They say the city never sleeps, its 3:17am and im in a taxi stuck in traffic on Sukhumvit rd and I’ve already been scammed once this evening, it seems I never learn. Around these parts the term metropolis takes on a reality of its own, dystopia; hookers and food vendors line the streets beneath the monolithic concrete balustrades of the skytrain, ladyboys ascend cramped stairwells followed surreptitiously by squat europeans eager to carry out their business transactions. Deposits only.
Tonight both teammates lost their fights on MX but I was able to gain some uniformed airtime as part of the 8 man tournament lineup. The rest of the boys went to Khao San, I had other business to attend to.
The warmth of the night air makes me question whether anything ever changes in the life of a city dweller, caught in this brief flash of existence we call self-awareness, the music is the same at any time of day.
Death, what is death? Death is the absence of life. If death is the absence of life, then what is life? Life is knowing, knowing that one exists separately from one’s surroundings albeit remaining a part of them.
Sat here outside this 7/11, I wonder how all the accumulated memories and feelings of a human being can simply dissolve the way a film might exposed heat. Is that it?
People here don’t live so big, every type and kind of deformity lines these streets, and yet in their way they still represent life. For one thing im lucky to be alive, and possessed of the gifts of health, all else is incidental.
They say the city never sleeps… Or is it just the people, each one of us born into some physical form or place perhaps far from our own choosing? Much as our instinct is toward bettering ourselves and our surroundings, shouldn’t we first just be grateful for what we’ve got?