Lie Smith USA

updated Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday | also posted to americanifesto.com

land of Thai

Now I’ve reached the land of Thai, ask myself – You came here why? – walking down an endless street, wondering just who I’ll meet. Pingpong shows and midget strippers, I just got a pair of slippers, so my feet won’t roast alive when temperatures reach 35. Women grab me, I say – No, drop my arm and let me go – muscles strain and tug and flex, I refuse to pay for sex. Ladyboys and topless dancers, I call out but no one answers, heart and mind they flee from me, racing back to fair Bali. Now I trod this sweltered turf, wishing I were in some surf, paddling to clear the crests, giving it my very best. Here is madness, here is pain, massive struggle, little gain, I must simply keep in mind, the one that I left behind, hope that she’ll embrace me yet, godheads laughed the day we met. Now to have my muscles pounded, so that I’ll be calm and grounded, when it’s time to test my stock, which is always in Bangkok.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

on breaking leashes

Leashes break and hearts are mended, cultures mix, language gets blended. Tides they rise and fall in rhythm, twixt our friendship is a schism, yet we make a fancy feast, dehydration is a beast. Batur rises from the mist, I drive fast when I am pissed, she is silent, gets the gist, drop her off – she won’t be missed. Waves are ridden, whitewash deep, drags me down to endless sleep, I shall miss these Bali days, can’t begin to count the ways, cherish every minute here, where the breaks are fast and near.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

on puppies’ screaming

Nighttime comes and puppies whimper, right outside – feet from my head – I give them some milk and water, begging them to go to bed. Morning breaks and I’m exhausted, many trips have crushed my mood, taking care of tiny doggies, tending to a mewling brood. I wax up my surfboards well, making sure my foot will stick, then it’s off to Pantai Berawa, scratching though an oil-slick. South of us is naught but water, then the snowy Antarctic, mine are waves that build and tumble, filthy water makes me sick. Bali magic all around me, dogs abound but where’s their shit? floating on a three-finned long-board, I just wait and watch and sit. Oh the lovely island women, they take care and treat me well, up the coastline I will travel always searching for the swell.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

on going nowhere

Our driver arrives exactly 4 hours late, at 10 pm, after the Spanish couple had flaked on us. We regretfully inform the man that we must cancel our trip, and pay him 500,000 rupiah for one day’s car rental even though we never set foot in the car. We are greatly disappointed with the Spanish, who were the whole reason we agreed to go on the trip, as we could have split the cost between 6 people instead of just 4. Our driver says he will shower and change and then send us text message so he can lead us down to Kuta for make party. As soon as he leaves, we realize he had left the front gate open and allowed our host’s new puppy – Kaya – to escape into the night. Exhausted from waiting hour after hour in the heat, we comb the neighborhood on foot and moped, calling the dog’s name and searching rice paddy, ditch, unlit homestead, and trash-heap. After a solid hour, the German next door pokes his head over the wall and says, “Are you looking for a dog?” What joy, what joy, the prodigal pup has returned! We call the driver, tell him we go make party after all, and follow him to a lush compound down the street, where we quaff drinks and make friends with local surfers, Putu and Awi and others. At 1 am, our convoy of 3 bikes heads south-east, taking back alleys and flying between ancient city walls, our scooters low on petrol, running on fumes. In Espresso Club, I sing backup vocals on Paradise City by Guns & Roses, elbow-to-elbow with the Singaporean headman. For an hour, a wasted-drunk New Guinean aboriginal man with long dreadlocks rakes his fingernails across my sunburned back, grabbing and pinching Martin’s forearms so hard they start to bleed, screaming in our ears in his native and incomprehensible tongue. Security tells him to calm down twice but does not kick him out, even though Martin has already sworn at him in Czech and very nearly knocked his block off. The aboriginal realizes how angry he is making us, and so for a while he tries to appease us with gifts proffered from a small black hand, cigarettes and crumpled 2000 rupiah notes, warm beers and handshakes, scraps of trash and an empty packet of rolling papers. We finish eight rounds of Jungle Juice and then head for the local surfer hangout, meet girls, talk and dance with them, fall in love, meet different girls, and deal with the ensuing jealous confusions. The lights come on in the dance club and I realize with horror that I have dropped my keys. I turn to the first broom-wielding employee and ask him if he found a set; he pulls them out of his pocket. The other workers start chanting “100,000! 100,000!”; my friends join in, and I hand over my last big note, which I will regret later when the Malaysian professional ballroom dancer with braces on her teeth tracks me down on the street but won’t ride back to Changgu with me, as she feels I am too drunk to drive. For what it’s worth, I am a millionaire in Bali.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

victoriousvocabulary:

CAPRIPEDE
[noun]
a faun or satyr; any of a group of deities represented as having the body of a man and the horns, ears, tail, and often the legs of a goat.
[adjective]
2. having goat’s feet.
Etymology: Latin capri- (goat, pertaining to a goat) + -pede (from pes - foot).
[Carlos Schwabe]

victoriousvocabulary:

CAPRIPEDE

[noun]

a faun or satyr; any of a group of deities represented as having the body of a man and the horns, ears, tail, and often the legs of a goat.

[adjective]

2. having goat’s feet.

Etymology: Latin capri- (goat, pertaining to a goat) + -pede (from pes - foot).

[Carlos Schwabe]

(via perverserkommunismus)