today in BKK

Soaring towers all around, my feet are weary of the ground that punished them all morning long, the tuktuk drivers – how they thronged – enticing me to take a ride while just today the PM cried when high court rulings sent her sprawling, these mean streets may yet see brawling. I know not the creed or god of any pro-regime death squad that roams about this sweaty place, that waves its flags and yellow kerchief, here the mood is thick with mischief. Roadside stands serve the best food although the seating can be crude, broken stools and shaky tables but the cooks are quick and able, serving up thick beef-broth stew that dribbles down and stains my shoe. Bright possessions dot my room, my heart is clear of dross and gloom, for I now learn to love myself, which trumps dollar, yen, bhat – all wealth. A German maiden helped me hope, encouraged me back up the slope which I had slipped and skidded down, soon vagabond reclaims the crown that he'd abandoned long ago, with ruddiness his cheeks now glow. In Lombok she rejected me, her friendship now is all I see, but that is something I will cherish until such time as I shall perish, liberate of life's blood, face-down in cold and frozen mud. There is a blister on my toe, my pace won't be slowed for I shall wander, taking stock, of this great city, olde Bangkok. Maddening, her headlong pace, who shelters millions in her bosom, what a fierce but gentle race that sprawls from Bearing west to Chit Lom.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

princess Thallandia weds

Hearken here, persons interested in the goings-on of such quasi-royal Grigovians as the princess-in-exile, her somewhat-royal-highness Thallandia Yündlennd (the “somewhat” was included here at the princess's insistence, to convey, in part, modesty). Fleeing as a babe of not yet three months-of-age the country of her birth during its violent, turbulent period of forcible conversion to Soviet-style socialism (said conversion occurring only in the early 1970s, incensed Grigovians having fought it at every turn), Miss Yündlennd was raised alternately in London, Ghent, Nairobi, Bangkok, and Los Angeles. An avid bicyclist, published author, daredevil social-activist, and master of both wing-chung and Shaolin-style kung-fu, princess Thallandia recently announced her acceptance of a request-for-matrimony first suggested to her some years ago by her long-time beau, son-of-the-American-revolution, anarchistic pamphleteer, and downright-loathsome scumhound Reginald Augustus Steele.

According to insider reports, princess Thallandia is pregnant with twins, which she is expected to throw well before the date of the actual wedding itself. As Miss Yündlennd and Mister Steele are each scions of their respective clans, many persons both inside and outside their families hope that they will have a bunch of kids, together molding them into bad-ass-motherfuckers. When asked during a live-chat sponsored by the Internet-website weluvprincessthallandia.net if she were concerned about being engaged to – and pregnant with the seed of – a crazy-tattoo-having, own-hair-cutting, legendarily-unpredictable commoner, her somewhat-royal-highness said, simply, “No.”

As of press-time, the princess was last seen exiting – with Mr. Steele – an invitation-only firing range in East L.A. In a brief interview conducted via telephone, the owner of the firing range, one Felix Fillberto-Henandez, said that while at the range Miss Yündlennd made use of an AK-74 assault rifle, a Smith & Wesson .40 caliber revolver, and at least a dozen throwing knives, using the different weapons well and with diligent and respectful care. The prince-to-be is reported to have brought his own weapon, an AA-12 semi-automatic shotgun, with which he can shoot the caps off of beer bottles at 50 paces by the light of a crescent moon. Reports indicate that most of her quasi-subjects support the princess, while urging, almost unanimously, that she, “Not expect to return home with her painted boyfriend and a slew of children only to have honest, everyday Grigovians fawn over her and pay for her to live a luxurious and comfortable life in mansions and palaces.” The princess, Grigovians indicated, is welcome to move into the royals' own two-bedroom flat on Grig's outskirts, where, however, she shall still be expected to pay utilities.

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