How To Make A Statement Of Confidentiality

February 18 February 19 February 20


Udom Xai
Morning
rules the day, this time, really. Blood in the sheets between
thighs. Dark, thick. Long dreams, populated by new people that I forget
awakening. A young man with black snags, I liked
simply.

pain this morning taking care of my body. Masser washing, anointing, dressing
carefully with the shirt clean. I am reminded that sentence aloud
Christoph with his accent and his turns of phrase
delicious:
- These are weak people who can do harm to children.
He took me in his arms, as I needed to be comforted.
a good memory, that being with him a bit beside the things of the world as
protected behind glass.

cloudy and wet, but not very cold. A time to climb to the vat, make a wish and thank
. A time to walk along the River.



Afternoon
trucks disgorge cargo pukes who feel the new rubber
talat concrete, immense and populous
Chinese sellers and plastic, without customers. I explore this by seeking to buy
fruit. In a hall, all selling vegetables sitting in a row
, shot in the same direction, towards a fixed screen height
Chinese TV broadcasts. Some fresh products, all imported -
perfectly calibrated and exotic: Batavia, apples, onions.

few hours later, I ride on trails
informal paths between the houses, those that shape the city by establishing rules
invisible movement. Near a school, a lady selling bags of banana chips
. I bought him a stock. As she sees me go out on a trail
:
- Talat! Talat! And she tells me
the opposite direction to the market that I know. Good. I do not have
understand what she said. But why not go by that?
I am the meandering trail most dug in the dust. They
lead to a pontoon of bamboo, which overlooks a pond. Above,
a child squatting fishing water lilies. At the end of the jetty, a passage between two houses
and all of a sudden the market! True, the right to food
varied, with soft voices, unfamiliar foods in small heaps, the women
chirping and the sound of crumpled plastic bags that hang
after sticks to chase away flies.
I eat tofu soup with blood.

Evening
At sunset, on top of the hill of the stupa, the novice monk Noy
explain what are the miniature houses you see around
monasteries. They are inhabited by ancestral spirits, who may
live forever - or until they have had enough, I did not quite understand
. While they were discussing a group of people laughing at wat goes on in
a kind of tree whose leaves are replaced by notes
bank.
- What are they doing?
- Tomorrow night is the third full moon of the year, Makha Busa.
So after tomorrow, it's party time! It celebrates the Buddha's words to his disciples
, with gifts for the dead and prayers. Same
time we celebrate the anniversary of the stupa. And tonight, we will make a procession with candles
.
- But what is it, this tree they wear?
- It's gifts. All that is hanging in the tree, the
gifts of money, pencils, cake ... It is a festival
important. You should stay here with us.
Yes, I'll stay.