20070117

Baby left Bangkok

She's gone, took her flight, took her tears with her at the airport and left me with a dull pain in the chest. I have a hard time breathing, I'm choking on sudden loneliness. I spooked with sullen soul around the dirty sheets we left behind in our sunstroked hotel room. At first I told myself my thoughts were mere mindgames, some self-induced chimaeras by sniffing up lost smells. But soon I realized the ache (for it is truely the best fitting word) that had started mid-me. It started there were I had left it six months ago when I met her and she met me. It picked me up like she plucked me off what I might exageratedly call the branch of my mental hanging tree. The Bangkok sky was vaguely blue but soon I knew what thundering clouds that choking pain could forecast. (But, dear, don't fear, I'm cooling off by writing time with cigarettes and beer. And even more of this lousy rhyming prose is, I'm positively afraid, the worse results the world might hear.) I barely dared to dash upstairs but after baking for an hour on the balcony I made a quick dip in the roof pool. I switched hotels, more to say, I left the lodge for a more convenient rathole in the same old neighbourhood, a room all tiled up along the walls, just like the room in which we stayed some days ago. (In fact I had made a failed attempt at staying overnight "At Home") I went for a walk. I left sticky Kao San hood for the streets north of it, beyond the river. Endless rows of slums and cosy eateries, less to not touristic at all. I strolled around, like a stray dog, making silly rhymes in my head and fitting "travelling abroad" to "on the road" and contracting "Goethe en zijn meute" with "Kerouac". I must've hit so many commonplaces of romantic reverie (and I still do, even behind the computer screen). Now and then, in mind, I lifted up my knee to put my foot on some step or lower balustrade and saw myself from behind, gazing at a modern city scene as Friedrich's wanderer at the roughly painted deeps. I melted into the pulsing stream of overday Bangkok, picked up my Myanmar visa and flight ticket and ended up in some art galleries nearby. Night has fallen, the streets are lit and people are fresh again. No more stranded oldies rummaging through their pockets whether or not in forsight of a whore or a boy. The countless stands and shops attract and suck the freshly showered crowd through the so-called "soi", those stinky sidestreets. I saw that tragic British boy again, who dragged us down through serveral alleys just to show us the best massage around, for we were looking, oh, were we not, dear? A con or so? No, the guy had been stuck here for six months by lack of luck; they took the "pack" out from the "back", or stolen money and more misfortunes, then the boy got the local taste or the disease and fucked his days away. Bangkok is a huge leech, it's the big sucker. It's South East Asia's hub and not only for planes but also for all what they might carry. So many lost Western souls, so many empty eyes, visitors go up and down the same streets and shops again, up and down, a hundred times, as we did. They never get bored because a lot of them already were bored and boring to the bone on arrival. If you have the money to leave there's still a chance you could lack the will. But most of us just hop in then out and go away, like you, my dear. And like me, eventually. I just had to stay for that one more restless day. While leaving the sandwich joint tonight I heard a tattooted couple shouting to the bartender behind me; "Bye bye! See you next year!" For they come back. The fill and refill the cess pool like mosquitoes over muddy waters. And then I still had to make my way back through the reggae bars. Tomorrow I'll vanish into Yangon...