Sometimes when I open my mouth and lips lacerate words in a high-pitched quick-paced Thai, I suspect there's a cultural veil billowing between us transforming my words into a pink mist. A freshly scented hint, inaudible, awkward and cool. And symbolic of nothing. At most, the air about them is slightly tintinnabulated, barely shivering with the nonthreatening, subtle disturbance that was me. And sometimes I imagine a distant cousin of this same veil is tickling each delicate iris of mine, teasing and mocking the things we see, tugging us into mutilation of this world we're in. Taunting us to believe we walk amongst distopia. A terrible place where everyone is miserable, shallow, depraved. Nothing is worth our time. With which we do what? Surely something wonderful. Kaytee Bodle is in Bangkok. In Bangkok and pending travel.
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