Cry Me A River Lisped The Dribbling Hysteric

*

He still didn't know where they came from. The malls of ruined statues. The glistening hyper-spun glue that coated every surface. The half formed voices snapping in the unquiet wind. All was at discord and all was at peace. The stabs of pain were a reminder of mortality. The workers watched him as he passed; always at roughly the same time, 4 am. It had been the same in Sydney. Restless in Seattle was the only title that came to mind, trite, as he walked restless, gassap gassai, through this astonishing, 24-hour place, the fleets of neon pink and blue taxis passing beneath the overpass, the soaring high rise condos, the Ascot, The Sathon, Welcome To The Future, Ambience Arriving Soon declare the signs, Starting 3.5 MB, Mingle, Where You Live Says Who You Are, The Riverside, A New Kind Of Luxury, soar above them all they imply, away from the traditional streets, the crowded rooms, the Thais uncomfortable if they're alone, four to a room, a way of life at odds with the soaring skyscrapers and office blocks towering over the slums, or traditional neighbourhoods, however you wanted to describe them, coffee 12 baht, 30 cents, an aching heart, a handsome face, the young spilling out of some dance club, falang, falang, foreigner, foreigner, you want take care? They jostled each other, as if it was their duty in life to provide sexual services to every tourist. The girls demurred. They liked the young men they were with far too much to bother earning tips from some ugly old European. The boys told him they would be working at the X-Size bar the following evening. He laughed and kept on walking. The streets were so welcoming. The fabric of things embraced him. These were things he could never have made up.

It was such a shift from the malignant frame he had occupied for so many years. Now all these tiny things, scenes he treasured so much as they vanished before him in tiny glimpses, were all part of the daily assault. The ailing millionaire. Multi. Short. Hardly pretty. Lived near Mayfair, Highgate was it, with his wife of 35 years. And just happened to buy two Bangkok bars both called Hot Male Station less than a kilometre apart; and a go go bar called Night Boys. He had his pick. He had been in hospital. The funny looking man he assumed to be Jewish, although he told him he had been born in Africa with some sort of Indian heritage somewhere in there, lived in London, had an office in New York. The business man had embraced him merrily, fondly, as if he too was part of his paradise of flesh, though he was in his 50s and long past competing with anything the locals could offer; here in between, here as the doors shut, a brief glimpse, a flutter, the lady boy, Lee, or Mr Lee, we called him, he of the handsome husband. Best silicone tits in Thailand he would fondly declare, giving them an affectionate feel, a Thai sniff. She would laugh with him and stick them out even further, hard as rock, knowing he always tipped, was never trouble, quiet, watched, went home. These were too tight networks and he did not stray. Not here. Not today. Not now. The owner had bought the five story building for something like 35,000 pound, if he heard him correctly over the disco beat, and had occupied the top floor as his own private Idaho, the boys ushering him up into the secluded premises, everything away, everything darkness, all away, all away, the sick little frog man, the amiable giant, the millionaire, married, with a taste for the lads. It's so easy, he had confided to him, one early morn. What, do you take three or four up there at a time, he asked. Oh dear no, one is enough. My heart. Does your wife know? He shrugged. Thirty five years. Three children. She good. I love her.

As if that mattered, as the sky lightened. Already the sois were aflicker with activity, the street peddlers, the morning food, coffee now, and toast and jam, all for a few baht, the western influence, jostling with the spicy "pet" traditional Asian breakfast; in a city which was remaking itself by the day, a new giant born every day, picturesque abandoned houses waiting to be redeveloped, time out of mind, time a strange little nugget dancing silver before him, tired at last. He tipped the handsome doorman who always saw him safely into a taxi. The desperate roamed in that hour in between the day and the night; the older, trickier "boys" who hadn't pulled a customer accosting him in the poorly lit streets or just whiling away the last of the night before going home to sleep for the day. He knew when he was fair game and when he was safe. There had never been any trouble. He would open the morning gate quietly and nestle back into bed with the one he had picked because he knew he would fight off all the others, protect his interests, make sure he was protected. An easy sleeper, like many Thai men, at first the lad never knew he would disappear in the middle of the night, roaming the streets of Bangkok just as he had roamed the streets of Sydney, fundamentally restless, staring fascinated at the 24-hour building sites with the welding flares lighting up against the unfinished structures, the workers in their blue outfits covering the site at night, delineated under the arc lights, more striking than during the day when their tiny figures were overwhelmed by the clutter of the city, muffled by the pollution haze. Now his bed buddy was used to the fact that he wandered around at all hours of the night; knew perfectly well sex was not the motive. Kun gassap gassai, you restless, he would say, with a kind of increasing affection, or at least understanding, as the months past. All foreigners were strange, essentially beyond understanding. Yet the spasmodic pick had worked to a large degree in an imperfect world. Happy with his new station in life the boy would drive off to university in his car proud as punch, the sound system pounding with joy. He would look on from the front porch with a kind of affectionate pleasure, having woken to a clean house and Thai breakfast laid out on the kitchen table, glad that at least someone was enjoying the fruits of his labours. It was a different place, a different world. Each day he learnt a new word. Buhen Phai. Different. Rayn lahp or luek lahp. Secret. No one would ever know what the world really looked like from this side of the multi-flared windows. I wave you goodbye. I welcome you into my heart. In the wide glittering spaces of the airport, under the security cameras, he shrugged. Good to see you old friend.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://news.google.com.au/nwshp?hl=en&tab=wn

LABOR Party national president Anna Bligh has backed a complete review of the government's border protection policies

The call comes as political unity over the Christmas Island asylum boat disaster crumbled.

As the frantic search continued for survivors of Wednesday's horror sinking, the opposition said it would not join a proposed bipartisan group announced by Julia Gillard yesterday.

The rebuff came as The Australian learned that Indonesian authorities were searching for an Iranian in the belief he had planned the doomed people-smuggling operation.

It can also be revealed that the two patrol boats that participated in yesterday's rescue, plucking 41 survivors from the sea, were stationed off Christmas Island only because the seas were too rough to resume regular patrols.

The official death toll last night rose to 30, including four children and four babies, after divers recovered the bodies of man in his 20s and a boy about 10 years old, near the sunken hull.

However, the government, which yesterday announced three investigations into the tragedy, said the toll was likely to rise because up to 100 Iraqis, Iranians and Kurds were believed to have been aboard the boat.

Locals said bodies could be trapped for weeks in underwater caves at the site of the boat wreck, 200m from the island's only safe harbour, Flying Fish Cove.

Ms Bligh, the Queensland Premier, speaking in her federal leadership capacity with the ALP, yesterday agreed the "catastrophic tragedy" would raise questions about whether Christmas Island should continue to host the nation's biggest immigration detention camp.

She said the Prime Minister's decision to return to work from holidays demonstrated that she understood the implications for "policy settings in relation particularly to this island".

Asked whether the Indian Ocean territory had become a magnet for people-smuggling, Ms Bligh told The Australian: "I really do think it is premature to be jumping to specific conclusions. All I am saying is that . . . when a shocking incident like this happens, it's incumbent on all of us to have a really good look at all the settings, and we should have the courage to do so.

"This is an absolutely catastrophic tragedy and when we understand better the circumstances that led to it . . . I would expect that we as a nation would have a long, hard look at what it all means."

http://www.smh.com.au/technology/technology-news/tagged-and-triumphant-assange-breathes-fresh-air-again-and-heads-for-the-manor-20101217-18zv4.html

Julian Assange has emerged triumphant from custody in London, more than four hours after the British High Court upheld bail with tight conditions, including electronic tagging.

As he stepped through the doors of the British High Court on the dot of 6pm to thunderous cheers, he stopped on the steps, smiled and said it was “great to smell the fresh air of London again”.

Dressed in dark suit and collared white shirt, Assange looked pale but elated and defiant, immediately thanking his supporters worldwide, as well as his legal team, led by Australian QC, Geoffrey Robertson.

He expressed gratitude to “all the people around the world who have supported me and my team while I’ve been away, to my lawyers who put up a brave and ultimately successful fight and those who provided sureties and who provided money in face of great difficulty”.

He also thanked members of the press who “dug deeper in their work” and the British justice system “where if justice is not always an outcome at least it is not dead yet.”

With a deep breath, he said that during his time “in solitary confinement in the bottom of a Victorian prison I had time to reflect on the conditions of those people around the world also in solitary confinement, also on remand in conditions that were more difficult than those faced by me. Those people also need your attention and support,” he said.

Sunset Dreaming by Carlotta Ceawlin.