Marching Forward into 2011

Dear all:

The sun of 2010 has already set and disappeared resolutely beyond the horizon, leaving me with what feels like a clean state; this state provides me a canvas on which to draw up plans, however feasible, for the forthcoming twelve months. I, for one, have high hopes for 2011; what those hopes entail and where they will lead me is another matter entirely, but I know for sure, that whether trivial or not, I am going to try and enjoy every last second of my experiences.

This is about as upbeat as I can be really, seizing the opportunities when they arise, and attempting, as pro-actively as possibly, to mould my future into a sculpture of emanating beauty; after all, we only live once, so why not? Of course, in the past year I have not always been so full of optimism; far from it, in fact. There have been some lows that have scraped viciously and without remorse at the depths of my humanity, causing murky thoughts, not to mention actions; however, I have unceremoniously thrown away their toxic influence, and moved on the wiser.

However, that being said, the previous year has had many positive moments, ones to remember. Business has been swift and profitable, albeit at times asphyxiating and all-consuming. Nevertheless, I am very aware that nothing in this life can be achieved without graft, nothing; thus, I have thrown myself head-first into the project and, whether the gods are smiling or not, I’m all in.

Kay and I remain as strong as ever, yet we have had a tumultuous 2010 with her ‘so called’ family. Honestly, and with utmost sincerity, to go into details on this issue at this point would result in an unfettered diatribe of bilious battery acid being spat all over my computer, so, for the sake of midday decency, I will refrain from exposing the finer details. In short, Kay and I are hunky-dory, as always.

Aside form making money and prancing about like a meerkat on methamphetamine 15 hours a day, I have spent the last year reading as widely as the slivers of free time that I have allow me. These novels have provided me with essential vitamins, nourishing my mind and, for the best part, prevented the stresses of daily life erupting in a explosive aneurysm. For this I am indebted to Chekov, Camus, Hemmingway, Russell, Hunter Thompson, and last but not least, Bryan Magee on YouTube, for his succinct dissection of the great thinker of our time (Especially Wittgenstein)

Anyway, on that note, I am off to gorge myself on another chapter of Russell’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ that was so generously send to me by one of today’s great philanthropists, Mr. Stephen Hanna.

For all of you who I have now been in touch with in some time, please write back and tell me how life is treating you.

To you all, Have a wonderful and successful 2011.

The Future is the Internet - The Internet is the Future

Picture from: http://www.impactlab.com

In recent days my head has been spinning. The internet is getting to me: Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, Blogger, Myspace, Wikipedia, youtube - the list goes on snaking its way ever skyward like some serpentine colossus. Where is this new cyber world located? Its physical tangibility is something that perplexes me. How can we rationalize this global phenomenon, and make sense of this pulsating beast of ever growing complexity, when its whereabouts are beyond the imagination of the majority of its users?

What got me thinking about all this was something that happened during my reading skills lesson this morning. For me this was a first and I am sure it is a sign of things to come.

After pre-teaching a handful of new adjectives and adverbs to two new excellent students, I gave them the opportunity to take down the work from the whiteboard into their notebooks – they declined. Instead a mobile phone appeared and a student began to take pictures of my semi-legible scrawl at the front of the classroom. Intrigued, I probed the eager students further to figure out the point of all this technological posturing. They stated that the pictures would be sent via email to each other, and then copied into their notebooks at home. I don’t know why, but this blew me away. Feeling introspective, I sat looking out at the rapidly rising sun as the mid-morning heat pulled dance moves in continuous waves scorching the leather on my desk.

The internet is a first in our history. It has made the unfathomable, fathomable; the unthinkable, thinkable. In the 1950s science fiction writers had shiny, metallic visions of the future full of flying motor vehicles, robotic servants, and delicious meals in a pill, but not one foresaw the advent of the internet

The late great Aldous Huxley in ‘Brave New World’ and ‘Brave New World Revisted’ demonstrated his belief that technology would eventually lead to our collective enslavement and subsequent downfall as a race. Could Huxley’s stirring of the predictive tea leaves turn out to be correct? Is man destined to over play his hand? What will be remains to be seen, but one thing we know for sure is that things can’t be un-invented.

The internet has the capacity for being the greatest tool for individual freedom the world has ever seen; but, what if it was used to thwart our development, and create something demonstrably awful. Could Huxley’s dystopic vision of technological dictatorship become a reality?

I don’t see the future as a bleak, shapeless and monotonous like Huxley. Expounding views such as these does little for the advancement of human kind, but at the same time it does not negate the possibility. The internet is an amazing resource when used responsibly.

The wealth of information at our fingertips has never been greater. It it an opportunity to grow intellectually, socially and financially heralding in a new age of understanding and coexistence on this planet. Advantageous information is out there and we can all access it and grow together in unison. In these terms the future is filled with wondrous possibility, rather than enslavement.

An eastern scholar once said that enslavement is only in the mind. The actions of my students today started a flow of thoughts running though my head, reverberating like a tuning fork. It took the form of a mantra, one that will have a succinct grounding for generations to come.

The future is the internet; the internet is the future.

Mike

Alone With Thought

A man with a blank expression sits on a rock. He watches in silence as the early morning mist begins to lift within the temple grounds. A horizontal line marks the underbelly of the mass of moisture. It moves slowly upward, as if pulled by a giant magnet in the sky. Day break signals the end of the battle between darkness and light. At sundown darkness is the victor, at daybreak light prevails.

He looks on in awe as the surrounding area is illuminated with a luxurious pastel hue: the horizon is shaded with a beautiful softness. Roosters signal the day’s arrival with their trademark throat clearing, cutting through the still air like a knife through damp clay.

He raises his notepad horizontally to his forehead, enabling him to avert the sun glare. In the distance, a Buddhist temple sits quietly below a hill, patiently waiting for the day to unfold. He is fascinated by the intricate patterns of light that are reflecting from the stained glass, casting spells of timeless beauty. As he walks slowly down a manicured lawn, the smell of Orchids drifts delicately in the breeze. Bees and butterflies appear from nowhere, aroused by the sensual smell perfuming the air.

At the far end of the lawn, a small path takes its place. Here, stray dogs cast watery eyed glances at his cautious movements. They pant mechanically, in a futile struggle against the elements. Their efforts are in vain. The man unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt as the cold morning air retreats, leaving only a memory in its wake.

The path meanders past giant green shrubs and delicate flowers until it reaches a small wooden bridge. Perspiration trickles down the man’s back, creating a wet patch on his shirt. Ornately carved teak doors become visible to one side, their tearful departure from the shadows now complete. The man raises an eye brow impressed with the intricacy of the design.

He passes a wonderful golden archway that stoops down as if attempting to kiss the ground. Its physical beauty electrifies his imagination.

Everywhere he looks pinks and purples, reds and greens, mauves and yellows, compete as if in a beauty pageant. Natural selection is their make-up artist. The man’s stony demeanor is broken; he breaks into a smile. Two coconut trees sway like drunkards; between them a red hammock is stretched.

As the sun begins to assert itself, the man sits on the grass. Monks chant. The monosyllables are powerful and engage him. His attention is drawn upwards. Birds begin to sing, their mouths controlled by invisible thread. Melodious softness covers everything like a sea mist, momentarily sight and sounds melt into one.

A butterfly floats seductively like a silver feather and lands on an Orchid. It rests. Tentatively, slowly, and with great effort, the wings come back to life as he watches. It flies out of sight.

He stands up and brushes the dry grass from his shorts and back. Dry leaves crackle under his feet causing an unprecedented commotion. Panicking lizards retreat to a safe haven somewhere in the thick undergrowth.

The path comes to an abrupt end. Humble monastic dwellings hug the walled perimeter. In front of the huts he observes freshly washed orange robes sway leisurely to nature’s rhythm. To the left of the huts gawky chickens play medieval games of joust, baking under the white-hot plate in the sky. Their movements, like those of martial arts masters, deftly move between placidity and aggression. A cloud of dust forms above them. The man covers his eyes and tries not to breath.

Everywhere he gazes, symbols jump out at him: Brave stallions stand on hind legs, their expression that of utter fearlessness. Elephants raise trunks triumphantly, as if trumpeting in a new dawn in human understanding. Ancient Papal trees dressed luxuriously in brightly coloured silks, ward off evil spirits. His head spins wildly contemplating the meaning of it all.

An open expanse of sun-burnt grass leads him to a lone pineapple bush. Its isolation compounded by the barrenness of its immediate surroundings. On its own, like the robed men who eat its fruit, it lives out life without complaint. He exhales this thought, and breaths it in again: it resonates deep within him.

In the distance he sees, a shimmering golden spire peeping out of the dense jungle, pointing upwards towards the cloudless sky. The jungle intimidates him: ever encroaching. During daylight hours it gives off a silent, but intense energy. At nighttime it reverberates, teaming with life.

The sun slowly, but steadily climbs. The temperature accompanies this assent and pounds the man with wave upon wave of stultifying heat. He begins to tire.

With this his journey ends. A shady patch of grass silently commands his attention. Here he walks, dragging his feet on the gravel, listening to sound.

Mike

2010

Balcony New Years Day:

As I finish my first coffee of 2010, an unusually cool breeze sweeps over my body; a welcome relief from the rapidly rising humidity. It's 11am and Cockerels confusingly sing their song of dawn, tricked by the absence of the sun's glare and the momentary dip in temperature. I close my eyes and drift away to a Greek rooftop. There I sit at a wicker table dressed in blue, with fresh bread, feta cheese, and steaming coffee. The white-wash buildings look at me with lustrous eyes, against perfect sky-blue visa - postcard perfect. My Mediterranean fantasy is cut short by a honking horn; a heavily tattooed lady is selling bamboo juice.

So here we have it - 2010. I can't fathom what this year has lying in wait, but; it feels good. Everything is in it's right place. A comfortable realization of mental calmness soothes my soul, leaving me smiling like a man who just found a lost ten pound note. The emerald green trees seductively russle as if attempting to flirt with an unseen entity, while street dogs lick their flees and sniff the ground.

On my left, the restaurant waits patiently for the grand opening day. Then, it's muscles will flex, and vault into action, morphing into a money making machine. Below me my classrooms are filled with the distant echos of last weeks lessons, their white boards covered in verb conjunctions - Everything feels beautifully sedated.

2009 was a year packed to the brim with achievement and nuances, to many to name. One has gorged himself on a buffet on classic literature, greedily attempting to feed an insatiable intellectual diet. The path to personal freedom has been activated by the words of Orwell, Huxley, Flaubert to name but a few; their wondrous texts as sweet as chocolate, and as filling as Christmas dinner.

A insightful individual stated: "When I don't like a piece of music, I make a point of listening to it more closely."
This has been my mantra for 2009. A wave of new music has pounded me like a crashing wave, leaving me at times gasping for air. Certain bands have captivated my imagination, most from the punk, and subsequent post-punk explosion of the late 1970s, and early 1980s. What a sparklingly exciting time for music! The hippy movement had had it's day, and people were tiring of laborious progressive rock of the decade. They found sanctuary in the nihilism of punk-poets like John Cooper Clarke and Mark E Smith. Their sardonic acidic cocktails are potent enough to drunken my psyche for years to come. One simply has to mention Souiex and the Banshees, The Mekons, The Cure, The Fall, The Buzzcocks, The Specials, The Clash, and a plethora of others, who have made my 2009 musicially very special indeed.

This is going to be a good year, I can almost taste it.

Mike

Flashes from a life that is.

Jeff’s house was of the modest kind, nestled at the foot of a large hill amongst mature palm fruit trees. Every morning he walked through the dense vegetation, until he came to a small winding path that led to a magnificent natural lake, surrounded by pristine jungle. Here he strolled and thought about how beautifully simplistic life was. He walked over armies of ants that striped the path like pieces of black wedding ribbon, and was amazed by the sight of wild pigs and giant preying mantis. At the waters edge he felt free. He looked at his reflection in the water and saw a man that had found meaning in life. He was experiencing each sensation and savoring it. Every shade of green and flash of sunlight through the jungles thick canopy fascinated him. He was on auto pilot navigating his way through life’s beautiful meanders, absorbing it all with long slow strides; enjoying the spaciousness and sweet music of the jungle.

Jeff sat silently on his veranda at an ornate teak Sino-Portuguese table.. He watched as the sky turned a wonderful light blue. Grey and white wisps of cloud inched their way towards an unknown destination; a journey without a beginning or an end. Simultaneously, people, animals and plants breathed a sigh of relief, as the days suffocating heat began to subside. It was like a prayer had been answered. The early evening shadows began to lengthen on the rust coloured slopes of the mountain, making intricate black patterns on the dark red clay, like a traditional Chinese paper cutting. The Palm trees swayed flirtatiously in the soothing late afternoon breeze, and the crystal clear stream in front of the house trickled effortlessly. As the daylight continued to fade, a breathless dusk grew ever closer.

After a short drive the first of the encroaching out-of-town retail park became visible. The bright lights and clean cut interiors, made Jeff feel uneasy. There were too many people there: The Nuevo rich posed, students hunted in packs, and everyone else looked dazzled by the wonders of corporate America. Necessity brought Jeff to shop here, and he usually left as quickly as he came in. He knew it was melodramatic, but somehow he felt partly responsible for the whole vile circus show. His white skin made him guilty by association - a tacit consenter – a pawn in the corporate conspiracy.

The intercom sounded clear and direct: “Home-Pro’s Homecard – A card for lovers.” Shelves were stacked thirty feet up with all manner of DIY conveniences, and home improvement products, all promising the consumer a piece of happiness. Jeff walked down the power tool isle, his hands in his pockets; he wondered how the mountains of stock would ever be sold. As he pondered the thought he overheard two suited men talking in the Bathroom section. One of them had a beard and was sweating profusely. He seemed on edge to Jeff. He began to speak feverishly to the other man.

“To cash in on this particular bonanza, one has to live and breath the image of the ideal home – Picture this: A mother stands in her modern kitchen, fully equipped with time saving time devises, mahogany paneling and marble worktops; her bright eyed twins skip into the room, singing a sweet lullaby, brimming with youthful innocence; the father of the household sits on a wicker chair in the corner reading a newspaper, he nods in simple recognition, fully aware that his parenting skills are an example to all,”
His colleague stared at the floor. He exhaled deeply and said with a beaming smile. “This is without a doubt the Home-Pro family. It’s simple, offer people a dream. Let them get lost in the mediated environment, breath in the offers of the day, the mood lighting and the canned relaxation music – emancipate themselves from the painful reality of their own family – another future is possible - for a price.”

The two men retained straight faces thought out the conversation. Jeff’s stomach churned.

“Perhaps I can buy my way out of all this,” thought Jeff sardonically. He was only there to buy a light bulb, but already the situation was getting to him. He came to the island four years ago, fell in love and never left. Now the girl was gone and he was alone with his thoughts. When he was young he always imagined himself repeating the life of those around him – fulfilling cultural expectations like paying tax and going to church, but life for Jeff was very different. His time was his own and he used is wisely: he read and painted vivaciously, hungry for knowledge, on a never ending pursuit to entangle the mysteries of life. A gallery in the city had been exhibiting his work for seven months – he had a handful of sales. His agent talked incessantly of New York connections and the big time; Jeff simply smiled at this talk. Even if it was true, he knew that the limelight was not for him.

On the floor, workers in bright orange aprons competed for his attention. Commission was to be had, and Jeff was visible on the store radar. The blasts of air-conditioning, mixed uneasily with the humidity, giving him hot flushes like woman ten weeks gone. It seemed as if the staff were being controlled automatically: perhaps concealed above the ceiling was a nerve centre where every staff movement was planned in advance, then robotically follow for the duration of the shift. Jeff noticed the banal elevator music, its velvety smooth time signatures, numbing him into a false sense of relaxation. The intercom rang out once more. “Home-Pro discount card. The one way ticket to happiness for everything in your home.” For a moment, Jeff felt half convinced, as the employees swayed rhythmically, waiting to pounce, with their orange aprons glowing like cigarettes in the darkness. Jeff turned round, dazed by the entire experience, to find a worker smiling and ushering him to the lighting isle. “You like hear special price sir?” Jeff smiled and excused himself, safe in the knowledge that his delicious consumer bones were not for the picking. He inhaled the air deeply like a smoker having his first draw of the day, turned around, and walked out of the store.

Mike

Morning in Ao Nang.

Ao Nang.

Day one:

Rolled out of bed at 10am with a mild hangover. Nothing terminal. Had a superb breakfast of fresh orange juice, toast, fried rice, and coffee over looking the emerald green ocean. My heart went out to the sophisticated Germans who sat stiff and upright, at the opposite table. I was aware of their awareness. I breathed deeply the sea air. I was hungry. Have they never seen a man eating aggressively before? Does this not happen in the Munich beers halls? Anyway, eating like a man who just located his desert mirage, I soldiered on; appetite dangerously out of control on a beachfront table. Gluttonously, I filled my plate for the third time and strolled triumphantly past their beady stares, feeling like a medieval king covered in banqueting grease. Anyway, spotty teenagers can eat like a pig, and so can street drinkers for that matter, so why can't I? I hold my hands up; guilty as charged officer: I am a food lover, not a fighter - Bite me.

With breakfast hundred per cent swallowed, fifty per cent chewed, and zero per cent digested, it was prime time for a dip in the crystal clear pool.

At this point, the reader may be pondering why one would swim in a pool when twenty metres away is the wondrous Andaman Sea? The answer can be expressed in one simple word - monsoon.

The tidal surges at this time of year are as unstable as an alcoholic on a tightrope. One minute you are playing in a rubber ring, the next screaming at dots on the horizon.

Scores of well fed, sun burnt, white folk, lose their lives every year on these sun kissed shores. Their belligerent defiance of local advice costs them dear; sucked out as easily as a message in a bottle. The crystal clear waters hold dark secrets at this time of year; secret fables, not worth pursuing, and secret games, not worth playing. Beware

Mike

Holiday Time

Breath deeply, and hold it, a bit more, then exhale. Relief.

Tomorrow Kay and i are setting off for a few days at a beautiful hotel in Krabi province.

- For once I have been busy:

The camera batteries are charging like little eggs in a basket; seven mix CD's containing over five hours of John Peel 'Festive Fifties', are sitting neatly on my unmade bed; reading materials and notebook are waiting our departure. In my infinite wisdom, I have proposed having an ceremony before setting off in the morning:

It has been decided that in unison, we will switch off our mobile phones with one hand, and clink our whiskeys and ice with the other, in thanks to the holiday God who has bestowed us with this plentiful bounty.

"For this we are thankful, oh merciful one. Thanks be to to booze, books, beaches, blogger, and of course, buggering off.'

Never one to turn my nose up at a bargain, Kay's cousin's 'bit on the side' happens to be a manager of a wonderful hotel beside an even more wonderful, sun set view point. Thus, in the spirit of family unity, corruption and nepotism, I am prepared to look the other way, for a 50% reduction is simply a thing of beauty.

So, a couple of days of mental refurbishment await.

Let me spare a moments thought for all those people getting up a 6.30 am in the cold, fighting for their position in rush hour traffic, or looking out their bedroom window, only to see another ash gray sky; my heart goes out to you all, it really does. But alas, the next few days belong to my wife and I, and we are going to make the most of this sparkling moment, that will be enjoyed wholeheartedly, and savoured forever.

Mike

Afternoon in Kathu

The rumble in my stomach has the quality of distant thunder and lets me know that it's around 2 pm. Eating patterns provide me with a practical and reliable alarm clock - one that relies on rice, not batteries.

Sometimes my insides can feel like they are brawling, an internal struggle for energy sources; a fight to the death - acids vs. enzymes.

At this point the mind gives up on many levels, and concentration gives way to a blinkered one way street, with a vender selling fried dumplings and bbq chicken visible at the end.

Images pour in to the mind like an intense light source; smiling faces smeared in meat juices and sticky fingers lifting delicious pieces of spiced pork, delivering them to their salivating resting place.

The day is long and bright, but for once the shining beacon in the sky is not burning white.

Monsoon weather has it's benefits. Humidity and suffocating heat are not present today.

The world looks like a different place.

I can look out into the distance without a painful squint, and can feel fresh in mid afternoon without the need for a paralytic nap.

This is a good time to be productive - no time to rest.

Productivity is not a given in Thailand; the climate does not always permit free flowing activity. Like a fisherman, you have to pick the correct moment and move fast, no stalling or the moment will pass.

As the evening draws ever closer people start coming out of buildings, like ants between the cracks of concrete, their motorbikes groan and then howl, as they make their way to their destinations.

Even with a forest of black clouds in the sky the locals wrap their bodies in clothing, afraid of it's relentless UV assault.

This lesson is ignored by the blossom faced tourists who ride bare-chested, oblivious to the damage to their skin, on an insatiable quest for temporarily darkened skin.

Vanity squares up and eyeballs cancer.

Only one can be the victor in this battle.

Eat where the locals eat and do what the locals do if you are serious about staying in an alien place for long.

Take heed and learn their lessons. Be open to things that you initially disreguard as nonsense - Hold back your pride and embrace the unknown.

It's time to leave the world of words on a blog level and assert myself within the classroom.

Teaching English is a rewarding and challenging job. One in which you will never know it all.

For that, I am thankful.

In the immortal words of Confusious, "A great teacher is always learning."

Time for class.

Mike

Music

This morning a woke up earlier than usual. After gulping down a coffee and some cake, I could think only of one thing: Music.

The last seven months have been dominated largely by setting up a business, which is now doing very well indeed, and attempting to adjust and assimilate within Thai culture. The former has not been a problem, while the latter does provide one with challenges that are not always simple. These two factors have drained my energy and have soaked up my time, leaving me suffering from what feels like, severe music withdrawal.

Music has always played a very important role in my life, from early childhood experimentation, to formative teenage dabbling in all manner of sounds, then on to where I am now; a twenty eight year old man with a head full of the past, and a yearning for something new in the present.

It is time to find my way again musically; get the ship back on course. Seek out all that is new and inspiring, and let it do its work on my wanton ears. Music has the ability to sooth one’s mind, as well as energize and motivate. There is no time to waste.

I want music back in my life, for good.

Mike

Live and Learn-Time to Fly

All of a sudden the countdown has begun. Time has flapped it's mysterious wings and once again one is watching the calender on the wall. Days are passing like the TGV on jacked up speed balls and what once seemed like tomorrow, becomes yesterday, and so the haze continues steamrollering along. Realisations like this make one sit comfortably in a comfy armchair and try to take stock of happenings. Its time to slow down, regroup, become mindful. No need to ride on blazing saddles, enjoy what you have, simplicity, enjoy the warm glow of grounded illumination. As Lennon said, 'Life is what happens when you are making other plans,' or somethings to that effect. How perceptive! His statement has beautiful imagery, albeit straight out of a Indian Guru's mantra chant.

A lot has been experienced in this particular period of life, and good chunky, diamonds of knowledge they are too, things that one can take, file away and learn from. Knowledge is indeed power. Power to learn from past mistakes and grow as a person, treading more gingerly along the par carious path of life, applying one's self with greater clarity of thought and action.

Alas, Thailand's sun baked shores are just within reach and I am ready.
Once again-

to sing the tune,
to dance with the language,
to tussle with the culture and,
marvel at gastronomy.

Pikey