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……. old blog post for Yuki, from my adventures away travelling last year
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Back in Bangkok again
Brush bustling down the Khao San road. Jostled by the endless stream of tourists.
Depressing in their hordes. Feeling part of the great Wilderbeest trek down through south east asia.
Cow Pat Khao San Road
I have grown used to the tatty charms of Nepal, almost tourist free in the chill of January.
But here, oh, oh the heat! A bit like being flopped beneath one of those giant hot towels you get thrust upon you on the airplane. ‘more coffee?’ A teensy snapette of a biscuit and a huge heat steaming hot Flannel!
But the heat in the city is not so cleansing, a great, dirty oppressive heat.
The air bereft of nourishment, all dust and grime.
Mingled nicely with my continual tingle coating of sweat.
Mug swamp hot. Uncomfortable!
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Funny I didn’t mind it so much up at Angkor Wat. Banished by good company!
My mind still stirred by thoughts of the Bayonne, of Katie, of Eva and Martin
my friends! an Austrian Woman and a Slovakian couple.
How we’d hire a Moto, a Tuk Tuk for the day and bomb off to the ruins. A cool breeze as we whisked along on the road through the jungle, mostly laughing.
And yes …the Bayonne, a miracle, a temple with over 200 sculptures of the Buddha Alokoshivetas head
Each carved 12 feet high. They are positioned so that wherever you sit amidst the ruins, at least one of them is staring at you and others, in profile or perched beakily at angles.
Like being in a stone, crazy, hall of mirrors
Panopticon.
The all seeing eye
But somehow, really calm. I shut my eyes, now and still clearly see that face, the calm expression, a tease of a half smile. the promise of gentleness. In stone. In me. Forever
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In Bangkok, slumped beneath a twirling helicopter of a fan. Sipping an ice coffee.
My torso pockmarked with bites, machine gun riddled, as itchy as fuck.
Kel, she says they’re from bed bugs. yeucchh.

Relax don’t struggle against the tide of tourists, enjoy it for just what it is
gawp, hopefully not too noticeably, at the girls, a pageant of passing beauty. Both Tourists and the Thais. sigh. joy
But to escape the heat, hop on a tourist boat, the splash, the slap and giggle gurgle of water beneath the prow.
Away, downstream past the huge megalopolis of buildings and swank of brand new sky scrapers.
then on the Sky Train and along to

Siam Square

The biggest shopping center in all Bangkok. a palace of AIR CONDITIONING
Hurrah! Acres and acres of cool
Inside everywhere are fountains and walls of water
up, high on the fourth floor is a Mercedes Showroom. Dozens of cars, Shiney beasts.
How did they get there, somehow winched in? Flown up, to it’s nest by a giant metal eagle? Rok
down in the basement is a pool full with Water Lilys and Lotuses, where enormous Coy Carp and goldfish loiter.

I spend hours in the oriental food section of the supermarket. Free tasters. yum.
A meal from just absent minded grazing
exotic weirdly coloured chutneys which i daub on crackers
next debating the differing merits of a handful of spicey peanuts versus four dried strawberries. hmmm. yum. maybe
We all enjoy the tipple of the conniseur. the contemplative grimace of the gourmand
Too much I’ve got a tummy ache!

Later, the serene swan glide on the up escalator, snoop around a bit, then drift back down on the next down escalator. I could pllay on them all day! My own imagined Prozac Muzak playing in my head.
Super Smooothe
The gentle drift: hither, then thither. Like at the beach, a calm, toe tickling, lap lapping tide.

Up in the loft is an Imax cinema, a ten pin bowling alley. everywhere gaggles of thai teenagers
just out and about. like me, having a fine day
Goodness Gothness Gracious, some of them, mostly in black, with smeared down hairdos are even Emo’s!

A parade of Gucci, Yves San laurent and Dolce and gabbana boutiques.
each displaying one garment and gaurded by a very snooty, frosty shop person.
yeah yeah check out boy.

Finally though i settle in the wedding section
There is a big banner which proclaims ‘We are in Love’
nearby a carousel of mannequins dressed in wedding dresses spins slowly, around and around.
Gently Surreal
There is a 3 piece band, live, in tuxedos
with a hammond organ and much plinkety plonking they churn out songs of embarrasing, syrupy Romantic Noodling
There are row upon row of seats. All empty. I sit there all alone.
Pathos, In the Palace of Romance. beneath the banner ‘We are in Love’
solitary, forlorn and greatly entertained
They finish their set, a little bow.
I applaud. bravo. well done. encore!

molten metal, a drop of a lump of burnished orange
Flung suddenly into water. the seethe of its abrupt solidity, startled into personality
this flower, brittle yet strong, this ingot, unique in its vibrant contortion
and? as multidimensial souls are we thus thrust into this our world?
forged, tethered to the realm of perception
it is natural that we feel the vast sense of sorrow, of loss
but beyond, through our summoning, through this blossoming, majestic, the continual flow of beauty

there ya go, bit odd for facebook prob, written in a burst of insomnia last night, strange to be kept awake by the fret of words rather than all the other more obvious worldly worries
rather too many this and thus for my liking, the inspiration tho was an epsiode of horizon, frequently mind blowing, in which they were casually discussing extra dimensions which lie coiled up within the usual four, which i guess got me a spiritually pondering

oh and the other obvious inspiration metal! bones of the mountain, the earth, north, apparently all metal workers in ancient egypt were dwarves (dwarf? delve?) and this tradition continued with the greek god hesphaistous (however ya spell it!)
we take metal for granted today, but what must it have been like centuries ago, the allure of shine, in a world dowdy with dust
how hard won and hoarded each and every shard, alchemy
oh and the sound of metal, blacksmiths hammering, the continual brutal pound, the Ring Ringing throughout the land
else… once more the summoning, the call, the moist clamour of the peal from the tongue of the bell… indeed

grrr-ness and grimness of dvla!
for some reason they want to renew the photo on my licence
so i got this one done… but
your not allowed to smile! your not allowed to wear a hat!
yes – no smiling. no hats.
so officially everyone looks like a convict or even a cadaver
…its good to have govt departments to vent your spleen on
i’m rather impressed as to how lopsided my visage has become

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another poem, this one written in Preston park yesterday, whilst waiting for a friend
haven’t really finished it yet… but thats often the way with poems written in Rose gardens
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Some day I shall live aloft, in a tree house, plonked in the heart of a Rose garden

At Night, to stir the swirl of perfume, pierced by the distant light from the mineral stars, else beguiled, engulfed by the charms of a lullabye moon

Damask, Scarlet, Lemon
Soft petals, whorled and spiralled with a whispered mystery

At Dawn, to read the augury in the patterns of the flight of birds
as they weave and braid the sky

Damask, Scarlet, Lemon
Soft petals, whorled and spiralled with a whispered mystery

At Midday, within the dappled shade, beneath the vaulted spreading arms of the tree
to set out the solemn heft of chess pieces, formal on the board,
to hold the crystal patterns in the mind
to nod at passers by, with eyes which no longer seek to question
yet with kindness, look to prompt an answer

Damask, Scarlet, Lemon
Soft petals, whorled and spiralled with a whispered mystery

At violet Sunset, as the weight of light dwindles from the sky
I shall recline, head resting on one arm, like the golden buddha
then to roll aside from life, as though from a dream
so dense the stench, that as the world falls away in gossamer tatters,
I shall be borne aloft, by the succulence of their perfume
as though by the gentle plump pressing of ample hands

awww such a beautiful song!!! everytime i hear it, i put it on 3 times in a row.. at least
an extravaganza, almost schmaltz, but! SMOOCH. it is as perfect in the early morning as last thing at night
for all the sadness, for all that we feel has been lost
well, it is good to be reminded of the force of love that is always, forever beside us in the world x

for mel

first (late!) sea swim of the year yesterday, words from last night… every year i write completely anew almost the same phrases, palimpset, a traditional ballard, soothe reassuring, och aye mcgonagallesque!
oh and pic is rather good, not mine, somebody talented with a big camera
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Take Courage!
First the kerfuffle with the towell, the half hearted dance of concealment
the rigamarole, the wiggle and shimmy into trunks
a hobble across the ouch eek stones, pigeons and plovers eggs, my reluctance real not feigned, there to dip a toe into the briney blue! summertime… oh summertime
wade, then push on through, the flimsy barricade of what? sea grot! a shroud of watered down porridge, which clings close to the shore
a lone plastic bag looms on the swell, parody of a jellyfish
inch inwards, no sudden spasm, rather, slowly immersed beneath the stealth of numbness
a pool of cold lapping cruelly at yer goolies… ha, well, if joyce can have the ‘scrotum tightening sea’
…and then … and then… gung ho geronimo!
to lurch forwards, flung beneath the surface, an ecstasy of splashing, a few frenzied dolphin kicks
down, to grasp a stone from the bottom, Sea Ruby
emerge spluttering, gasp grab at the first lungful of greedy air
aaah
not so bad … not so bad…
caul of water, birth, baptism, emergence
i am seal, sleek slicked hair, blubbersome and bewhiskered, stories, like tears, within my soft mournful selkie eyes
thought, thankfully, ha, dwindles beneath this mere torrent of being alive
the cold, the salt, there is a contraction to form, saturnine, ridgity, definition
pared down to this sadness, sadness? at what? still.. it loiters
i flip over onto my back, a bloated resting, meniscous, buoyed up, the boundary of being within, being of water

White Cliffs
Blue Sea Beneath
Blue Sky Above

stranded here… in the forever

…kerplonk splosh, reverie interruptus, i loook to the shore, my son, floundering pleasantly in the shallows
big grin, hoik lobbing pebble followed by pebble in my direction. bless

i found my thrills on blueberry hill

Richard Basgallop lip up fatty! yes i know that was fats domingo not waller… but i’m sure your all immensely glad that i have at least found my thrills! x

Richard Basgallop err… placido domingo! fats domino! blubbering eck!

Richard Basgallop ?…. and.. as i’m commenting on my own posts (again!)… what sort of a name is placido domingo anyway?! mr sleepy sunday?!