A story, or rather a feeling I’ve been carrying inside myself and in my photo archive for the past 2 years.
A brief encounter with two western tourists fleeing Hua Lamphong (Bangkok, Thailand) train station with utter disgust in their eyes. Everywhere around them – the undesirables, the bums, and the addicts.
I stepped inside.
revolt!
disgust!
all encompassing fear.
distorting the creamy,
pale
and white,
ecologically and ethically
nurtured skin
of the world citizens
ploughing through their oriental dream
backpack, battery pack and camelback
their armour,
triple-lens camera
their filter.
Eyes and mouths wide open
adrenaline flowing
through tanned, sexy thighs
fleeing past the infested,
running back to the civilized.
To the inspirational,
unbeaten paths,
chronicled, advertised and harvested by
The Influencer
Scandalous!
How dare they!
trash the shiny clean marble floors
of colonial architecture
occupy the window sills
openly display
their revolting faces
their infections
their meth-eaten teeth
their deformed children
their flea-infested clothes
their mental disorders
their humility.
How dare they!
the scum
the addicts
the loonies
and the bums.
Back home
we would take care
institutionalize
hospitalize
medicate
and incarcerate.
Clean up
and disinfect
them
shiny marble floors.
Just a few more meters
a few more panic sighs
till the soft couch of a nearby ecocafe
will soothe and embrace,
the trained fake smiles
will wash the discomfort away.
“Ethiopia cold-press, please.
With silicon oats,
served
on an artisanal tattoo napkin,
please”
Meanwhile,
The Scum
are tucking their kids
into yesterday’s news
words comfort, words embrace.
The lucky
among the forgotten
find colonial walls to lean on
unlit spots to hide in.
The night is falling
on floors of marble
on people dispossesed.
Even the uniformed
vultures with badges
seize circling round,
pause kicking the scum into
law and order.
His majesty
The King of Orgies the VIII’th
calmly observes his subjects
safely fenced away with flower petals,
lulled to his royal sleep
by cleaners
vacuuming his altar.
As alive as a statue
as real as a fable
as rich
as all his subjects were
prior to his invention.
I steal a few shameful shots
like a royal
feeding on misery.
“3rd class ticket South, please”
I need the wind
of those open train wagons
to blast the stench
of those royal petals
away
to rejuvenate me.
I must get it all out,
I want to honour The Scum
to finally give them the love
I’ve carried and nurtured
since disembarking the train
in Hua Lamphong
on that steamy monsoon night
two years ago.