2001-08-19 - 7:34 p.m.

i do have to tell you first that ubud bali was my favorite town and time spent alone. quaint town in the jungle. i got an incredible massage overlooking a rice field at sunset, bathed in dozens of flowers, got some scrub down with saffron, salt and yogurt. after the massage i was late to a dance i was to see, so the young spa woman, drove me on the back of her motorbike. it was night, i was orgasmically relaxed, i closed my eyes, held onto her sensual, womanly, protective waiste, felt the warm air fly threw me and knew that with the exception of having a child, that if i died today, i'd be completely fufilled and content. i flew.

wow. i felt incredible. shopped my brains out, helped the economy. did my part. heftily. decided in a day in bangkok to go to aussie, drove the agent nearly mad getting my tickets to leave in the hour, raced about town, picking up this and making that work cuz i'm anal, insane and just love to get the plans JUST MY WAY. fly in here out there at this time, then there. that's wya i m;ust have it. and i make my life incredibly complicated in an effort for simplicity.

but then i got to bangkok... i wrote this from breakfast this morning. i am now in singapore for a stop thro to MELBOURNE. THATs right kittens i'm on my way to see those god damn kowala's!!!

bangkok...

last night i slept with my money belt and knife at my pillow. i arrived in bangkok at midnight and wanted to be near the train station so i ended up staying in an $8, worth 3 place in chinatown. rolling thro the neighborhood i thought to myself how all over the world, saigon, bangkok, LA, chinatown mimicks itself of a seedy, fast business, quick stepping, delapatated area, filled with reds, tradition and dead ducks.

i am grateful to see that my toast and coffee are standard everywhere as well.

i pulled up to the hybernating street to a small hotel where i refused to get out of the car claiming to the driver that i didn't think it was my hotel as i couldn't read the chinese. he said the magical words, oh r u scared?

i gleemed, oh no i just think its yukky. and clearly every nation understands the word yukky, no?

a family of five just stared at me untill i looked up and smiled. no white person probably ever eats at this cavernouse "cafe". five of the warmest smiles ever.

i muscled the receptionist over price and droppped my tight shoulders a bit as i saw a poster advertising a transvestite show. transvestites and gays make me feel more comfortable in any city.

this short old chinese man carted my bags to the 3rd floor. my already cramped stomach turned uneasily as we walked past black rusted iron bars overlooking open air down onto project style pads stacked onto eachother in an desperate attempt to live. the few butterscotch tiles that were still surviving on the floor lifted with my foot as we walked by in complete silence. i almost lost myself when i saw hanging from one of the iron bars, a dirty dishrag and a pair of faded everest green gorilla sized underpants with a large copper stain covering the crotch. i stopped in pure reverance at the stunning beauty of it. the hillarity.

i only had big sized bills, but i had to tip this old man who probably cracked his back carrying my ridiculously heavy back pack. i shut the door, examined the stained cracks in the walls, the simplicity of the room and wondered what went on in this small bed when i wan't here. i thought of being raped, robbed, and killed without a soul knowing as i locked the door and threw the chair up against it. despite cramps and fear, i slipped away dreaming of pain pills and being queen of the world.

this morning i realized i must of looked insane pulling up to this motel in a mercedes ride (becuz i couldn't wait in the taxi line at the aiport with the cramps i had), with beauty and youth on my side and shiny beads at my neck. eyeing the place in plain light, my artists heart sang.

i photographed again. only a few pix, but the way i used to, with respect for these brillant pieces of life. with awe. this brought me back, drew me out. i haven't clicked a pix the whole rfucking trip, claiming to practice just being instead of doinng. but to be honest, this side slept. and she is the most alive and vivacious part of me. and that muther fucker art gall owner put her to rest. but never again.

the old man called me by my name this a.m. as i butterflew around snapping pix, beggin him to be in one. he relented and then snuck me around the dark shadows showing me opportunites for shots of painted sharks and such to take. i was alive. i'm chocking back tears right now in this cafe filled with curious chinese smiles. i'm so alive, it utterly hurts, it burns in me.