[img:$uid]http://www.thai-blogs.com/media/blogs/richpictures/thaiprisonovercrowding.jpg[/img:$uid]

Reluctant clapping to rouse the were it not for overlapping would-be rows of fitful doze. All half-slept for half the night, with groans and sighs eventually the bodies shake their bones and rise then blink and stare as if to fake surprise, as if to think somewhere in altered guise of parallel lives they open eyes to doors ajar and soft-faced wives. Rueful runs of hands through hair return the outside wandering heads to where it's time for gathering beds and thoughts with 'OK,this is my here and now' care. Best handwritten and ready to send, a letter for mother, wife or girlfriend, and sometimes beloveds belonging to others (well, wives and girlfriends, but doubtful mothers). Hearts insecure as their bodies are bound, they tuck away photos of lovers with luck they pray rats will not get to while they're not around. All heap up their beds in the middle of the room and between shuffling feet someone sweeps with a broom. Dead skin, scabs and dust. Dirt, elastic bands, cotton buds and flecks of rust. Scrunched up paper balls, cigarette ash, splintered wood and blanket threads. Hunched they slide down the walls, crash where stood and bow their heads. Waiting... thinking... trying not to think about waiting. Sinking into implausible postures perfected over days, months, years of so often waiting. Eyes meet, brows raise, relating. A warm smile might set the tone for the day. Close your eyes and dream away, of home, of family busy cooking, of electric fan background buzz and freshly talc-faced kids at play. Yard-heard noises of random suburban humdrum. Balance these daydreaming eutopian hopes and the dystopic you cope with. A familiar sound reminds minds of confines safer kept to. Stirred from parquet-prone slumps to rumps to knees to feet by keys ajangle down the dingy corridor, heard or if still stupor state stuck then felt, as all melt as one in amorphous undead, bedhead, up-fucked, down-lucked, inked-up, down-trod plod, mass dragassing to the door. Now out to freedom fleet as feet going everywhichway, to slide in shoes your own not 'ours' but yours alone, to doors, the pause, the detour, no-one saw nor cared, this ritual is shared but each man works his canvas half-metre squared. All are different and all are the same. Affirm, reclaim the human, soul, the self, control - these petty paths always bring you, in trudge and begrudge, back to one whole. Towards one hole to particle collide, degenerate matter charged and uncharged and stripped of pride, a five-abreast fused single-file mixture (wait, something was different outside??). A broken light fixture meant just at needle-eye eye'll need adjustment for steps to stairs nearabouts unawares, where neon strip stutters feed on false-footed beat-skipped top step heart flutters. Tiring wiring betrayed by an electric crackle and the descending throng of wrong is flick-switched and blackness pitched, followed in space and time by a cackle, then smile so wide you can hear it. Real pleased re. all pleas from below to what the where did who just so help you turn back on the lights! Five seconds went beckons groans and grumbles of incoherent malcontent, then an accusation of awakeness wide, and, probably been up over an hour already, the animal. Now ten ticks patience tried, above the garble a barb (all business?) - 'I've an ice-pick and a message for your ancestors, friend'. Fizzzzping, light back on, descend, and laughter OKs smatters of chatter but fellows of the forenoon learn to keep it in and keep it down, not smile, not whistle, not sing, not clown. It's just you don't know what they're in for (thus you don't know what you're in for). So keep it moving, serried and uniform, no quirks from the norm. It works like clocks do save for Mr. happy feet and shoulder knocks who, out of step for stepping out soon and out of time now time of out looms, is irksome smugness - replete with shit-eating grins and dissonant limbs, so too upbeat (oh to beat up). Now as to twinkling eyes of meaty, fold-faced wrinkling flies decades in bars aged and matured (lasciviousness not cured behind them), note also the payday hipsway madam's candor, relieved of recks and Adam and/or Eve of sex, there vaunting daytrip payslip (Cigarettes, one packet. Occupation: World's first racket). Pockets of resistance, but for the most part most part ways with the routine only upon seeing the day's first real rays. Out into the air with soap in hand and sun on face or maybe sombre rain. Wash off yesterday and begin again.

It's fucking great to be back.

[Edited 2/26/13 15:09pm]

I've never done ecstasy myself.

I've never done ecstasy myself.

TLDNR

But it's great to see you back here, Fauxie!

That other Faux orger has vanished so you are #1 Faux again.

Was 14 long-ass hard months in the making and you say 'too long did not read'? I love it.

.

[Edited 1/6/13 15:47pm]

Wait, I forgot how the org works. This thread just needs a pic to get it going.

Wow, what a brilliant piece of work. You're a master of stylistics.

Dave1992 said:

Wow, what a brilliant piece of work. You're a master of stylistics.

Thanks Dave.

Dave1992 said:

Wow, what a brilliant piece of work. You're a master of stylistics.

Just watching you on that talent show. Good stuff.

Fauxie said:

Dave1992 said:

Wow, what a brilliant piece of work. You're a master of stylistics.

Just watching you on that talent show. Good stuff.

Thanks, but oh God, no, that was horrible!

Dave1992 said:

Fauxie said:

Just watching you on that talent show. Good stuff.

Thanks, but oh God, no, that was horrible!

Was it all a bit surreal? I know you not particularly well and only on the internet and yet it's surreal watching you on youtube on one of those shows.

Fauxie said:

Dave1992 said:

Thanks, but oh God, no, that was horrible!

Was it all a bit surreal? I know you not particularly well and only on the internet and yet it's surreal watching you on youtube on one of those shows.

It was a bit of a farce, really. I simply participated to get a glimpse of the coke-driven charicature world of TV shows and the media behind the scenes and, frankly, I did learn a lot. Still, I didn't take any of it seriously.

Fauxie said:

[img:$uid]http://www.thai-blogs.com/media/blogs/richpictures/thaiprisonovercrowding.jpg[/img:$uid]

Reluctant clapping to rouse the were it not for overlapping would-be rows of fitful doze. All half-slept for half the night, with groans and sighs eventually the bodies shake their bones and rise then blink and stare as if to fake surprise, as if to think somewhere in altered guise of parallel lives they open eyes to doors ajar and soft-faced wives. Rueful runs of hands through hair return the outside wandering heads to where it's time for gathering beds and thoughts with 'OK,this is my here and now' care. Best handwritten and ready to send, a letter for mother, wife or girlfriend, and sometimes beloveds belonging to others (well, wives and girlfriends, but doubtful mothers). Hearts insecure as their bodies are bound, they tuck away photos of lovers with luck they pray rats will not get to while they're not around. All heap up their beds in the middle of the room and between shuffling feet someone sweeps with a broom. Dead skin, scabs and dust. Dirt, elastic bands, cotton buds and flecks of rust. Scrunched up paper balls, cigarette ash, splintered wood and blanket threads. Hunched they slide down the walls, crash where stood and bow their heads. Waiting... thinking... trying not to think about waiting. Sinking into implausible postures perfected over days, months, years of so often waiting. Eyes meet, brows raise, relating. A warm smile might set the tone for the day. Close your eyes and dream away, of home, of family busy cooking, of electric fan background buzz and freshly talc-faced kids at play. Yard-heard noises of random suburban humdrum. Balance these daydreaming eutopian hopes and the dystopic you cope with. A familiar sound reminds minds of confines safer kept to. Stirred from parquet-prone slumps to rumps to knees to feet by keys ajangle down the dingy corridor, heard or if still stupor state stuck then felt, as all melt as one in amorphous undead, bedhead, up-fucked, down-lucked, inked-up, down-trod plod, mass dragassing to the door. Now out to freedom fleet as feet going everywhichway, to slide in shoes your own not 'ours' but yours alone, to doors, the pause, the detour, no-one saw nor cared, this ritual is shared but each man works his canvas half-metre squared. All are different and all are the same. Affirm, reclaim the human, soul, the self, control - these petty paths always bring you, in trudge and begrudge, back to one whole. Towards one hole to particle collide, degenerate matter charged and uncharged and stripped of pride, a five-abreast fused single-file mixture (wait, something was different outside??). A broken light fixture meant just at needle-eye eye'll need adjustment for steps to stairs nearabouts unawares, where neon strip stutters feed on false-footed beat-skipped top step heart flutters. Tiring wiring betrayed by an electric crackle and the descending throng of wrong is flick-switched and blackness pitched, followed in space and time by a cackle, then smile so wide you can hear it. Real pleased re. all pleas from below to what the where did who just so help you turn back on the lights! Five seconds went beckons groans and grumbles of incoherent malcontent, then an accusation of awakeness wide, and, probably been up over an hour already, the animal. Now ten ticks patience tried, above the garble a barb (all business?) - 'I've an ice-pick and a message for your ancestors, friend'. Fizzzzping, light back on, descend, and laughter OKs smatters of chatter but fellows of the forenoon learn to keep it in and keep it down, not smile, not whistle, not sing, not clown. It's just you don't know what they're in for (thus you don't know what you're in for). So keep it moving, serried and uniform, no quirks from the norm. It works like clocks do save for Mr. happy feet and shoulder knocks who, out of step for stepping out soon and out of time now time of out looms, is irksome smugness - replete with shit-eating grins and dissonant limbs, so too upbeat (oh to beat up). Now as to twinkling eyes of meaty, fold-faced wrinkling flies decades in bars ages and matured (lasciviousness not cured behind them), note also the payday hipsway madam's candor, relieved of recks and Adam and/or Eve of sex, there vaunting daytrip payslip (Cigarettes, one packet. Occupation: World's first racket). Pockets of resistance, but for the most part most part ways with the routine only upon seeing the day's first real rays. Out into the air with soap in hand and sun on face or maybe sombre rain. Wash off yesterday and begin again.

It's fucking great to be back.

[Edited 1/6/13 15:46pm]

...your lips around my penis, your lips around my peeeeeennnnuuus

imago said:

Fauxie said:

[img:$uid]http://www.thai-blogs.com/media/blogs/richpictures/thaiprisonovercrowding.jpg[/img:$uid]

Reluctant clapping to rouse the were it not for overlapping would-be rows of fitful doze. All half-slept for half the night, with groans and sighs eventually the bodies shake their bones and rise then blink and stare as if to fake surprise, as if to think somewhere in altered guise of parallel lives they open eyes to doors ajar and soft-faced wives. Rueful runs of hands through hair return the outside wandering heads to where it's time for gathering beds and thoughts with 'OK,this is my here and now' care. Best handwritten and ready to send, a letter for mother, wife or girlfriend, and sometimes beloveds belonging to others (well, wives and girlfriends, but doubtful mothers). Hearts insecure as their bodies are bound, they tuck away photos of lovers with luck they pray rats will not get to while they're not around. All heap up their beds in the middle of the room and between shuffling feet someone sweeps with a broom. Dead skin, scabs and dust. Dirt, elastic bands, cotton buds and flecks of rust. Scrunched up paper balls, cigarette ash, splintered wood and blanket threads. Hunched they slide down the walls, crash where stood and bow their heads. Waiting... thinking... trying not to think about waiting. Sinking into implausible postures perfected over days, months, years of so often waiting. Eyes meet, brows raise, relating. A warm smile might set the tone for the day. Close your eyes and dream away, of home, of family busy cooking, of electric fan background buzz and freshly talc-faced kids at play. Yard-heard noises of random suburban humdrum. Balance these daydreaming eutopian hopes and the dystopic you cope with. A familiar sound reminds minds of confines safer kept to. Stirred from parquet-prone slumps to rumps to knees to feet by keys ajangle down the dingy corridor, heard or if still stupor state stuck then felt, as all melt as one in amorphous undead, bedhead, up-fucked, down-lucked, inked-up, down-trod plod, mass dragassing to the door. Now out to freedom fleet as feet going everywhichway, to slide in shoes your own not 'ours' but yours alone, to doors, the pause, the detour, no-one saw nor cared, this ritual is shared but each man works his canvas half-metre squared. All are different and all are the same. Affirm, reclaim the human, soul, the self, control - these petty paths always bring you, in trudge and begrudge, back to one whole. Towards one hole to particle collide, degenerate matter charged and uncharged and stripped of pride, a five-abreast fused single-file mixture (wait, something was different outside??). A broken light fixture meant just at needle-eye eye'll need adjustment for steps to stairs nearabouts unawares, where neon strip stutters feed on false-footed beat-skipped top step heart flutters. Tiring wiring betrayed by an electric crackle and the descending throng of wrong is flick-switched and blackness pitched, followed in space and time by a cackle, then smile so wide you can hear it. Real pleased re. all pleas from below to what the where did who just so help you turn back on the lights! Five seconds went beckons groans and grumbles of incoherent malcontent, then an accusation of awakeness wide, and, probably been up over an hour already, the animal. Now ten ticks patience tried, above the garble a barb (all business?) - 'I've an ice-pick and a message for your ancestors, friend'. Fizzzzping, light back on, descend, and laughter OKs smatters of chatter but fellows of the forenoon learn to keep it in and keep it down, not smile, not whistle, not sing, not clown. It's just you don't know what they're in for (thus you don't know what you're in for). So keep it moving, serried and uniform, no quirks from the norm. It works like clocks do save for Mr. happy feet and shoulder knocks who, out of step for stepping out soon and out of time now time of out looms, is irksome smugness - replete with shit-eating grins and dissonant limbs, so too upbeat (oh to beat up). Now as to twinkling eyes of meaty, fold-faced wrinkling flies decades in bars ages and matured (lasciviousness not cured behind them), note also the payday hipsway madam's candor, relieved of recks and Adam and/or Eve of sex, there vaunting daytrip payslip (Cigarettes, one packet. Occupation: World's first racket). Pockets of resistance, but for the most part most part ways with the routine only upon seeing the day's first real rays. Out into the air with soap in hand and sun on face or maybe sombre rain. Wash off yesterday and begin again.

It's fucking great to be back.

[Edited 1/6/13 15:46pm]

...your lips around my penis, your lips around my peeeeeennnnuuus

I missed your loads.

ThisOne said:

Sounds like u had it tough for a while Glad u and your family made it through the hardship! So u still drinking beer?

Thanks.

I'm in the UK, so no beer for me. The odd Guinness and the odd glass of wine, but I'm trying to eat well and get my fitness back. I'm just a shade under 6ft 4 inches and I was down to 60 kg (132 lbs) at one point last year. Since I've been 'back' in under a month I've already got my weight up to 69 kg (152 lbs). I want to get back to around 85 kg (187 lbs) so I've a way to go yet. I'm lifting again and doing a little cardio though, plus eating a LOT of protein, so I'm doing alright.

Fauxie said:

It's okay, I thought Henry Miller could have used more paragraph breaks, too!

Welcome back!

ThisOne said:

Fauxie said:

Thanks.

I'm in the UK, so no beer for me. The odd Guinness and the odd glass of wine, but I'm trying to eat well and get my fitness back. I'm just a shade under 6ft 4 inches and I was down to 60 kg (132 lbs) at one point last year. Since I've been 'back' in under a month I've already got my weight up to 69 kg (152 lbs). I want to get back to around 85 kg (187 lbs) so I've a way to go yet. I'm lifting again and doing a little cardio though, plus eating a LOT of protein, so I'm doing alright.

That's great! Is your wife with you? Does she like the Uk? Is she adapting ok? It would be very hard for her at first I am sure the Uk pies and chips and bangers n mash n gravy that u get there will help Did u know I predicted u would post 1 thread

No, she's in Bangkok. She does like the UK though, for visiting at least (especially at Xmas), but she doesn't want to live here. I can't blame her. We speak on the phone several times a day and she's doing well so that means I'm not worrying. We're feeling good, but after the distraction of the novelty of being back on the outside has passed, and for me seeing family, xmas and all that, I'm now really starting to miss her a LOT. I missed her from day 1 of being apart, of course, but we're grown folks and it was alright, ya know? Been apart for months before. Today though I'm just missing my baby! I'm going to head back to Bangkok before too long, I think. Can't find a freaking job in this grey, depressing country.

hello mate

MoBetterBliss said:

hello mate

Hey buddy

Fauxie said:

imago said:

...your lips around my penis, your lips around my peeeeeennnnuuus

I missed your loads.

Fauxie said:

ThisOne said:

Fauxie said: That's great! Is your wife with you? Does she like the Uk? Is she adapting ok? It would be very hard for her at first I am sure the Uk pies and chips and bangers n mash n gravy that u get there will help Did u know I predicted u would post 1 thread

No, she's in Bangkok. She does like the UK though, for visiting at least (especially at Xmas), but she doesn't want to live here. I can't blame her. We speak on the phone several times a day and she's doing well so that means I'm not worrying. We're feeling good, but after the distraction of the novelty of being back on the outside has passed, and for me seeing family, xmas and all that, I'm now really starting to miss her a LOT. I missed her from day 1 of being apart, of course, but we're grown folks and it was alright, ya know? Been apart for months before. Today though I'm just missing my baby! I'm going to head back to Bangkok before too long, I think. Can't find a freaking job in this grey, depressing country.

i hope i didnt upset u by bringing it up

go back to Bangkok and find a job there damn it!!!!