"Adventures of King Prawn"
Travelogue of Bali, Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and Mexico

December/95

12/1/95

  The trip to Ko Ha was the same as the last time I took it, so I laid back and napped until it was time to prepare our gear. I’ll dispense with the petty details and say that the dives were a very pleasurable experience. As I’d feared, I had some trouble equalizing the pressure in my ears, and they’re still plugged up as I write this, but the experience of being in the underwater world was remarkable. It was totally different from snorkeling, which I’ve done so much. The fish swam between my legs and seemed totally unafraid of my presence. I saw a cuttlefish, hovering by almost like an extraterrestrial space vehicle, a very, very large porcupine fish, and numerous other fishes whose names I didn’t bother to look up in the fish guide. There wasn’t much coral but what was there was interesting to examine from close up and in no hurry. This is definitely a sport I could do often, if I could only figure out how to clear my ears without so much pain and effort. Tomorrow, we continue with some more classes concerning the academic portion of the certification. It’s taking us a little longer as a result of the new couple that joined a day late. Finally, we should take the fifty question written examination some time on Sunday.


12/5/95

  I thought my diving class would have finished by Sunday. I was wrong. It takes four dives to be certified. But my ears were still in enough pain on Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday, that I decided not to dive until everything is back to normal: an instruction echoed by Uwe, the dive instructor. Nonetheless, I did go to take the written portion of the examination, knowing that I would have a greater understanding of the material than a week hence. I did fine (missed five out of fifty) but they insure that once you’ve paid $300 to be certified that you pass the test, no matter how many questions one “appears” to have answered incorrectly. On Friday evening, I bought a small packet of marijuana at a local bar. No big secret or covert operation here, the exchange was in the open, as if I’d asked for a beer. I’m finding that many more people are engaged in drug activity than I’d imagined. And I’m not simply referring to the tourists, either. It seems that most of the Thais I’ve encountered smoke marijuana. In fact, the Tropicana is a hotbed of activity in that regard. Which has helped to explain the almost zombie-like glaze and stupidity that accompanies all the actions of the wait staff. Funny, I never thought I’d have that form of judgment against the use of marijuana, but if the Tropicana is any indication of the pitfalls of the use of herb, then I have to seriously reexamine my fondness for it.

  On Saturday, after a massage, which was much better than the previous one I’d had, I listened to Uwe instruct us on more of the academic portion of our certification. Then I went back to the Tropicana and smoked a joint. I got very high and began singing my songs while fine-tuning the lyrics. In this one day of smoking, and working, I was reminded of all the pros and cons that smoking marijuana has in my life. The positive side was that I gained wonderful insights into the lyrics and ways in which to sing them. There were some clever word adjustments and the tone of the songs was upbeat, rhythmic, and danceable, as opposed to slow and ballad-like. The negative aspect was that I became so microscopic in my analyses that I sat, for hours, staring at the computer screen. All the while, the majority of the time, correcting one word or phrase. This insured that I was in my room for the remainder of the day, ate and drank shit when I left the room, and was focused in a way that withdrew me from social interaction. So, my feelings remain mixed concerning marijuana. I’ve decided the best thing to do, like everything else in my life, is to limit my intake. This moderation, engaging after three songs have been completed, will, hopefully, insure that I maintain many of the positive habits I’ve set up, while still allowing for fresh and new insights. Saying I can’t smoke until I’ve written three songs is also incentive to keep up the healthy approach to my work that I’ve taken, of late.

  Sunday was much like Saturday. Like I said, I’m hardly moderate. In any case, that was the end of the marijuana. By Monday morning, I’d put in countless hours of computer time and numerous versions of the lyrics. In the past, I’d keep perfecting lyrics, never keeping the original drafts. Now I save them as a different version so I’ll always have a history of the growth, or degeneration of a lyric.

  Today was the celebration of the birthday of the king of Thailand. Traditionally, all the people in the country clean a beach or a field, or something along those lines. In Koh Lanta, all the surrounding schools got together in the soccer field, near the Tropicana, and had ceremonies that included marching, dancing, soccer, and other festivities in which children were colorfully attired. I taped much of the day on DAT.

  I’m going to go swimming, which I haven’t done in a while, to see what my ears feel like. If it feels like they’re better, then I’ll consider going on the dives tomorrow, which Uwe has said will be to a very different and interesting site that includes leopard sharks.


12/7/95

  Yesterday, Uwe showed up at the bakery in the morning and said that it would be better if I didn’t go. I think what it came down to was that he didn’t want to have to baby-sit or train a beginner while worrying about other divers. I was a little let down, but figured that it was probably for the best, and that it would allow my ears an even greater period of time in which to improve. I took the motorcycle south to see some other bungalows I’d heard about. I found The Dream Team bungalows to be very, very nice. What instantly appealed to me was the fact that the owner, unlike at the Tropicana, was actively involved in pruning his beautiful garden. The landscaping was truly lush and differed from any of the other bungalows I’d seen. I decided I’d move out of the Tropicana and rent one of the bungalows at The Dream Team, for 160 baht a night. The only reservations I had were that it was substantially further from Saladan than the Tropicana. Even with a motorcycle, the travel time would more than double, a prospect I was not keen on. Of course, I would only have to use the motorcycle if I were to find the food at their restaurant not to my liking. I imagined how isolating myself in this manner would help to bring about a healthier set of habits. That I would once again begin meditating twice a day, and that I would walk and swim more. (Funny, how the mind works...)

  That evening, as I was dining at the Beach Restaurant (have I mentioned this place before?) I ran in to Thorsten, one of the diving instructors, who mentioned yet another resort, Kaw Kwang, at the far end of the long beach. He suggested that as it was walking distance from all the popular restaurants and Saladan, that it might serve me better than The Dream Team. I hopped on my motorcycle, after eating, and went to check the bungalows out. The bungalows were not as nice as the Tropicana, but they were right on the beachfront, quiet, and the people seemed to be nice enough. The nightly cost would be 200 baht. I decided to take a room, and resolved to let go of the motorbike, which was costing me an additional 200 baht a day. This action would force me to walk; something I’d missed doing. I returned to the Tropicana late in the evening and checked out. When they asked me why and where was I going and the long list of additional questions I’d grown weary of answering, I vented what had bottled inside me for the two weeks I’d stayed there. I told them that their questions were rude, that their food sucked, that they charged me too much, and that I had little affection for their resort or their staff. It felt good to spew out all the bile that had been collecting inside me. They seemed a bit taken aback, but not really too concerned. It’s pretty hard to tell behind the mask most southeast Asians wear. I packed my bags and departed early in the morning. After checking in to the new resort, I unpacked, set up house, and then drove back in to Saladan to return the motorcycle. I spoke with Jim on the phone, who has finalized his plans, and will be arriving in Bangkok on the 9th of January. We will meet at a hotel called The Federal. He also told me that Chris has made a few amendments to the contract (pushing the changeover date to January, as there’s too much to do before the close of the year) and that he also wants to fax me the contract from BMG, in Greece, who are anxiously awaiting the release of our album. I told Jim that I would look for a fax that Chris can use, but considering there are only three on the island that I know of, and one of those is broken, I don’t think that fax will be our method of communication. He may have to send me the stuff via Federal Express. I’ll probably have to make a two day trip to Phuket to get some more money. As I spent three-hundred dollars on diving, I wasn’t left with much for the day to day expenses. Add to that my breakfast orgies at the bakery, massages, and gin and tonics, and the funds tend to evaporate rather quickly. I’ll wait till my package from Nancy comes (I expect it in about four or five days) do all the paperwork and check writing, and then head off to Phuket to send the package back to her. I assume there must be a Fedex office there. (Robert told me that every hour, a full jumbo jet leaves Phuket for Bangkok!)

  I already feel better about my decision to move. There are some few problems here (the generator doesn’t kick in till about five in the afternoon and there are no outlets in the rooms: one must use the reception area to recharge batteries) but the water that comes out of the taps has force to it and is completely clear. I’ve already taken two walks, done some writing, done some reading, had a massage, taken a nap, and eaten lunch, and it’s only three-thirty! Well, that’s it for now.


12/9/95

  My sleep has been deep and restful since moving to Kaw Kwang. It’s really quite interesting how many people really had problems sleeping at the Tropicana; it’s not as if I’d dreamed up some interesting metaphysical insight. In fact, I had no idea what was going on, I was simply trying to explain my own restlessness.

  I wish I were having better shits. With the exception of maybe one instance, I can’t say that I’ve had satisfying shits since coming to Thailand. The food is nowhere near the quality or class that it was in Bali. I’m sure that has something-if not all-to do with it. There’s not as much living stuff being consumed. The majority of the diet is fried food with rice. I can handle that on occasion, but a staple of it becomes tedious on the system. The good news is that since moving, and giving up the motorbike, I’ve been doing a lot of walking. I enjoy the physical activity, it makes me feel that I’m working out more than just my legs. Yesterday, while walking, I got another line to my “Boat” song. I’m still trying to learn to let go and not force creativity. The fact that the line literally came out of nowhere, and is a good line, reinforces the passive approach to creation.

  Balance. I wish I were creating in some balanced way. Two songs came easily in Bali, I reworked “Geographic Tongue” while in Thailand, but basically my creative juices have dried up with my bowels. I want to shit. I want to be a steady flow of creativity and feces. Is it so hard to keep a flow going? By the way, I was going to dump (no pun intended, really) the idea of writing a song called “Going with the Flow,” thinking that it was too ordinary. But since I’ve been doing the handbook on artistic rejuvenation I’ve been aware, or more conscious, of synchronicity in my life. The morning I decided to let go of the “flow” song, I was walking on the beach. As my pace is rather fast, I came upon a couple walking in front of me. On the back of the man’s T-shirt was printed “Go with the Flow”. I took that to mean that I should keep pursuing the lyric I’d intended. But now, as I write this incident into the computer, I realize that perhaps this was also a message for me to just go with the flow and quit trying (as always) to make things (and lyrics) happen. Does one ever learn from one’s mistakes and lessons? Do I? I hope so, otherwise I’m just beating my head against the wall.

  I continue to realize how pessimistic I am, despite my internal well-being. I see the faces of so many people in other cultures and am confronted with their greedy, opportunistic nature, as opposed to a joyous attitude of friendliness. Everything here (I believe I found this in Bali, as well) is about money. Daily, I see how the tourist is seen as nothing more than a means toward increasing the finances of the merchants. I don’t mind people making money, it’s just I wish it weren’t the only thing filtering all their conversations and actions. Just as I’m always looking for those few moments of perfection and joy, I continue to look for moments when I’m interacting with people on a level that transcends their act of separating me from my money.

  Again, I realize that for me to be truly happy, or content, somewhere, I need to have a steady supply of living, healthy food. This deep-fried mentality is getting on my nerves. What I wouldn’t do for a fresh green salad!


12/10/95

  Today was a good example of synchronicity, or the concept that someone should be aware of what one asks for, because it just may come true. After walking to Saladan for breakfast (this early morning activity is one of the best moments and meditations of my time here) I walked back to the room. Not in the room for more than ten minutes, I had the intense urge to shit. And shit I did. And some more. And some more. I felt like I was purging what had stored inside me for these first couple of weeks. An indescribable feeling of joy and lightness came over me. It’s really quite amazing how much happiness a good bowel movement brings me. After this almost religious experience, I walked the beach (another of my daily routines which doubles as exercise and meditation) had some orange juice at the Beach Restaurant, and then had a massage from the portly lady at Mae’s Massage Parlor, who does excellent work. As usual, her massage was thorough, relaxing, and healing. After the massage, I had a green salad (to maintain my healthy feeling) and a Snickers chocolate bar (to maintain my sugar balance and chocolate craving). I then began my walk back to my room. When I was about ten minutes away, that familiar feeling had returned to my stomach area, indicating that another shit was imminent. I walked at a very brisk pace, careful not to attempt to alleviate the pain by farting. I got in the room just in time to let another event unfold. The consistency was diarrhea, not solid at all, but hey, I’ll take anything I can get right now. It appears that my stomach is reacting to some, if not all, of the foul foods I’ve been ingesting of late, but I remain happy to be letting it go. I have the feeling (literally and figuratively) that more will be on its way before the day it through. And I will love it, no matter how much discomfort it gives me. Because, after all, it was less than twelve hours ago that I asked for this release. So, if it’s true that we can get what we ask for, then here I go:

  “O God, or supreme power, or creative force of the Universe and all that is...Please unfold the creative force within me so that I create effortlessly, with joy, and with little thought expended on schedules, guilt, or discipline. Make my work profound and beautiful, so that it can touch others, as well as myself, and effect healing. Provide me with the external validation I look for, or make me so self-sufficient that this is no longer something I desire. And while you’re at it, I’d love a Grammy or two, or more, recognizing my work. Last, but not least, oh great one, please bring love into my life and keep my family and loved ones protected from harm and infirmity. Thank you for listening.”

  Well, I spent the better part of today shitting. I can’t say I didn’t ask for it. It also made me wonder whether I shouldn’t order some more Oxygen for Life and have it sent over to me. I don’t think that the diarrhea I suffered was a result of some deleterious microbes so much as shitty food (again, no pun intended). Still, even it if it is only a placebo, there is something to the ritual of preparing my water that I actually like. So, perhaps when I figure everything else out, and definitely before I embark for Laos and Vietnam, I will have some more Oxygen sent to me.


12/11/95

  I made my morning walk to the bakery, again enjoying the early hour coolness. I had my usual two cups of coffee and then proceeded to the hotel to check for any faxes. They know me by now, and simply tell me whether I have something before I even get the chance to ask. As there were no faxes, I proceeded to the Beach Restaurant, where I had orange juice. Have I ever mentioned Kiss? Believe it or not, that is the name of one of the young women who works at the restaurant. Anyway, I was attracted to this nineteen year old girl from the first moment. She’s not a drop dead beauty, but she’s attractive, and has a magnetic personality to her. (Or is that my hormones talking?) Unfortunately, her English is so limited that we rarely have anything to exchange, save the menu options. I know that I stare at her, pleasantly, whenever she’s around, and she returns the smile. Anyway, today, as there were no people at the restaurant, she sat at the bar with me and was very friendly. She asked (much of our conversation was transacted with gesticulations and pen and paper) if I were with a woman. I said no, and asked her the same question. She said no. At one point, she got up and got some palm leaves and proceeded to weave me a fish hanging from a stick, and a ball. She gave these to me as presents and then asked if I wanted to try some home-cooked, authentic Thai food. I said yes. She disappeared into the kitchen and then returned with a bowl of noodles (spicy) and two spoons. We sat facing each other, at the bar, and ate out of the same bowl. Now, I’m no genius, but it seems to me that this was some form of Thai courting going on. I only wish I understood Thai, or that she understood English, because it was difficult to ascertain exactly what it was we were saying to each other. One thing of which I was pretty clear was that Thai girls (at least “good” ones) don’t sleep with a man until they’re coupled, or married. So, I’m not sure if kissing is out of the question, as well, but it was interesting to note that this was the direction of our conversation. When we were done eating, we faced each other and continued our poor attempts at communication. Unfortunately, in our present state, there’s not much more that can be exchanged. It was a very interesting encounter for me. Thoughts rushed through my head concerning relationships, age, cultural differences, genetic purity, responsibility to one’s cultural tribe, communication, and so on, and so forth. I can’t say that I ended up with a positive solution. Martin, a German man staying next to my bungalow, is married to a Thai woman. He’s here, alone, on vacation. He has the European monopoly on deodorant crystals (one of which he’s given me) and is very proud of the quality of his product. He’s said that it’s the dream of Thai women to marry an American man. I guess I fall into that category. He also said that other than the whores, one cannot even so much as hold the hand of a Thai woman until one is married to her. He also said that part of this is beginning to change. So, I guess that other than flirting (and what’s the use of that act, in the end?) there’s really no use for me to encourage what’s already begun to take place between Kiss and myself. Sad, really, but true.


12/16/95

 Wow, I can’t believe that I haven’t made an entry in five days. So much has occurred, I’m not sure how much I’ll remember. What I do remember is that I had do go to Phuket to get money from the American Express office. Having signed up with the American Express program for getting cash out of one’s account (before leaving Sedona) I’d imagined I could get money easily whenever I needed. Wrong! The motto for the Visa card is “It’s everywhere you want to be”. The motto for the American Express card should be “It’s nowhere you are”. Anyway, I took a boat into Krabi and a bus from there to Phuket. The total travel time was five hours, and the bus trip was as harrowing experience as the mini van ride I took up from Malaysia. When I arrived in Phuket, I was fortunate enough to be met by Rudy (the baker at the Saladan bakery) who picked me up on his motorbike and took me around to complete the few errands I had. I got cash, sent some faxes, and then went to DHL to send off my latest mail package. When the tasks were completed, we headed down to Patong beach, the Waikiki of Thailand, where Rudy had booked a room. We had a beer and a sandwich and then retired to our rooms for an afternoon nap (it was five in the afternoon!) in preparation for the evening’s festivities. At seven thirty, we embarked on our journey. Phuket is a classic town overrun by tourism and all the associated ills. Lines and lines of bars ten to fifteen deep, one next to the other, filled each street and side street. We parked the motorbike and began our walk through various bars. We sat and had beers, some grilled chicken on a stick (without a doubt, some of the most tender and delicious chicken I’ve ever tasted) and then continued on to some of the more intense bars where, in the open, women and Katoys (transvestites and transsexuals) danced, scantily clad. During their dances, in the middle of, and on top of the bars, they would lift their skirts or lower their tops to reveal their naked flesh. Droves of tourists looked on, some pawing the silicone implanted breasts of the nondescript gendered humans whose sole purpose was the visual stimulation of the customers. When their dances were complete, the dancers (and I use this term very, very loosely) came out into the throngs in an attempt to have drinks bought or, the ultimate, be taken home. In order to “purchase” one of the dancers, one simply asks how much one has to “pay the bar” to take the dancer home. There is no mystery, no courtship. This transaction, and business, has been honed into a fine, smooth enterprise in which there are no mistakes and no embarrassment. We moved on to yet another street of bars with their attendant girls. (Each bar has its own set of girls “working” there.) Our alcohol intake to this point had grown pretty impressive (that point where another drink doesn’t even add a noticeable effect) and we ended up at a bar where one of Rudy’s “girls” (he’d been with her in past years and the night before I showed up) worked. More alcohol flowed, we played pool, Rudy kissed and fondled Joy (I love the simplicity of Thai names) and I nibbled on yet another chicken stick. (Rudy’s thoughts on his penis, mine on my stomach. Both trying, unsuccesfully, to vill a void.) Soon, Rudy having arranged to meet Joy later, we moved on. It was past one in the morning and Rudy suggested we go to Christine’s, a high-priced massage parlor whose emphasis is not traditional Thai massage. As we drove to Christine’s, Rudy explained to me that the specialty at this very famous (infamous?) establishment is what is called a foam massage in which one is “massaged” with a foam by a naked Thai woman (which one has chosen from behind a series of glass rooms) who rubs her entire torso up and down one’s body. The rest is clear. When we got to Christine’s we found that they’d already closed for the evening, something unheard of in Phuket, but understandable considering the lack of tourism. Like hungry sharks, we got on the motorbike, sorry to have been deprived the Christine’s experience, in search of one more bar to pass the late hour. There was only one street with a respectable amount of partying still going on. We sat at a bar, where there were a few cute, young girls working, and had some more drinks. Sensing our desperation, they hovered around us and brought out their games. (All the girls that work have a series of bar games such as dominoes, and such, that occupy the time as the drinking is done and provide the pretext for communication and interaction.) Rudy, who’d spotted and engaged one of the cutest young girls, was occupied in a game, and I was occupied with yet another game with a woman who was more friendly than she was attractive. She said she wanted to come home with me. I asked how much I’d have to pay the bar. She said one hundred baht (about four dollars) and I agreed. We took a tuk tuk (mini van taxi) back to my bungalow and made attempts at conversation, which without a game was pretty lame. Entering the room, she immediately went into the bathroom (she’d brought her backpack with her, we’re talking seasoned professionals, here) and emerged sometime later, showered, with a towel around her. She then insisted that I go shower. Entering the bathroom, I found my toothbrush had been thoughtfully prepared with a dab of toothpaste already applied to the brush. I came out and got under the covers where Ann was already laying. I caressed her head a bit, she nudged up against me and without seeing her hands move her towel was suddenly off. I didn’t kiss her, even though she made a few attempts at that act. (The sheer surreal nature of this situation is beyond the scope of my writing ability.) At one point she asked me if I had a condom. I replied that I wouldn’t need one because I had no intention of having sex with her; that touching and being touched was all I was interested in. We touched, like two foreigners looking for a common language with which to express, and having each reached our climax through an advanced form of handshake (she immediately jumped up to the shower to cleanse herself of my semen on her stomach) we went to sleep. It was four in the morning with a wake-up call set for two hours later. I haven’t slept with someone in so long that my intention was for her to leave. But I was so tired and drunk that I could have shared my bed with a pit bull. Thankfully, she barely moved, didn’t cling to me, and I was just as generous. The wake-up call awakened me to a foul taste in my mouth from the abuse of alcohol and cigarettes. It amazes me to think that there are people who regularly entertain themselves in this manner. We said our good-byes with a friendly manner that had more emotion to it than what we’d exchanged the night before. Rudy was soon downstairs, having spent another night plowing the fields of Joy. (Actually, in his inimitable broken English, he said that Joy had given him a “blow job” and that he had “splashed in her mouth”.) We drove back to Phuket town, gave up the motorbike, and went to the airport where Rudy was scheduled to pick up Robert’s daughter, who was arriving from Australia to see her father for the first time in five years. She finally came and we were soon on the bus back to Krabi. I slept the entire ride back, a feat that is rare for me. We then boarded the boat to Lanta. As soon as I arrived, I showered and went for a massage. Too tired to walk back to Kaw Kwang after dinner, I had one of the chefs of the beach restaurant drive me back. In the morning, Martin told me that the bar at Kaw Kwang had once again been going loudly till three, and that he wanted to find a new place to stay. As I was tired of the bathroom at Kaw Kwang, the noise of the bar, and the lack of electricity in my room, I was happy to go in search of another room with him. We ended up moving into the Lanta Royal by noon, unconcerned with the fact that our next evening’s room at Kaw Kwang had already been paid, The Royal is cleaner, has electricity, a high-powered fan, and a better bathroom. Though the price is the same, it will double when high season kicks in. That pretty well brings me up to date on some of the highlights, excepting of course, the fact that before leaving for Phuket I finished my diving course and am now a certified PADI diver. Unlike the first two dives, I had much less pain associated with equalizing the pressure in my ears. It was still intense at the start but soon got easier. The deepest we dove was to eleven meters. Though the site didn’t offer a wealth of visuals, it felt good to be under the water, breathing effortlessly, and experiencing the world in which fish live. No doubt, I will dive again soon.

  I also forgot to mention that after the dive I spent some time with Tim (an American who I met at the bar next to the beach restaurant). We got high with a giant joint and laughed and talked. It was to be his last night before departing for Vietnam. That same day (and through the night) I had numerous inspirations for songs. Their titles are “Don’t Marry, Be Happy,” “Ticket To The Moon,” “Too Happy For The Blues,” and “The Boob Tube Is An Idiot Box”. Unlike certain topics which seem interesting until I try to express them, these songs instantly started revealing themselves. I hope the gestation and completion is as effortless. Interestingly enough, the mood and topics of the songs being born in Thailand is much different than that of those created in Bali. By the time this trip is over, I should have quite an assortment of songs.


12/21/95

  Yes, it’s been days since my last entry. But considering how much creative work has been done in the same period, who cares? After all, the whole idea of these “morning pages” is to rejuvenate one’s creativity.

  I’ve started having some insights about where I’m traveling and the parallels with my creative process. Bali, heavy with its Hindu religion and influences, was an internal process for me. I was meditating, swimming, writing, going to cultural events, and classes. It was about feeding the spirit with new cultural stimuli. Thailand, on the other hand, has been very much an experience of external stimulation. I haven’t been meditating, and despite the ocean being in front of my bungalow (figuratively speaking) I haven’t been swimming. I’ve spent more time at bars speaking with people, interacting, have gotten high, and have basically laid back with less of a game plan or mission than I had in Bali. These two approaches to my life and my art could not be more clearly delineated than they have been in these two countries. This concept started me thinking about the way that I have created over the last years. I’ve spent almost all my time examining sound, arrangement, production, and song structure. It would seem, to me, that I’ve achieved about as much competence and expertise in these fields as anyone creating quality albums could ask for. But, in that pursuit, I also neglected to develop the internal part of my creativity. That would be the lyrics, what it is I’m saying, and the melodies, to a certain extent. I was so busy getting the perfect groove and arrangement, that lyrics were the last component of the compositions. This meant that what I was saying was taking a back seat to how it was being said. Now, in my new mode, deprived of music equipment and technology, I’ve been left to do nothing other than think about what it is I’m saying. This is a refreshing change as I see concepts which I always discuss with friends beginning to emerge as lyrics. (As opposed to love songs about relationships I’m not even having.) More than ideas of fantasy (as in my previous albums) these lyrics express Paul Voudouris concepts. That, in and of itself, should guarantee a great degree of originality. In the past four days, I’ve written first drafts for four songs. In my drought mentality, I never imagined I’d be able to have any serious output while in Thailand. I was ready to blame the country and it’s ways, by comparing it to Bali, when I wasn’t experiencing the fruitful output I hoped for. Now I realize (I’ll probably forget this revelation in a week) that every place and way of doing things can be good.

  Yesterday, I went for another two dives to Koh Ha. Though I experienced the same difficulty equalizing the pressure in my ears, it was fine after the first five to seven meters. I took this dive to go to a greater depth, in order to find whether I can dive deep enough to take the advanced course. The first dive I went a little over nineteen meters, which was proof enough that I can do it, if my ears don’t give me too many problems. The first of the two dives, I saw some stonefish, a moray eel, a porcupine fish, and my first black spotted puffer fish. It was quite large, and slowly hovered next to me, each of us looking at the other. The second dive revealed a scorpion fish and the ultimate: a whale shark. This largest representation of the fish kingdom is a rare sight that many tour companies in Australia engage helicopters to locate. That we should see one-actually it was probably two-at a depth of ten meters and at a distance of not more than ten meters was a remarkable treat. Gracefully, it swam by us, unconcerned of our presence. I didn’t know that it was a plankton eating whale shark when we saw it underwater. I’d heard of many leopard sharks in the vicinity and assumed that this spotted creature was a leopard shark. So it was a bit of a rush to be so near a creature which, in my ignorance, I assumed could devour me if it chose to. I was very pleased with these dives and would like to go again. I just wish the cost for the dives wasn’t so expensive.

  I’m sure I’ve spoken of Kiss before. Haven’t I? She’s the nineteen year old Thai girl that works at the Beach Restaurant. Anyway, seeing her every day has brought up a lot of issues for me. It’s made me think about what marriage and relationships are and what they’re supposed to be. It’s made me think of the concept of marrying a foreign woman: whether it’s simply the illusion of something different and better, or whether different cultures really do have different outlooks on relationships. Kiss has made it very clear that she wants to be with me, that she’d like to go home with me. She is cute, fun, and charming in that young girl way. In Thailand, a woman unmarried over twenty-five will probably never get a husband. Also, it is very common for women to marry men who are twenty to thirty years older than they are. Thai girls see a foreign man, “falang” as they say, as a way out of their poverty and misery. They also know that being with a Thai man is a much worse alternative. Foreigners, such as myself, probably share analogous desires as the Thai girls. They too, are looking for a way out of their misery. These hard-working, lovely, male supporting females are the perfect solution for many a western man disillusioned with equal rights, man bashing females, and the dissolution of the feminine homemaker. So, here am I confronted with this delicious little girl, wondering what I should do. Unfortunately, this girl is one of those packages that you don’t unwrap until it’s been purchased. Which makes me wonder about the whole idea of contracted marriages. I also wonder about my responsibility to my genetic code, whether I shouldn’t be pursuing some Greek or Greek-American woman. And if I were to couple with this girl, what then? Do we live in the U.S., which is already too surreal for me to return to? How do I continue my career if I live in Thailand? And what about Greece? Or children? Will I have little Thai looking children? Would that bother me? Such a shitload of questions have been on my mind.

  Funny that I should end the last paragraph with the words shit and mind in the final sentence. I’ve had diarrhea and a headache for the past three days. I’m weak and most probably dehydrated. Every time something like this happens to me, I become a hypocondriac, thinking that perhaps I’ve come down with some rare germ or bacteria. I hope that this is not the case.

  I can’t believe it’s Christmas in a few more days. I feel none of the Christmas spirit (and why would I?) and the entire concept and consumer mentality attending this holiday make me nauseous.


12/25/95

  Christmas 95 and here I am typing into my computer. Of course, since I haven’t made an entry in a few days, it doesn’t really make a difference if it’s Christmas, Easter, or any other day of the week. In the last few days, I finished off the advanced course for diving. This feat brought with it a positive and a negative result. First, the positive side of things. On the second to last dive, I was at arm’s length (no exaggeration, here) from a whale shark. This rare sighting has presented itself to me twice, and yet to no other dive groups. The creature swam by me in slow majesty, at peace, its eye focused on my mask. Though two others touched it, and I was tempted to do the same, I refrained, and allowed it the dignity of passing by me unmolested. I really felt a sense of wonder and awe when I experienced this sighting. It was akin to a religious experience, though I can’t really say why. I also went on a night dive and a deep dive as a result of the advanced certification process. The deep dive was to thirty meters. At this depth, it wasn’t as if we saw anything more spectacular, it was merely the act of going deep. The night dive was interesting in that it revealed hundreds of rays in the sand beach where everyone swims. It’s now no mystery to me why two people have already been stung by the very painful and poisonous tail of the rays. On one of the dives, we also encountered a school of squid hovering amidst the current. This was a wonderful sight, as was the phosphorescent plankton at night. By turning off our flashlights, we were able to see millions of phosphorescent plankton lighting up the water. Diving these past weeks has proved to be a meditative and calming experience for me. It has also revealed other worlds to which I was ignorant in the past. The down side to all of this is that the sensitivity of my ears to the pressure increased. On three different occasions, I had blood coming out of my nose and mouth. Now, my right ear is in pain and is making a high pitched whistling sound associated with the irreversible damage of tinnitus (I’m self-diagnosing, through fear, here). I’m hoping against hope that this is not what I’ve done to myself. It would hardly be a good Christmas present to someone, but especially not to a musician who lives by his ears. God, I hope this isn’t something serious. I’ve put a band around my ears and am administering ear drops every four hours. There is a clinic on Lanta, but they don’t even have one of those simple instruments with which to check the inside of one’s ears. This pain, and the thought associated with the possibility of permanent damage has made creating, or any activity, very difficult for me. I don’t feel like doing anything.

  Last night, on Christmas Eve, I sang two songs for the staff at the Beach Restaurant. Also there was Steve, a tall forty-five year old musician who has played guitar and sung songs at various events on the island. He gets the chords to most of the songs wrong, and doesn’t have a voice worth a shit, but he is a very kind and funny person. He is somewhat of an alcoholic and has rotten teeth but, still, I like spending time talking with him. He has a goodness that emanates from his being. After I sang the two songs, he was very complimentary, saying my voice was as good as the best people in the business. This made me feel good, very good, even though my thoughts were with my ear.

  As Christmas Eve is the time that Germans (the majority of the tourists, here) celebrate Christmas, I went to my room and chose nice objects that I would give to the people of the Beach Restaurant. Unlike my previous attachment to things, I found I was very released with my belongings, feeling the joy of giving as more important to me than the possession of certain items. I gave away my Montblanc pen, my silver bracelet, my Maglite flashlight, and numerous articles of clothing that people had admired on me. Some of these articles had been worn less than ten times. So, I lightened the weight of my luggage and, hopefully, made some people happy.

  I forgot to mention that Martin left for Koh Phi Phi the other day. In search of a little more action and female activity, he abandoned Lanta. I also haven’t mentioned Kiss in a while. But she is in my presence everyday, at the Beach Restaurant, and I find myself thinking about her even when my rational side says that this is a situation that simply cannot and will not be. When I’d mentioned her to Martin again, he said that if I were to marry a Thai girl, that it would have to be one that was educated and had some command of the English language. Otherwise, he added, when the thrill of newness wore off, we would be left with nothing in common, and not even a language with which to communicate. He also said that farmers (which Kiss is) can not afford to send their children to school after the government sponsored four years education, and have them do the tiring chores of the farm, instead. (It is for this reason that so many of the young Thais appear to me to be older than their years. I look at mid, to late twenty year old women who appear to be in their late thirties.) I understand Martin’s points, and he’s most probably right, but I feel like a kid when I see Kiss. It’s probably that feeling associated with not being able to have what I want when I want it. Perhaps if I were to kiss and hold her, the thrill would go. Today, at dinner, she gave me a ceramic candle holder, which she bought for me. Considering how little she makes, this was a very, very kind gesture. She also gave me a picture of herself and asked me for one of me. I’ll give her the pictures from my promo pack. Her picture shows her to be the doll that she is.

  I need to travel elsewhere in Thailand. I need objectivity. I don’t know what’s good for me, what’s appropriate for my growth and future, and what will truly make me feel good. Again, I need guidance. Oh great reader of this journal, give me guidance (but, please, help heal my ear first).


12/29/95

  In the days since my last entry, I’ve had some genuine paranoia or hypochondria concerning my ear. I ended up going to Krabi, where I visited a clinic and had a doctor look into my ear. He said that my eardrum wasn’t ruptured and gave me some antibiotics and pills for a couple of days. This treatment, he assured me, would take care of my problem and I could go diving again. (Strangely, people seem more concerned with whether I can dive again than the permanent status of my hearing.) After two days, with no comfort afforded by the doctor’s prescription, I took another boat (this traveling was very debilitating. I caught a cold, as well.) to Trang, to visit a private hospital. The hospital was new, clean, and organized in a way that I found surprising for Thailand. Of course, since I’ve seen so little of Thailand this seems a rather irresponsible generalization to make. After a short wait, I was looked at by a doctor, who said that my middle ear seemed to have some infection, but that the outer canal seemed to look fine. He also said that he had an ear specialist friend who was a doctor at another clinic. I asked for his address and was soon in his office. Looking in my ear, this doctor said that my middle ear had fluid blocked in it, and that the therapy was to release it. He pulled out a six-inch metal instrument that had an arrowhead (no exaggeration) at the tip, and said that he would poke a hole in my ear drum and vacuum out the liquid. Incredulous, I asked him if he was, indeed, a specialist. He confirmed his status and assured me that the therapy would be relatively quick and painless. I was in one of those classic predicaments where I’m looking for relief, but at the hands of a third world doctor, who is suggesting a treatment which would sound bizarre even in the Mayo Clinic. Nonetheless, I agreed. He poked my ear, I heard a pop, he inserted the vacuuming device and began sucking out God knows what from my ear. He then gave me a series of prescriptions of drugs to take. I filled the prescriptions and was soon on my way back to Lanta. (Interestingly, I was able to do all the aforementioned activities in the one and one half hour period that the buses spend in Trang before heading back to the port for the boat to Lanta.) I spent the remainder of the day taking it easy and fielding questions as to the status of my ear. This morning, after a long and pleasurable sleep, my ear seemed to have improved a bit, though it’s hard to tell with the onset of a cold affecting my ears and sinuses. (When it rains, it pours!) This ear and cold situation have altered my consciousness a bit in that they have forced me to be a bit more introverted, examining my personal situation, rather than being as outgoing as before. I’ve lost much of the interest of interaction and prefer to spend some time alone, writing and relaxing. Added to this state of mind is the weather, which has been overcast and cooler. So, I’m still concerned about my ear, it’s just I’m trying to make it one of the thoughts-as opposed to the only thought-in my head.


12/31/95

  My ear’s doing a little better. I still have the head cold, which affects my sinuses and makes it substantially more difficult to note the improvement in my ear. Still, I do notice less of a problem and pain than four days ago. Today, everyone is getting prepared for the new year’s eve parties going on at all the bars and resorts. I’ve been booked to eat at the Saladan Bakery but I remain completely uninterested in where I actually spend the time. If it weren’t such a big thing, I’d probably go to sleep at my usual early hour. I guess I’ll take a late afternoon nap to be better prepared for the evening’s festivities. I’ve promised to sing a few songs at the Beach Restaurant for various people in the Dive Center and their associated friends. So many have asked me to sing lately, and I’ve wanted to, that this seems the perfect opportunity. I’ll sing three to four songs and then head off to the bakery, whose party will have started some three hours previously.

  The little seven watt powered speakers I bought for my DAT recorder work perfectly. It’d been some time since I’d listened to music. Even though I only have DAT tapes of my works, it still provides for some pleasurable listening as I work. It also enables me to practice singing for my performances.

  I forgot to mention that Kanika, the cute Thai girl that works behind the reception, and with whom I’ve been flirting, gave me a wonderful card for the New Year celebration. Where she could have found something of that quality, and pertaining to the conversations we’ve had, astounds me. I was deeply moved by her gesture.

 

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