my horse died today

the bar was slammed_shouting into a dark agreement: “this is the atmosphere”

 

the show: vagina monologues performed by bangkok rising_an up n growing volunteer organization aiming to raise awareness and promote advocacy to end violence against women and children across a myriad of cultures_values_beliefs_& experience

 

vagina monologues is a play written by eve ensler_ensler created the play based off of real interviews with women and the relationships they have with their bodies_this global non-profit movement promotes the international stage of the play as it esteems the voracious_the shame_the aggression_the wisdom_the liberation_the tenderness_the laughter_the ugliness and beauty_of the encompass; a womans experience of her body

 

the venue: checkinn 99_is a cabaret club and nightclub located off of sukhumvit in bangkok_thailand_both parties donated all funds from the performances to “in search of sanuk”: a local non-profit organization that reinvigorates survivors of torture & trauma

 

we retain meaning_we are not all survivors_some of us are

 

the play opens with a series of voices_most prominently rising towards justice_when “the story is told” & the “law is a living and breathing thing”_I witnessed both performances & each was appropriate & significant_during the first show I could not stop that loud guttural sometimes inappropriate laugh_ during the second watch I listened to the monologue “water village” a story based off of female genital mutilation & I had to leave

 

7-10 people in thailand agree that abuse is a permissible action_3-4 women in the united states are abused in some manner during their lifetime_I left the building_I came home_I drank_I left for morning to get breakfast with a friend_I left my purse with my friend_I blacked out and woke up in the lobby of a thailand police station crying as I asked them to take me home

 

“are you sure this is who you are?” they kept asking me_ laughing_the police chief drove me home on his new classy private white motorbike_I remember the folks giving me a tour of the station_I do not know if this was real

 

I went to a punk show the next night_I spiked my friends hair for three hours_I jumped in the mosh pit_I fell down_I was picked up_many times_I sat outside and someone kicked me in my back_I made out with a someone_I spent the night with a someone_I wondered what they hell was going on and where I was going to move

 

I went to work_I did laundry_I thought about how reprogramming the after effects of trauma are instrumental connections to the movement of ones own multiple characters

 

today my mother emailed me to let me know that my horse died_her mothers name was saturday sunday_she died on my sunday and her saturday_the best confluence of moments happened in forgiveness

 

I am a survivor_ it is the year of the lunar horse

my horse died today

The bar was slammed, shouting into a dark agreement: “this is the atmosphere”.

The show: Vagina Monologues performed by Bangkok Rising, an up n growing volunteer organization aiming to raise awareness and promote advocacy to end violence against women and children across a myriad of cultures, values, beliefs, and experience.

Vagina Monologues is a play written by Eve Ensler. Eve Ensler created the play based off of real interviews with women and the relationships they have with their bodies. This global non-profit movement promotes the international stage of the play as it esteems the voracious, the shame, the aggression, the wisdom, the liberation, the tenderness, the laughter, the ugliness and beauty, of the encompass; a woman’s experience of her body.

The venue: Checkinn 99, is a cabaret club and nightclub located off of Sukhumvit in Bangkok, Thailand. Both parties donated all funds from the performances to In Search of Sanuk: a local non-profit organization that reinvigorates survivors of torture and trauma.

We retain meaning. We are not all survivors. Some of us are.

The play opens with a series of voices, most prominently rising towards justice, when “the story is told,” and the “law is a living and breathing thing”. I witnessed both performances and each was alternatively significant. The first show I could not stop my loud guttural laugh. As I ingested my second watch, I listened to the monologue “Water Village,” a story based off of female genital mutilation, and the internalization of emotional scars forced me to leave.

7-10 people in Thailand agree that abuse is a permissible action. 3-4 women in the United States are abused in some manner during their lifetime. I left the building. I came home. I drank. I left for morning to get breakfast with a friend. I left my purse with my friend. I blacked out and woke up in the lobby of a Thailand police station crying as I asked them to take me home.

“Are you sure this is who you are?” They kept asking me, laughing. The police chief drove me home on his new classy private white motorbike. I remember the folks giving me a tour of the station. I do not know if this was real.

I went to a punk show the next night. I spiked my friend’s hair for three hours. I jumped in the mosh pit. I fell down. I was picked up. Many times. I sat outside and someone kicked me in my back. I made out with a someone. I spent the night with a someone. I wondered what they hell was going on and where I was going to move.

I went to work, I did laundry, I thought about how reprogramming the after effects of trauma are instrumental connections to the movement of one’s own multiple characters.

Today my mother emailed me to let me know that my horse died. Her mother’s name was Saturday Sunday. She died on my Sunday and her Saturday. The best confluence of moments happened in forgiveness.

I am a survivor. It is the year of the lunar horse.

.

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my horse died today

no man should be that adorably ridiculous

I’ll do some grading

I’m fucking tired man and super super bored, wishing that guacamole was my universe right about now

 

just thinking about operating .

and bushy .

pheromones . and language .

and something to brush skin .

 

the best confluence of moments happen in forgiveness

my horse died today

 

operating the room of her light to preserve in us a gallon more than pores

a name is what you need to die

 

he needs someone to circle his circles

you are trying to remember the telephone in a sensible manner

a girl watching is mouth

 

the best confluence of moments happen in forgiveness

if feathers could spasm

 

the best confluence of moments happen in forgiveness

my horse died today

my horse

died today

The world of topless folks

when your neighbors sleep on your head organs are nice as are orgasms

the man is a mistress in his academy

oral ocean floors that breaks into rows .

 

the story of the fist is narrated dust

the way piano wears the wire in our lungs

 

nothin like hey girl can u send me that pic on fb with your normal face & matching m16

about this typo

it was a typo

up with the many straw people

dresses in the lake

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train mates exist .

or that I did anything for that matter . fuck money . fuck sex . fuck feeling . or passion . or heart . and music . I don’t think anyone even cared much that I was playing violin out of vitamins and yelled at .

with a heritage and lineage that was lost she was called flower suffering from the heat . the baby birds hatched .

I will in the next year need to move to a different country . patient packs of girls in crowded areas collectively desiring . I made you come don’t ignore me cold in thailand running a bit late .

when welcome met creepy behind the water shop .

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hed come back & ask me if I practiced

I was in love & couldnt put the

(lost in a boy named song

shes circle is circles

dry to loneliness

bambie                 (ashes in some doe eyes

cool with our hair let down

day, he told        blow our cool with our hair down

the tag sold into human trafficking

love puff

pale cat & cozy

pools

stay on the roof till one

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like nothing happened

I was going to say something like:

hey I want to keep things cool at work, but I would prefer if we never spoke again. ever

thanks

and then realized his amount of idiocracy was far too grand to worry with a request

 

quite smitten with the word whimsies

when I imagine whimsies I take pictures off kittens and jacked lighter collections

if you think that god is a mountain there is no reason to also love the murderers with pitchfork nightgowns in the soft wet of the morning

dancing on salt blocks

 

deeply considering wrist warmers for this evangelical freeze up in this here

its a whimsies cult:

does god want you to say whimsies

you had me at whimsies

yeah it was just not meant to be

like nothing happened

 

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an expat living in bangkok for the holidays

Stories as containers

She lives with unusual stories. Eclectic fantastic interesting intelligent fucked up virulent sarcastic sweet loving thieving sexy ridiculous argumentative creative musical Chinese, Indian, Thai, Japanese, Irish, Polish, German, American, Iranian, Pilipino, Norwegian, Swedish, English, French, Scottish, straight, bisexual, Ladyboy … transience.

They live in a humid, tucked back narrow winding Bangkok Soi. The narrows hug a Buddhist temple, a Hindu temple, and a Mosque whose prayers echo in a weave through the cracked cement. Stray dogs and kittens play on the tin and tile rooftops. Some yell at the public prayers over the intercom, some giggle at the finale which undoubtedly says, white bum.  Let us not forget how they are cupped between their respective cemeteries.

This home is a serviced apartment. They get visitors, get yelled at, and smile at rumoring questions from the neighbors. They have dance parties with portable speakers and smart phones, and Miss Universe pageants in drag for Christmas. They achieve, joke, fail, fall in love, cry, and confide. They have concerts sitting on the burgundy front porch tiles and place fallen magnolia blossoms from the trees in their hair.

Some arrive and cannot wait to leave. Some stay for the night, some for internships, some have lived there for years. Some sew and sell hot pants internationally. Some teach and some work in hair salons. Some are bank tellers, some students, some cook, some play music, some audit, some work with jewels, some write, and some design type. The rooms are as diverse as their verse. Some have posh decorations, some do not clean their apartments for weeks. Some have fish tanks, and some take care of flying monkeys secretly as their pets. The rumors are true. Some of the rooms do not have windows.

The kaleidoscopes of these stories confront and address the insecure nostalgia and hyper aware exquisiteness of experience. Their families are equally as diverse. Some have had incredibly nurturing pasts and others have dealt with abuse. They are over and under achievers. They work together, sleep together, move away, we move in. They laugh too much and little, drink too much and little, sing, smoke, and eat too much and too little. They have yoga and aerobics on the roof and guacamole potlucks. They scissor and gel and dye their hair. They fall into canals, ditches, and the front entrance steps. They Skype for hours, converse for hours; express and share themselves in all respects.

Their stories structuralize who they are in addition to what they define as home. Home is anywhere they have this feeling. Of acceptance, of community, of the strangeness that grows the perspective of what is considered to be both love and working together.  Their home could be considered as temporary, but what are homes, but ones that cultivate and then change as we grow. Home necessitates growth. This is a moment to build, to cultivate, to acknowledge in both the gorgeousness of its temporality and the strength and power in the honesty of the encounter; to come home either today or someday.

Time is limited and they are forced to face, encounter, express, and heal. They further home, and community, and acceptance, as they cultivate love and empathy. This expression reveals a spectrum of world community; in a bend of light honest in both its failure and accomplishment.

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when transience considered bliss

I’m fucking cold and it’s fucking a tropical country what the fucking fuck

festive peanuts

xmas pics of funny looking kids with hot parents are enjoyable

I’m such a stellar awesome morning I really can’t even stand it

like parents with babies that look like grannies

 

my neighbor needs to close his

xmas pics of funny looking kids with hot parents are enjoyable

at least some of us are listening to music

I wonder what he erased

fuck me hard sex

totally sex

and later sex

as I mentioned before I have to make somtam

 

I tried to masterbate before class but I ran out of time

I have. God. clean sheets

with love without any of it

and chorus bells sex

 

every encounter is one that we learn to encounter ourselves

1004 days ago is either extremely specific or incredibly random

the bus is making me sappy

actual christmas will be great with hard core paintings of music & friends

holy fuck rumination is complete ruin

acid, we really care

 

I really wish that I had a family for my life. I can’t stop masturbating

pull out the sweater vests

love notes weighted in cement to

I have had just the most fucked up day and at the same time lots of clarity

but I really love to love

I don’t like to love anybody

so we lived & loved more

and we understood the past

selfie revolutions

the found said christmas in bangkok is growing

seven hours later I found some flowers

 

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on the bright side I recycled

& appear to be listening to music though there’s really no sound

this slowing down

it’s really getting to my feeling of kids

& their messes

& moving away

& just being crazy freaking tired at the cafeteria

 

this has got to be like the longest eternally damned wait for a day to end ever isn’t it

so unbelievably fucking tired

my air conditioning sounds like a church

burning down

and my prize is tupper wear

& a cat chalk board

it’s a beautiful poem

& it is my life

 

I’m going to lose it shit

the first christmas

won anyways

& they yelled yeah that’s my teacher

before I saw the boy who raped me today

before the competition

he said how are

& I did didn’t mean it

fucker

 

strange very strange day

hey what do u know we won

& that made me ill

& depressed

now apparently apart of this festive papaya salad competition

religion makes me want to vomit

windy amelie

 

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