A truth-teller, honest words
Reality dealer
Things you don’t like to hear
Uncovered, revealed for all
Blown whistler
How could it happen here?
Sentenced, silenced and forgotten
Muddied water
Evidence made to disappear
A memory, a closed chapter
Listed traitor
History rewritten clear
The winners, they are liars
Losing later
And always living in fear

Inspired by Daniel Hale. I feel we should rename ‘whistleblower’ to ‘truth-teller’. I can hear the Minutemen in my head as I read this.

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Gratitude Journal

I am so happy and grateful that the gasman comes whenever we call him so that we have gas and I can have omelette for breakfast this morning.

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Amy dropped me at school this morning so she can go shopping so I’m practically stuck here. I’ve just been sat in my classroom, reading and writing and keeping my head down so as not to get asked to do anything, though I did knock together another English presentation for classes next semester.

Anyway, having remained successfully without much disturbance, I decided to go for a walk down to House as it’s not too hot and sunny outside. I could kill an hour, listen to podcasts and get some exercise.

As I was eating lunch, I listened briefly to a podcast called Street Wisdom that directs you to pay more attention as you are walking somewhere, much like children stopping and investigating everything they are curious about. As I set about my walk, I noticed lots and lots of different flowers blooming but as cars and footing became more of a concern, I ended up focusing more on smells.

Thailand has some wild, interesting and unusual smells that are sometimes difficult for me to identify. The fresh fruit and veg markets are easily identifiable though, with all sorts of exotic mixes. Outside one tired-looking building, an old man sat playing a guitar, sat at a ubiquitous round concrete table so familiar here. He returned my smile as he slid a barre chord up the neck.

Other buildings are derelict, sometimes overgrown, next to smart new four-car, CCTV’d houses. People seem somewhat proud of their own space but don’t give a shit what may be ont he other side of the fence, where garbage can be thrown if they can get away with it.

I love the new wooden houses that get built here and there, but there are many old ones around still in use too, though poorly maintained. I sometimes envy the people living in them, comfortable in the familiarity of their own mess and junk. It reminds me of my dirty, messy bedroom of my teenage years. A safe haven for me to stay in my stink. If I lived by myself, I’m sure my house would end up like it too. Amy keeps me clean and on my toes.

What a wonderful walk, lost on the way back, though never really lost. Hot and sticky by the time of my return where I sit now writing this.