The mind is able, the body is just.
That won’t stop me.
I’m walking. Not hobbling but walking.
The knee is holding up.
I feel it wants to pop any moment but I’m willing it to behave itself.
There’s no pain to wrestle with now.
It's just get some walking in time.
Today is my first day off those flu tablets ( I slipt off the wagon and took one this evening, need to dry out the ear canals.)
It’s one of those stinker hot days.
I’m telling the sun to suck out all those toxins.
I'm covered in a sweety sheen.
The sun has been kind to me. So has my knee.
I’m roaming further afield.
I’m grateful for that.
In some ways you could say Borneo has tamed me.
But what is it with that racket of circulating 1998 Indonesian 100 Ringgit coins. They look just like the Malaysian fifty cents.
I’ve got two of them.
On one side are buffalos.
I’m holding on to them.
It was two years before the fall of Suharto.
It was the time of rape and pillage.
1998 was a big year for Indonesia.
I’m taking photos again. I walk down to the pier and snap some shots of the Sarawak River.
I really must be getting better. I’m getting a tan too. I need to gloss over the ghostly white I’ve picked up.
I clean my room.
I find a lighter.
It’s got a small flame.
Fuck it, I say and leave my phones and iPad in my room.
They’ll need to break the window and reach over to get my stuff.
Surely someone will hear.
Junkies were in my room before me.
Surely I must get rid of the offending lighter.
The moment I throw the lighter through the grill of the drain, two motorbike coppers pass with their blue lights flicking and sirens blaring out its annoying wail.
A VIP is making their way somewhere.
Thank god for small favors.
A VIP is making their way somewhere.
Thank god for small favors.
And the offending lighter is long gone, most likely floating down the Sarawak with the crocodiles.
I’m moving still. I’m sweating like a pig. I’m far from defeated.
I’m feeling the urge. The urge to fuck an Indonesian whore. I really must be feeling better.
The rain pelts down. I’ve sucked the juice out of an orange, it was too foul to eat, and threw the pulp on the road outside a new cafe I've found opposite the Long House; here I'm also taking pictures of my favorite drinking den which I've not hit since that Borneo Miasma hit me four days ago.
Raindrops are bouncing off newly formed puddles on the side of the road.
I take out my camera, thinking, I’m really going to document this.
I take out my camera, thinking, I’m really going to document this.
I must be feeling better.
It really wasn’t a bad photo either.
I might wander back to the Hoover and see if my stuff hasn't been stolen.
I carry my laptop, wallet, and passport, so either way, I'm not concerned.
For now I'm just lapping up the fresh air that is flavored with salt and rotting fish that's drifting from the river.
It's a pungent smell, as rich as the primordial soup that accommodated me for eight months before I was spat out into this wonderful world.
I might wander back to the Hoover and see if my stuff hasn't been stolen.
I carry my laptop, wallet, and passport, so either way, I'm not concerned.
For now I'm just lapping up the fresh air that is flavored with salt and rotting fish that's drifting from the river.
It's a pungent smell, as rich as the primordial soup that accommodated me for eight months before I was spat out into this wonderful world.
