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  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 2:13 am on October 20, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    My dear is caught in the glare of her own headlights, 


    signals sent to an approaching hunter, too scared to flee approaching danger, too glad to be noticed in the passing crowd. Asian women are born to bear and bred to breed, the weight of centuries pinning them down to the bed of forgiveness. Tang is in way over her head with a husband trying to inspire her to self-fulfillment and professional achievement in a country where the highest goal of most women is to be a housewife. It’s a time warp, like ‘Pleasantville’ or something; wives stay at home and so do many of the men, too, if they’ve got activities they can do there. It’s not like there’s zoning or anything fancy like that. The cost of living is so low that middle-class Thais can hide behind their locking fences playing with their kids like fat cats playing with their chew toys. Their only problem is me, expecting life to have some meaning or something, a path to glory, or at least a life’s work, or something. Everybody’s scared to take initiative for fear of what everyone else will think, so everyone copies everyone else’s work rather than create something new. It’s almost like Tang doesn’t even see herself as an actor in her own life, as if she were watching a movie about herself. Conformity may save Asia a lot of Latino heartache, like protests in the street and revolutions per minute, but at what cost? Asia has cast its lot with business at the expense of politics, while Latin America wrestles with the decision, looking with alternate jealousy and disgust at Mexico, sleeping with the enemy US and the FTA Fresh Tits Agreement, to see who gets fucked and who gets sex.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 5:32 am on October 19, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    Tang makes supper in the kitchen, 

    mostly oblivious to my musings and misgivings, consciousness largely applied to a given task rather than set loose to run wild with imagination and self-reflection. Thailand is a womb warm welcome and waiting to soothe the frayed nerves of the semi-erect hominid westerner, ego bruised from the constant duals with self, reflected in an endless stream of strategically placed mirrors creating the illusion of reality for those in need of such. Thailand will survive where others fail because of her willingness to marry up, take the name of her new spouse, and enjoy the honeymoon of the future, should there indeed be one.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 4:58 am on October 18, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    Like my Indo-European ancestors, I travel a lot, forty-eight countries and counting, 

    slightly less than one a year, but I figure to rectify that soon. But who’s counting? No, I haven’t been to the Arctic Circle yet, but I’ve come close. I’ve watched the sun surf the Atlantic Ocean at Reykjavik in June, refusing to go down until the clock hits 2300 hours, like Michael Jordan finally laying the ball in after a twenty foot long jump and immeasurable hang time. Short of a season in Uranus (pronounced YOUR-anus), that’s the closest I’ll ever get to seeing the Sun wobble gently in the middle of the sky, going nowhere ultimately, at least not relative to my own position. These days I triangulate myself mostly between the US, Latin America, and Thailand. If I didn’t triangulate myself, then how would I know where I truly am? Right now Thailand wins on points, decimal points. The same house in the US would cost me at least ten times as much as what I pay in Thailand. Also, that’s where my wife is, so follow the pull of gravity. This is old-fashioned gravity, not the Einsteinian geometrical function. No, Tang’s there literally pulling. Tang’s my wife. She’s more than a breakfast drink. Thai women are beautiful, but they’re out of their minds; out of their minds and into their bodies. People ask me what Thailand’s like and I say it’s like Mexico, except that the food is good and the women are beautiful. Those are gross over-simplifications, of course, but that doesn’t stop me from saying it. If it did, I wouldn’t be writing this tractatus right now. Mexico beats Thailand hands down in arts, culture, and literature, though. Thailand is not an intellectual culture. Asia is a woman; Europe is a man. Thailand is the breeding ground, a Buddhist magnetic field of passive attraction, flowers waving gently in the wind. The middle path lies right between the legs.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 5:17 am on October 17, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    The wages of sin is cash, cold and hard, 

    no longer disposable, already spent, no longer red, no longer hot. If you get caught with your dick out in public, then you gotta’ pay. If you stick it in my face, you get a second chance, if you’re a friend. The privilege of Christianity is to confess your sins and be born again. Don’t try this in Baghdad. The more you demand of friendship, the fewer friends you’ll have. The only thing I ask of my friends is keep your dick out of my face. I know it’s down there. I don’t need to see what it looks like. I don’t need to compare length. Don’t diminish me to exalt yourself. ‘Humble but not humiliated’ is not a bad approach to life. Humility is certainly a virtue, but you choose that for yourself as a gentle, yet effective, unpretentious approach to life. You don’t want it forced down your throat. People will stick their dicks in your face if you let them. That used to be called ‘eating humble pie’ I think. It tastes like rotten mushrooms. Do what you’ve got to do behind closed doors, do it for evolution, but don’t do it in my face. Say what you want about me behind my back, but don’t stick it in my face. Women will do the same, borrowing a virtual dick from the anals of history and legend to shadowbox the demons that haunt them. Why can’t they just stick their pussies in my face? I can usually take it from there. Anything is better than the all-too-frequent male ego stand-offs that pass for friendships, especially among many of the losers who wash up on the beach here in Thailand. Successful people don’t have to resort to such juvenile antics. It’s like Mississippi rednecks, with the Industrial Revolution leaving them behind, blaming all their problems on ‘niggers’, when they themselves can barely write a complete sentence. Most of their sentences occur in the state penitentiary at Parchman Farm. I’m from Mississippi, so I have a license to say things like this, my poetic license. You can download a copy from my web-site. Watch out for black widows.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 5:20 am on October 16, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: frienship   

    Cruelty does not imply a lack of sensitivity. 

    I’ve frequently been accused of cruelty, but never insensitivity. It’s hard being a sensitive male. People will take advantage of you. Nice guys finish last. Assholes get ahead by being assholes. Other guys will stick their prick of stupidity in your face if you let them. It’s not the aggression so much as the stupidity that’s offensive. It’s a symbiotic relationship. The sensitive male is easily offended. The insensitive male easily offends. They can usually dish it out a lot easier than they can take it. What’s a sensitive male to do? You can only take so much. So you lash back selectively, and furiously, rather than lead a life based on offense. The best offense is still a good defense, regardless of the insults you have to endure. Better that than being the same sort of asshole that you detest. But if there’s one thing worse than having to get in someone else’s face, it’s someone getting in my face. I’m the kind of guy that egomaniac losers like to have as a best friend, intelligent yet patient and generally accommodating. I know people who will talk as long as I or anyone else will listen. I try to accommodate all viewpoints on the highest common denominator. Some people take that as a sign of weakness. I don’t like to use the word ‘loser’ because then it might be turned against me, but with some people, well, you know.

     
    • Kc's avatar

      Kc 8:05 pm on April 16, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      r and i fight, he calls me a creep. that is one word i cannot get next to. talk about sensitive, i wish you two cd meet.

  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 11:52 am on October 15, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , friends,   

    My friends are my family, 

    unfettered by ties of blood and other quirks of fate that can’t be undone. My friends are the family I choose, not the family that begat me. The family that begat me doesn’t always get me, yet they themselves are different aspects of me in the flesh, the same DNA spun up into three different forms, the same cards dealt three different ways. My true friends would do any thing in the world to help me, because they know I’d never ask it of them. My nuclear family is a time bomb waiting to blow, the tracks of blood mute testimony to the struggle for a happy family, just like the wall-hanging asks God for. False friends are the people who hold you back, wrapping you in a fuzzy pink shawl of comfort and mediocrity, village communism, the leveling influence of jealousy, all attempts to break ranks brought tumbling down by the jeers of the crowd screaming for blood. Any excess of income must be balanced by excess outgo to placate the judgments of the losers. Any excess of confidence must be subjected to the doubts of the naysayers. They wrap you up in all their expectations and smother you. They prick you gently in the softest point in your thick hide and proceed to castrate you, essential to proper domestication of the wild species. To get ahead, you gotta’ leave others behind. If you slow down to let them keep up, they’ll just slow down further until no one goes anywhere, village communism. Welcome to the third world.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 11:38 am on October 14, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    Push-button people push buttons to get a response 

    even where no buttons exist. Familiarity breeds contempt in one world as surely as Asians breed rice in another. I think Europeans and their like thrive on individualism and discord, whereas Asians and their like thrive on conformity and order, the closer the better. Westerners like ‘their space’. Asians hate to be alone more than anything else in the world. For me the goal is to have a mobile phone that works anywhere in the world and never have to use it. For a Thai the goal is to travel with as many people as possible. Problems in Asia only arise when the pecking order is not clearly established. Marriage is a special case in both hemispheres. Offspring and their parents are typically closer than the spouses themselves in Asia, the blood connection speaking louder than promises that can be broken. In the end it’s no different in the West when things fall apart; the kids are the fruit that endures the uncertainties of transient attraction. Still, though blood is thicker than water, sperm is thicker than blood. The hand I play is more important than the hand I’m dealt. The people I choose are more important than the people I’m stuck with.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 9:25 am on October 8, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , machismo,   

    Violence play in the background 

    of every encounter between people without pigment, only one step removed from the jungle from which we escaped on to the broad open plains of the future, complete with battle-axes, beer, and long cold nights with heifers. Sounds like home. Violence is abstracted into games and contests, competition and capitalism. For the people of color who stayed back in the ‘hood’, the violence is open, not merely alluded to. The jungle lives on and life is nasty, mean, brutish, and short. Humans maintain their close relations with their close relatives and the price of bush meat is cheap. The Middle East lightens up a little, but not much. Religion takes over where instinct leaves off, and women bear the brunt of the burden, propping up the overweight egos of hunters who can no longer hunt, and caravan raiders with no more caravans. Asia prefers the hierarchy of suppression. You kiss up and you beat down. Everybody knows their place whether they like it or not. Elaborate rituals back-fill the logic of repression, but the end-result is the same: you gotta’ serve somebody.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 12:35 pm on October 6, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    When the day’s all done, you’re still and always alone; 

    the only question is to what extent and by what design. Is it of your own making or a death sentence? Little by little you build your empires one brick at the time, wall by wall, room by room, just to watch it all fall down in one broad sweep of the cosmic broom. If you don’t tear it down yourself, then someone will do it for you. Love is scary, staring into the great unknown, big brown eyes connected to infinity. It’s that falling feeling that I crave, that bottomless pit in the stomach, that sudden drop on the roller-coaster ride of life, that lack of center, that makes me feel most alive. Machines and their machinations only delay the inevitable. Space is comprised of singularities, impure and infinitely dividable, recombining at random with anonymous partners. Still mechanical sex is only as good as the mechanics behind it, and nothing compares with that tractor beam of pure attraction between two would-be lovers making the leap from conditional tense to indicative. That’s the force that maintains the race, to reproduce and evolve, by bits and pieces, little ones crawling underfoot and reeking.

     
  • Unknown's avatar

    hardie karges 8:44 am on October 4, 2008 Permalink | Reply
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    The love between a man and woman can’t be trusted. 

    Asians have long known that. The only love that can trusted is essentially that between blood relatives, particularly between mother and child. You don’t trust your choices; you trust your fate, whether cruel or not. Sex implies possession as much as it inspires love as if the very act of penetration were as much a birthday bow as a ribbon tied, a gift-wrapped prison. Every penetration is a key inserted and turned, whether to the right or left, open or closed, is left to chance and the dance of the dice. But possession is only a contract, real or imagined. Blood is your self, interpolated and extrapolated, from the past into the future, like a poker hand laid out to show. We look at the past with the microscope of the present as if men had always thought the same way, as if they’d always loved their wives and kids or anything else long considered sacred. They didn’t; it had to be learned just like everything else. The thing a man wants most in a wife is a good girl who also gives good head, and likes it, a Brownie who knows who to use her brownies, a woman equally at home with her biscuits in the oven or her buns in bed. Many a prostitute can polish a mean knob, of course, but that doesn’t count, not in the modern day and age of democracy and free enterprise.

     

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