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BLOG post FUN post. Realigning the Globe.

Published March 27, 2025

It's fun. It's fun stuff. FUN STUFF.

There are so many opportunities in this moment.

The American people have a president actively destroying their own power in the world. Giving away the farm while talking about expanding it and BLAH. He's not, he's destroying American power in the world.

It will be funny how the far left idiots' songs will now change, when they become the plaything of rival empires. Those Kyle Kulinski-type. The whining and morality is a luxury when you live inside the war machine. The way things are heading, I have visions of soft white pussybois running naked through cold meadows. Sino Russo war machines come tearing at their soft pink flesh.

Lovely visuals. Lovely. Anyway. Any way.

What should happen now?

Well, Brad's here to dictate.

The West is splitting. American leadership has shit on itself and is choking to death.

We can't speak of what's next for America, because it's being driven by someone who is killing it, purposefully.

At this point it's clear Donald Trump is just causing self-harm to his country. Narcissistic revenge for losing in 2020, Russian puppetry, knowingly or not, doesn't matter. He's just pissed that he's old and will be dead soon. A stupid decision of foolish democracy. Ruinous.

His VP and the current Speaker would be no better. Perhaps less INTENT to destroy, but they would only continue the destruction. It's one of the main reasons Trump chose Vance and supports Mike Johnson. The alternatives beyond Trump would only continue wrecking the country in their own ways, for their own mentally retarded and religious reasons.

When a new patriot, a caring American president is elected they will have to repair and rebuild in a very different world and with much less power.

I bless them in that task.

From here, this is where the players that are of interest to me should go. In this sad, shameful era of American Self-destruction.

...continue reading

BLOG post FUN post. Realigning the Globe.

Published March 27, 2025

It's fun. It's fun stuff. FUN STUFF.

There are so many opportunities in this moment.

The American people have a president actively destroying their own power in the world. Giving away the farm while talking about expanding it and BLAH. He's not, he's destroying American power in the world.

It will be funny how the far left idiots' songs will now change, when they become the plaything of rival empires. Those Kyle Kulinski-type. The whining and morality is a luxury when you live inside the war machine. The way things are heading, I have visions of soft white pussybois running naked through cold meadows. Sino Russo war machines come tearing at their soft pink flesh.

Lovely visuals. Lovely. Anyway. Any way.

What should happen now?

Well, Brad's here to dictate.

The West is splitting. American leadership has shit on itself and is choking to death.

We can't speak of what's next for America, because it's being driven by someone who is killing it, purposefully.

At this point it's clear Donald Trump is just causing self-harm to his country. Narcissistic revenge for losing in 2020, Russian puppetry, knowingly or not, doesn't matter. He's just pissed that he's old and will be dead soon. A stupid decision of foolish democracy. Ruinous.

His VP and the current Speaker would be no better. Perhaps less INTENT to destroy, but they would only continue the destruction. It's one of the main reasons Trump chose Vance and supports Mike Johnson. The alternatives beyond Trump would only continue wrecking the country in their own ways, for their own mentally retarded and religious reasons.

When a new patriot, a caring American president is elected they will have to repair and rebuild in a very different world and with much less power.

I bless them in that task.

From here, this is where the players that are of interest to me should go. In this sad, shameful era of American Self-destruction.

...continue reading

Three Years of War

Published February 24, 2025

At the end of February 2022, I was in a nice old hotel room in Riga watching the coverage of the first days of the Russo boom and "пиздец" !...

The month before, at the end of January, I was in Tallinn. The world was still in its quiet postwar slumber. The snow was beautiful, the city was too.

By the time I arrived in Riga —Russia had torn into Ukraine across three of its borders. The Ukrainian yellow and blue flew everywhere in the Latvian capital. It was the same the next month in Lithuania.

It's been an incredible fight back. An underdog story of survival.

Yet. And now, b-a-cause of a single incredibly lucky, but still loser shit of history, that great story is about to be betrayed.

An American surrender is coming.

Doesn't really feel American does it.

I don't moralise. Power is power. Reality is reality. It's a perfectly legitimate thing for Russia to want to protect its borders with buffer states and push back against foreign great powers on its doorstep.

BUT HEY bitch.

It's the job of Europe and America to fight back against that legitimate thing. Ensuring an aggressive Russia is stopped quickly and kept the fuck back is a constant fact of life. It's Our Legitimate Thing Vs Their Legitimate Thing. It's a game, you have a side. You choose, you fight.

The flat roll on the European Plain can and does go both ways.

Welcome to Earth.

...continue reading

Three Years of War

Published February 24, 2025

At the end of February 2022, I was in a nice old hotel room in Riga watching the coverage of the first days of the Russo boom and "пиздец" !...

The month before, at the end of January, I was in Tallinn. The world was still in its quiet postwar slumber. The snow was beautiful, the city was too.

By the time I arrived in Riga —Russia had torn into Ukraine across three of its borders. The Ukrainian yellow and blue flew everywhere in the Latvian capital. It was the same the next month in Lithuania.

It's been an incredible fight back. An underdog story of survival.

Yet. And now, b-a-cause of a single incredibly lucky, but still loser shit of history, that great story is about to be betrayed.

An American surrender is coming.

Doesn't really feel American does it.

I don't moralise. Power is power. Reality is reality. It's a perfectly legitimate thing for Russia to want to protect its borders with buffer states and push back against foreign great powers on its doorstep.

BUT HEY bitch.

It's the job of Europe and America to fight back against that legitimate thing. Ensuring an aggressive Russia is stopped quickly and kept the fuck back is a constant fact of life. It's Our Legitimate Thing Vs Their Legitimate Thing. It's a game, you have a side. You choose, you fight.

The flat roll on the European Plain can and does go both ways.

Welcome to Earth.

...continue reading

The Month in Cartagena

Published February 9, 2025

Here we are. It's the Cartagena Blog post.

I've written a few versions of this. Most (all) of them contain phrases to the effect of -

‘I fucking hated this place.’

HA. … !

oh baby

But did I? Do I?

Now back in England. The thing I knew would happen is happening. I don't want to be there. But there are some things that I'm looking back on romantically.

Mostly it's the tight blue jeans and shorts. The thin shirts and little sun dresses. Mostly it's them, mostly it's that.

And the sunsets, the sunsets out the window from my rooms in Hotel Stil.

I'm honest. So you can go ahead and hate me if your opinion of South America means so much to your identity that you can't process mine.

At times, A-Lot-Ta times. . .

I hate the language.

I hate the food.

I hate the music.

I hate the architecture.

I hate it all.

I hate all this Spanish shit, I hate South America.

eh..

I chose the city lauded as one of if not The most beautiful on the continent. I didn't find it beautiful, or maybe beautiful enough. It wasn't ugly. Just not special.

Ouch.

How did this all happen anyway? How did I end up in Cartagena, Colombia for well over a month?

A picnic bench in a backyard of a hostel on the Upper West Side. Go find the post. Go read the post.

I cancelled the original trip for the end of the year and the beginning of the next —the blitz through the continent in favour of some slow travel.

This was the right decision. And if I made another decision, that would have been right too.

I make the decision right by how I play after.

I think I played Cartagena as well as I could have.

I got a lot out of it. Out of this time. I learnt more about me.

...continue reading

The Month in Cartagena

Published February 9, 2025

Here we are. It's the Cartagena Blog post.

I've written a few versions of this. Most (all) of them contain phrases to the effect of -

‘I fucking hated this place.’

HA. … !

oh baby

But did I? Do I?

Now back in England. The thing I knew would happen is happening. I don't want to be there. But there are some things that I'm looking back on romantically.

Mostly it's the tight blue jeans and shorts. The thin shirts and little sun dresses. Mostly it's them, mostly it's that.

And the sunsets, the sunsets out the window from my rooms in Hotel Stil.

I'm honest. So you can go ahead and hate me if your opinion of South America means so much to your identity that you can't process mine.

At times, A-Lot-Ta times. . .

I hate the language.

I hate the food.

I hate the music.

I hate the architecture.

I hate it all.

I hate all this Spanish shit, I hate South America.

eh..

I chose the city lauded as one of if not The most beautiful on the continent. I didn't find it beautiful, or maybe beautiful enough. It wasn't ugly. Just not special.

Ouch.

How did this all happen anyway? How did I end up in Cartagena, Colombia for well over a month?

A picnic bench in a backyard of a hostel on the Upper West Side. Go find the post. Go read the post.

I cancelled the original trip for the end of the year and the beginning of the next —the blitz through the continent in favour of some slow travel.

This was the right decision. And if I made another decision, that would have been right too.

I make the decision right by how I play after.

I think I played Cartagena as well as I could have.

I got a lot out of it. Out of this time. I learnt more about me.

...continue reading

FUNK 58 Author's Note

Published January 31, 2025

I debated adding an author's note to FUNK 58.

In the end it wasn't right. This is my book but really you have to read it as his book you know.

Adding an author's note to that would have pulled the reader out of it, whether at the beginning or the end. It wasn't right.

But I do want to talk about it and write about it.

Write about writing it. The process. And where I'm going with it from here, now that it's out, published for the world to enjoy.

I began writing FUNK at the beginning of 2024, after returning from Asia Trip 7, I finished it a year later during my time in Cartagena, Colombia, and the days after back in England.

I wrote a lot in Cartagena. Mostly at my local coffee shops. Writing was a refuge, it kept me happy and entertained, it cheered me up in a place I wasn't connecting with.

My view on this novel is that it's a beautiful thing.

A great thing. A book I wanted to read. That's the book I wrote. I'm sure some will absolutely fucking hate it and that's fine. But I'm sure many (hopefully, definitely) more will love it.

Writing a novel is a different thing now. In 2025. More an exercise in your own determination and intelligence. A self-imposed test.

The books for me. But you can read it too.

...continue reading

FUNK 58 Author's Note

Published January 31, 2025

I debated adding an author's note to FUNK 58.

In the end it wasn't right. This is my book but really you have to read it as his book you know.

Adding an author's note to that would have pulled the reader out of it, whether at the beginning or the end. It wasn't right.

But I do want to talk about it and write about it.

Write about writing it. The process. And where I'm going with it from here, now that it's out, published for the world to enjoy.

I began writing FUNK at the beginning of 2024, after returning from Asia Trip 7, I finished it a year later during my time in Cartagena, Colombia, and the days after back in England.

I wrote a lot in Cartagena. Mostly at my local coffee shops. Writing was a refuge, it kept me happy and entertained, it cheered me up in a place I wasn't connecting with.

My view on this novel is that it's a beautiful thing.

A great thing. A book I wanted to read. That's the book I wrote. I'm sure some will absolutely fucking hate it and that's fine. But I'm sure many (hopefully, definitely) more will love it.

Writing a novel is a different thing now. In 2025. More an exercise in your own determination and intelligence. A self-imposed test.

The books for me. But you can read it too.

...continue reading

A Late November Early December Post

Published December 4, 2024

Sometimes I think of Batumi and wonder.

It disappointed me when I was there. And yet I felt moments of the magic I thought it could have.

I remember the walk from the train station, along the long ocean promenade to the city. The grey-blue sea and black stone beach, the city skyscrapers cutting the water in the distance.

There I am, applying sun lotion all over my face and neck and arms in the hot Georgian sun outside a small children's park. In the city sexy young women in tracksuits walked on red paint streets. So sweet, as if the colour was glued with warm sugar.

I remember the old wise dog looking pensive out to sea and the empty novelty towers with embedded ferris wheels still, abandoned.

Rain, Mosquitos, Diamond-shaped McDonald's

I thought I would love Batumi with all my heart. I didn't. And that made me feel sad. As I left the city, in the dark early morning hours, on the overpass by the port, I decided I would give it one more chance. Some day, out there in time, that time will happen. Probably already has.

Batumi was towards the beginning of the biggest trip I've taken outside The Three Year MEGA Journey. Asia Trip 7 - ten countries, eight new, from Hungary to the Philippines.

Hungary Turkey Georgia Armenia UAE Oman Malaysia Brunei Philippines Singapore

In two and a half months. It was wild.

In Sarawak I found the feeling of connection and love that I was expecting. In contrast to what I felt on the shores of the Black Sea. I think Batumi can do it. I feel Batumi has it within. Time will tell. I'll be honest. As always.

...continue reading

A Late November Early December Post

Published December 4, 2024

Sometimes I think of Batumi and wonder.

It disappointed me when I was there. And yet I felt moments of the magic I thought it could have.

I remember the walk from the train station, along the long ocean promenade to the city. The grey-blue sea and black stone beach, the city skyscrapers cutting the water in the distance.

There I am, applying sun lotion all over my face and neck and arms in the hot Georgian sun outside a small children's park. In the city sexy young women in tracksuits walked on red paint streets. So sweet, as if the colour was glued with warm sugar.

I remember the old wise dog looking pensive out to sea and the empty novelty towers with embedded ferris wheels still, abandoned.

Rain, Mosquitos, Diamond-shaped McDonald's

I thought I would love Batumi with all my heart. I didn't. And that made me feel sad. As I left the city, in the dark early morning hours, on the overpass by the port, I decided I would give it one more chance. Some day, out there in time, that time will happen. Probably already has.

Batumi was towards the beginning of the biggest trip I've taken outside The Three Year MEGA Journey. Asia Trip 7 - ten countries, eight new, from Hungary to the Philippines.

Hungary Turkey Georgia Armenia UAE Oman Malaysia Brunei Philippines Singapore

In two and a half months. It was wild.

In Sarawak I found the feeling of connection and love that I was expecting. In contrast to what I felt on the shores of the Black Sea. I think Batumi can do it. I feel Batumi has it within. Time will tell. I'll be honest. As always.

...continue reading

New York

Published November 29, 2024

I was in the line to check in, in England still and American extraversion was already here.

I didn't want to talk but the ease and naturalness of American extraversion quickly hit me.

Ah, American extraversion. This is what human interaction can be.

AMERICA. Even the introverts are extraverts.

I had a scratch on my hand.

I bought some trash calories and a can of sugar and coffee at Boots.

It was nearly bedtime anyway. Early afternoon. I hoped the plane was quiet and the people around me had some levels of decency and sense.

Angels exist.

They wanted to sit next to each other. I agreed. Middle seat swapped for window. A great and mighty big blue Atlantic all the way through.

The last time I was in America was before the pandemic in 2019 and it was summer.

I felt uncomfortable then. In my Vietnamese ex-girlfriend’s t-shirt (the one she used as a dress) and a feeling of ickiness within my skin.

I don't know why. There was a bubbling metallic angst inside me.

I saw Twice in New Jersey and watched Liverpool at Yankee Stadium. I had a really great night of booze and weed and friendship. But New York didn't feel AS magical as previous visits, the magic was there but not constant! It was more akin to the fractured magic of my first visit in 2006 than the electric insanity of 2013. Electric Insanity!!!

This time around I felt that feeling of being in America. Of being in New York City. Immediately. The steam rose across the setting sun and the skyscrapers of Manhattan were waiting for me on the horizon.

It was election day. Tuesday November 5th 2024. Donald John Trump versus Kamalalalalala Devi Harris. By the early morning hours of November 6th, America and the world would know just what future it was getting.

I checked into the hostel to the aged face of a woman that used to be hot. Sad. She was a bitch too. The personality of a once hot woman turned ug. Some of the worst. But I didn't care.

I stayed here in 2013 and had a terrible time. Then I moved to another hostel close to Central Park and had a fucking awesome time. I chose it now because the facilities were great and the location was perfect. And I didn't care for anything too social.

There was no buzz about the election on the streets of Manhattan.

A mix of quiet acknowledgement that Trump had the momentum and he'd probably win it. And the fact that New York City is a paradox, both America's largest and most important city and at the same time very separate from the USA. It's a distinct country itself - a city state within the American union.

If you don't know by now. Trump won. Lol. Beautiful.

I went to bed in the early morning hours. And hardly slept.

The next morning I headed to the South Ferry terminal for the Staten Island Ferry. New York was hot, not boiling, not muggy humid, but hot. In the mid-twenties in early November. The fuck!?

Climate change is a wonderful thing.

As I boarded the boat I spotted a building not too far in the distance.

From this angle it looked like a new set of twin towers had been built. They weren't, they haven't. But it looked like that.

We passed the teeny tiny, really way too small, shoulda been bigger, gotta replace with a bigger green bitch Statue of Liberty and hammered on to Staten.

Water was blue, sky was too. Boat was fun. Boats are fun.

Out of the terminal I went to the nearby mall and Shake Shack. Ate a chicken burger, fries and drank a coke. Outside I flirted with a couple of nice Asian ladies, college students, and then a hot blonde American with an ugly friend. Then I went back to Manhattan.

After the ferry I walked to the Brooklyn Bridge.

There were so many hot bitches on the bridge, Hot Bridge Bitches, and I was very happy. A Hispanic one took her top off and swung her arse from side to side and gave me looks. That was nice. Her boyfriend also gave me looks.

It was my second time on the bridge and the first in daylight. Everything had a pink-grey filter to it. Sand-gold brick and perfect lines of steel wire.

Brooklyn was great, but I was more excited about the bridge up river.

The Brooklyn Bridge gets all the fame and love, and apparently all the hot bitches too, but The Manhattan is the king, The Manhattan is the queen.

...continue reading

New York

Published November 29, 2024

I was in the line to check in, in England still and American extraversion was already here.

I didn't want to talk but the ease and naturalness of American extraversion quickly hit me.

Ah, American extraversion. This is what human interaction can be.

AMERICA. Even the introverts are extraverts.

I had a scratch on my hand.

I bought some trash calories and a can of sugar and coffee at Boots.

It was nearly bedtime anyway. Early afternoon. I hoped the plane was quiet and the people around me had some levels of decency and sense.

Angels exist.

They wanted to sit next to each other. I agreed. Middle seat swapped for window. A great and mighty big blue Atlantic all the way through.

The last time I was in America was before the pandemic in 2019 and it was summer.

I felt uncomfortable then. In my Vietnamese ex-girlfriend’s t-shirt (the one she used as a dress) and a feeling of ickiness within my skin.

I don't know why. There was a bubbling metallic angst inside me.

I saw Twice in New Jersey and watched Liverpool at Yankee Stadium. I had a really great night of booze and weed and friendship. But New York didn't feel AS magical as previous visits, the magic was there but not constant! It was more akin to the fractured magic of my first visit in 2006 than the electric insanity of 2013. Electric Insanity!!!

This time around I felt that feeling of being in America. Of being in New York City. Immediately. The steam rose across the setting sun and the skyscrapers of Manhattan were waiting for me on the horizon.

It was election day. Tuesday November 5th 2024. Donald John Trump versus Kamalalalalala Devi Harris. By the early morning hours of November 6th, America and the world would know just what future it was getting.

I checked into the hostel to the aged face of a woman that used to be hot. Sad. She was a bitch too. The personality of a once hot woman turned ug. Some of the worst. But I didn't care.

I stayed here in 2013 and had a terrible time. Then I moved to another hostel close to Central Park and had a fucking awesome time. I chose it now because the facilities were great and the location was perfect. And I didn't care for anything too social.

There was no buzz about the election on the streets of Manhattan.

A mix of quiet acknowledgement that Trump had the momentum and he'd probably win it. And the fact that New York City is a paradox, both America's largest and most important city and at the same time very separate from the USA. It's a distinct country itself - a city state within the American union.

If you don't know by now. Trump won. Lol. Beautiful.

I went to bed in the early morning hours. And hardly slept.

The next morning I headed to the South Ferry terminal for the Staten Island Ferry. New York was hot, not boiling, not muggy humid, but hot. In the mid-twenties in early November. The fuck!?

Climate change is a wonderful thing.

As I boarded the boat I spotted a building not too far in the distance.

From this angle it looked like a new set of twin towers had been built. They weren't, they haven't. But it looked like that.

We passed the teeny tiny, really way too small, shoulda been bigger, gotta replace with a bigger green bitch Statue of Liberty and hammered on to Staten.

Water was blue, sky was too. Boat was fun. Boats are fun.

Out of the terminal I went to the nearby mall and Shake Shack. Ate a chicken burger, fries and drank a coke. Outside I flirted with a couple of nice Asian ladies, college students, and then a hot blonde American with an ugly friend. Then I went back to Manhattan.

After the ferry I walked to the Brooklyn Bridge.

There were so many hot bitches on the bridge, Hot Bridge Bitches, and I was very happy. A Hispanic one took her top off and swung her arse from side to side and gave me looks. That was nice. Her boyfriend also gave me looks.

It was my second time on the bridge and the first in daylight. Everything had a pink-grey filter to it. Sand-gold brick and perfect lines of steel wire.

Brooklyn was great, but I was more excited about the bridge up river.

The Brooklyn Bridge gets all the fame and love, and apparently all the hot bitches too, but The Manhattan is the king, The Manhattan is the queen.

...continue reading

Me and Me Alone

Published November 19, 2024

So where was I?

I was on a picnic bench. In Manhattan. In the backyard of a hostel. It was November 7th, the early morning hours.

Brown yellow orange red leaves.

Fairy lights strung through the trees.

Foreign accents and pizza in the air.

It was warm. Hot Fall.

I was doing this and then doing that. Rearranging. It just wasn't there. Wasn't happening. My heart.

Sport is important but the art is equally.

Everything on the screen, in my mind, none of it felt like art. Just sport. And just sport is fucking boring. I was bored of it.

When I'm at my desk or in my bathtub, when I'm alone, I think and dream and plan. I love that time. When I'm chasing countries and conquering them. I love that too.

I was feeling nothing but an urge to get the countries done, get the continent done, tick the boxes and move on - more sport, less art.

This is not the end of this Special Mission. It's the beginning of finishing it.

But I move in mysterious ways.

So I booked a flight back to England and scrapped ‘The Big SOUTH AMERICA Trip’ !

I don't want to have these self-imposed blockades and mountains of shit existing alongside the real obstacles to overcome, the real mountains.

There are many things that contributed to this moment. One of the defining moments.

...continue reading

Me and Me Alone

Published November 19, 2024

So where was I?

I was on a picnic bench. In Manhattan. In the backyard of a hostel. It was November 7th, the early morning hours.

Brown yellow orange red leaves.

Fairy lights strung through the trees.

Foreign accents and pizza in the air.

It was warm. Hot Fall.

I was doing this and then doing that. Rearranging. It just wasn't there. Wasn't happening. My heart.

Sport is important but the art is equally.

Everything on the screen, in my mind, none of it felt like art. Just sport. And just sport is fucking boring. I was bored of it.

When I'm at my desk or in my bathtub, when I'm alone, I think and dream and plan. I love that time. When I'm chasing countries and conquering them. I love that too.

I was feeling nothing but an urge to get the countries done, get the continent done, tick the boxes and move on - more sport, less art.

This is not the end of this Special Mission. It's the beginning of finishing it.

But I move in mysterious ways.

So I booked a flight back to England and scrapped ‘The Big SOUTH AMERICA Trip’ !

I don't want to have these self-imposed blockades and mountains of shit existing alongside the real obstacles to overcome, the real mountains.

There are many things that contributed to this moment. One of the defining moments.

...continue reading

That Brad Nicholls Techno

Published November 4, 2024

I'm flying to New York tomorrow. It's election day tomorrow.

I just drank my chocolate protein shake, I had two cans of coffee earlier, I have two cans of coffee every day now.

Let's meditate and find some relief.

Don't worry.

I never do.

We Will Get There.

I need to sleep, I'll sleep and then I'll wake up for another great adventure.

Here's something I wrote a while ago...

The feeling had been growing inside me for some time. This future life.

Techno. Less human interaction. More robots. More 1s and 0s. Ones and Zeros.

It was on the way to Batu Caves that it hit me.

An ocean of water had formed in the gap between the glass of the train door - the glass fogged by condensation, the palm trees and skyscrapers flying past outside.

A few weeks later, ChatGPT dropped on the world and changed the world.

I was on a train that day too.

I was on my way to Hat Yai in southern Thailand from Kuala Lumpur via Padang Besar. That night Australia knocked Denmark out of the World Cup and I had a night of weird and wonderful sex with a ladyboy in my hotel room while the monsoon unleashed itself onto the streets.

7-Eleven. Microwaved burgers. Plastic. Stars. Splash Power.

...continue reading

That Brad Nicholls Techno

Published November 4, 2024

I'm flying to New York tomorrow. It's election day tomorrow.

I just drank my chocolate protein shake, I had two cans of coffee earlier, I have two cans of coffee every day now.

Let's meditate and find some relief.

Don't worry.

I never do.

We Will Get There.

I need to sleep, I'll sleep and then I'll wake up for another great adventure.

Here's something I wrote a while ago...

The feeling had been growing inside me for some time. This future life.

Techno. Less human interaction. More robots. More 1s and 0s. Ones and Zeros.

It was on the way to Batu Caves that it hit me.

An ocean of water had formed in the gap between the glass of the train door - the glass fogged by condensation, the palm trees and skyscrapers flying past outside.

A few weeks later, ChatGPT dropped on the world and changed the world.

I was on a train that day too.

I was on my way to Hat Yai in southern Thailand from Kuala Lumpur via Padang Besar. That night Australia knocked Denmark out of the World Cup and I had a night of weird and wonderful sex with a ladyboy in my hotel room while the monsoon unleashed itself onto the streets.

7-Eleven. Microwaved burgers. Plastic. Stars. Splash Power.

...continue reading

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