Now was seeking behaviour, now was the time to stop, now was the time when he was caught in kareokie bars at 4am, always the man with the wallet; and everything came to pass. It was not fair. It was not simple. He showed up at meetings in distraught states. He was often wanted, wanting, time out of mind, Christmas in the morning, profound moments lost in a sea of alcohol and obsession; as if his whole life began and ended on one handsome flank as if every obsession he had ever known had come back to haunt him. And there was no oblivion in this. There was no way out. There were times, sometimes simple times, astonishing in their freshness; and there were two men who made love during the day and went prowling the brothels at night, as men do, brothers in arms, the ultimate bonding, all out of mind, all sacrificed, because often we were free, often we were tempted to do things we knew were bad for us; often we found it impossible to stop. Whatever stop meant. Whatever we were stopping. Here in the aftermath. Here in a time when only he could be free, when he became trapped by the most simple of human obsessions. He had lived alone too long, that was what it felt like. And he had never known a more happy people. And he worshipped at their knees and was lost in the streets in the early morning, crying with an old prostitute at the side of the canal while young Thai kids continued their party into the waking hours.
Time out of mind, that was the constantly recurring prase for no other reason than they had been abandoned, lost in time, lost in the flesh, lost in paths he never thought he would take and a promise he never thought he would make. If only there was someone to tell the story to but there was no one. Simple things were done. The brothels were expensive and tacky and it took him a while to work out he could order a boy as well as a girl; and they were the typical gorgeous Thai men; and everything was easy for a price. They could drink all night. They could be in ruins. They could face the dawn and never be free; because they were trapped not just by their own obsessions but by the failing light, the failing body; the mind that didn't work anymore; those fragile arms those times when only he could see the wriggling worms and things would never be right; never be right. It all stemmed from the terrible loneliness of the west, these terrible mistakes, they said to each other knowledgeably, but who was to care, who was to want, who had an answer to these terrible mysteries. He didn't know why it had happened. Party champion; he choked to the boy, but he had never seen anything like it, kareokie in the early hours, the prostitutes at dawn, that great Thai tradition, the randy men, of how they needed what they needed; bonding, going, coming, together, together, he gestured, but it was not to be. Not today.
All was not lost becauswe he could never see his way out of the woods; some giant stooped to be kind, but it was of no purpose. There would never be answer. Slipping, slipping. He looked across the park where the meeting was being held, infinitely sad, as always, broken, when people all around him celebrated their every hour, their every day. Tortured, he had been such a tortured and unhappy soul, for what; what had it all menat. You'd have to have a lobotomy to be happy; he would say; it's a nice day if you lke that sort of thing. No like. No like. It was impossible to set any rhythm to any of it. It was impossible to fulfil some grotty western sexual fantasy; because these people were on a different path. If they didn't want to d it they wouldn't do it. Most annoying. Christmas time was broke; spilled out on the equal grass; cross referenced for longing; sometimes some friend; sleep with them, sleep with them, he urged, if only half in jest. You never know the culture until you sleep with them. It was too painful, too grotty, he knew every place in town. Oh how fresh faced some of these boys were. Oh how available for a price. Oh heart break, heart break, as if it meant anything, always lost; he rounded the corner and could see nothing but derelict buildings. These moments were at the end of time, his time; and they ran ruins through his heart and across his shattered flesh; and there was no saviour now.
It was all going to be free. He was going to wander and be faulous. He was going to make ends meet. He was going to triumph when there was no triumph to be had. There was always weakness. He looked across their knees. He watched them sleep. He rounded corners and wandered through green pastures; as if every Biblical cliche, every Biblical reference, meant something. It meant nothing. There wasn't an answer and he wasn't free. There were only passing days and failing health and psyhological, psychological, he gestured at his inability to perform another sex act, or to get it together to do even the most simple things. There are some absolutely beautiful boys here, he would say to some blatant heterosexual, just for the hell of it. If you're into them they're just astonishing. He kept it up just to annoy them. He was wronged. And yet in every wrong he had made the decision himself. There was no giving excuses. There was no wasting away. There were bleak fantasies that were ribald in the dark; well plastic in the ligiht more like, cheap like a cheap floozie these squalid dreams had never held any answer; there hadn't been any remote way of saying I'm sorry for my poor behaviour, I'm sorry for never answering the phone, I'm sorry for having walked off the face of the earth. But it was exactly what he wanted to do; disappear; oh celebrate, celebrate every passing moment because you will be alone again soon enough; and these unfamiliar circumstances; away, away, so beautifully far gone.
It had been easy to be distracted. It was easy to find himself lying in bed next to a sleeping form; just because he liked to watch him sleeping. Normally he never slept. Maybe two hours a night if he was lucky, in random snatches. So the advantages of being an insomniac were many; including the fact that even sober he got to know most of the nigt life; to see life in raw and coloured and purple terms; beer orgy here now, but in all ways; as if you could make love to me and ever mean it; as if this misshapen form could be easily loved. Take care of yourself, they would say. Love yourself; the local cafe owner would repeat. But he had already been lost. There was no bieng found. Caught on the edge of a rock and a great place; sandwiched between perceptions; storming out of yet another expensive joint; washing, washing the sins away, or was it loneliness, the way he had crept around that Redfern house at night; always alone; up by 2am at the latest, pacing the house, walking the streets, working the internet; as if everything could be lost and nothing found; as if his heart had not been broken already and he could pretend to be a normal person; as if he was not prepared to follow an alcoholic street boy to the edges of oblivion; as if his own failing perspectives were not enough to be aswered; all in a way; all in a turn of the wrist, a rent boy, from Classic Boys in Bangkok, joined them at the table in the Lady Boy Bar, downed whisky for whisky, I no like I no like, he said, grimacing at the thought of another day in Classic Boys. Wonder what they're doing back in Melbourne tonight? Andrew asked, raising his glass.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/may/15/thai-death-toll-redshirts-troops
Thai troops have clashed with anti-government protesters in Bangkok on a third day of violence that has killed at least 17 people.
Pitched battles continued to rage across the capital after a night of grenade explosions and gunfire, with soldiers shooting live rounds at protesters armed with petrol bombs, guns and homemade rockets.
Since the fighting began on Thursday at least 17 people have died with 147 wounded as government forces attempt to seal off the 1 sq mile (3 sq km) zone that thousands of redshirt protesters have occupied in an upmarket district of the city. The spiralling violence, which has moved from street to street over the past three days, has raised concerns that Thailand is heading towards civil war.
"The situation right now is getting closer to civil war every minute," a protest leader, Jatuporn Prompan, said. "We have to fight on. The leaders shouldn't even think about retreat when our brothers are ready to fight on."
Another protest leader, Kwanchai Praipana, told Reuters that the prime minister, Abhisit Vejjajiva, should resign and take responsibility for Thailand's deadliest political crisis in 18 years. He said supplies of food, water and fuel were starting to run out due to the government blockade of the protest camp, but there was enough to last some days.
The centre of Bangkok is now a battleground, with rolling skirmishes being fought between protesters from the redshirts' compound, fortified with tyres and sharpened bamboo staves, and troops from hastily constructed, sand-bagged and razor-wired positions.
The Thai army has designated the Ratchaprarop area as a "live firing zone", meaning live bullets are being used. The protesters' and troops' positions are just a few hundred metres apart in most areas of the city. The areas between, some of the most exclusive addresses in Bangkok, are almost deserted. Shops have been closed and thousands of residents have fled.
"My ears are ringing with all the shooting last night," Ratana Veerasawat, a 48-year-old owner of a grocery shop just north of the protest encampment, told Reuters. "It's just awful and getting worse. Best to leave now."
The United Nations secretary general, Ban Ki-Moon, expressed concern over "the rapidly mounting tensions and violence". A spokesman said in a statement: "He strongly encourages them to urgently return to dialogue in order to de-escalate the situation and resolve matters peacefully."
The redshirt protesters began their latest campaign to oust the government in March. Since then, more than 40 people have been killed and more than 1,600 wounded, according to government figures.
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