Saturday,Jan 21 2006, 09:00:22 PMDeath by Lightning

 Monday, November 14, 2005

Thailand, the islands: Koh Pi Pi- Didn't they film The Beach here?

I go out to have a beer seulement at the Apache Bar- a gathering place for fire jugglers and sunburnt Westerners, somewhat of a circus, red lights bounding over dimly lit tables, the earth rumbling only twenty feet away, and everyone inside completely oblivious to the beautiful lightning storm they are missing. Oh the Apache Bar- where hip music buzzes in the background...we all guzzle our beer under the careful watch of the Indian Ocean, with her warm gaze and soft pitter patter sigh of waves crashing- enveloping dead corral and small white crabs with hungry eyes.

A Thai woman of medium looks, slight build, wearing tight white shorts and a black t-shirt that's blank except for that long rope of hair falling down...she sits in front of me and slowly wraps an Australian man around her well placed finger. The seduction is a fairly routine display, ritualistic even. The conversation always starts timidly, she meets his eyes rarely, if ever, while he practically stares at her- but eventually he submits to her submission. He has become cautious, not in intention, but in foresight. He must dress down his real reasons, he feels faux pas, and slightly criminal. But he likes it.

She will continue to spin the web, laughing at his bored jokes and touching his leg in astonishment to random stories he tells with great exaggeration- these men never have anything interesting to say, which is maybe why they buy women. It startles him, the touching of the leg, but he feels priveleged, chosen even. He's changed her! She is attracted to him! Its not the money...Soon she is dancing around, gyrating a small ass closely felt by white shorts, she stirs the monster within him. She sits, waiting for god-knows-what, while he contemplates the pregnancy of guilt- the future sin he will carry if he follows this path of lasciviousness. A cute, less fortunate and solitary friend eggs him on, urging him to follow thru on brazen opportunity- biting her breasts or maybe pulling his shirt up as an offering in case she wishes to dig her mouth into his unkempt grey muff- not realizing what a grand insult it is to behave that way in public with Thai women- but these men are usually ignorant regardless.

She declines, naturally, such a grand man he is- enjoying his role of power in a powerless society, he is the king of the slums! He can buy anything, including people, for god sake! What a brilliant plan! But she is even more cunning, she dumbs herself down to the fools eye level and rips him off so lavishly, and obviously, that even he is proud of the whole incident and will brag incessantly after he leaves.

I head back to the guesthouse- many bars are closed tonight, their doors locked and dark, no dancing tonight- a local bar owners' son was stabbed to death in his room above the Pub two nights ago. Death is a weird thing here, its all so spring break most of the time- living the high life, buckets of booze, and loads of fat fucks to go with it...when one exits this party, permanently, its like the devil has caught onto us, hiding in a dark dark bar, he flips the light on and forces us to face ourselves, mirrored thru everyone else, if only for one minute reality knocks...

I leave the bar, sick of watching old games. I nestle into the seaside bar with my travel friends. Lightning, a consistent visitor of the island, crashes quietly onto the Indian Ocean-painting contrast to the sharp outlines of wooden boats and far off islands on the horizon- few notice- there is game to play. This island, while the easy host of every fuckers improv dream, it runs like clockwork. Everyone plays their part flawlessly, from the workers to the prostitutes to the pale tourists, who buy women like cheap commodity but feel no pain when overcharged for everything else, cause the broad was cheap, right? What they don't understand is the hand always ends in the islands favour.

The Lightning is the islands' accomplice- it has two parts to play, one: the personification of everyones' feverish excitement for such a world of folly- oh the beaches, and the white sand, bare breasts and sun for miles- it adds to the magic, and two: it measures the hypnotic value of said trance, one can nearly feel when the picking is ripe, because all you have to do is read the signs: when people cease to notice the greatness captured in the sky.

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Saturday,Jan 21 2006, 08:57:30 PMDance or Die

Monday, November 14, 2005

Perfection revisited- every night is storybook here. I leave the Apache Bar and stumble into my travel companions, all sitting outside with their Chang's....rain starts down on the outdoor bar, slowly at first, but then it gains strength and really pours on us. Everyone sitting outside, all 100 or so people, dash into the bar across the walkway. We all cram in and everyone buys buckets of drinks to last through the rain. No ones fucking leaving in this weather, or so we think...

The DJ plays everything, from Scissor Sisters ...

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Saturday,Jan 21 2006, 08:55:42 PMsame same but different

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

So I really can't get enough of this one bar, The Apache Bar, so when my travel partners decide to go there for "a drink" I am all for it. We head out and are amazed at how packed the bar appears from a distance- a crowd spills into the street and everyone is cheering at something. We squeeze inside only to witness the chaos of the island- the most spectacular show ever done: The Ladyboy Cabaret!!

All you American folk may not know what a Ladyboy is- so I'll tell you, its a transvestite. Some of them are just crossdressers, ...

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