Bangkok...

Because everyone deserves a second chance...

Bangkok...

I got in around 3 last night and I don't think I'm staying. This isn't Bangkok. Things aren't good here. I told my driver to take me to my hotel, the third one I thought I could stay in during the last 3 days and he told me I couldn't go there, that the whole of central Bangkok has been sealed. He took me somewhere else, somewhere not too far, where I am now the only Farang walking the street. When he dropped me off he said exactly, "no snipers here good luck America."

Last night when we were turning off the highway, I could hear small crackles coming from not far. We drove past barricades of tires and bamboo on the Red's perimeter. He showed me spots in the street where fights had taken place the day before as we sped by, as we crept through the Reds' zone. It was close to 330 in the middle of the night and the Reds were assembled in large numbers, hundreds of their cars parked along the side of the road, inside the barriers. Someone was on a megaphone and rallying and I had this moment of adrenaline like fuck, this is what I came for this is not what I came for. I'm not afraid of what's happening out there. I have ultimate respect for it.

I haven't slept really since I can't remember when. Last night, I laid in bed for an hour or two before some light started to creep in through my windows, as I could hear more crackles, maybe worse than crackles. From my balcony, plumes of black smoke were rising into the sky. One would burn out, another would start. Walking the streets this morning, I was eating some fruit I've never seen before and saw 4 military trucks pass me by. They're shuttling troops in by the hundreds. More Reds are coming. I think I've seen enough.

Plans Change, We Understand...

Says Orbitz when I cancel my original hotel reservation in Bangkok, after I read that the military is closing in on the Red Shirts in Bangkok. There's a line in the original Ghostbusters where Ray says something to Peter like your girlfriend is living in the corner penthouse of spook central - in reference menacing and apocalyptic ghouls and ghosts threatening to unmake the world and Manhattan. That's the line that came to mind when I looked at a Thailand native's Google Map of the affected area, the area of Bangkok where hell is about to break loose, and realized my hotel is the fucking EYE of spook central. It's the kind of locale that will find the Red Shirts hiding in the lobby when the army moves in, which is going to happen any moment now...literally any fucking moment if it hasn't happened already.

My first instinct was that it felt like destiny, that this was absolutely something that I needed to do. Remain there. Ignorance at its worst. I'm not. I'm moving off. Because this isn't my fight, and it's something I can not pretend to understand, even if at times I pretend to.

I hope Durban is on my page.

Because I Know He Reads This...

It's settled John.

I'm leaving May 15th. Check how many days I lose flying from Los Angeles and you'll know when to meet me in Bangkok.

Don't make any plans for three to five months and be ready to fucking work.

And sleep well brother, I know I finally can.

Tonight.

Durban...

Is in my head, hard, all the time these days. He won't relent - we have to go we have to go we have to go. When something creeps into his head, it becomes unstoppable. He knows me, all too well, knows my growing need to flee. I've been trying to keep things from him as best I can - not letting him in on anything until it is absolutely necessary. See, John has little patience. He has no patience. He makes me feel like I have an abundance, which is astoundingly not accurate. The thing about knowing John for as long as I have is that we have something of a shorthand. We've seen a lot of the world, been through a lot of the same shit. It makes this easier, our flow. He's been sending me pictures, one every hour on the hour today saying something like book it already motherfucker what are you waiting for...



I keep on telling him, keep on trying to explain my life, how he couldn't understand it and he usually says something like what's there to understand. Then, ditch your fucking crutches. Then, all you are these days are crutches, and weak. Then, writing bitch posts about fucking gingerbread houses and our book that you're trying to sell to New York. Then, fuck New York, they'll never understand us anyway. Then, that's not what this is about. Then, I thought this wasn't about that - or didn't need to be about that - that one would always happen without the other - that nothing is contingent and if you say it is, then you are finished my friend and not only that but that I might not want you as a friend anymore because you used to be so immune to traps - so immune. I usually take a breath and say nothing or say something like Mid May, over and over but for whatever reason, it's never good enough for him, as if I expected it to be - as if he expects me to leave tomorrow, say something like I'm on my way John, see you in Bangkok. I still have a couple ends to tie up in life or so I tell myself. No, I do. The point, I keep telling him is that someone has to sell this book - and he sure as hell isn't going to do it. Someone has got to give us weight, relevance. That's on me, and I keep trying to explain this and he doesn't seem to care, and there's really nothing I can do about that except tell him that my calendar is circled.

Our time will come again. It's approaching. Love you, brother, now leave me the fuck alone for a month. I'm trying to make you famous.