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Where will I be tripping in 3 days time? I had that thought 3 days ago. But that's me. THC has laid down in my brain. A skull is a cell of rationality and wisdom, an image is an appriton on the potter's wheel. A word is silver, silence is golden. And this is the northern blue suplex hold. Fill time in 5 dimentions, I've been watching the ceiling for hours now. From the scar, syrupy, sticky and slow, the number of words increasingly fall. The knowledge haemorrhages internally, assemble, roll the dream with the desire for exclusive posseion and smoke it. I refine the ideas 99%, 1% space is left for the god of chance to sit. The boredom makes an afternoon mosquito transparent, exhaust fume shimmering Chaig Mai street. Today is not yet too hot nor deep, the path that I crossed bocomes another story.
Then where will be tripping tomorrow? I had that thought yesterday. But that's me, the THC has laid down in my brain. I was still here today, Hotel Rama, a day into a new era. The curtain on the west side was bright, the immortality of the sun is reliable as ever. This bed is like a coffin of corruption, pray, hop on the words and don't be late. The voice on a record travels a light year away, meeting the sound made by an archaeologist's trowel. My pen desires me immensely, I can hear the howl of chaos next to my ears. Stranded in the same line for hours, nonetheless never internding to leave my notebook. Hypertension over an intense heat, challenging ourselves to cross over a mountai pass with no helmet. Scared of a life that's irretrievable, in exaggeration I'm poviding the evolution of human beings 2000th time, 365th day, 180th centimeter, on the 29th floor. A year has passed and I have lived througn it, took time to apply for the next stage of mental maturity. The 20th century will be over in four hours, but Lafula would have said "we still have four more hours". Nothing has ended nor begun, my affliction becomes another story.
I entered the new centurty two hours earlier, happened to catch a gimpse of a n image of Japan. The brand new centennial tide, I could feel it next to me when I reached the east end. In a few hours time, my pen may laugh, frolic and sing for joy. There will be nothing more to search for, nothing is lost but it will be fouond. In one more day, at 12 o'clock, all the weak will be saved and recompensed. Prejudice, discriminations and classes will disappear, so will ineqality and monopoly. Past is past something that's been thrown away, anight when we forgive each other. In one more day, at 12 o'clock
Everything is visible, and though anything is capable. Nothing is worth seeing, and nothing is worth doing.
The day was a day like any other day that stars with the sound of a bell, dogs barking, and the sun rising. Still wandering in a monochrome dream, wake up go back and search for it later. Three days in a row it echoes in shallow sleep, the whisper of a poet. I must discover it today, I must complete it by the end of the day.
The day was like any other day in that the road was bone dry, on it a sleepoy driver. Flowers blooming like a blessing, a lady is holding a child, with bare feet. Around the Montley Hotel terrace, stretch out a hand to a full-bellied aged couple. Receiving much hatred and just a pinch of consolation, living life in that cycle.
The day was like any other day for a number of buddhist statues, no, for a number of people and happiness. A god is created, wrapped in gold leaf, sitting both eyes closed. For the number of the dead, despair and vengeance, for the number of rifles and sabres, A god is counted upon, called by other names, manifested in two bodies to the west of the River Jordan.
The day was like any other day that the pooor returned to the same bench at the same time. The man thought as he saw the streetlamps light up, this life is not a soap opera but real. A swindler from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs who embezzled more than 2 million yen appears on TV. Your daughter knows everything you did now, and you're frightened of collapse in the new year.
The day was like any other day in that none of them were sold, nothing could be done before packing up all alone. Accessory sellers live all over the world, crystals of loneliness, phrases of the city. Constant weariness, both shoulders shook, accompanied by sighs, and sitting on the edge of a canal. For those who stare vacantly at the moon on the ground, catch the glory.
The day was like any other day in any places, many evils and choking heat. Hunger, slums and smugglers, blacks, frogs and japs, and the union jack. Stray dogs, crows, prostitutes, the homeless, orphans and addicts. Hopes raised and tumbled down, wish tomorrow to be like always, tomorrow it will happen.
The day was like any other day as my pen proceeds and returns or dances on a whim. Suddenly becoming furious, or cursing its own incompetence. Hitting blank white wall with words, shaking with uncontrollable annoyance. And I was like always, rushed, watching the sun go down while doing nothing.
The day was like any other day in that the earth was still revolving, and people were living on their patches of asphalt. Another year was beginning like every other, and I was living it like the day or ayear before. Where will be tripping in the 21st century? But that's me. THe THC has laid down in my brain, now what I'm thinking is...
It seems that life starts to make sense as we search for its meaning. Quite probably 'life' and 'search' have a similar meaning.
Life means living everyday.
There were also the things that existedlike any other day, the Dhaulagiri and the Nilgiri, the Mont-Blanc, Ayutthaya, QB Plaza, Nemrut Dagi, Xieng Khuang, Damrak Square. We've been through a lot, but I laugh with my freinds saying that we haven't changed. The 2001 world odyssey eventually finished in Hiragishi in the uproar of autumn.
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