Only in China can you sit for lunch and get two large beers and a feast of food for around 5 U.S. capital. This place has become my muse for writing & today marks the beginning of my napkin chronicles. Normally when I would sit around waiting for my stimulation, I would toil around on my mobile and either play games or chat on Facebook and call that going on. Here I sit void of communication & the tongue required to converse with those around me; a pencil stares me in the temple and the trials of James Joyce flash before me. I write today because I have nothing better to do...besides playing with my prick which I presume is not socially acceptable in a restaurant setting, but I digress for my need for masturbation. In a moment's notice, arrive the play: a bowl of rice complementing my shrimp and spinach dumplings freshly steaming and emanating greatness with each sniff and snuff. What a magical world is this communist country, says I to myself. I never understood how Joyce wrote a large chunk of Ulysses on mere bar napkins, but it all comes clear to me in this instance; this is life, not a room of one's own, but a mind for own's taking...making sense of these crippled thoughts through the vaccination of fragmentation. I am unwilling to take my view off the napkin or the food and drink presented before me, yet I wonder what the observers in this restaurant are wondering of my existence. I am some white guy toiling away on a napkin using my dreaded left hand and have created a shell around my Eden. A world where I am secluded for language barriers and cultural differences, yet I have never felt so complete in my thoughts and the direction my life is heading. Here, I have finally reached my seclusion amongst peoples. Strange to think I never feel accepted by people's praise of my writing craft and outgoing nature, all the while the hobgoblin of my little mind utters 'It's a trap my boy, these folks care not for you or your art...tis a simple rouse in this game we call chess, a meek chase of cat and mouse.' I nodded in obedience knowing the funniest thing in life being unhappiness.
I now sit in a foreign land totally realizing how hard I try in deceiving myself of any greatness, fearing if I fail, fail again, fail better then it will be the end of me. I doubt not the chemical imbalance of this fractured cortex, that is a certainty and the demons do speak with clairvoyant riddles and yet still I try...try to fail, fail again, fail better. I have released the chains of apathy, though its immanent materialization continues to inspire me in the totality of life. I order another beer; large beer with low amounts of the sauce celebrating my love of drinking and not general drunkenness. I am an American after all God Dammit: we eat, we drink, we fuck. The simplicity of life ever embracing the beauty forthcoming. I tried drinking last night in hopes it would transcend my mind into a greater sense of awareness and bring myself into a written nirvana that lapsed for page upon page...Twas done in vain. Today, hungover with no taco bell in sight persistently wondering how will I cure the affliction of last night's intoxicated addiction. Here is my solution...less greasy but not far off in context or resolution.
The beer settles well in my fractured stomach. I crave my nicotine fix though I have five dumpling, a cup of rice and a few shots of snow beer before my departure marks its arrival. It does my mind a great justice swiftly shifting between the stimulation options resting on the table. No phone to waste precious time searching for an emotional connection forever obsolete. The honeymoon phase rages hard knowing my downfall shall trip me flat on my smug face, but I have friends here and abroad who will help me pick up the pieces so the worrisome nature of what is to come deludes me not. This is the quintessential beauty and it shall remain a passion that will easily continue in this new life of mine.
One dumpling remains in the rubble the ruin my conquest, and a half of a snow beer to wash these remains down my eager throat...my time here almost completed. I feel excitement in what waits for me: cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, the dinner party of comrades this evening, and of course, typing this fickle napkin onto the internet for all to gorge themselves on my long last feast. I consume the dumpling and drown the beer in four swift motions across four shot glasses. The hangover has been grotesquely sodomized out of Gomorrah...my time to flee finally arrives and I anticipate the future unfolding. I carefully fold the napkin and place it near my bosomy breast. The dumplings are far from the greatness of Chinese bbq, Korean sushi (Kimbap as they call it because like the Chinese, the Korean think the Japs are all a bunch of bastards) and of course the cooking of my mates, but it suffices for a time of dire requirement; a moment of quiet desperation where I must dig myself out a hole built yesterevening knowing I shall soon descend back down into that desolate void I call home. I slam the finished beer with ease, say farewell......walk out onto the stubborn street I now call home.
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