No place safe to rest my head

It just dawned on me the reason why I took off without hesitation when the e-Gate was opened.

Fast pace is just an understatement. I think it's a crowd with jitters and speed. I was just at a friend's place for a small group gathering from various churches. I mean this was cell-group, which I ought to be used to. Intrigued I was probably not. Disturbed was close. More like smacked. The speed in which thought translated to the spoken was probably synoymous. There was no time to put there articulation together and choice cuts into proper phrases. Even now I feel a little shaken, stirred and ripped. It's a form of hijacking.

It's been three days since I found this chance to sit at the corner, literally of the crowded corner, attempting to drown out the maddening shroud that is closing in, with Howie Day stuck to my ears, trying to blog and sit with these thoughts.

It was a good 20 minutes from the station to eventually finding that particular cafe that had free wireless internet access - hot spots are pretty common here. Was expecting a lot of trend ringers around but it seems I am now the only one. So how do I begin? A flood hit the day I arrived and I feel buried under the onslaught of middle class orientalism and oppressing neon robbers. As if it hasn;t been enough, I am subjecting my senses, all of them literally, to the extreme. Think Chilli. Think "turn it up!". Think chockablock full. Think heavy bags. Think straight made crooked. Think dodgers on their way to some petty mission. Think like you can't think because this bloody guy in front has been addressing his audience without stopping to breathe. There is passion, yet where is the harness?

So i lived with all this for 26 years? Part of me wants to leave immediately, yet departing seems to brief at this point.

But objectives haven't been left alone. At least I have tasted one of those coveted orange soup oodles. Complete with the same sea cake accompaniment. Yummers is the word. Even got driven to the threshold. Friends.

Here's digressing. It's like 3.30pm and don't these guys work? I can understand the stinky uniforms but what about these collared midwives? Time here tends to be disjointed for me. On one end it feels like dinner time and my friend hasn't called, I should probably get irritated. But since I just doused some good old eastern fetish, I should let my body recuperate. Yes, rituals of energy renewal. That's why I am here now, blogging away, piece-ing my members together again to hold some weight at a later duel. It's difficult to do so without the suddenly efficient staff gibbering on about some "collection stations" and "change of fortydollarsandsixtyfivecentssir", what was that again? - while slamming on the brakes of some furniture alignment obsession all in one multitasking talent he was employed for. How about a proper smile and look in the eye to begin with? Ok, let up, chuck.

Since arriving I have been honored as a favourite buddy, a pillar, a superstar and FON. Full of nonsense. I kid you not. Feels great to be remembered that way. I mean "buddy" is good but favourite just topped the cream. Kings and priests with a dollop of humanity. It's like your favourite food served on a yellow stained plate, and you won't have it any other way. This is where I came from.

Here's a fact to close it off. I have used my iPod more in a day here than I did in a week. The weather does change a man and his ways.

By the way I think Maria Mena is so under-rated.

cjt