Although I must say that as this year continues on, the pristine image of a certain country has been muddled over in my eyes. I still respect its culture and history, currently reading Rouse Up O Young Men of the New Age! , which is written by a rather interesting author, and then translated by one of the most respectable professors I've had in the past four years. However, word of mouth in addition to various images have led me to the irrevocable conclusion of how despicable some circles of people can be. The artificially coloured hair, pristine curls set in iron, false eyelashes, and pallid faces framed with toxic cheeks-Victorian dolls of the New Era. All of it disgusts me. Even more so, because in the past I had wanted to be like them. Such a strange turn of events, that my perceptions should be realigned. Promiscuous, twisted words, coming from human sewage, poisoning everything they touch. How could I not be alarmed?
A bright red exit sign.
I enjoyed meandering in this unknown country, with cap and camera. It was novel(?) entertaining(?) encompassing previously untouched senses? Three scrap books later I find that this country is the same as any other country, with its own vices and virtues, but recent events have underscored the former.
Dream 1:
Bright signs (but not too bright and gaudy like those of Vegas and casinos), signs enlivened by the light akin to temple lanterns. Graceful ladies with faces like swans tippering about with small satchels in hand. Smoke from stands, honest workers slaving away at the grills. Clean mountain air and the sound of running water. The smell of the earth and stone paths. Wind and natural wood houses. No nails. Transition to a bustering city, full of industry and mechanical life. 90 degree bows and set smiles, rapid chattering. Toys.
Dream 2:
A train winding through a forest. An ancient song. Summer heat, even hotter pools. Naked women and bath etiquette. Fever. A dinner set for twenty, as a women sits in the corner like a folded paper doll, at attention for anyone's call. Twenty first century enslavement. Soft, wisping voices and dried scallops. They tasted like candy. Three streets and crackers made from leaves in the area. Rice paddies and bent backs.
REM:
Dreams of curved red lips, blushing cheeks, and toxic words. Wrath, Greed,Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy, Gluttony. Pairs on beds, bottles on tables, empty glasses, and drunken stupors. Fleeting glances and whispered words. Touches in a dimly lit bar and nightclub. Tottering back to collapse onto a bed together. Mistakes and regret on another's part. A long awaited, final departing. Righteous anger in a bloodshot face, teeth filmed over from the grime of last night. Hair and bed a mess, last night's mistake still slumbering. Unplug.
Dream 3:
Quiet secrets, hidden smiles, circles of people, with one excluded. Conversations of past debauchery. Regretfully giving up a body in the moment of passion..wasn't it taught that passion is pain? Dinners and drinks until five in the morning..so this is what is done in this country three days out of every week. A heady, sickening feeling. Forced smiles in the brain dead faces.
It was an awakening. A $1,890 well spent I suppose. Pity the fool, yet all the world's a stage. These filthy people spreading disease and moral plague. Am I being judgmental? Holier than thou? Not meaning to, when it is my only human reaction to hearing about one night stands and intoxication transitioning to unconscious vomiting. A lovely tape set on repeat. I hate these fake brown-orange curls or straight black hair, pink lipstick smiles, pristine white porcelain faces. The sirens of the island. And now it is the other foreigners that have arrived. Freely giving of themselves, among other things. But the blame should not be put on them only. It is the ones who love the attention hypocrites of the term attention whore to love, and feed these bird-women. Allowing them to follow and continue to take in their poison.
Breath like acetone. Glazed eyes and loss of basic motor control. What kind of mind would invite such a thing into bed? Although I suppose there are those with dead eyes, skin aged and cracked regardless of years, but dependent on the user. Caresses and sweet words would tempt any lonely traveler. After a year I have come to realize the allure of such a place-the easy life, of women and money. Invitations from multiple women, the boundaries cracked by strong drinks and welcoming smiles. Entertaining conversations compared to the constant verbal abuse of home. The question of deception and quite reasonably, distrust.
The moral of the story is never to commit to any form of romantic relationship across certain* countries or continents. When one is in A- for instance, eliminating small pox or feeding children, it is a different story. But when another is in B- for instance, to drink by the rivers or in the rooms of questionable women well, that speaks for itself. Pity the fool that falls in the same traps.
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