YES, YES FOR MYSELF
Well. I don't go nowhere much. A
small trip here, a small trip there. On
the ground, mind you. Nothing of that
'flying' stuff for me. Just not interested.
I maintain my own rigorous control
over the space and the time of my own
imagining. They make now Bangkok
Guidebooks for that. Fodor's or
Baedeker's combined. Take that for
the umpteenth time. In the middle
of all my own teeth. I Am Tired. If
there's a plural to misery, I got it.
-
Anyway, all I've noticed is, the people
with the money - what do they do?
They end up spending it on such trips
or their dining. Piss it away like it never
existed no matter. Get high and mighty
about where they've been - where they've
let someone else take them. To fit on that
narrow-gauge railway of conceit.
-
Past a certain point, you can't speak. Your
tongue gets tied, your ideas perverted, and
everyone else has no brain to listen. You
begin talking with your own crowd
and believing that's all there is.
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