THE UNEMPLOYED 4: A Delegate to ANCOM 2024

10 am on Friday the 26th of April was the clock

10 aprons and jewels went up the tarp

10 relieved gentleman in a satisfying jaunt

10 stubs for one final Chinese lauriat

he was the Maj. Harold M. Clark who crashed

she is Camille X who flashed her blinkers

her niece Diane was the willing replacement 

she's at Number 2 after the CDO appointment

red cleavages, cigarettes and lighters

tight white butts and nicotine pouches

nubile umbrella girl, bosomy masseuse 

chivalrous sexism, chauvinist merchants

an Ironman in the MOU for a workshop

chicken grilled twice, one more dollar account

Phantom riding for a water bill and a haircut

21 beer bottles when you're single at 21

THE UNEMPLOYED 3: A Consultant in Kuala Lumpur

it was the wet biryani

a virtual account unlocked for the seeker's liberation of a hostaged last pay as PR 527 poured two cans of beer into a bento box of half-burnt kretek butts  

but online check-in won't budge from a confusing arrival procedure to manage five paid sessions at the Ramada Hotel

and review the Bangkok framework

that was the red shirt

daylight for a night tour 

royal guards throw bolts of wet shoes at a spire and the minaret while the rain waltzed with the twin towers to warm a cold haram dinner in Bukit Bintang

 beer, kaoliang and whiskey

a duel of fish skin and roasted chicken in honor of a departing keisatsu who traded a salted egg shrimp for the mountie's poached fish and a Sarawak love song 

Hanuman is not a beer

she is a proud uncovered breast herding monkeys from Batu Caves into guardians of the Putra Mosque who cover Chinese tourists with the Prime Minister's maroon robes 

a Saturday night fever

it was the masked lady who absorbed all the pheromones in PR 528 for a white lady in the bus who summoned the virus to Baloc with a case of Red Horse on a Sunday night...

THE UNEMPLOYED 2: A Houseband in Bakal 2

The Ironman versus The Waterboy

frozen kappukan, a mummified bluefin tuna, two ancient gurami fused by ice

they melted like beer in the ricefields, like dead heroes after breaking the fast

a duel of software updates for draft application requirements

The Chef is The Dishwasher and The Sweeper

nucleared pinangat, pinapaitan boiled twice, kinilaw embalmed in soy sauce

recycled like a contract for Kuala Lumpur, like an updated CV and Cover Letter

juggling funds for an aircon replacement and credit card payment

The Laundryman and The Marketman

withered amaranth crushed,green brandy canned twice, a job advert goes live

morals and dogma from the checkerboard floor, tales of coitus on a Sunday night

seven portraits of a Phantom Biker in a canvass of creamy tofu and pasta

THE UNEMPLOYED 1: A Volunteer in Bangkok

What I will miss are the paydays
so I settled power and credit card bills with the last one

leaving just enough for a facilitation in Bangkok

   

before the Leaver gets paid, before the KL budget is received, before the lotto jackpot is won

after fixing a leak and a broken gentlemen's agreement. 

There was PITX and failed registrations

the distracting massage parlors in Huai Khwang

but I came for the guilds and homesters at The Palazzo 

for the smoked pork ribs, for the fried crispy pork, for the grilled pork neck

without compensation, with love, and with thanks.

Two more Amaranth shirts disposed

those that wafted of kretek with hints of Hong Thong

like sleep twice crushed by an Old Hag

salt crusted like broiled fish, savory like pork and noodles, tangy like grilled beef 

and the love story of Marx and Lenin. 

The crowd work but I did not shop

the garments are not mine and should be trashed
for a fee of 1,200 baht, for the price of $128

for a glass of tarty white wine, for a shot of spicy whiskey, for three cans of smoky beer

for a bus seat in Pasay's Friday rush hour.

The Shinobi slept before midnight

fridge ransacked, Saturday deleted, and I am free

fifteen good years and one more left for the Grim Reaper  

Red Horse cold as ice, wine red as Chilean blood, kinilaw bitter as goat bile

we will live long and prosper.

THE CITY OF DIAMONDS (and Desserts)

Diamonds are forever but glasses are made from the sands of Cha-am Beach where the squid was fried, the fish steamed, and the crab was flaked and caked as the sun rises from the Gulf of Thailand to fill a chilled mug that formed from a ladle of melted quartz with its liquid golden rays. 

We are diamonds, we sparkle in our own right, we came to Phetchaburi, we plotted the future from the past, and we have desserts for snacks.

The Village 

But before that, I got chased by a pack of dogs as I pursue the monks of Wat Sai Yoi to ask them where will I find pure carbon, and if pizza or Thai food will be more appropriate for the morning alms. 

I should have stopped for a street breakfast, purred like Garfield, ride a horse in the beach or got boosted with a dose of Red Bull but the fried fish head from the seafood barbecue was potent enough to instigate a Bollywood dance showdown until almost midnight.

The Fish Port

I disposed two more Amaranth shirts in a gated high-end resort enclave that would have cost a pouch of 24-carat diamonds to build before the pungent smell of the sea and rotting fish pulled me through narrow alleys into the oracle of Suvannamaccha. 

"Line up your bike in a rocky beach front and a San Phra Phum" said the golden fish, "then visit a kalae house and pose with a boat at the fish landing so you will remember the Thai omelette, gai pad krapow and the beer tower you had for dinner" added the mermaid. 

The Mangrove

On our last day, the oracle revealed the Front Hall to the hidden mangrove forest park where a floating wooden bridge ferry bikers and hikers to the canal lighthouse where blue fishing boats that are all named "Jenny" are moored.

In exchange, we have to ride our bikes through the loose sands of the beach into the temple, to the fish landing, past the crematorium, behind a blue garbage truck, and through quaint neigborhoods to a final dessert of mango and sticky rice.

Convent Road, Yaowarat and Bakal 2

Back in Bangkok, I waited patiently for a crispy pork stall to set up in the streets of Silom, walked out of a street diner in Yaowarat for snubbing my order for fresh oysters then took the train to Phetchaburi, not for the city of diamonds and dessert but for the train to Suvarnabhumi to wash not just my feet but have my first ever airport shower that is costumary for Maundy Thursday.

Good Friday caught me in a red-eye flight to Manila and the bus to Bakal 2, to a feast of reheated leftover food for the only day of the year when mass is not celebrated until Black Saturday and the Harrowing of Hell, the redemption of Globe Rewards, and the resurrection of Easter Sunday which is the last day of my 6th employment contract with Oxfam...