Me: "You don't need to check my guitar in the luggage hold" (*waves hand in an arch with mystical panache)
Singapore Air Stewardess: "I don't need to check ...your guitar...in the luggage hold?"
Me: "It will fit in the overhead compartment just fine"
SAS: "It will fit just fine"
Me: "Move along"
SAS: "Move along"
waltzing ma' ~
24 hours later I am eating raw scallops off of a conveyor belt listening to cartoon chickens squawking "SU-GO-I!". Walking home I can hear the dim hum of the 2gram chrome ball gambling machines locked inside a chamber of high-tempo LED pornography. The smoke from the sizzled brains of hopelessly addicted workaholics steams alongside miso soup and kimchee beef bowls.
I'm not turning Japanese; do you think I'm insane? I'm just a foreigner living his role in this rain-washed computer chip of a city.
Living my role. That's a development. All the places, the Borneo jungles, China sewers, Bali beaches, New Zealand fern mountains... what was that all about? Some damn fool idealistic crusade. Because I got what I was looking for - I always do - and I'll be goddamned if it wasn't at the tip of my nose. If there ever is an end to all that..."deepness" (I was in some deep shit), I've come to it.
ahem*
the dying of the flame
stage 2
shadow
dark
deep blue
deep deep blue
like the deep blue dark of my soul
...
BAHAHAHAHA
these toys are too much for you
-t
