Penang Travel Blog› entry 26 of 47 › view all entries
Our friend Anna received a letter today: her mother breaks the household mixer and that very afternoon, unknowing, her father arrives having won a new one golfing.
there is no such thing as coincidence
Meanwhile, our Swiss friend Daniel has hooked up with a Thai woman who's celebrating: "My happy birthday today," who keeps bestowing little gifts upon everybody. Chocolate bar and t-shirt presents that materialize in an ragged orange plastic shoulder bag. She has her own place she tells us, not a hotel room. (Was there a 'nudge, nudge' 'wink, wink' that everybody else managed to pick up and I missed?) & she has the names and addresses of "friends" recorded in (of all things) The Book of Mormon ??? One man in there is from
"Hey lady, you give me your address?"
"Only if you call me Gayle, and promise to write."
a monolithic Colonial brooding over the South East
panarama and perspective
a dream about Johnny as the conductor of a faceless symphony orchestra. Standing spine-rigid in front of shadows. Wand hand floating. Head bobbing.
Sitting in the hotel with Andy and Colin. A couple “regular blokes," they're talking about Daniel's Thai friend. They snicker about prostitutes. "Feminist!" they interject when I begin my say.
Too much like preaching to suggest that perhaps we don't all have to exist as objects...
same old story
play along with the orchestra Gayle
No time for a jazz riff tonight
en route. en train (minus Johnny and Puff, who are caught in a customs nowhere between
The tracks stretch out here. Leading to somewhere. A to B.
A set course
on and on and on
Pistons and turbines driving smooth metal wheels. Slicing across foreign ground on a colonially prepared steel-girtered scar. Rhythmically dictating my course.
BRO-MO JOG-JA PRAM-BA-
DIZ-ZY BLONDE. YOU-ARE-HERE. THEY-ARE-THERE.
Replacing even my heart beat
I pick up a newspaper, only to throw it down again a second later.
The Herald Tribune. Politics and power.
Same old story
if we all define ourselves according to others,
or even if it is only me who does that,
is it any wonder I am disappearing?
the others of this group I've joined,
the others of this new country,
my own conspicuous others,
a moment of epiphany.