[Vientiane, 7/20/23]
Last night, I achieved a milestone! On my eighth day in Vientiane, I dared to get dressed after 5PM, for an intrepid trek to the night market. Careful not to aggravate my remaining wounds, now mercifully few, I took forever to pull on each pant leg. For the handful of ants on my bed, it must have been a butoh farce. Shaking their speck sized heads, they had to mutter, “Cut the drama, fool!” They were there to hunt for my scattered scabs, so nutritious.
This night market is made up of a hundred stalls selling cheap clothing, dozens of food stands and a mini amusement park. Against an inky sky, two Ferris wheels lit up in primary colors innocently spin. Rotating without cares, they’re retarding everyone’s childhood.
Many Vientianese head to the night market for their evening stroll, since there’s a wide promenade next to it, hugging the Mekong. No one has to buy anything, not even a fistful of sticky rice with diced mango still in its skin.
Three years ago, though, I had to snatch a T-shirt that clearly screamed at me. White on black, it had a Star of David enclosing a smaller, or distant, one. “STAR TREK,” it said. Even in space, there’s no escape? We’re meant to be cattle chuted.
[Vientiane, 1/5/20]
Last night, I was delighted to see other people’s children become ecstatic from just jumping up and down. Others seemed uncertain about what joy or revelation they were getting from endlessly revolving on a hard horse or shortest choo choo, the last painted with Captain America stars and UK flags. Within seconds, they realized there were no surprises to their circumscribed journeys. Over and over, their eyes collided against some white-haired weirdo with two cameras. Sternly focused, he was after some dubious goal or prey. Still, it was fun to be among other kids in the open air.
Last night, I also had a dinner of Korean BBQ pork, with its complement of banchans. During five months in Seoul and Busan in 2020, kim chi detoxed me well. Eating two full meals a day for the first time in nearly a month, I took another confident step towards recovery and normalcy.
This morning, though, came a long email from a reader who had taken pain to dissect my sorry ass. After stating he had appreciated my writing and photos for years, he said, “Honestly, after a lifetime of eating piles of shit food, I thought you would have had a major disease earlier than this, especially cancer. You are quite fortunate, although it may not seem like it with what you are experiencing.”
A biochemist specializing in botanical medicine and nutrition, Jack, let’s call him that, has worked in “agricultural development and community nutrition all over the Pacific, SE Asia and India.” The politics of food has been Jack’s lifelong preoccupation.
“After WW2, the US left a trail of nutritional devastation by bringing junk food to every island it occupied, and addicting the locals with Spam, sugar, white flour and grease, et al. Thus Micronesia and other islands have the world’s highest rate of diabetes at 50-60%, and most people die before 50-55. You can see how this industry worldwide is more destructive than wars. Did the fish, taro and vegetables go away? Fuck no, but being addicted to shit made them spoiled, unmotivated and too lazy to continue with old ways of taking care of themselves with local foods.”
To be modern, postmodern, progressive or woke is to be wrested from every age-old solution, be it social, medical or dietary. With restless progress as religion, you have no ground to stand on.
Since America is the promised land inhabited by a swaggering, ass kicking race, everything about it is sexy, be it language, music, clothing or food, so everywhere, people learn to gorge on deep fried garbage, with fizzy corn syrup to flush it down.
Two days ago, I walked by a sign advertising Extra Cheesy Sausage Bites Pizza, from Pizza Company, a Thai chain. Mini hot dogs encased in dough encircled a pizza laden with toppings. They were like canons besieging a trapped garrison. That’s certainly not how they make pizzas in Italy, but hey, one must be innovative and progressive!
In Cairo two years ago, I saw a banner touting Bazooka chicken sandwiches. The deluxe version had three deep fried chicken breast patties, with tomato, lettuce and lots of mayo. From the photo, it appeared eight-inch-tall. Just one bite and you’re transported to America, or perhaps your local morgue.
[Cairo, 1/16/21]
If only death from an American or Americanized diet was instant. Jack, “Death isn’t the worst of it, it’s the unbelievable suffering of hundreds of millions around the globe that comes before death. We have always been the best at exporting death and destruction on every level.”
My current malaise is merely a much belated slap, to wake me the hell up.
Jack, “You are in a highly inflammatory state, leading to your current dermal putrefaction. Next stop, sepsis, then it’s on to that big raw hamburger stuffed vase in the sky. To be honest, seeing the photos of what you’ve been eating for years, and what your face looks like (no offense brother, strictly medical observation), you are very fortunate and have bucked the odds at not having a more major event before this. You are not that fucking old, but your metabolic age may be 80. Your body finally said, ‘Fuck you, I’ve had enough,’ leaving you with the biblical plague of the Holy Moses boils. So probably Jewish in your last life? How’s that for fucking High Holy Holidays irony? You may have been healthier if you ate a real shit sandwich instead of shit food, at least you would get some good bacteria in your microbiome. That’s why dogs do it.”
To cure myself, Jack suggests I move to Israel!
Jack, “The Med diet is by far the best for preserving brain and body function, with tons of research behind it. Greece would be good, but you would need to eat village style. Israel is so fucked, but the food is amazing, and a lot of people are actually very nice, especially in the country. Homemade olive oil and olives are everywhere, fruits and vegetables are incredible, the hummus/pita and ‘Arab salads’ are the best. Healthiest food in the world. You can stay at a kibbutz. What better place to get cured of biblical boils from Moses than the Holy Land itself? Just don’t let them see your blog, or they’ll throw your boiled ass out!”
I’m sure they’ve long seen my blog. When I was sick with likely Covid in Tirana in 2021, some gracious Jew emailed me, “I hope you die a painful death. Jew haters deserve nothing less.” The only hatred came from him. Hatred fuels Jewish thinking.
Checking just now, I found a one-way flight from Vientiane to Tel Aviv for $872, and on Vietnam Airlines, too, so I can speak Vietnamese on my way to Yahweh and ultimate healing, my final solution. After getting my sim card at Ben Gurion, I’ll call Yuval Noah Harari immediately.
“Yo, Yuval! I just glided into your hood, man! We got shitload to discuss. Though you’re a great champion of artificial intelligence, you’ve also said fake humans should be banned, but dude, each time I see you on Jewtube, I think I’m staring at a deepfake, so what’s up with that?”
It’s 8:43AM in Vientiane. Working on this article for two hours, I drank two cappuccinos without sugar and a pot of Darjeeling tea. I also ate a bowl of mushroom soup with croutons. It’s not entirely healthy, but had sustained pain not straightened me out, I’d have had two coffees with condensed milk, plus a sweetened lemonade or even a large bottle of Beerlao, to loosen my synapses. Wine in, words out goes a Vietnamese saying.
For two years, I lived in Italy, so was introduced to the Mediterranean diet, and in Philly, I also sticked mostly to olive oil and limited my soda consumption. During my 20’s and 30’s, though, I drank a gallon of Coke with lunch, like the other housepainters. After work, we’d hit one or two bars, for we more than deserved that unwinding into stupor. Even if hungover the next morning, we’d climb 40 footers again.
For each man or nation, every act has consequences, though the boomerang may not hit you until decades later.
Uncle Sam, too, is experiencing dermal putrefaction, but, as always, he’s defiant, so don’t expect meaningful reform. Addicted to frosted donuts and cluster bombs, he’ll stay woke.
Jack chastises me to keep me alive, he confesses, “If you up and croak, leaving me here to rot, what the hell will I do?”
That is sweet. Other readers have also said I was needed. Though the rest of me is inflamed, my head is not so swollen. Vanity of vanities, I know. Eating much shit, he’ll die soon enough. I do appreciate the encouragement.
As I get back to normal, I’ll bring you more normality. Done, I’ll walk into the sunshine. A white butterfly has just flown by. Holding her daughter’s hand, a woman smiles.
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