Bangkok is like Varanasi for the west. A holy ground. A pilgrimage. Where instead of worshipping Shiva they worship Ronald McDonald.
“We got hash” Said the man in the cannabis store,
“I'VE JUST BEEN IN INDIA FOR FOUR MONTHS!” I say.
“haha ok buddy, settle down.”
Bangkok is like Varanasi for the west. A holy ground. A pilgrimage. Where instead of worshipping Shiva they worship Ronald McDonald. I sat high, trying to get drunk but only getting tired, watching the Asians pose next to a plastic Ronald. Its all fake, and even that is real. Couples come here, the ones in the relationship that teaches you everything when it finishes. Then you don’t want to go to places like Bangkok because they remind you of the ignorance and innocence that was slaughtered by a broken heart. Now you just cant believe in it. For me, I walk into the shops and they look at me with containers of weed. It’s a western cultured playground with a mix of eastern culture holding its own with a innocent and devilish charm. The actions that appeal to the devil seem a little less conspicuous because you have always known them. Acquaintance takes the excitement, or allows it. Cocksuckers like me say that shit. ‘The West.’
“I'm so sick of westerners man!”
I hate that. So, if that sweats through this character to wet the page, forgive me, please.
Get ripped (use roids fuck it)
Take videos of me mucking about at an amazing beach
Put deep house over it
Be playful and charming
Get a following
Get a hot as girl with a fat ass
Get her to join in on the mucking about on the beach and even in the water
Put deep house over it
Die a slow and painful death
Get wanderlust on your tomb stone
Become a zombie
Do it all again
Feel the pain that they only used to like you cause you were good looking and now they’re not interested in you as a zombie
Eat brains
Get extremely clever
Write a book (poetry)
Sell everything you bought with the deep house videos money and travel
Write another book
Die a slow and painful death
Have ‘To have lived a life without the guard of beauty, I was able to see it everywhere. And with the face of betrayal smiled back the reflection of the jester.”
No one knows what it means.
Don’t care.
A blogger is a tortured existence but a vlogger? That’s just terminally ill. The mind cant be killed, only corrupted, but some corruption feels like home because you cant remember life without it. I'm corrupted, I know, to what? sometimes I don’t care to even ask. I question my freedom, and that is a part of my freedom.
On the way here, I left Varanasi at 7:20pm. At the airport they plucked me from the seats. Told me to follow them. Walked down into the bag room. Through three flights of stairs and signing documents and waiting beside a girl who spoke Hindi into a walkie talkie.
“Is this your bag?” they ask me.
“Yes.”
“Do you have a power pack in it?”
“Maybe.”
So I searched through my bag and yes, I did. I took it out. They sent me back out into the open and I had to go through security again.
“Could I have just left my bag on that side?” I asked,
“Thank you sir” He replied with a smile.
I got on the plane. When I got to Kolkata airport there was a fire. Smoke filled the bleachers. People running around. No one taking any control. Nothing could phase me at this point, yet I remained intrigued. Intrigue, a cunning ally. It was only a small fire, yet they extinguished that small flame for an hour. A policeman sat at the top of an escalator abusing everyone who came up it. Waving his hands around in disbelief. It did not cross their mind for a policeman to be at the bottom. There was no order. Eventually they opened the gates and just pretended it didn’t happen and put the rush back on me to not miss my flight.
Not my fault there was a fucking fire, I kept thinking to myself whenever I felt the pressure of anyone. The man wouldn’t let me get my boarding pass because I needed to show a flight ticket to show I was leaving Thailand in less than thirty days.
“Are you sure that is right?” I asked him, unable to check for myself with no internet.
“Yes sir.”
“Are you sure because I don’t think it is true.”
“It is true sir.”
I wish I could put my faith into these imbeciles but they’ve betrayed it too many times. I walked off to find Wi-Fi and to buy the cheapest ticket I could to get my boarding pass. Eventually they rounded me up and told me I can go but need to sign a form that the airline wont be held accountable for any fees. Going through security the men waited for the container to be spat out to put their valuables. Six men all waiting for the same bowling ball. I didn’t push and shove, I couldn’t do it but men kept moving in front of me. I turned to the security guard who was dressed like a British soldier in the second world war.
“I'm not going to fight for a container,” I said.
“Yes, you get your container.”
“But I'm not going to push for it.”
“Yes.”
So, cunning as a fox I walked to the female side, got a container and walked back. Few caught onto my intelligence and did the same. On the plane it was filled with a copy and paste of the same male Indian. The plane was hot and they acted like children. Asking the hostess for a cup of water every two minutes. One man, who stood out, who would stand out anywhere due to his looks and his actions. He had that skin disease that covers brown with spots of pink. Like that ice cream; neapolitan. He had four cups before we even left the ground. Then he pulled out a giant container of food and started to eat. He had the whole aisle to himself and used the seatbelts of two different chairs to sit in the middle of them. He again asked for water and stood up when they didn’t give it to him in thirty seconds. He started to yell in thirst. Everything about him made me sick. Some people think carrying on is a life hack, like we haven’t thought of it. Some people. I could’ve smacked him across the head and felt nothing but pride.
I got to Thailand, chasing love, having to practise patience but never losing it.
