that over=heated body, that cheerful grin, worried, sought for, aching hearts and broken minds; all of the terrible garbage he had inherited; all of the brittle past and broken futures; all of it dissipated in the languid heat. He knew his way forward. He knew there was nothing to be gained by dwelling in the past. He stopped by The Balcony on Soi 4 and instantly felt like a drink; and even though the German man next to him drank a Watermelon Crush; non-alcoholic; he felt desperately like a drink just because of the very notion of being near a gay bar; of watching the circus, the passing parade. They were all so angular, such precise reflections of themselves, clichés before they were born, that he could not think of anything more on earth he would like than another round of oblivion seeking; so he downed his soda water and headed straight back to the apartment; where he burst through the door and loudly declared to Peter, the young Australian multi-media artist who was staying with him for a week or two: I feel like a cigarette.
Don't you ever feel like drinking? he asked. I get bouts of it all the time. It was true; he would be in the "Seven", the 7-11s that dotted so many streets of Bangkok, and his eye would drift up to the litre of Black Label for 1199 Baht, and all he could think of was those days, well more accurately nights, with Baw when they drank away a fortune and went all over Bangkok, the Sanctuary, the Country bar, and he would say in the infinite slip time: these are the male prostitutes, there is the foreigner, here is the place where I am the only one. There were so few foreigners about. But now, all of a sudden, there were Europeans on the streets again; and when he tried to explain that Australians were different to other falang, friendlier, more open, more fun loving, it fell on deaf ears, for to them a foreigner was a foreigner, a strange, non-understandable beast, something to be dreaded and feared, or avoided, or just not understood; walking ATMs, wealthy, cashed up, strange, with strange concerns - they didn't wash more than once a day and ate strange foods nobody could possibly want. Did he go back to his old life, his street life? "Sometimes I would cry I had so little money; I know you are not happy but I am only a child, I don't know, I can't help you."
"I have the heart for you," Baw said, "I love you, I like you," but already he knew it was a lie, written and grounded in future problems, a desire not to let go a ready source of cash; fluent in the ways of men, dark sources, instant intimacies, smirking smiles, compassion between slaves. Are you working in the bar tonight, he asked Mr Yung, who was camping it up on his sofa; giggling, stretching his young, slightly pimply form. Yes, he whispered; which meant he would be up there on the board walk, giggling and walking, and everything would be easy, normal, and time would march for free as they paraded in front of the half a dozen customers in the almost empty club. Everyone wanted a foreigner. They had more money; sometimes were drunk; mostly were easier to deal with, less demanding. The foreigner like him, they said of his boy; and even now they taunted him with tales, foreigner ask me for my phone number at "Seven", I say no, I have boyfriend, yet in these masterful places where everything was wrong, in the such recent future when he had run so totally off the rails, everything was fine in such delicious economy. He reached out to touch. The man handed him a booklet of photographs. Take your pick. The ones marked "approved" are working now.
Peter spent his days downloading music and cluttering up the lounge room, and already he would miss him when he was gone. They went out to Immigration and extended his visa; that enormous government building with the giant circular floor, a masterpiece of building, of modern architecture. This is not third world, he said, gesturing; and Peter shook his head above the giant marble floor, no. There's nothing like this in Australia, he added; and it was true. That poky bloody hole that is Immigration in Sydney. Compare it to this. They had lunch in the food hall, already going native, used, now, to the fact that they were the only Europeans around, facing no hostility, just the occasional curious look; and he had an ice cream sundae while Peter queued for his visa extension. Everything was going to be alright. It was such a strange, unusual thought, one he had so rarely had; and yet it seemed like that; that he was finally home, that if there was a heaven on earth he had found it in brief peace and attenuated, functional love, in handsome company and good friends, easy companionship, marching forward as if into a glorious noon; always there, always proud, always happy; delighted to serve you sir, honoured to sleep with you tonight; fully functional, fully awake, in a state of permanent bliss; having finally escaped.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.theaustralian.com.au/politics/julia-gillard-to-reveal-labors-climate-change-election-policy-on-thursday/story-e6frgczf-1225891240558
JULIA Gillard will speak at the National Press Club on Thursday but her office has played down expectations she will release her climate policy.
Federal cabinet met today to discuss a revised climate change policy, which remains one of the key issues identified by the Prime Minister to be resolved before she calls an election.
While climate change remains at the forefront of the political agenda, sources close to Ms Gillard played down the prospect of an announcement on the issue on Thursday.
This raises speculation about the substance of the announcement and suggests Ms Gillard is unlikely to call an election this week.
The Prime Minister is sticking with Labor's plan to delay the emissions trading scheme to at least 2013 and today acknowledged that many Australians were disappointed by the failure of the ETS.
“I understand there are millions of Australians disappointed that we have not yet been able to put a price on carbon, I am disappointed by that too,” she said.
Ms Gillard, speaking to reporters this morning, stressed a deep community consensus had to be built before a price could be put on carbon.
She said there were “other steps” the government could take on climate change and her government would take the time needed to get climate policies right.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5jxGP-oVYL2TkU3zW5vbNXmh4Hbhw
KABUL — Three NATO soldiers were killed in an attack in southern Afghanistan on Tuesday, the alliance said, but gave no further details.
The deaths bring to 356 the number of foreign troops to have died in the Afghan war so far this year, according to an AFP tally based on a count kept by icasualties.org. The total for last year was 520.
The United States and NATO have 143,000 troops in Afghanistan fighting a Taliban insurgency, with the number due to rise to 150,000 in coming weeks.
A photograph of a photograph.
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