When the American coach of the Saigon Heat died under murky circumstances years ago, ESPN wrote about it, with a long quotation from my novel,Love Like Hate, in an accompanying video. One of the photos it used was of Bangkok, however, and not Saigon, but what’s the difference? Southeast Asia is Southeast Asia! Of course, only fools think that.
In 2010, The New York Times wanted an account from a Vietnamese about the Fall of Saigon, so it tried to contact Pham Thi Hoai, a Hanoi-born writer who was nowhere near Saigon in 1975. Further, she couldn’t send them anything since she didn’t write in English. Since the deadline was near, I gave them something instead.
When not lying, the American media are often clueless, but if you don’t know this by now, you’ve probably been Jewjabbed two, three or four times, and think Putin is about to run out of missiles, drones, trucks, chewing gum and condoms.
I’m back in Vung Tau. It’s raining hard. Though my cheap coffee is barely drinkable, I’ll order another one, to fuel this article. Water cascading on the tin roof sounds like infinite applause, so I’m well loved, obviously, but Rilke did say, “When people start mentioning your name, change your name.” This pestilent rain that’s trapping me in an unfamiliar cafe sure knows my name.
Though ESPN thought Bangkok could sub for Saigon, those two cities are super distinct, with the latter, my hometown, much messier, thus more alive, though not necessarily in likable ways. Nothing is more alive than war, eh? At my blog, there’s a crank who would show up to bitch about Vietnamese sidewalks and traffic, but even a blind man can cross the street here. He just has to move very slowly.
In lovely Bangkok, I rambled, for you must measure everything with your body, one stride or mincing step at a time, and you must ogle or steal sidelong glances at everything. If you don’t have legs, measure each inch with your nose and belly as you slither. If eyeless, you can still sniff each pebble, toe and turd.
[Bangkok, 10/14/22]
As everyone and his grandma know, sex tourism is big in Bangkok, and there’s something there for granny too, if she’s long bereft. Degenerate or simply so lonesome, it hurts, foreigners flood to Bangkok to stick their pitiful yet prideful sorrow into someone’s hole, or have their plumbing plugged. If bashful, they can simply watch fake love onstage.
I also got my action in. Outdoing y’all, I located for myself, and myself alone, Bangkok’s biggest pussy, and I didn’t just stand there, hard up, to stare at this foreboding cave, but squeezed all of my sick self inside, so I was home, and more home than you can imagine, so go ahead and hate me! Envy away!
Miserable, we look, and since we constantly flee from actual experiences to take refuge in a small, flat piece of metal, plastic and glass, we can’t be more miserable. In our pant pocket, we have live sex shows on demand. Virtually sated, we slackly agree to be bullied, poisoned, deformed or even killed. The tortured are voluminously entertained.
I vaguely remember Schopenhauer saying an indication of man’s misery is the fact he can only look, mostly, at the world’s richness. Since I can’t find anything remotely like that online, I probably butchered it. Maybe it’s not even Schopenhauer. Not the rambling, gladhanding type, dude was such a downer. Down with Schopenhauer!
Before leaving the US, I gave all my books to my friend Ian Keenan in New Jersey. When young, I routinely sold books when broke. I sometimes paid for food with pennies. Clearly, I was not destined to have an actual library.
My old professor Stephen Berg had thousands of books. They surrounded his three desks, at home, the University of the Arts and the American Poetry Review. With tilting stacks obscuring each other, they barely left room for Stephen Berg to walk to his chair. To be drowned in books was his comfort. I’m not so lucky.
In Bangkok, I didn’t go anywhere near seedy attractions, but explored pleasant, residential neighborhoods, rich and poor.
Many of the affluent live in newly laid out, ruler straight cul-de-sacs that are very long. Not meant for through traffic, you must retrace your steps to get out. With no businesses, thus few live bodies, they are odorless and mostly silent, thus have nothing in common with organically evolved alleys, what I’m so used to in Vietnam.
Money buys distance. The rich everywhere dread rubbing against riffraff. They fear our armpits, imperfect teeth and grubby claws. Only the prettiest among us are allowed to become house niggers.
Well, fuck you too, but recently, we’ve been told to keep our distance from each other, which makes no sense, for we must live, work and travel on top of one another. We ain’t got no room, massa.
Maskless, I traveled in subway or skytrain without a problem. When one old guy stared at me disapprovingly, I just ignored him. It was very rare to see another rider unmasked, and nearly everyone was also fixated on his cellphone.
A young woman had the tryzub on her cap. Before 2022, she may not have heard of Ukraine, but cellphone obsession, mask wearing and support for Zelensky’s war against Putin’s Russia have become parts of the conditioning, or brainwashing, of the masses worldwide. Proudly correct, she’s au courant, and most likely Jewjabbed three or four times.
[Bangkok, 10/15/22]
One afternoon, I splurged on three hard-shelled ground beef tacos at Wraptor. Of course, good Tex-Mex is nirvana. Plus, it’s been a while. On Wraptor’s tables were clear plastic screens to prevent diners from infecting each other with the coronavirus. Airborne viruses only zap in straight lines, you see. Pinged against any hard surface, they die instantly. Of course, it’s a Jewish joke, with poker-faced Bourla, Walensky, Garland and Unz, etc., the deftest and deadliest of comedians.
The waiter admitted he had been jabbed three times, and the waitress four. When I told them I hadn’t been jabbed even once, they gave me a surprised look, and probably thought I was suicidal.
In a cheap noodle joint, I noticed many photos of King Bhumibol, alone or with his family. They were placed rather chaotically inside a large frame, the way you’d display family photos at home. Very curious, this worshipful yet loving identification with royalty, as if they’re merely the most distant of relatives, and not inhabitants of an entirely different universe.
There are many photos of King Bhumibol with a camera, so he’s like an overwhelmed visitor to unfamiliar places, a mere tourist. No scepter or sword in ornamented scabbard, this mass-produced accoutrement renders him more common, almost goofy, makes him appear as lost as us, albeit with billions in the bank and an army of servants.
Although a king is as stinky as any man, and may not excel at anything, he’s lifted above the rest, and this miracle alone somehow inspires those who must earn their daily mouthfuls by wading through mud, shit, garbage and abuses. The obligation to pose as a God, though, must be terrible.
Most Thais, though, considered King Bhumibol a living god, and the flood of grief at his death four years ago was genuine. If nothing else, King Bhumibol had the regality of a first-rate statesman.
When pestered by a foreign journalist in 1970 about his rural betterment program, that it was only a feeble response to Communist unrest, King Bhumibol calmly replied, though with a touch of irritation, for he was a king, after all.
“What you think about what the Communists are saying about schemes like this, that you’re involved in?”
“Depends on the ones. Sometimes they say they’re the initiators of this scheme. Sometimes they say this scheme is the devil’s scheme.”
“But in a sense, there’s truth in that. They might be claiming that if it were not for their actions, you and the government might not be doing these things.”
“You like to push this question,” King Bhumibol smiled. “This is a half-truth. If they were not there, we would not have trouble, and we would have built this dam a long time ago. But if… because they’re there, we must take the trouble to come here, because the people who build this, they want to have some encouragement.”
“You’re saying this is evidence you’re winning?”
“Winning against what?”
“Communist insurgency.”
“Oh, I don’t know, but we are winning against hunger. This is what we are doing. We are not fighting against people, we are fighting against hunger. We want them to have a better life. If we make this, and they have a better life, people you call Communists will have a better life also, so everybody is happy.”
So charming, isn’t it, the leftist farang’s “schemes,” as if building a dam was merely a ploy or trick, and not something with lasting benefits for common folks? If you were king, would you have been so patient, and would any recent US president have been so nuanced with his answers? King Bhumibol didn’t claim to be kicking Communist asses, but merely to achieve something particular in a specific locale, and his presence there was needed to boost the dam builders’ morale.
For several years, I’ve been branded a Nazi by the Jewjewed wokesters. Now, they will undoubtedly tag me a royalist. Whatever, man. Those charming soyboys can go castrate themselves, and not just preach it to toddlers.
Sticker in Bangkok, “THE FUTURE IS LADYBOY.” Another, “PUTIN SEE U IN HELL.” English graffiti on a concrete wall in an alley, “FUCK THE ARMY.”
The most prevalent messages in Bangkok, though, are venerations for king and Buddha, and whatever you think of that, such attitudes have sustained them for centuries, and will enable them to outlast the incipient demise of the USA, a flashbang in the pan that’s already petering out after 246 admittedly exhilarating if often atrocious years. Many clams, tortoises and bowhead whales have lived nearly as long, though not, sadly, Bangkok’s largest pussy.
At least I was briefly inside, for real.
[Bangkok, 10/14/22]
[finally on a pedicab back to my room in Vung Tau, 10/16/22]
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Oct 21, 2022·edited Oct 21, 2022Liked by Linh Dinh
Most Thais I know don't like the current king but loved King 9, his father. Yeah, he was the wealthiest monarch on the planet but actually did a lot for poor people and was great at PR. Our rulers in the West are only good at PR for the people they rule who already feel a need to like them. They obviously hate the people they rule so anyone who isn't a willful idiot understands that they don't have their subjects well being at heart.
Most thais, I know, hate the protesters who are color revolution tools of the Jews. The Thais might not get those dynamics but they view the monarchy as part of Thai culture and feel that people who don't love it should leave.
The whole mask adherence here is off the charts and Thais claim that they no longer can imagine ever leaving their home without a mask. They say the mask is now part of their body.
My Thai wife feels that in 2 years if there are no more lockdowns you may commonly see people without masks. I have found that the working class is the most likely to go without them and middle class women are the most loyal in wearing them. Like elsewhere the wealthy Thais tend to put on a show but don't see themselves as needing to adhere to the Covid hysteria they mandate for the masses. You could see that in the lockdowns. Thai public and private schools were closed most of two years except for the expensive private schools of the wealthy. They were open almost the entire time.
It's hard to know what to make of the present state of the Thai monarchy. According to the lurid stories in the media (which should almost never be believed) the new king leaves a bit to be desired.
If, as I suspect, it's a potful of lies garnished with a smidgeon of truth then it's part of the media agenda to incite unthinking plebs to do away with hereditary monarchy around the world. It is after all in the media's interest for the hoi polloi to be ruled by men who've dragged themselves up by their bootstraps than a man who's spent a lifetime assimilating diplomatic lessons from parents on how to rule with a light touch.
In this respect the media is nothing if not self serving. It knows that if politicians are voted into power the media becomes the 'kingmaker' and therefore rules behind the scenes. However if a hereditary monarchy exists, the media's power is not absolute.
Leaving aside the media's vested interest in king making, if we consider the psychological differences that exist between a self made 'master of the universe' and a hereditary monarch, I know I'd prefer the latter - and I'm not a monarchist.
Just my two dong but Bumiphol had a very murky history from his involvement in his brother's death to his 'accident' in Switzerland not to mention his birth place Cambridge Massachusetts making him a citizen of the US. I think he was MK trained, a sad tragic man despised by his wife and heir.
Something about these 5 photos that I like best of all so far. Haven't put a finger on it yet. The tryzub one is a marvelous capture of who knows what. I adore the selfie.
How was I lucky enough to come upon the essays and photos of Linh Dinh? and also the very interesting comments by followers. Now I shall shoe horn myself into another cool morning in southern Australia fortified by another postcard which does not exactly orient me in any particular direction but alerts me that living on earth is both very, very complicated and also desperately simple.
Beautifully written essay.....and I bought your book. Thanks for putting a link in to make it easy for me to sit in my comfy chair and buy your book with just a minimal amount of clicks! I love your photos so much. First I read the essay and then go back and click on the links. Thanks.
Most Thais I know don't like the current king but loved King 9, his father. Yeah, he was the wealthiest monarch on the planet but actually did a lot for poor people and was great at PR. Our rulers in the West are only good at PR for the people they rule who already feel a need to like them. They obviously hate the people they rule so anyone who isn't a willful idiot understands that they don't have their subjects well being at heart.
Most thais, I know, hate the protesters who are color revolution tools of the Jews. The Thais might not get those dynamics but they view the monarchy as part of Thai culture and feel that people who don't love it should leave.
The whole mask adherence here is off the charts and Thais claim that they no longer can imagine ever leaving their home without a mask. They say the mask is now part of their body.
My Thai wife feels that in 2 years if there are no more lockdowns you may commonly see people without masks. I have found that the working class is the most likely to go without them and middle class women are the most loyal in wearing them. Like elsewhere the wealthy Thais tend to put on a show but don't see themselves as needing to adhere to the Covid hysteria they mandate for the masses. You could see that in the lockdowns. Thai public and private schools were closed most of two years except for the expensive private schools of the wealthy. They were open almost the entire time.
Wadaya tink of this? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KayFkEd1E0Q
It's hard to know what to make of the present state of the Thai monarchy. According to the lurid stories in the media (which should almost never be believed) the new king leaves a bit to be desired.
If, as I suspect, it's a potful of lies garnished with a smidgeon of truth then it's part of the media agenda to incite unthinking plebs to do away with hereditary monarchy around the world. It is after all in the media's interest for the hoi polloi to be ruled by men who've dragged themselves up by their bootstraps than a man who's spent a lifetime assimilating diplomatic lessons from parents on how to rule with a light touch.
In this respect the media is nothing if not self serving. It knows that if politicians are voted into power the media becomes the 'kingmaker' and therefore rules behind the scenes. However if a hereditary monarchy exists, the media's power is not absolute.
Leaving aside the media's vested interest in king making, if we consider the psychological differences that exist between a self made 'master of the universe' and a hereditary monarch, I know I'd prefer the latter - and I'm not a monarchist.
Just my two dong but Bumiphol had a very murky history from his involvement in his brother's death to his 'accident' in Switzerland not to mention his birth place Cambridge Massachusetts making him a citizen of the US. I think he was MK trained, a sad tragic man despised by his wife and heir.
Something about these 5 photos that I like best of all so far. Haven't put a finger on it yet. The tryzub one is a marvelous capture of who knows what. I adore the selfie.
How was I lucky enough to come upon the essays and photos of Linh Dinh? and also the very interesting comments by followers. Now I shall shoe horn myself into another cool morning in southern Australia fortified by another postcard which does not exactly orient me in any particular direction but alerts me that living on earth is both very, very complicated and also desperately simple.
Beautifully written essay.....and I bought your book. Thanks for putting a link in to make it easy for me to sit in my comfy chair and buy your book with just a minimal amount of clicks! I love your photos so much. First I read the essay and then go back and click on the links. Thanks.