It is raining. I am in Kuching. Eating brekkie outdoors having cooked it outdoors. First time in MONTHS I’ve had reliable WiFi. Touch the goddamn priceless rainforest wood. Wood that gets stronger the wetter it gets. That’s some wood.

It is raining and that’s a-ok. I know what I’m doing when I’m on my own, or rather, I can, eventually, handle myself. Yes, path is usually very tearful and shouty, medicated, includes compulsive cleaning and social media-ing, but it’s mine and I’m happy with that.

Decaf coffee is bitter on the tongue. There’s cowboys and pirates and warriors about. There are many, many kinds of noodles.

I know someone who’s losing his hearing, several dead people, some folk I don’t trust. It’s strange to not be acknowledged or welcomed. Especially after you’ve been invited to the party, and charged a ticket. I know some incredible young people and I’m glad, because I’m on my way out.

Things for letting go:

The idea of “career”, abrasive judgement, the fib that I don’t want to be with people, part of something.

It’s raining. The carp might not know this. It’s raining and it’s the nicest thing.