November 16, 2016 by Wayne.
Writing this on my phone at Nang Cafe on my third cup of coffee
There was a simpler solution to the problem of sentience, but we largely ignored it in favor of massage parlours
– sometimes they kneaded the knots into temporary relief
sometimes the fingers were traces of touches, teasing their way down
and often they ended in the involuntary rhythm of abs clenching and the body jerked forward off the bed –
and facebook quotes about the light at the end of the drudgery, and the latest bestselling books, and friends from work and cell group, and whiskey
– if you draw to yourself a sufficiently varied collection, the malt gives way to midnight epiphanies that fade in the morning light –
We knew, for instance, that a 90L bag and a DSLR would help coalesce the blobs of our selves. We knew that Bali was not worth going to, for the prior waves of pilgrims had looted the land of its spiritual fruit. We knew that in the bunk beds of hostels were the fingers to calm our trembling flesh, the seas of our world map, and the fulfillment of lives unwasted.
And in this way, we lived and bred and aged, and had no need for the rigours of thought.