The timer switch of dawn, a flickering lamp and the city
switches on. A smooth transition from
the jungle of the night, emerging from the heart of darkness, where we plunged
into concrete karaoke cells.
Overwhelming synchroniCITY of possibility. Intense gruelling heat seeps in and fires my soul. Cooled with a tower of iced beer and a crash of water bursts on my head. Happy new year.
Motos rumbling, swerving with skilful negotiation and
ferrying unlikely family loads. Roasting
duck, steaming chilli soups and sticky pork with giant porcelain teapots of green
tea which dissolves into the mush of
tall glasses of ice.
The country keeps on moving, recoiling back from decades of
pain, disconnection…perserverance. The reliability of this morning’s breakfast
in the avenues of Phnom Penh. I see barefoot monks, bustling blobs of orange. I
am buoyant.
The light masks the creatures of the night and enslaved human
bondage.
Vexed virginal virgos exert their new lives because they
can. They can join the soap opera, too many colours, glamour and lies. Easily flying high with serene twirling hands.
Intense Khmer gangster high, resisting the tuk tuk ride and
rice wine. Calmed by balloons, a simple mellow joy marred by sallow eyed
skeletal sadness. Stolen childhoods and
cheated generations.
Phnom Penh, transitional city of possibility.
Monsoon is coming soon.
