gagging can't be good

12.7.2012

We live in a beautiful world that is going to get creamed.  John.  I didn’t write at all yesterday instead edited and edited the notes from the months after I left the Emirates and posted it right below here.  In that last month, June, I cleaned the flat, turned off the electricity, sold or gave away what I could.  Michael from Australia was a big help, as was Rob who took a sofa and table.  I stayed at hotels for the last week, the Rotana, the Hilton, where I first stayed in 1993 and behind the reception desk on the wall paintings of the countries founding fathers and I swear one of them looks exactly like this local fella who frequented the same India bars I kept in business for four years, and when I sold the car and paid the fines, then closed my account and took a three hour taxi to Sharjah airport.  No one from the university needed to accompany this time. 

An overcast morning, there is no sun and the mountains could be anywhere say the German tourists who despair of such bad luck on this day.  December 7, who in America doesn’t know this date.

And it is cold, cold enough to snow, wouldn’t that be nice.  Two generations up here haven’t seen the flurry stuff.  Hope all are warm with fires.    Well, today, it is to immigration, one last time this year for a visa, and then to lakeside to look at a place to crash and yes the hookah is going with me. 

12.9.2012

I wrote in my journal yesterday and is there anything there that might be interested here?  A family of Malaysian Indians check into rooms five and three and it’s only nine in the morning.  I’m sure they heard my coughing but to associate it with something legal in Seattle I’m sure there was no connection.  The oldest girl of three children is in room five doing a nothing chill.  Maya and Ama appear to be going down to Pokhara.  I don’t think they want me to go but sometimes language leaves intentions blurry until it is time for one of us to go. 

I stayed in a 600rs room at the Fuji Guesthouse, across from the very nice Baharai Hotel where I first stopped at their entrance and saw all the nicely dressed people.  The next morning I headed to the Tibetan camp and shared three hours with Nyima and Dolker and mom, who's name I keep forgetting.  I made an appointment to see him on the 22^nd and in one of those bizarre paradoxes said I hope to see him in heaven not here in two weeks.  I don’t want to see you again I also said because that means I was completely and stupidly wrong about the 21^st.  And when I come I want an exorcism.  The spirit who goes by the name of Job and who is responsible for leaving people think I live a charmed life, is going out of my head.  Charmed.  I’m semi-charmed.  I’m batty-charmed.  But come that Saturday there will be no more charmed.  There will be no more…

Of everything.  Facebook, this blog.  How can I continue communicating I have told I have told and I believed. And do I feel stupid.  Cognitive dissonance ends on this day.   

 

Bam!!  A new sofa, a four burner stove and a bottle of Finnish Vodka.  How do you drink this stuff?  Should it be in the fridge?  It’s naturally lime flavored.  All the rooms are full and it’s a Sunday.  No people on Saturday and Friday.  Go figure tourist logic.  And for the first time in memory I bought two movies and the Boss’s new cd, ironically after reading today of it’s lofty acclaim.  And having just finished listening to it the first time number nine and rocky ground.  A surprise to suddenly hear r and b and it worked. 

I didn’t think I’d be going down but yesterday’s decision to let Maya come down to Pokhara with a taxi to look at stoves kind of left the door open and seven and a half hours later back on top. 

The Indi-Malays in room five have left their door open tonight so wishing to be quiet I gag into a pillow and a wool blanket after hooka-ing it and while worrying about the gagging below at the banyon rest stop someone starts playing the trumpet blaring instrument, or should I say he's practicing with that instrument and then snare drums come from somewhere further below and it is not quiet for them.  Blow away troubadour, gag for good you noble pain in the ass.