Oh, there was a certain magic in the air this morning, although I was uncertain of the exact nature of this magic. As I awaited breakfast, my mind was racing. True, I had just drunk the coffee given to me when I had actually ordered a mango shake. Yes, I was excited by the prospect of getting a hot dog when I had ordered muesli. And granted, it was Christmas day too, but that didn't register on my radar until a Thai person saw white skin, added Jesus to the equation, as well as an excuse to get pissed, and shouted out, "Happy Christmas to you Sir!" This certain uncertain magic in the air probably lightened my mood enough not to tell him to shove his sentiments up his ass. I adore the Thai psyche, and mean no disrespect to them, yet one would be at least 71.4% correct if they said I was on the other side of the world precisely to avoid anything to do with Christmas. Having eaten my breakfast while being subjected to Waltzing Matilda being sung in German and being passed off as Christmas carols, I fixed up the bill, unsure and uncaring whether it was actually mine, and moved on, as fast as nonchalance could take me.
Walking home, my mind clocked another lap in its race to get nowhere and concluded that the magic came from the universal smiles of relief, as the tail end of the typhoon appeared to be wagging its last wag. Small glassy barrels rolled in where just yesterday big brown heaving waves smashed all within their path. Actual sand could be walked upon again, although the squeaky white sand had largely been replaced by broken sea shells, and jettisoned waste from a community with no visible waste removal system. A gentle breeze caressed my Sun-hungry skin, instead of a howling gale tearing hair from its roots faster than it seems to be falling out naturally. Sure enough, the weather quickly returned to its normal depressing state within a few hours but there was a glimmer of hope. That hope I held on to in order to make it through a day whose only importance was to bring loved ones together. Loved ones who currently resided in another hemisphere.
After an entertaining morning on the toilet, I headed out for some lunch and ran into Volka, German Harry's business partner in an industry that would have brought a yelp of delight from the Kiwi ex-prostitute I drank with in Bangkok. We decided to lunch together, but he was so stoned he kept speaking in German and was too preoccupied with another 8 realities to notice I was not really following his soliloquy. His carefree and largely vacant demeanor further confirmed for me that stoners are the most peaceful people you could want to meet. No negative thought is possible in a mind that disconnected from any sense of ego. On the other side of the coin though, they're not about to change the world, or do anything even vaguely constructive for that matter.
Volka's absent need for any sort of response to his monologue gave me the opportunity to let my thoughts run free for awhile. The season steered it in the only direction possible, Christmas. What is Christmas anyway? It is my belief that early Christianity took a significant date of the pagan calender and turned it into the birthday of the son of someone possibly all powerful, possibly not. Because, like all good males, Church leaders went and forgot the dates of anything significant. Had a woman been allowed into the upper echelons of power, such things as anniversary's would have never been forgotten. The date would have been on the calender of the chapel wall, with reminders marked on a few Sundays leading up to it, and gentle prodding preceding a stony silence if a big fuss was made too late in the day.
Who was this Saviour anyway, and what has he done for me lately? Not a great deal seeing as he's dead, until his impending resurrection, but perhaps something has been done on his behalf. Ok, we get a couple of public holidays in his honor, but I'm not working so fat chunk of dirt sandwich that does me. I'll get presents from relatives who still want me to be a part of the family, even if my ingratitude as a child probably condemned me as a lost cause in that regard. I am always thankful for that present giving sentiment as a thoughtful gesture, a gesture which I obviously don't think is thoughtful enough to respond in kind to. Perhaps I am still ungrateful. Ungrateful that some peoples 'man of the last 2 millennium', was not born on this exact day, leaving me with an inability to dispel my cynicism towards rituals and traditions I perhaps erroneously dismiss as irrelevant.
They say the Saviour was crucified to seek forgiveness for mankind's sins. With so much iniquity in such a small place, I thought it disrespectful to the Saviour if I did not personally commit the sins he had died an agonizing death to pardon. Everybody was celebrating, even those that had no idea what it was being celebrated, myself included. So come night time, I loaded up on cash, and got as much groove on as what my backpack had permitted to be brought, ie. not much. I put some product in my hair, unconcerned the product was laundry powder, and set out in search of sanuk; fun.
The certain uncertain magic of the morning finally fulfilled its promise and the sky above me completely opened up, unlike the sky below me which stayed a lot like sand. There was only a sliver of moon but I just know it wanted to be full and was waxing harder than a Bondi surfer. Only another week till it beautifully baths the entire beach in its full glory, with its friends Jupiter, Saturn, Venus and George.
My stomach reminded me that my body would pass out if I didn't eat soon. Dismissing the thought, even though it was the state I was aiming for, I agreed with a few of my other personalities and lumbered off in search of food. As fate would have it, now that she's obviously finished cleaning the bathroom, I bumped into the eloquent Londoner who is still shit faced from about 3 weeks ago. I ate and laughed at his undeniably witty comments that only a man long accustomed to his state of inebriation can come up with. He's learnt to function in a state I thought any degree of body and mind cohesion to be impossible. I tried to explain to my company that I was ready to get incredibly loose and he looked at me with the albugo like eyes my sisters blind Labrador has. This I took to mean he had long forgotten the desire to get wasted as it had long been fulfilled. Having eaten, I dipped my imaginary hat to him, thankfully only in my mind, exchanged email addresses and took my leave, which I'd put in my back pocket.
I strolled back to the bar from earlier, playing Soul Rebel for the 20th time in a row on my MP3. I sat and reviewed the patronage, concluding that the sin canonized exactly as 'unholy multiple penetration of intoxicated Swedish sisters' was one sin that will remain unfulfilled tonight. With 13 to 0 as the male to female ratio, coitus incorrectus (pun intended) was only a viable option if I was somehow able to consume every illicit and medicinal drug known to man in the next 5 minutes. Disregarding mating as a minor distraction to the main goal of getting written off, I realise I'm not getting into the spirit of things with enough vigor. I skull the first beer in anticipation of Volkas imminent arrival. He showed up 5 mins later looking like a hippy thanks to the days shopping spree. He was actually more shit faced than I was acting, and by choosing to be in his company, I knew I looked just as crazy. We started talking and he proudly related his laudable intake of intoxicants for the day, and the enthusiasm with which he affirmed my fear that he'll be getting hallucinations soon, did nothing to convince me he wasn't already having them.
As for me, I didn't have a halo either, but over stimulation had started to give me wings. I had been comfortably numb for long enough and it was high time I set this sacrosanct sucker right off! I visited the barman, a spitting image of the dead rapper Ezy-E, ordered and received surprisingly enough, a whiskey and coke. I then noted with pleasure that the number of revelers had increased beyond the multiplication from my double-vision. Some even seemed to vaguely resemble women as well.
Even though it was couples that continued to invade the place with their rude morality and all round cleanliness, in open mockery of the Lords sacrifice, I was still able to pretend enough of them were single to stare unblinkingly at their boobs. I was sure htye had seen the whole drunken debacle Volka dn I had reduced ourselves to and thought its best not to provoke it to further embarrassment. It was preparing to do just that anyway, that very moment, and needed no help from offended and now concealed boobs to get going.
