The black, The white

My love for noir has continued with James Ellroy's "Brown's Requiem." Ellroy, whose most famous work is "LA Confidential (which was turned into an excellent movie)" tells the story of Fritz Brown a former LAPD officer who now works as a repo man in poor neighborhoods. His job as one of the bottom dwellers in the ghetto changes when he is hired by a golf caddie by the name of Fat Dog. The crazed caddie is misogynistic, racist, and deeply obsessed with his cello playing sister who lives with an older jewish man who pays the rent. Brown follows the sister around, and successfully sleeps with her. After dipping his wick in once he's in love (L-U-V) and goes out to try to thwart Fat Dog's maniac plans for his sister and the jewish benefactor. The story unfolds with soap opera style. Relationships aren't as clear as they might seem and lies beget lies which is typical par for the course in Ellroy's novels. The book was thankfully shorter than "LA Confidential" but didn't tell as much of a sweeping story. The writing is similiar as Ellroy's later works but is a bit more straightforward. An interesting quirk in Fitz Brown is his love of classical music which ties nicely into the most recent book I finished by James Cain, another author of the hard-boiled style. Cain is well known for noir classics; "The Postman Always Rings Twice" and "Double Indemity." Cain is not as well known for his proto-feminist novel "Mildred Pierce," which recently was turned into an HBO movie series.


While Cain is considered a hardboiled writer his novels are more dense and substative than the traditional mystery to which the style is associated. I finished "Three by Cain: Serenade, Love's Lovely Counterfeit, and The Butterfly," today. Of the three only "Love's Lovely Counterfeit" falls into the classical realm of noir fiction with its associations with crime, murder, femme fatales, and soulless men. As stated earlier Fitz Brown loves classical music as does the lead character of "Serenade" a wholly interesting tale of a former opera singer whose voiced cracked and so with no talent and luck ended up in Mexico. The washed up talent ends up falling in love with a mexican prostitute. He finds his ability again and regains status as a talented voice. With fame comes problems as his past life catches up to him, specifically in the form of a former male lover who pushed the protagonist too hard and made his voice/self crack. A battle of over the love and attention of the protagonist occurs between the female mexican prostitute and the well to do male lover. This tale was especially interesting as many noir tales tell little of homosexuals. Of course the homosexual was indighted as evil, but there were also obvious ways in which the antagonist was helpful for the protagonists life and on the flip side is the protagonists love affair with a mexican prostitute which is not exactly wholesome.

Cain continued to push the boundaries of what is wholesome in his tale "The Butterfly," which was originally published in 1946. This tale follows Jess, a god fearing man in the mining hills of Apalachia. Jess' grown daughter comes back home to live with him and he is seduced by her into making liquor, defending her honor, and eventually sleeping with her. It is revelead that he is not her father which only encourages him to bang her more. There's few tales that point at incestous lifestyles and pedepholia, perhaps Lolita being the only other that comes to mind and it was certainly interesting that Cain wrote the story considering Cain's other pieces but reading these "Three by Cain," continues to show me the breadth of Cain's work.

Lastly I've seen "Drive," a new release in theatres that follows Ryan Gosling as "The man with no name" who works as a stunt driver for movies in LA and moonlights as a getaway driver. Gosling falls for the girl next door and her son and when the girl's husband comes home he must do job that goes wrong in order to protect the family. Gosling goes on a knight's quest to protect the girl which is disgustingly noble and excitedly violent. The film is accompanied by an excellent synthpop score reminscent of Synth Britania and of course the entire film is a nod to JG Ballard.


Particularly enthralling is the slow cinematography that creates a constant feeling of transportation throughtout the movie. When a character is standing still there is still movement as if the character is always in motion, on a highway. It is probably the best movie I've seen this year. Certainly better than Harry Potter!!!

The Politician by Khamsing Srinawk

My friend and I were walking around the backpacker's ghetto of Khao San in Bangkok about two weeks ago. The area is great for vegan fare and also a real hotspot if you ever want to come to an exotic country to buy stupid souvenoirs from Thais and or get your hair braided. The area is a dump, however it does offer a few used bookstores. Sadly books out here are expensive, and even more disappointing is the lack of translated Thai literature, if only Thailand had been colonized.

While I was there I picked up a collection of stories by Srinawk. The collection of stories is largely set in rural Thailand, which while making up the majority of the landscape of the nation does not usually factor into the spectacular image of the tourist haven. When people think of Thailand they think of Bangkok and beaches.

Set in the countryside the stories grapple with issues of modernity, gender, and the ever intruding presence of foreigners.

My friend and I sat down on a bench nearby the backpacker's ghetto. She laid down while I sat up reading the book aloud. Nearby boats shuttled down the Chao Phraya river and the yellow shirts headquarter, with its netted garb, churned out ideas to invoke the masses. The introductory story, over twenty years old still has resonance and impact. Not only does it speak of the ambiguous relationship of Thai citizens to their representatives, and the emptiness of democracy but also of the timeless quality of those relationships.

Thailand is gearing up for another election. The prime minister is calling for elections in the fall. It is worried that the red shirts party Peua Thai will oust the current administration. When the nation's television satellite was disrupted for a few hours, everyone throughout the nation assumed that a coup d'etat was in process...

Whatever happens in Thailand in the next few decades, years, months, we can safely assume that politics will always be the same shameful repetition that it always is.
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The Politician

by Khamsin Srinawk

The shadows of the soaring pines falling across the rough road had shrunk in size to a couple of yards. The market-place was quiet as usual at this time of the day. Once in a while a bicycle passed. Under the overhanging roofs thickly coated with dust a few groups of country folk were walking. Now and again shouts emerged from the cafe on the corner but the passers-by paid no attention since everyone knew that of all those who might be tipsy any time any season, who else would it be but Kerhn or, as he was known around town, Professor Kehrn, and his three or four hangers-on. To tell the truth, they weren't a bad bunch. If rowdy, it was usually when each had drunk enough to be stewed, and Kerhn, the leader, wasn't a debauched outsider. On the contrary, he had risen to be abbot of the local temple. He had reached the second of the three levels of Dharma studies, his religious duties were well performed and he was respected by the faithful. Had he remained in orders, it is not impossible he would have risen to be chief monk of the district. But alas, nothing is permanent. The belief of the devout, especially devout women, in the Sacred Teaching often becomes in time belief in a particular monk. When that happens, if the religiously inclined woman doesn't become a nun, the monk finds some reason to put aside the yellow robe. Abbot Kerhn was no exception. Among the devout women who enjoyed going to the temple, but not to listen to preaching, was a widow named Wan Im. Before long, as everyone expected, the abbot left monastery and robe and moved into Wan Im's house where it was understood that they lived together as husband and wife. They lived quietly for some years but then, though her heart was unwilling, disease took Wan Im away. Grief converted the former prelate. The chagrin, instead of dissipating in heavy drink as he had hoped, swelled. Several times people saw him weep aloud in the middle of the market-place.

His wife's financial status having been assured from lending out money since she was young, Kerhn had enough for food and liquor for a long time to come. Later, when Kwahn and Koi, disciples from the days when he was a monk, joined him, the ex-abbot became chief of the band the townsfolk characterized as 'long-time mokns, big time louts.'

'Professor, you've no idea just what a mess the country is in. Pibun and Pao have flown off to goodness knows where,' he said as he pulled up a stool to the table. The three turned to him attentively.

'It's a big mess all right,' Koi mumbled drunkenly. 'Maybe this is what the bigmouths were blowing about at election time. What did they say, Professor?' he said, poking his face at Kerhn. '”Cracy, cracy something”.'

'Democracy, nut! Not “cracy”,' Kerhn said severely, They call it a “democratic coup d'etat” see. You have to have a lot of coups d'etat. Otherwise it isn't democracy.' He continued showing off his knowledge. 'You're stupid. If you don't know, keep quiet. I know because at the last election the district officer and provincial governor came to me on bended knees begging me to be a chief canvasser for their boss.'

'Eh, true!' Kwahn put in. 'The Professor and I really gave it to them. No one had the nerve to speak. Now there's going to be another election of people's representatives, isn't there?' he added gleefully.

Gurt put the glass down, brought his stool closer to the table and shook his head two or three times. 'Election for sure. I heard the bunch up at the provincial office spreading it around that it was time to get some service points again by going out and having the people knuckle to.'

The wind puffed a cloud of red dust from the road into the shophouse. Falling pine needles pattered on to the tin roof.

'I have an idea,' Koi spoke up again. 'If they need representatives, why don't you run, Professor?'

'Ha! You've got something there,' Gurt backed him up.

Koi, gathering enthusiasm, half stood up from his stool and continued in a loud voice. 'Because... um... because the Professor is a great man. He has money and no children to worry him. Wealth is corrupting, so why hang on to it? That's dead right, isn't it Kwahn?'

The person questioned assented with a slow nod of his head.

'Easy dammit. You're looking for trouble.' Kerhn turned to him annoyed.

'They say these representatives are really big. Bigger than village heads; bigger than county chiefs, bigger than district officers, bigger than provincial governors, and what really matters, bigger than the police. Now that's it. You can do anything. Booze, beat up anyone, kick the Chinese in the pants. Who could stop you? You could get even with that bloody Police Sergeat Haut. Just yesterday we laced into each other at the poker game at the chief's house behind the police station.'

Kerhn listened intently to Kwahn rave. He chuckled, wagging his head like a tall bell tower swaying in the first storms of the rainy season. He muttered, 'This here Kwahn doesn't know what he's talking about. I used to be a chief canvasser for the provincial governor. Now I know that anyone who gets to be a representative has to be an important person. Really knowledgeable about money matters.' He paused for a second to reach for his glass of whisky, then took a gulp. 'Even as we are, people say we're bad. You know, if it wasn't because I have some money and did some bullying to help the big guys at the last election, by now the police would have done me in.' He fixed his eyes on Kwahn. 'I can't even be a decent person myself, how could I represent anybody else?'

'That's not right, Professor. I think to be a representative nowadays you've got to be a hooligan, shout a lot, and put people off by cursing their families right back to their great grandfathers. You the bunch running for office last time: no better than us ruffians, shouting around, swearing in the middle of the street. Even if we are a little wild, there are only a few of us. That last crowd of representatives brought in a pack of robbers, hundreds of them. That's why I think the Professor is great for being a representative.'

'It's not easy. I used to be a canvasser. I know.'

'That's it. That's just it! You can be a vote-getter for others. What makes you think you can't be a vote-getter for yourself? Give it a try, Professor, give it a try.' He patted Kerhn on the back. 'If anything goes very wrong, we'll punch them up. So what? Our fists are pretty well known around here.'

'But... ,' the voice of the Professor softened. 'But what will I say to them? I hear those people hungry for office blabbering, lying, boasting of a million and one things. People like me, even if I am a drunk … I was a monk, I studied, if you want me to lie and crow … well, it sticks in my throat.'

Kwahn called for some more whisky. The whooshing of the wind across the tin roof blotted out the whistling of the pines. Whisky gurgled faintly into the glasses. At almost the same moment, each of the four reached for his and drank. Their expressions and eyes were thoughful.

'Golly,' Kwahn groaned softly. 'Professor, you're making too much of this. How hard can it be? I could be elected if I had the money. You lambaste them. You can point your finger in their faces and give them hell.'

'If things go wrong, we'll smash them into the ground,' Koi interjected. 'We're local people. The folks around know what we can do. The odds are with us. Put up a fight. Look Professor, the more they say these representatives are bigger than the police, the more it's worth a go. How many times has Sergeant Huat pushed us around? Maybe it's our turn now.'

Outside the shop, the sun was dazzling. The grey gravel covering the road reflected the light like the scales of those plaster serpents decorating temple steps. Bicycles were passing by. Kerhn stared down the road that thrust straight into the dense forest. The surrounding mountains were faintly visible in the flames of sunshine. His head nodded drunkenly again as a dark green bicycle steadily approached.

'Eh, if it isn't Sergeant Haut.' Kerhn popped to his feet. 'Hey Sarg, I'm a representative. What do you think of that!'

Bicycle brakes screeched.

'Drunk again. Go home. Making a commotion, disturbing the people. I'll haul you off to the police station in a minute.'

Crestfallen, Kerhn dropped back on his bench staring after the grey shirt until it disappeared around a corner at the end of the market-place.

'That's the ticket, Professor,' a voice piped up. 'This isn't the first time Sergeant Haut's bit the dust.'

'In fact we take turns. Sometimes him, sometimes me,' Kerhn mused faintly.

The news that Mr. Kerhn Kianrak, more commonly known as Professor Kerhn, would run for election as a people's representative spread quickly from the end of the market at the beginning of the road right up to the provincial administration building. Government officials split their sides with laughter but the common folk knew only that a candidate had to be obliging and generous and good at passing out whisky, cigarettes and even money, and had to like loud talk about things no one knew anything about, and well … Professor Kerhn seemed fully qualified.

On the day fixed for the nomination of candidates, Kerhn filed his papers, accompanied by Kwahn, Koi and Gurt. No difficulties were encountered. Kerhn paid the deposit of 3,000 baht and handed in a number of photographs taken when he had just left the monastery. From that day on, the little market-place of this frontier province perked up. Cars of various shapes and sizes managed to make their way to the province and helter-skeltered from one corner of the town to the other. For this election, there were almost ten candidates including former government officials, lawyers, titled bigwigs anad grad city folks, most of them from the capital and neighboring provinces. Only Kerhn was a native of the province.

Reputations for handing out money, whisky, tobacco and food established by the last crop of candidates and the lack of farming to be done because it was the dry season brough a heavy stream of people down from the distant hills. The numbers grew with the approach of election day. Night after night the candidates showed their movies, some nights only one show taking place, but on others as many as three stands would compete with one another. Candidates proclaimed their virture as though they were supermen. The crowds milled around noisily from group to group watching to see if anything was being given away and if disappointed would move on to a another circle. It seemed even more festive than the annual fair. Kerhn and his cronies floated drunkenly with the rest of the crowd. He didn't have a chance to make speeches and if he did, wouldn't have known what to say. Thee most he could manage was to make disturbances as things went along. But even that didn't go over so well because the people, still hoping the candidates would hand out money and fearing Kerhn would jeopardize the opportunity, became menacing. One night, two groups of candidates set up their platforms, projectors and screens in different corners of the field. Each of the office-seekers boasted of his boldness, ability, honors, infinite qualifications. Some boasted of having built roads, wells, monasteries and even lavatories. One volunteered to construct houses, plant gardens, build schools and hospitals. The people looked on with interest. Kerhn invited four or five buddies to start shouting from nearby.

'NO GOOD! SHUT UP! NONSENSE! NO...' Before the word was out of him, Kerhn realized he was flat on his back from the force of somebody's fist to which was added a growl, 'We're all waiting for money so what the hell are you shouting for?'

Kerhn, his mouth and ears swollen, an eye closed, staggered towards home with his friends, dejected. 'It looks bad,' he muttered to his cronies while swaying down the road. That night all except Kerhn slept in a stupor. The force of the blow earlier that evening forced his mind to search for a way to get the better of them. He rubbed his mouth and groaned softly, but before dropping off to sleep, smiled.

At dawn, Kerhn, still groggy, got up and staggering a few steps forward stumbled over Kwahn, kicking him lightly in the middle of the back.

'Kwahn, get up, get up Kwahn.'

Kwahn turned over and bracing himself with both hands against the floor reached a sitting position but then fell over again. On the third try he stayed up and squinted about. 'You sure are skinny, Professor,' he mumbled while fishing about for a water bowl. 'Must be from too much drink and not enough sleep.'

'None of your flattery. Nothing physical is permanent.'

Kwahn pulled Koi up from his sleep. The cloudless morning was chilly, the mist tumbling with the pale sunshine. Kerhn looked at his two followers, his eyes showing fatigue.

'Koi, Kwahn,' he started slowly, 'I have found the way to do the loud mouths in. I know that most of the crowd have come because they think money is going to be handed out.' He stroked the still swollen parts of his face. 'So if you go around the market-place and tell everyone that if they want to get money, come to my house. Tell them I'll take them to get the money myself.'

As soon as his henchmen were out of the house, Kerhn went back to sleep. Later in the day he awoke, delighted to find the house was filled with noise and people. He tiptoed over to a crack in the wall to peep out at them: a real crowd, even more than he expected. His face dirty, his clothes wrinkled from sleeping, he stepped outside. Kwahn and Koi led the people with two loud hurrahs. The people echoed them with a roar. Kerhn yelled at the top of his voice, 'All right, all right, my brethren.' Interest focused. 'Now, there are a number of good people with money. They come here wanting to be our representatives...' A brief pause to gather breath. 'They all say they're going to build roads, dig canals, build us schools. Things like that they can do.' Brief pause. 'But compare those things to money, which do we want?' Fan an instant the question hung in the air.

'We want money, we want money, money, money moneeee,' the cry resounded from rank to rank filling the crowd.

'Good, excellent. We've got to go and get the money from them. They can build streets and roads. They need money to do it. They must have money. Where are they, where are they?' he asked provocatively.

'At the hotel, they're at the hotel, the lot of them,' returned the shouts from the crowd.

'All right, let's go!' Kerhn jumped from the porch, but fell over on his face from exhaustion of the previous night's adventures, arms and legs askew in a billow of dust and drawing a good laugh from the mob. He got up quickly, brushed the dust off and strode resolutely in front. A thousand people stretched in a long turbulent procession behind him heading for the small hotel, the only one in town.

Seeing a herd of people approaching, the group at the hotel with the politicians' instinct scurried to dress themselves as befits their dignity. Some quickly pinning on their medals and decorations, in full dress, throats twitching, gave orders to their people to connect the loudspeakers. 'Hey, hurry up, looks like they're really coming this way. See what I mean. The stupidity of the people really pays: it's like a pot of gold.' Some jumped for their beds and began practising gestures for their speeches.

Villagers, who hadn't an idea of what was going on, carried and dragged their kids along into the crowd. The whole body of astonished government officials dropped their work ot look on from the sides. The candidates formed a line in front of the hotel. Kerhn walked straight to them.

'We want to come to an agreement with you honourable representatives,' he began.

'With great pleasure,' the oldest one replied bowing until his body looked like an old shrimp at the end of the rainy season. 'If there is anything at all we can do for you, we will represent you to the best of our ability.' A broad smile pushed out his ruddy jowls as he led the whole group in a bow.

'What have you got to give us?'

'Whatever is the desire of the people of our province, whatever will serve the welfare of the people of our province, that will I do for my fellows until my last breath,' replied a young one at the end of the row winding up with a little bow which brought the others down in little bows.

Without hesitation, Kerhn yelled at his loudest, 'MONEEE, WE WANT MONEY!'

The crowd took up Kerhn's cry.

'Money, we've come for money!' The words reverberated over and over again. 'Money, money.'

The candidates fidgeted. Drops of sweat broke out. Some tried to state their policies and aims. Some began to praise their own past activities and offered plans for the future. But the increasing demands for money prevented them all from finishing. The old noble who had dragged his shrivelled body up from the capital fainted to the delighted cheers of the crowd. Those who tried to speak crumpled their notes in fustration.

The cries grew deafening as Kerhn firmly made his way to the microphone and gestured to the mass.

'All you faithful believers, you've seen for yourselves they're a lot of wind. They'll do everything for us, but how can they do anything when all we do is ask for money and they don't have any to give us? When that's the way it is, how can we believe them? How can we elect them?' His voice was emphatic.

'These fellows who are running for office come from different ranks and classes. That one over there is a knight.' He pointed his finger. 'The next one over there is a sir. And the one next to him is a lawyer. The old one there who almost died a minute ago is a noble. That one there who's hung a lot of magic charms on his chest is a general. All you faithful, decide for yourselves who you are going to elect. Now I used to be a canva... er, that is, I used to go to Bangkok. Now I'll tell you something. A lot of you probably don't know what a knight, a sir and so forth are. Well, I'll tell you. A knight looks after horses and also sometimes feeds and waters chickens, ducks and elephants. They do it at night. I know because I've been to Bangkok. A sir we ought to speak to as 'Sire', and we know that sires are kept for our mares that don't have any foals yet. As for this noble, I have my doubts about him. What kind of noble doesn't wear his proper robes? Maybe he's an ignoble noble.' He stopped to swallow his saliva.

'That one over there who loves those toys is a general. Take a look. Pinning a row of seashells on his chest. Those people are childish. They like toys just like our children. The one who's sneaking away, he's a lawyer, someone who likes trouble where he finds it. No money to give him and you land in jail.'

The crowd listened in astonished silence. Kerhn was still for an instant and then continued.

'Dear friends, the others have done a lot of talking. Today, listen to me. I'm a candidate too. Who was it a little while ago who said he really knows us, really knows our poverty and troubles? Ask him. Brethren ask him. Does he know how many acres we have? Does he know what we eat with our rice in the morning? Believe me, he doesn't know. Empty talk. Now take me. I'll do anything you want. Kick a dog, bash somebody's head in. Anyone you don't like, tell me. Er... uh.' As his eyes lit on Sergeant Huat standing at the side, his voice tempered. 'What I just said … in fact I never did anything like that. I'll end here. Amen. May you have long life, good looks and health, and may the Triple Gems help me become a people's representative.'

From that day, Kerhn's reputation flourished among the people while the other candidates dodged public meetings to avoid the taunts. Some, losing their nerve, fled back to Bangkok.

Election day came and passed without incident. The official results were announced a little past eight in the evening. Soon after, Sergeant Haut rushed breathlessly up to the duty officer at the police station.

'Now I'm in for it, sir,' the poor policeman gasped. 'Mr. Kerhn, he was drunk and raising a row in the market. I locked him up here since morning and now he's the people's representative. I'm not going to be in this district for long, that's for sure.' His voice was tinged with alarm.

'That's bad. That's really bad. Have you released him yet?' the duty officer asked, lifting his eyes from the daily reports. But Sergeant Haut had already vanished.

The duty officer then walked over and opened the cell door. The three of them were sprawled on the floor sleeping. The stench of vomit mixed with other filth wafted out. Locating Kerhn, the officer reached out to shake him lightly but swiftly withdrew his hand when he found his target covered with vomit. He grumbled to himself and used his foot instead, nudging Kerhn gently.

'Sir, sir, mister, hey Kerhn, Kerhn.'

'Huh,' Kerhn drawled. 'Where am I? Give me some water.' He screwed up his eyes. 'Black as pitch.'

'It's night already. You can leave, sir. Please wake up those two gentleman.'

'Eh, who are you talking to, lieutenant?' Kerhn asked bewildered.

'I'm talking to the honourable representative, sir. Please leave. The election is over now.'

Kerhn took some time to wake up the other two, then all three crawled outside. Each drank a bowl of water offered by the police, walked unsteadily out of the police station and disappeared in the darkness. Kerhn still kept to himself the news heard a moment before from the police. His ears were ringing with the words 'honourable representative' spoken with humility by the authorities who had for so long bullied him. The three bumbled through the blackness in silence and crawled up the stairs to the house. Kwahn and Koi flopped down at once and went back to sleep by the stairs. Kerhn rested, his brain agitated but confused. The drunkenness had vanished. He felt airy, as if disembodied. He began to think of things he had never though of before, of the words 'people's representative'. He though of Gurt's words spoken in the cafe. 'A representative is bigger than the district officer, bigger than the provincial governor.' Apart from that he knew nothing. Was that all? Doubt welled. Surely there was something more because he knew that every people's representative had to go to Bangkok. But they must have more to do than just go to the capital. Kerhn began to reflect on Bangkok and its crazy bigness. Didn't this mean he had to go there to live, separated from his own people in a different kind of life? Now what would that be like? The outlook wasn't bright any more. Kerhn had been to Bangkok once when still a monk. He tried to recall the name of the temple where he had stayed but couldn't. The failure preyed on his mind. Anxiety increased as he recollected a picture of a previous representative cloaked outlandishly in a jacket that looked like a whole blanket, with a silly rag dangling from his neck. He mumbled to himself, 'What a fool. You don't know when you're well off.'

The moon and constellations sank in the sky. 'Whew, this world is sure getting hot for me,' he exclaimed to himself. As he went to get a drink of water, the neighbour's roosters crowed their announcement of dawn. Kerhn was afraid of the daybreak. Bleakness was creeping in with it. The bushes and trees were beginning to have an outline. In that instant he made up his mind. Kwahn and Koi were dead asleep. He disappeared into the house for a second and returned, casting a glance and a sigh at his two disciples. Finally, he tiptoed past them, went out of the house and headed straight for the market-place, nothing in mind like a mechanical doll. At the head of the road at the end of the market area he saw a standing truck and heard three people making a noise, so he drifted over. Two young fellows faced him as if he were some night pilferer but beckoning asked for a hand to push the stalled vehicle. In a few words Kerhn learned that the truck was carrying rice and other goods across the border. He helped at once and in a second the engine fired and the truck disappeared in the direction of the glow on the horizon.

No one saw Mr. Kerhn again. No one in the province knows where he has gone. Those who knew turned out to be the reporters from the Bangkok newspapers. Several of the papers ran the story that a fearless representative of the people had his mouth closed by a dark power and that his body was thrown over a cliff for the vultures to pick at. The news item was accompanied by a photo of vultures under white clouds.

Now the little province is busy again. Every day fancy cars of the big boys from Bangkok investigating this mysterious case arrive and take back to the city a policeman or two. One car just went off this morning carrying away Sergeant Huat mutter, 'Damn, now I've had it.'

Waiting for Zoey

I went to L.a. and wrote about it.

Three beers

The car was dark. Its interior was lit by the street lights. The door opened. Shoes scuffled on the parking lot tarmac. The brightness of the motel sign was a brilliant neon. It drew wayfarer's like a moth is drawn to a lightbulb. The keys opened up the room. The bed was blanketed, and tucked. The two pillows on the bed were plumbed. A television sat silently across from the bed on a series of drawers, waiting for a spectator. The shower was hot, no one else was showering this late at night. The tepid water tank could handle the heat of one shower at the late hour. The warm water rained down. The soap lathered then fell into the drain. The complementary towel was made slightly damp and hung back up. A shirt was buttoned, pants that were slightly wrinkled were put on, and a razor that could cut away an evening's beard laid fallow.

The bed sank under a man's weight. The television came on from the response of the remote. The news of Los Angeles filled the room. The glow of the screen filled the room. The audio occupied the room.

"Amid the worst economic downturn since world war two the Metropolitan Transportation Authority is planning to increase fares for the first time in two years to help offset a $204-million gap in its operating budget for buses and rail systems..."

The liquor was dissolved in the mouth. "Whim is a hard thing to beat," the bartender had said. "I haven't seen you in a long time, what are you doing here? No matter, what will you be drinking?"

The liquor burned in the stomach. The dizzying effect of alcohol was only felt after the fifth. The jukebox swayed back and forth in time to music. "Is there an escape," the bartender asked without moving his lips. "Can you possibly get away from her? Coming back here, its just an excuse. You're drawn to her like a bee to pollen."

The ceiling spun for a moment then focused. The white ceiling danced with images. It faded into darkness. The dark of night still hung in the sky the closed window shades unneeded.

There was a knock at the door. A short staccato. The room reverberated with the noise of another series of knocks. The bolt was undone with suspicion. The room was lit with her presence.

The white blouse clung to her, like her skirt, both forever hugging her body. The heels of her shoes were sharp points and inch high. The stockings hit the short dress. The lines of the leggings ran long. The coat was momentarily on, then put on a chair. The chair waited for more clothing to be put on it longingly.

The room filled with voices.

"You have obligations."

"I am here anyways."

"You didn't want me before, and I don't want you now."

"We are stilted lovers."

"Who said we were lovers."

The chair was covered with more clothes.

"I like the hidden. I like unsaid lovers, I like being someone, then the real me, some more authentic person shining out saliently in secret."

The room reverberated with sound of flesh.

"You think I'm opaque?"

"Its like we're in a bedroom. In the bedroom is a bookshelf, and a window. Very normal. The bookshelves take up the majority of the room, but all the inhabitant ever wants to talk about is the view out the window."

"I like the feeling of your chest."

"Why are you here, you are obligated."

"Its so far."

"What about the distance between us?"

"You're here to serve a purpose."

Commands were given. They were obeyed. The room brightened with pleasure. The bed was filled with afterglow.

"We can stop at any point."

"We're not stopping at the spot I want, we're stopping at the point that you've regulated. You chose to meet me here, we could have stayed somewhere else where all of this wasn't possible. A parking lot, a friend's house, a church..."

"I don't want you talking about me."

"I thought we were talking about me, how egotistical I am."

"You have a mouth like a crocodile. Your smile is as wide as a mile with the same intent."

"As the reptile or as in the distance?"

A finger ran along soft tissue. Eyes looked on other eyes.

"My heart has four chambers."

A hand was placed near a beating muscle.

"Each chamber pulses regularly, for a long time the fourth chamber was shut down. My blood was poisoned. The chamber broke down out of disgust. I could taste the poison in my throat."

"I've only been so honest with one other person."

"I can taste the bile in my blood. "

"Do you talk about me to other people?"

"No, not really, maybe."

The overhead fan spun quietly. Goosebumps appeared on skin. A body searched another for comfort. The other body lay fallow.

"The thing I like about you is that I know you're going to fall for me."

Separated

When we were told that we had to evacuate because of the quarantine, I was terrified. I didn't think for one moment that I could leave my place. I'd worked so hard for it. The apartment, with its art minimalism, its baroque touches that she loved so. I just couldn't stand the idea of leaving a place that had been so... so... ours.

They knocked on our door in bio hazard suits. The contagion hadn't spread this far but they were taking precautions. They were emptying all the buildings, all the elevators, all the staircases, all the nooks and cranes, and putting everyone in separate areas that were deemed safe. It all seemed like one giant child's game. A game of kick the can. When found you were brought to a prison, but this prison was anti-septic, it was hygienic, it was pure, clean, it was everything that the disease was not.

I followed the biohazard suits out. They were color coded. The white for me, the orange for her. She followed them. We looked back at each other over our shoulders for one last glimpse. Could this disease really pull us apart, I thought as I took faltering steps forward.

"Move along," a white plastic box said to me. "We have to get you sprayed down, and then counted. You can communicated with your... loved ones later, via the several communication companies that are installed in the housing units." The suited figured sighed then continued. "Quarrycommuny has a particularly affordable package that allows regular correspondence in real time!" The suited figure looked up for a moment then began another rapid fire sequence. "Quarrycommuny allows excellent transmission no matter how much interference, whether technical or worse yet disease, there is. If you sign up now you will get a low cost but high quality dispatch virtually immediately." The suited figured let out an audible groan followed by a shudder. The figure pushed me along, nudging me with a stick that I knew could easily turn into an electric prod.

We got to the processing center and I was told to remove all my clothes. I stood in my nakedness along with a herd of others from my apartment building. Some of my neighbors attempted to make small talk. I couldn't get over the fact that I was seeing their genitalia. Something I never thought, nor wanted to see.

"Oh this will all be over soon enough," 1b said.
"My coworker actually went through this recently," 2b replied. "I can't remember if she's out or not, the workplace is so very big. It really is easy to lose track of people."
"I almost lose myself in my workplace, its so big, especially when I'm plugged into the interface. The computer just drowns out the rest of the world." 1b began to giggle.
"I know what you mean, I get lost in all the little games we can play. I just hope my boss never finds out how I'm spending company time," 2b replied.
"Time thief," 1b said playfully, slapping 2b on the arm.

Interludes

My Heart is on Fire

The hand hovered over the candle. The flame warmed my hand. I could see the wax slowly melt. I wondered if my fingers could get any closer to the flame. I touched the flame with my forefinger. It didn't burn... at first. When it finally started to hurt, the heat really setting in, I pulled back on my seduction. My finger felt warm.

The Confusion

"Who are you, I mean really, who the fuck are you," she said.

"What are you talking about, we've been together forever, how do you not know who I am," he replied. He attempted to keep his tone even but there was a strain.

"How could you forget, today was important," she replied. Her voice dipped and soared with emotion.

"I didn't forget, didn't you get my present," he said.

"Present, what present. As if things could make up for your lack of presence."

The Wharf

The seals slid on the floating rafts. They barked. They slipped off. Their bodies were wet with the water. The drops of water rolled off their oil skinny. The rafts tilted as the seals moved around.

The Song

Her voice hit a high note. It was the same octave as her conversational voice. When she sang her voice was richer, as if she was drawing on a hidden well of treasure. She looked into the crowd, searching for eye contact. The song went on. She moved about the small stage the center of my attention.

The Warm Breeze

His skin tingled. He could feel the blood slowly trickle out. It ran a stream down on to his hands. He moved his fingers, slowly, the only way he could. He looked up. The sky was dark purple, the sun was setting, or was it rising. The orange rays of the sun shot through the sky.

Don't walk away

The street was empty. A small soda can rolled down the edge of the sidewalk pushed by its own momentum, seemingly autonomous. It got caught on a gutter drain. It stuck between the drain and the sidewalk. It was only after months of rain that the first sign of rust showed on its aluminum.

The Face in the Glass

He'd always wondered what it would feel like to murder. The desire struck him at odd times, on the toilet, during coitus, riding the subway, on his commute. Never at a specific individual but always the desire to kill, to render obsolete. He stared at the man across from him and reached out for his neck.

Age of Consent

I hated it when I couldn't get the car to start. I always worried that it wouldn't start after I had brought my date somewhere. I spent so much time worry about being inconvenient to my date that I never got around to asking that many girls out. I should have though. I should have brought the damn car to a mechanic, or fucking learned some mechanical skills myself.

The reporter

I wanted to drink myself to death. I wanted to let my liver fail while in an alcoholic stupor. I wanted my kidneys to fail while processing the shit beer, bourbon, and wine coolers I abused them with. The latter I was not only flagellating my liver with but my sense of self. I was after all a man's man, an ex athlete and a sportswriter for a major magazine.

Of course the magazine had been going down like the titanic for some time. Who reads these days? No one. Luckily my writing was quippy enough to garnish a point and click spot on the home page, usually under the swimsuit model's groin. A lucky spot all the other hacks at the rag would say.

I'd relocated to Vegas. The city of sin. Now the city of economic recession. The city that was every other city but more. The lights still burned on the strip but powered by what? The staff of all the hotels, casinos, and resorts were all being chopped up like garlic at Gilroy's annual festival. Somehow though the show still went on. The spectacle still turned itself over and over even if its structure was more fragile, and more masqueraded.

I'd been moved out to Vegas to cover all the major shows. The magazine didn't want to have to fly to pay better writers to Vegas. They settled on me because I was; single, willing to relocate, and a mediocre writer able to churn out the dribel they wanted. If there's anything I'm good at its dribbling. So much so that when I sleep I sometimes drool. Mainly when I sleep on my left side and am under the influence of the drink.

I got a small apartment for five hundred dollars on the north side of the strip. Far enough away from the strip proper to be slummy, south enough of old Vegas to be well, slummy. The good thing was that it wasn't far from the bus stop where I could take an air conditioned bus to whatever air conditioned house of cards I wanted. The air conditioning was important as my, well lets face it slummy apartment, wasn't air conditioned. The blazing desert heat parched my tongue forcing me to drink more, and drinking more made me even more dehydrated, the poor, poor, plight of the alcoholic. I'm sure you've heard it before. Who hasn't read that repetitive fuck Bukowski, the boring Miller, the overstated Hemingway?

My first assignment was at the Palms. It was a new casino off the strip, a late bloomer. It vibed sexy, young, modern, and ridiculously stupid. I did a piece on an MMA show there. Young cornfed fucktards fought each other for thousands of dollars as orange skinned retards from southern california cheered on. It was an exercise in not asking for the wrath of God.

After the show I went upstairs. Having a media pass does have its advantages, mainly in the access to the clubs, thus to the plastic tits in the background of these shows. I'd been looking for some silicone when I saw her standing on the balcony. She dressed really classy. Pearl beads strung around her swan like with matching earrings. She looked like Jackie O but who the fuck looks like that these days. Who the fuck remembers who Jackie O was!? I stood by the railing and said a few things, I can't really remember what. If I could remember those sort of things, you know the first things you say when you meet someone maybe I'd be a better writer but I can't. Fuck it.

Later I would find out her name, Holly, Ms. Golightly.

Ms. Golightly

The club was packed. The punters bodies moving both to the musical beat and to the flow of the bodies around them. The latest Black Eye Peas song "You gotta get that boom boom pow" blared in the club.

Holly was stuck between a large white man in a shirt almost as pale as skin and a short squat man whose over sized shirt was smaller than his portly belly. She squealed aloud as she was smooshed between the two bodies. Her shoulders caved in and she wondered for the millionth time why exactly she was out at the club. She shoved the short fat man out of her way and attempted to b-line it to the bar. She waited for a half an hour to get a watered down drink all the while cursing the masculine sex for not doing their duty of procuring her a drink free of charge.

She sipped her watered down rum and coke while the bodies on the dance floor continued to flow with the top 40 hits.

"What are you drinking," a young man asked. He leaned into her, his breath smelled like alcohol.

Holly leaned away from his liquor induced halitosis. "Rum and coke," she replied with a roll of her eyes. The young man rubbed his hands together and then smoothed them down his shirt.

"Want to go out on the dance floor... baby," the last word he uttered slowly and quietly. His eyes rolled over her paving onto her an image that was not her.

"My boyfriend is right over there," Holly pointed with her index figure to a broad shouldered man not far away. Holly's "boyfriend" had her back turned away from the two of them.

"Well don't worry about it I won't tell him," the young man slurred.

"I said no."

"Bitch," the young man said. He walked away. Holly sighed with relief as he made more distance between them. She downed the rest of her drink and ordered another. Ten minutes later she was again sipping on rum and coke but she had moved to a nearby window. The club was at the top floor of a casino, whose name she forgot, in las vegas. From the window she could see the entire strip laid out before her. The landscape glowed with neon light. Las Vegas had become even more glamorous since the recession, the more depressed the economy had become the louder the lights of Las Vegas had seemed.

"Quite a majestic view, its too bad that it will soon be picturesque ruins," a voice next to her said.

"All things fade, sans diamonds and pearls," she replied to the voice. She continued to look forward. Her strapless dress was thin, the club warm, but the view had chilled her. Goose bumps covered her skin.

"So you imagine yourself some a lady of class," the voice said with a wry tone.

"I am a woman of the modern age," Holly replied indignantly. Holly had achieved the American dream and had pulled herself up by the boot straps, or to be more accurate by the high heels. Her feminine charm had led her to a comfortable but boring existence. Her days were routine in that they were always subject to her whims. Her passions had seem to played themselves out though and her whims were less free and more repetitive.

"This modern age where everything that was once lived has now moved away into representation, now what does that mean for a woman such as yourself," the voice replied coyly. The response angered Holly and she turned to address the man's voice, but there was no one there. She shuddered and looked back at the city and its glowing lights.

What does it mean to be...

"Well when you get married," she said to me.

"I probably won't get married. Its bad enough that other anarchists are doing it. If I did it it'd be like another angel had lost its wings," I replied.

"Even if you love her a lot," she said.

"Well, I don't totally discount it but its just one of those principle things, its like vegans don't eat meat. If you eat meat once well you're not REALLY vegan are you (if you do it on purpose)? Even if you never eat meat again. You had that lapse, a lapse of choice. Its the same with marriage and anarchists. It doesn't really matter that you're getting married in terms of the tradition but that state recognition and the culture of anarchism goes against your "anarchist identity," I replied.

"How do you consider yourself an anarchist now," she said pointedly.

"Well, I'm a lifestyle anarchist." I chuckled lightly with my reply.

"Don't use Murray Bookchin as your defense! How does slash is your life anarchist... I'm asking this because I'm curious about my own life and how it is and isn't anarchist," she said, the latter half with fifty percent of her heart.

"Well I think I'm being exploratory. I think one of the defining characteristics of anarchists, at least the ones I respect, is their desire to explore. They read, they travel, they delve, they question, its their endless search. That process is something I feel I'm engaged in. Yeah my current strain of activity isn't normally deemed as "anarchist" but I think its a strain worth looking into and its something I find personally rewarding."

"How is it rewarding?"

"Well I'm engaged with others in a way that builds my confidence, and not in an easy manner. In order to create a stronger self in this world that I'm living now you have to work hard. I appreciate that.

I've commonly found that inhabiting solely anarchist spaces that I just get judged for my "extracurricular" activity. If I'm not publishing, writing articles for some near defunct magazine, or attending x group or y activity I'm not an 'anarchist, ' or worse not 'anarchist' enough."

"How is what you're suggesting any different from people like Jack Kerouac, or De Sade? Being libertine? Living without constraints," she said. She gazed at me while I figured my reply.

"I can't say that is that much different. Utimately I believe that people who develop themselves will realize that to develop themselves more requires the destruction of state and capital thus anarchy. Alienation, a fundamental part of capital isn't about loss, its about not being able to develop oneself to one's full potential. Its not that I am unhappy with my life now, but I do think that if I was unfettered by work and the obligations of the state I would be able to create a better me, thus I would see my self now as being sad, and fucked."

The golem steps forward

William wandered the stacks of books. He'd come into the library to do research for his golem story. He'd taken out a copy of the Old Testament, a copy of the Kabbalah, and several books on Jewish Mythology. As he walked through the rows of histories he let his fingers brush along the spines of the books. When he lifted his finger from the leather backs he noticed dust. "No one reads anymore," I said quietly aloud. "What's the point?"

His interest in Golems had started when he found out that they'd been models for the first science fiction stories. The first automaton was considered to be a golem. He felt that people were golems, albeit ones with slightly advanced instructions... "Eat, shit, fuck, prattle on and on," were the instructions given to modern people.

He got a book on Judah Loew ben Bezalel a rabbi who had his own golem. The rabbi had created his golem to protect Prague from anti-Semitic attacks. As the golem grew it became increasingly violent, killing gentiles and spreading fear. The emperor promised to stop the persecution of the Jews if the rabbi stopped by the onslaught of the golem. The golem was placed in an attack to arise again when the Jews were threatened once more by the outside world.

William wasn't Jewish, he wasn't religious at all and it was only in moments of extreme desperation that he turned to a higher power at all.

Jeremy

"Can I get a pitcher of PBR," Warren asked the bartender. The dive bar off the mission was packed with warm bodies. Their heart beating corpses heated with blood, cigarettes, and fueled with alcohol.
"Do you have a pitcher," the bartender asked while pouring a liquor drink.
Warren threw up his hands then asked for two sierra nevadas. He handed the money over to the bar tender with slight irritation. The pitchers of pbr were especially cheap tonight. He brought the beers over to where Lee and Sarah were sitting in the corner. He sat down and handed a beer to Sarah.
"Thanks Warren," Sarah said. "Oh I love this song," she exclaimed. She began to sing to the mid 90s alt rock. Every third tuesday of the month was "Flannel Fun" at the bar. The DJ spun mid 90s alt rock and most of the twenty something kids that showed up to the bar wore long flannel shirts that they had procured at thift stores. While most of the attendees were too young to be active in the alt rock scene in the 90s they still enjoyed the flashback to their preteen years.
"You know what's better than Pearl Jam's 'Jeremy,'" Lee said. "Nothing!" Lee laughed hysterically. Her blonde hair fell behind her. At only 20 she was ecstatic to be out on the town. She'd recently procured a fake id from a friend and so was able to go out to bars.
"Don't you have to work really early in the morning," Warren asked.
"Yeah at like 5 am, I'm thinking of just not sleeping," Lee replied.
"Oh man Mac keeps saying 'Hello please,' you know? And I thought it was really creative especially with his new york accent. Every time someone gets in his way or something he's all like 'hello please.' At first I thought he was saying 'Hella please' trying to be all oakland. Yesterday I realized that he wasn't that creative though. I watched a Southpark episode and they kept saying that. This entire time, for a month, I thought he was a fucking genius though," Warren said.
The girls listened with half an ear to his short monologue while scanning the crowd. Lee got up to go talk to some boy while Sarah fiddled with her drink. She was slightly drunk and annoyed. She'd called Mac up but he hadn't replied to her call nor to her text.

Bernard Sumner from Dolores Park

Julie danced to the song, her hands flowed in the air. The fan near her blew an electric wind into her hair. It made the strands float, and create their movement to the song. She looked up at the stage to see the singer croon out the cover.

"In my next life, I totally want to be a gay man," she said to Sarah. Sarah stood next to her with her arms folded across her chest as if the same breeze that blew on Julie's hair chilled her heart.
"Its cold in here."
"No its not, its so hot."
"There's only old people here."
"Thiry is hardly old, Sarah."
"Its old."
"You'll be old in like 5 years, its not old. You're harshing."
"Whatever," Sarah said with disdain.
"I thought you liked these bands," Julie said. She had stopped dancing and was facing her friend. In the background the second band played their third song. The band, Monaco's birth, played New Order covers. They were finishing Blue Monday as the friends argued.
"I do, I just don't like this place."
"You've come here before, we've been here a million times."
"Its just not the same," Sarah said. Her eyes drifted into the crowd. She searched the small groups for familiar faces. She recognized one guy that she went to college with in Santa Cruz. She hoped that he didn't spot her and come over to talk to her.
"I don't get waht the fuck your problem is. I'm having a good time. Do you want a drink?"
"Yeah, I'll go get us some beers."

Sarah walked over to the bar. The band started to play "Regret." It brought back memories of lying in bed with Andy. Most of their relationship consisted of moments in between blankets. They'd gotten together during a drunken hour at a house party in the mission. Their short relationship continued to be trysts of libations. At the height of it, their three month affair, Andy had told her that he wanted to bathe her in alcohol and then get drunk off her skin. She thought it was awfully romantic at the time.

She ordered two beers from the bartender. He was snaggle toothed and had long hair. He wore an ugly white shirt. He grinned at her when she tipped him. She sighed.

I would like a place I could call my own
Have a conversation on the telephone
Wake up every day that would be a start
I would not complain of my wounded heart

I was a short fuse
Burning all the time
You were a complete stranger
Now you are mine

The singer was a small dirty blonde haired man with a slight effeminate air to him. He didn't sing as strongly as Bernard Sumner, the lead for New Order. She got annoyed with the band. They're only halfway good because they're covering New Order, she thought.

She'd met Julie outside of the SOMA venue as the Joy Division band was halfway through their set. They were good, she had told Julie. She was happy upon arrival at the bar. After the ode of Ian Curtis, Monaco's Birth came on stage.

The club was large. It had a large horse shoe bar that wrapped around the edge of the building. To the north was the stage. It was raised about 4 feet from the wooden floor. The crowd was composed of people several years her senior. They huddled in groups, happy for a night out and a break from their (presumed by Sarah) boring day jobs. When Bernard Sumner's songs came out of the band on stage she became depressed. It wasn't the music that depressed her. She couldn't put her finger on it. The band ended to a small amount of fan fare.

"Here's your beer," She said to Julie. She gave Julie her glass of Hefeweizen. Julie took a drink and then set it down on the large box that the electric fan sat on. She looked at Sarah for a moment but avoided eye contact.

"How are you feeling," Julie asked.
"I'm better, I'm just in a mood, like a pair of pants that just don't seem to fit right. They're too tight in the crouch, or they shrunk in the wash, or they're too loose so they don't make your ass look good."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
"This next band should be good."
"Hopefully they'll play a lot of Morrissey."
"Yeah, I love Morrissey's solo stuff," Sarah finished. She looked back into the crowd. She wanted to recognize more people amongst the small groups. She didn't see anyone else she knew.

Conversation in a bar

Dante began to experiment with instructions for the Golem. After the initial output of motion the Golem didn't respond to the simple instructions that he wrote out for him. Dante was stumped. He kicked the Golem. He hurt his foot on the Golem. How would he ever become anything if he wasn't able to make the Golem come to life again. He sighed and went to bed.

His dreams were haunted by the Golem. The Golem stood over him as he was chained to a wooden platform. It opened its mouth and roared. The inside of its mouth was hollow and black, a deep dark void. Dante felt himself being ripped apart. His body held down by the iron chains yet being slowly excruciatingly drawn into the orifice that led into oblivion. Dante screamed but was unable to hear the sound of his own voice, it was swallowed by the Golem.

Dante woke up in a sweat.

William read his short passage again. He wondered where he should go with the story. Did he really even care about this story? So many of his stories ended abruptly. He flipped the page to where he'd written out, from memory his conversation, with Andy.

"What are you doing over here Andy," I asked him.

"I work over here now. I got a job in a restaurant. Its alright. I work the day shift waiting tables."

"What happened to the bike shop?"

"I got laid off a while ago. I didn't really like it there anyways. Everyone always asked me to fix their fucking bikes too. I didn't really mind for a while but then it got tiresome. What's the point? The kids would buy me a beer or something but..." Andy trailed off. He looked distant, and a little inebriated. I shifted my beer around. I felt awkward.

"Where are you working now?"

"I got a job at a library actually. It was a temp position that turned full time."

"Aren't libraries getting their funding cut now?"

"Yeah, as part of the cut backs they laid off people and then filled me in for two people's positions. I guess the previous two people had been there for a long time so were getting paid pretty well."

"Oh, so you're sort of a scab."

I sat there in silence for a minute. Then Andy laughed aloud and slapped me on the back.

"Hey we all gotta work for our money right? Everyone is a cultural prostitute. Demands of the market and all right?" He looked at me. His eyes looked amphibious, glazed over with a watery substance.

"What happened with that girl," he asked.

"We broke up."

"Oh, why? She not put out enough," he said with a faux ironic tone. He snickered as a I responded slowly and carefully.

"I, I went for a drive one day. I realized that I wanted to keep driving. I didn't know where I wanted to drive to. I didn't know how long I wanted to drive for. I just drove. I ended up driving to Half moon bay. There's a surfer's beach down there. I got out of my car and saw all these surfers. The next day I broke up with her."

He looked at me quizzically. "So you had some sort of revelation?"

"No. I didn't feel any differently when I went home. I didn't even plan on breaking up with her but the next day the words just started coming forth from my mouth. 'I don't want to be with you anymore.'"

"Huh, you're an odd duck McCrack."

"McCrack?"

"Ah, never mind. How'd she take it?"

"She was pretty upset. We'd been together for a few years."

"Did you regret it at all? Are you seeing someone else now?"

"Nah, I just, I don't know. I can't explain it."

"Oh," he said. He drank the last bit of his beer and ordered two more.

"I don't want another beer."

"That's okay then. I'll drink it," he said. He drank his full pint of beer in two gulps and then took the beer the bartender had set in front of me. "Did you know that alcohol when consumed in sufficient qualities produces all the effects of drunkenness?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"I have a portrait of myself in my attic at my parent's house. The only reason I go to my family's abode is to gaze on the painting. I wish that it would age but it looks the same every time I go there. My image in the mirror always looks older though. A fucking, fucking, fucking, shame."

"Yeah...."

We sat in silence for a few minutes then I finished the last bit of my beer. "Thanks for the beer Andy. I think I'm going to get something to eat."

"Alright buddy, a fucking pleasure meeting up with you. A rousing success on a multitude of plateaus. We absolutely must convene again."

"Okay bye."

William reread the conversation. It didn't make any sense to him. Why had Andy invited him for a drink? Did he want something but didn't say? William closed his notebook and looked out the window of his bedroom. He wondered what he would do if he had his own Golem.

From the park to the bar

The golem rose and walked forward, trudging on its clay stubs to fulfill its mandate. The golem was composed of a soft gray mud mixed with clay. The muddy substance squished as the golem moved towards the wall. As the golem neared the brick barrier Dante drew a breath. What would happen to his creation, he thought. Would it break through the building or would it stop? When the golem reached the wall it tried to move forward, relentlessly trying to push itself forward. Its momentum was stopped by the wall and its movements only mashed its soft clay flesh. Dante squealed with glea smitten with the actions of the golem.

William put down his pen. His notebook was filled with sketches like these. The notebook served as part diary and part writer's sketchbook. He rarely finished stories to completion instead jotting out a brief picture. His lack of time never allowed him to flush out the stories was what he liked to say to himself. He looked up from his notebook.

The sun was bright and hot. It cast its rays down on his fair hair. His white skin was turning a bright red burnt by the afternoon light. He sat at a picnic table at the Middleshore Park near the bay. He stood up to stretch his hands and his legs. He'd been seated for an hour. His hand was cramped from writing both a journal account of the past few days and the brief bit about the golem. He walked to over the grassy portion of the park to where the dirty water of the bay met the small beach. The tide was out and so the beach was composed of a dark soft mud. The mud made him think of golems. He'd never had much of a fascination for the Jewish protectors but found himself musing about them as he stared into the mud. He picked up a piece of wood that lay on the beach and threw it into the mud. It made the thick brown surface splat. He laughed aloud.

On the horizon was the Golden Gate Bridge. It was expansive and picturesque. He took out his camera from his messenger bag and snapped a picture of the bridge. The bridge connected Marin, a bougerois town north of the city with San Francisco. William couldn't remember if he'd ever been on the bridge but admired its constructions from afar. His phone began to buzz in his pocket. He took it out of his jeans and looked, it was Andy.

"Hello," William answered.

"Hey, what are you up to," Andy asked. In the background William could hear the sound of traffic.

"I'm down at a park by the water. What are you doing?"

"Well I was looking for a job, and now I've found a job, but heavens knows I'm miserable now," Andy said laughing. "Want to get a drink somewhere?"

"Its 3 o'clock in the afternoon."

"Yeah, I have about 5 hours to kill. I don't want to bother going back to San Francisco, I'm attending an important reading group tonight."

"You're in a reading group," William said with mild surprise.

"Yeah, we're reading 'Society of the Spectacle' at this hipster girl's house. I want to fuck her so I show up at her reading group. She's a prude but whatever. I've got nothing to lose but my chains."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, the chains," Andy said.

"What? Listen where are you now?"

"I'm up by Ashby Bart. My interview was up here in Berkeley. Want to meet up at Radio in Oakland?"

"Uh okay. It will take me a little while to get there."

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll wait for you there. Make sure you come this time," Andy stressed.

"Yeah, okay." William hung up the phone and looked at it for a few minutes. Andy rarely ever called him. William didn't understand why he was calling now. William hadn't bothered responding to his friend's messages and phone calls lately. He wrapped himself up in his work and spent his free time writing and reading. William gathered his stuff and got on his bike. He made his way east on seventh street towards downtown Oakland, wondering as he rode why Andy had asked to hang out. He'd never been close to Andy. They'd spent some time together at Dolores Park but the two of them never really talked. He'd seen Andy at shows and various events but they'd never delved beyond pleasantries.

The ride took about fifteen minutes. He locked his bike in front of Radio, a small red bar close to the downtown Oakland Bart. When he walked in Andy was already seated on a stool. He had two thirds of a pint of beer in front of him. He was tearing the coaster that the bartender had given him into tiny shreds. He looked up when William entered.

"Hey. You want a beer," Andy asked. He waved at the bartender who was idling at the end of the bar. The bartender came over and poured William a beer then looked at the torn up coasters in front of Andy with dismay.

"I hate when people do that shit," the bartender said. "Its fucking annoying to clean up."

Andy shrugged and turned to William. "So Billy, what have you been up to?"

"I don't think anyone has ever called me Billy."

"Not even your grandma?"

"I never knew her," William replied. He drank a sip of his beer and looked at it for several minutes. The two sat in silence.

Another day at Dolores Park

The sun was setting at the park. It was getting chilly. Lee had a coat on her thin pale legs. Her arms were stuck under her armpits.

"Hey there's no line at the ice cream truck," Warren said. "Who wants ice cream?"

"I'll go," Lee said. "Its going to make me freezing though."

The two of them got off of the lawn. They were both clad in cut off jean shorts, t-shirts, and cheap flat shoes. Lee was 21 at the time going on 23. Warren was 25 going on 20. He drank all the time while Lee lamented his drinking all the time.

"Wait, wait for me," Sarah said. She got off the grass and swiped off of the blades from her ass. She jogged lightly after them. Her brown hair bounced in the sun. She lived with Lee. The two of them had met at college and decided to get a house together on Guerro. The three bedroom place was inhabited by the two young women and then a third guy who they found off of craigslist. They complained about his not buying toilet paper, or cleaning, but often their conclusion to their bouts of complaining ended with "at least he's not a pervert."

"Where'd everyone go," Sarah said when she returned. A chocolate ice cream sandwich was in her hands. The dairy desert made her hands messy and there was a slight smudge of cookie substance on the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, Matt left with David. I don't know where they went," Andy said. He finished his speech with a pull from a can of PBR. Andy worked at a local bike shop. Considered awkward by his socially awkward friends he was accepted by his peers for his ability to fix their bikes for free and his uncanny ability to always provide a free can of beer to a friend in need, a friend indeed.

Sarah shrugged and sat back down on the grass. "Today I woke up so early. This guy across the street started screaming. I don't even know what he was screaming about. I couldn't sleep anymore so I got up and showered. I washed my hair."

"Now you don't have an excuse for not going out with the boy that will inevitably call you tonight," Warren said with a sly smirk on his face.

"What do you mean," Sarah asked. "I can always wash my hair again. This morning I didn't use conditioner."

"I haven't showered in like three days," Lee said.

"You're really rejecting bourgeoisie standards aren't you," Andy mumbled. He had just been laid off at his job and had developed a slight drink problem. It added to an already surly personality.

"Where is William," Lee said. She pulled at the grass and threw it at her housemates shoes.

"I haven't talked to William in a minute," Warren said. "I was talking to him on facebook but now I never see him."

"Yeah he doesn't come to the park anymore," Lee said. She looked off into the distance. "Do you know why?"

"I think he broke up with his girlfriend, but I thought he was dating someone new already," Sarah said. "I never see him update his facebook account. I should text him right now." Sarah pulled out her cell phone and started to punch at the keys.

"What are you saying to him," Warren asked. "Tell him to come to the park, or maybe tell him about that house show tonight. Maximo Park is playing. He loves them. He'll definitely be there. Tell him to come for beers here beforehand."

"Its getting so cold," Lee said. Goosebumps started to cover her white flesh.

"Its been cold for years, I can't decide if its the personalities or the melting polar ice caps inducing chilly winds. Probably the two are connected," Andy said. He spoke without looking at anyone. Lee looked at him quizzically.

"Yeah, okay done," Sarah said. She put her phone away. "Oh man our housemate said the funniest thing the other day. He was all fucked up on ecstasy. He's been doing it a lot lately. At least he pays rent..."

"And he's not a pervert," Lee interjected.

"Yeah and there's that. Anyways he comes into the living room where I was watching a movie. He looks at me and says 'You should take a shit while on ecstasy. It feels soooo goood.' He walked back into his room after that.

"I think shitting feels good in general," Warren said. "You know its a release."

"Except when you have diarrhea," Andy said.

"You always have the most negative comments," Lee complained. "What's with you?"

"I didn't realize that this was a celebration, I thought it was a social critique," Andy said. He finished his beer and threw it across the lawn. A bum came up and took it. The bum walked down the hill with the empty beer can and put it into his cart of empty beer cans.

"Lighten up Andy," Sarah said. "We're young, this is fun."

Dolores Park

"In this French town all these rats began to die in the streets," I told him. He picked at the grass, picking out blades and then tossing them in the light breeze. The wind was blowing softly in Dolores park. The ground was, thankfully, dry after a few days of rain. The morning mist had been burnt off by the afternoon sun and we were sitting on the hillside of the park. "The people collected all the rats and burned them and then a disease starting to break out. It was like the bubonic plague..." I trailed off noticing that William wasn't even bothering to listen. He'd been listless and depressed since he'd broken off with his girlfriend. I was trying to cheer him up by telling him a morality tale by Camus. He wasn't brightened.

He looked around us and got up. "I need a beer." He grabbed his bike and walked it down the hillside.

"Get one for me," I cried after him watching him bicycle down 20th street off the park to the local bodega.

"I don't get what's with him," Julie said. "He broke up with her, but is moping about."

"Yeah, total weirdfuck," Mac said.

"What the hell is a weirdfuck," I asked.

"Its like, you know, how there's a clusterfuck but its weird. Like when you're getting a blowjob and then there's a candle in your ass. That's a weirdfuck."

"There's nothing weird about putting things in your anus," Julie said. "You're being homophobic."

"Whatever, Joooolllllliiiieee," Mac said. "Besides what if it was a potpourri candle. How many people shove those in their asses?"

"You're so immature. Which reminds me of how I'm never going out with you in public again. Today," she said to me. Julie looked towards me and squinted. The sunlight was coming right into her eyes. "We were at Rainbow Grocery getting some beer, you know the one in SOMA, and there was some girl canvassing for Greenpeace. She said to Mac 'You look like you like polar bears.' He said 'No.' She said 'Well don't you care about the environment?' He said 'I care about the condition of your mother's corpse. If the ground around her is too soft it makes her a piss poor fuck.' We rode off. I was SO embarrassed. Mac you can be such a fucktard."

"Fucktard? Isn't that a derogatory term for someone who is mentally handicapped? Ableist," Mac retorted with a snicker.

I rolled my eyes. The two of them were always bickering. It made the time pass here on the hilltop. We got together at the park most sunny afternoons to drink beer after our jobs. We would pregame on the lawn before heading out for the evening. It was a convenient meeting spot for us. Mac worked nearby, Julie lived nearby, William went to school nearby and I, well I, didn't mind riding my bike to the park.

"Hey, did I tell you about how I got asked out by a midget,"Julie asked me. I shook my head. "When I was younger, like in eighth grade there was a midget that worked at the grocery store by my house. He thought I was older because I was tall. I told him I was only in eighth grade. He got pretty embarrassed."

I nodded. Julie liked to talk. Her stories were usually pretty lackluster. I liked that she talked, it made it so I didn't have to.

"What do you guys want to do tonight," Mac asked.

"I don't know. I'm pretty committed to hanging out with William. He's really down in the dumps about the whole break up."

"I don't really understand that," Julie said again. "He broke up with her."

"Yeah, why exactly did they break up," Mac said. He started rummaging through his Chrome messenger bag. He took out a tall boy of pbr and cracked it open. I reached out for it and took a draught.

"I don't really know. William keeps his emotions to himself. Maybe she said something or did something." I replied.

"Boys are so stupid. Its awful. You never know when you're going to fall in love with them, who you're going to fall in love with, and when you're not going to be in love anymore. They just don't fit into any plans," Julie said.

"Yeah, I guess personalities can't be scheduled," I said.

Dentata

"And that's the story of 'Honey Bear,'" I concluded, setting down the Murakami novel on the picnic blanket. We'd been dating for eight or nine months. I decided that we should have a picnic in Golden Gate park. The beginnings seemed ominous as we had to walk through a hoard of bums and pot smokers, not very romantic. We passed by a bunch of hippies playing drums on a hillside and a baseball park before we finally sat down. The area in which we were spread out was on a flat hillside. The hillside plateaued where we were. At the bottom of the hill was a group of young men playing soccer. The sky was blue with a few wispy white clouds gently pushed from west to east by a slight spring breeze. The ground was dry, the morning fog of San Francisco had burned off.

"That was really... enchanting," she said. "Its so cute that you brought that to read to me. Thank you." She smiled widely. Her lips parted so that I could see her teeth. The front two teeth were a little large for her small mouth, and her bottom row of teeth had never been straightened with braces. My cheeks lifted upwards with return, but my mouth was kept closed. I didn't want her to see my own teeth.

The day before our picnic I was reading a letter from my friend. She was telling me about how she recently cracked a tooth. Sadly she had no dental insurance. She worked as a waitress and she was given no benefits through employment, although she did get discounted meals. Her letter reminded me of a dream I had had that morning. In the dream I was seated at my kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. I was reading the New Yorker. I still subscribe to the magazine even though most issues get quickly perused then put next to the toilet where they are ignored except during long bouts of constipation. As I drank the coffee my teeth began to feel brittle. I rubbed my forefinger on the front two and they chipped slightly. I spit out the broken bits onto the table and ran to the bathroom. My front two teeth were jagged shards. I touched them gingerly and they shattered even more, only stubs remained. The rest of my teeth were not brittle but gelatious. They melted in my mouth, sometimes in lumps. I tried to prevent from swallowing the large chunks of enamel that became a thick liquid on my tongue. I spit out my teeth. It came out like thick phlegm. Soon I was vomiting into the bathroom sink. As a mixture of enamel and bile poured from my throat I woke up. My skin was slightly covered in sweat. I tossed off the covers of my bed and went into the bathroom. Opening my mouth I was relieved to see that my teeth were intact. I touched them lightly. They were solid. I brushed my teeth and flossed. They stuck in my gums. I was relieved by that they were unbroken, and unblemished.

"I love you," she said softly. She kissed my cheeks. I leaned into her and put my arm around her. We laid down on the blanket. I looked up at the sky.

"Do you love me," she asked. I breathed deeply, the silence was pregnant.

"I don't want to say things automatically. I don't want to be in a rote relationship where when you say 'I love you,' my automatic response is 'I love you too.' That's just not how I want to work. My feelings for you aren't ones of reciprocity but of giving. I want to say things that I feel when I feel them, not because I feel obligated to say things."

"Oh," she said. She brushed my hair lightly. Her fingers ran through my thin hair tenderly massaging my scalp.

"What do you think that cloud up there looks like," I said pointing at a lone white pillow in the blue atmosphere.

"Uhh.... I don't know."

Shopping at Tesco Lotus

The sounds of construction rattled in my head. The constant banging, clanging, and crashing of yet another condo project made my brain ache. Bangkok was growing, but its always being growing. Unfettered by rules and regulations the city's expansion seemed limitless. I rolled out of my bed, happy that I didn't have to work, unhappy about my state of sickness. Last nights libations were coming over me, rolling over, crashing into me like a wave.

It was high tide when I went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I shat for fifteen minutes, the third time since I'd woken up. My ass was red and raw from the alcohol induced diarrhea. I'd long ago learned about the effects of the drink on my bowels. The alcohol reduces my cells abilities to retain water. This leads to an outpouring of fluid in the intestinal lining which is poorly absorbed. My diarrhea usually lasts a couple hours until the alcohol is emitted from my body.

I stared at the wall of my bathroom while the watery shit slipped out of my anus. The nights events were a blur, another cliche. I had started drinking in my apartment after work. I'd been teaching at Wall Street for three months now.

It was an okay gig, teaching English to locals, and paid okay but the hours were erratic. Some days I'd go in at 9 am while others I didn't have to be in until 3. Yesterday I didn't have to go in until 2pm. I had eight lessons of forty minutes each, a decent workload. I got paid per lesson so I tried to average at least six lessons a day. It was more annoying than working at a school because of the erratic schedule and the varying monthly salary.

Once I got home I'd cracked open a beer and watched the sun slowly sink on the horizon. My apartment building had a nice view of the skyline from the roof. I stood on the edge of the roof while the gray, smog ridden sky changed color. The border between the buildings of Bangkok and the heavens shifted slowly. It turned from a dull orange into a grayish purple and then slipped into the darkness of night. The stars were covered by the ozone of smog that hung above the city preventing inhabitants from seeing the heavens. The skyscrapers lit up the streets with their lights as if they were fallen comets, jaggedly sticking up from the earth and still glowing with celestial energy.

I tried not to think too much as the night descended on the city which I now knew as my home. I tried to remember to breathe at regular intervals. I counted my breath and wondered if I could get it somehow to correspond with the speed of the setting sun. When it had become dark my breathing had slowed. I was a little drunk. I went back to my apartment and stared at my computer. It glowed like the building lights but with more of a neon light. It drew me like a fly to its glow, but like a fly I just hung about it, doing little. I checked my email, then checked it again, then I looked at Facebook, I flipped through people's photos, and checked my email again. I opened another beer and shut off my lab top.

I needed to break out of my routines, I needed something different. The desire to break out was the reason I'd come to Thailand in the first place, but three months later I still felt the same unnerving sense of isolation. I opened a copy of the Bangkok Post that was sitting on the table by my bed. The story on the back of the international section was about a woman on trial for murder. The woman had laughed during her arrest period and at the media circus had made jokes about her rabbit vibrator. Others commented on her lack of care with disgust. It reminded me of "The Stranger," by Camus. The main character wasn't on trial for his actions but was on trial for his attitude. I wondered if she would be hung for her blase attitude.

I put the paper down and went to the small refridgerator that came with the apartment. I got out a bottle of 1000 pipers and poured myself three shots. I downed them all within five minutes. Time started to blur, to pick up pace, and I began to feel more alive. When people say they feel alive what they really mean is that they are feeling a series of strong emotions and that's how I felt.

I went outside and took a cab to patpong. The red light district was worn from the years and the girls were worn from their work. A few of them had stretch marks on their small bellies from children. I drank a beer at a bar then moved onto the next bar. The bars began to blur. At some point I took a cab home. I dozed lightly in the cab. I got home and passed out in my clothes.

I decided to rid my hangover with a beer. I opened a Tiger beer and drank half of it in one long gulp. I looked around my apartment and decided to go to the supermarket. I finished my beer and grabbed my keys. I looked at myself in the mirror before I left. I was slightly dishelved but didn't care.

The On Nut Tesco lotus wasn't far from my house. A fifteen minute walk. I walked into the bottom of the shopping center and then took the escalator to the second floor. I wandered the supermarket for a half hour. I didn't know what to buy. Eventually I bought some more beer. I took the beer home and drank it until I passed out from drunkeness