house of horrors

Ever since we moved into this ‘House of Horrors’ as caretakers for the winter, which ironically isn’t a house but merely a hall with some bedrooms and a fridge, Alex hasn’t moved from that spot. He just sits and types the same thing over and over, day in, day out.

Some say the travelling student lifestyle has gone to his head. The constant power-trip of complete freedom has ironically created the reverse effect! He sits, paralysed and paranoid that he’s not living to the fullest, it seems his desire to do so has crippled him, both physically and mentally. Capable of only a single thought.

Don’t lose the Game.

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grobic’s mirror

As a particular world transformed into another, I was suddenly, although not surprisingly, sitting, chatting to my friend Shyam. Our usual topics: films, in this particular case, dominated the discussion. After some amount of unmemorable conversation he suggested that I watch one named ‘Grobic’s Mirror’. ” Interesting,” I replied. “I’ve never heard of it.” This was indeed interesting, or rather more unusual, considering the work I did as a Clerk at Civic Video Coogee, attempting to memorise every actor/director combination for at least the last 2 decades of films worth watching. But, more unusually, or perhaps more unexpectedly, the next thing I did was wake up.

This was a few days before I left Hong Kong, I guess it was the last dream I had at The Residence from which I can still recall details.

Google yielded no result’s for “Grobic’s Mirror” let alone a reasonable result for Grobic on his own. I say ‘his’ although I cannot know for certain. Shyam pronounced it grow-bic, a surname I presume, for some unlucky fellow of Eastern-European decent, second generation living in New York City. Not many friends, or enemies. He’s somewhat transparent to society.

But all that is just speculation, I’ve never met him, or known it, whatever Grobic is. So I’ve memorialised the idea in the only way I know how.

pulp fiction

A short boat ride down the Chao Praya took us to Bangkok’s Siriraj Hospital, home to an infamous anatomical exhibit, commonly called the Museum of Death. Usually, I try keep the tone of this blog a little classy, but I have no doubts that ‘freaky shit’ is the appropriate term for this museum’s contents.

After that, nothing else seemed so interesting.

Yes, I understand this post has made no reference to Pulp Fiction, but we did every day.

no climbing fences

Abandoned car-park, adrenaline legs, aggressive waiters, the alchemistAlex, the atheist, Aquarius-Virgo, army man, barbed wire, barber shop, beware the fierce dog, big kahuna burger, Brazil – I’ve heard of it, brick-rock, burker durker burger, casual grocery shopping, choice, chuppa-chups, coke, compass, concerned dad, crappest university ever, depressed sunflowers, dial-up-Internet, dingo-dogs, disappeared, don’t touch the wires, eating poo, elephant poo, Emma, everlasting water, exaggerated Birmingham girls, extras on loop, Ezekial, false seat, fat clown Marilyn, favelas, feel your heartbeat, 5 baht flavour, French, frog-bug attack, Gage, the game, gap yah, garden sprinklers, gay experiences, graffiti, grand theft auto, half elephants, hand-stand guy, the heat, hello-kitty stickers, hostel-maze, Inception, Japanese hair, judgemental people, jungle in the school, kangaroo, keep talking, kite temple, laundry, lesbians, little bird business cards, loud-loud, m&m’s, many laughs, map, Matrix, micro-society, monk reading a book, movie sets, movie style motels, murder, no glass in the window, no time checks, not a simile, not listening, ordered singlets, oreos, paedophile-santa-claus passport, pagoda inn headless helmets, pants basically off, Pattaya, pens, pink Herbie, points-not-a-number-like-a-block, possibly-drunk-but-helpful-Kelly, purposeful insect museum, secret garden, security guard taking photos, 7-11 James Bond, shiny reflective wall, silent single file, slippery-dip in a spotlight, slow driving SUV’s, south-west park, sponge, squeaky shoes, stick together, super-long road, telephone booth, those people, 3.5 popes per square kilometre, tiger-cats, tiger-chimp, tiny Buddha up the stairs, tiny palm sized wallet, tourists, trapped in the moat, Truman Show, 23:40, two bells, unnecessary closeness, Vatican city pyramid, Vishnu arms, wash our clothes, water-bottle machine, which ways north, white picket fence, Winnie-the-pooh tree, wires above your head, women’s correctional institute, wonky intersections, yamaha sign, zebra crossing, Zeus-steamboat.

the killing fields

I found it quite difficult to connect to the events that happened in that place, despite being surrounded by reminders and guided by an audio-guide with first-hand accounts of the atrocities. It may have been the well manicured lawns and other tourist moping about.

It took some time, some effort, to fully understand what happened. One cannot simply walk into the, or any, genocide museum and comprehend. The audio-guides helped. Everyone had their own little world, that eventually grew and combined with the era 1975-1978, where almost 9000 people where killed in this place alone. It allowed you to absorbed the whole situation bit-by-bit, as it occurred.

Overall, it was estimated that one-in-four people were killed in Cambodia, and by Cambodians. Imagine if one-in-four people you knew were killed.

 

lok lak

I figured a lack of photos shouldn’t stop me from writing, but what to write about?

No real adventures, you see, only in my head. I’m feeling much better today, vis a vis no painkillers, but for the last four days I’ve been in this place recovering from a mysterious illness, maybe it’s mental, or was.

I have a theory that probably due to the awe in which I recently view my life, I gave myself a kind of vertigo, the symptoms of which I’m uncertain, which perhaps lead to a imaginative feeling of falling, almost certainly from somewhere above the desert, or similar, because when I hit the ground my back hurt and I had a fever. My sore throat might be from the Lady-boys. Like I said, a theory.

Additionally, and perhaps consequently, in my delirium, I lost my wallet. Which I haven’t done since I was eight years old. Wow, thats a strange memory that needs a new paragraph.

We were in Perouse Rd in Randwick where I grew up, Pat and Grum, my Grandarents, were there which wasn’t that common, usually we’d venture down to Rigney to visit them instead. Wanting to impress them, I’m sure, I’d showed them my prized possession, my Goosebumps wallet. I remember it contained precisely forty-eight dollars, aptly I was dubbed the Forty-Eight-aire. That eve, we visited the local cinema, the Ritz. I forgot the movie, or who else came to see it, but what I do remember is that I never saw that wallet again. Needless to say, I was disappointed.

Back to the story at hand. Even though I doubt I even lost forty-eight dollars, I lost many souvenirs from HK. It might be an omen.

Hah, I’ve don’t believe it is so. Although, I have thought a lot about that since reading the book Melissa lent me, called the Alchemist. It contained many omens, but it had other messages that meant more to me, despite my existentialist approach. So much so, that they may have changed the course of my year, but that’s to be determined.

Obviously, I’ll let you know as it unfolds, hopefully with pictures.

By the way, I’m back on the local food train, provided my delicate stomach can keep up. So I’m eating Lok Lak. Khmer beef is good. I recommend it.