Came to git it
came to git it
and i came to git it
After I wiped the crud out around 5 I had some lunch, wandered around town looking for the visitors (PiAers holiday-visiting from Nan province, about six hours away). Couldn't find them and so I ate alone, got a big hamburger and a beer, watched The Gift in Thai at the restaurant. Got my waiter to teach me some Thai, especially the names of fruits. The word for guava is "farang," which is also the word for any White-skinned foreigner. I guess you had to be there!
Maybe that's the point of writing well though, is to tell a story in a way that prevents the reader from sighing and clicheing "I guess I had to be there." Note: different from "I would have liked to have been there" (and think, for a moment, about how ridiculous that verb construction is: would have liked to have been"...p-cock).
I mention it because the writing in this blog has become such dreary, dreadful dreck lately. It's like mud is packed under the keys; or, to borrow one of my favorite similes, via Full Metal Jacket, the writing flows like old people fucking.
I don't know what it is. Remember how we used to laugh, twirling round lampposts, backflipping off stage walls? Wine soured, roses wilted. Or dew has weighed these flowers down. It seems funny things still happen to me, but I don't laugh at them anymore. I walked around the tourist part of town last night, looking lost, being lost, and I was offered drugs twice and ladies twice. Then later, around 1 in the morning, waiting for a taxi, I was approached by three Ladyboy hookers and asked by my prospective taxi driver, before he even asked me where I wanted to go, whether I was looking for a lady. Still no, thanks. I'll take another cab, thank you--it hasn't been raining but the backseat's all wet. (The ZZ story).