Two faces angel

Two faces angel
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Tuesday, March 8, 2011



Just a quick one today to say, Saibaidee (dunno how its spelt!) from Laos. Spending just under a week here then back to Thailand for the islands darn sarf. Lol. I've had 3 longgggg days of travelling, all day Saturday on a minibus to the border, over nighter there, then cross the river to Laos and 'slowboat' it all the way to Luang Prabang! That took 2 days, over nighting in a mental little village in the middle of nowhere that only has electicity for a few hours each morning and night! So aye, I'm in Luang Prabang now. And it's lurrrrrvly! Proper lickle holidaye type place, still tres tres hot. I really really can't get use to all this money either. I only just got use to the Thai bhat! Listen to this, 100 thai bht is about 1pound50 (sorry there are no pound signs on this keyboard!), and the Laos Kip is 250 to 1 thai bhat! If ya get me. So currently I have thouands of notes, we all said we don't know why they just knock all the 0's off! Har har. 12 of us arrive at guest house... wicked pic!But my main reason for this post is to let you all know that I am no longer a 'lonerrrrr', I'm sharing a super super kingsize bed in a guest house with 2 other girls, one from Israel (shes hilarious) and Ellen from England. There are 12 of us in total. We all met on the boat, so kinda stayed together. The bars here are lovely. All lit up with green and red lights, candles on the tables and lots of green plants everywhere- proper exotic. Sooooooo, I feel like shite today. Really bad. Had a few too many cocktails and mahoooosive beers last night,last night before have some sleep I did write a poem about the moon.A poetry at dawn we all were somethings.

1 comment:

  1. Nice, March 7, 1887: Letter to Heinrich Köselitz (Peter Gast)

    Dear friend,

    [....] Dostoevsky happened to me just as Stendhal did earlier, by sheer accident: a book casually flipped open in a shop, a name I had never even heard before—and the sudden awareness that one has met with a brother.

    [...] four years in Siberia, chained, among hardened criminals. This period was decisive. He discovered the power of his psychological intuition; what’s more, his heart sweetened and deepened in the process. His book of recollections from these years, La maison des morts, is one of the most “human” books ever written. [...] I first read [...] two short novels ["The Landlady" and Notes from Underground]: the first a sort of strange music, the second a true stroke of psychological genius—a frightening and ferocious mockery of the Delphic “know thyself,” but tossed off with such an effortless audacity and joy in his superior powers that I was thoroughly drunk with delight. [....]

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