The Legalized Legality of Loyal Lusts
A retrospective
This is my last afternoon in Chiang Mai until I next return. A massage woman on Loi Kroh yelled across the road that she wanted to Fuck me, and I felt that with that much enthusiasm, I had to at least feel some guilt in just walking on, and I did, but not without a happy resignation, as its not my prerogative at the moment to complicate my heart or my head with any sort of attachment, however brief. It is without a doubt that I have complications enough without adding any new mysterious women to them, even if only for an hour of my time.
Back at the hotel, I lit another indica joint, ordered a hamburger, and watched the Clouds roll by listening to some MoTown. A beautiful woman entered the Pizzeria below me. A blue tuk tuk sped by with an angry looking old man in the back. A number of tourists walked into the gate that leads into the Silver Temple. I took a long drag.
I must admit I find it rather funny that I grew up in the height of the War on Drugs in America. Coming from two parents who if anything were the goody-two-shoes of their families led to an upbringing that was classically American liberal in almost all respects except one— Marijuana was the Devil’s Seed. I still remember my mother throwing out my first bong, a corkscrew one with a Quetzacoatl on the glass neck. You might expect a little more beach bum mentality in Southern California from my parents, but the conditions in this respect were closer to Singapore.
It was a woman who turned out to be the epitome of the Devil’s seed that turned me on to the stuff, and more on that at a later time, but as for the ganja it would always be an occasional vice of mine, for I do not believe I have much of an addict’s personality—I’ve always been able to drop and pick up most things—though I’ve never touched anything harder than Cocaine.
And having my own, shall we say, Proto-Shaman (or for the medically minded, Schizoaffectations; and for the psychology or socially-conscious minded, Neurodivergencies) You might say that ‘mixing my cocktail’ is a thing that I do carefully. My Olanzapine, after all, is a powerful thing that amplifies most sensations while dulling any dependencies to them. In short, the feeling of being ‘high’ is rarely much of a change but in the way my thoughts appear to flow—emotional ties are more limited. I would also like to say that my most angry and evil thoughts have never been while on any substance.
So I’m still in Chiang Mai, writing this, waiting for a hamburger to arrive via Grab food delivery. But as for the topic, let’s discuss it.
My title is the interpretation of what a romantic relationship is when mutual—the legalized legality of loyal lusts—when one has codified and accepted the love and desire to be unified, and more than that, loyal insomuch as that both parties will do anything to preserve it. Whether it is the simple attentions of a co-worker, the commitment to a marriage, an insane girlfriend or boyfriend or what have you, or a late night visit under a green or red lantern. And on the subject of the latter-most extremity—
I find it funny how in America it is illegal for two consenting adults to have sex behind closed doors if one of them is getting paid, but it is perfectly legal to watch two people you don’t know having sex on the internet and to pay for it.
A lot of things in this world are naturally bonkers. We seem to exist in a world where everyone has their own perception of sanity and the state helps us to determine what is sane and what is not, as does the community, our parents, our friends, our church/synagogue/mosque/etc, or whatever the world decides to throw at us.
But a lot of things in this world are naturally bonkers. Let’s take Countries for example. We agree upon an idea of a nation, a uniting force. We write these affectations on paper, we codify them into law, we abide by them, we live by them, we die for them. But do nations exist beyond the confines of reality? Do nations exist when we close our eyes and enter our dreams? They do not exist but as pulsations from our pineal glands as we attempt to codify meanings onto our subconscious reorderings of what is truly real, in that Dream State. So if half or our lives are spent asleep, should we not give our dreams some attention?
It’s a nice day in Chiang Mai. The sun is out. The hotel is lovely. The titular picture is of a cat, who I found guarding the entrance of the Silver Temple. The cat sits there, as people go in and out. She has been sitting there all day. Actually, I don’t know what the gender of the cat is. Does it matter? I suppose nowadays it invariably does. Perhaps the cat is Non-Binary, effectively becoming an embodiment of the Schrödinger paradox in its own metaphoric terminology.
I’ve purchased a handful of books, that should get me through the winter. I considered returning to Bangkok this evening, but I will put it off until tomorrow. A walk down Loi Kroh road in the early morning had me catcalled to high Hell, but I just kept on walking, as I don’t need companionship on a day as this but for a cat.
Ah! My hamburger has arrived downstairs! Prepare yourself for an imminent review.
It was quite delicious. I ordered an Aioli Mushroom Burger. It is easier to get Hippy Shit Food (HSF) in Chiang Mai, perhaps due to its proximity to Pai, where white people go to do weird liberal white people things, like mushroom shakes and avocado toast cleanses.
Actually, Pai is alright. But it always did just feel like a Hippy Trail dump zone. Nothing wrong with that, good people there. Invariably some bad people too. Perhaps a cellar full of bodies, one can never be too sure.
Well—I’d like another Chalawan, so I’m off to get one. Ah! I never finished that hamburger review.
I would say, I’m not very good at reviewing things. And I don’t want to get in trouble with the restaurant or the law. 5 stars—delicious. As were the Jalapeño poppers. I do love me a good Jalapeño popper. Who doesn’t love popping a Jalapeño? Nice and spicy, red hot, sometimes with fake boobs. What are we talking about again?
Well, anyway, off to get myself a beer.
