Go Darke

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it

Fundamental Joeyism

Repeat business

I have been remiss in the usually quite rhythmic word vomit that is my blog. This might be for any number of reasons, some of which might even smack of legitimacy. But mostly I’ve just been lazy. Or maybe its that there is kindness in not inflicting myself on the world for a bit… there is after all enough detritus piled up out there without adding to it simply because one can.

Although, having said all that I am now, some-what predatorily, limbering up and flexing my phalanges for action. But, because I am quite old now and not quite as lithe in wit and all things wrote as I used to… eh… imagine I was, I need a moment to stretch out… maybe do that move where you tuck your hand down behind your head and between your shoulder blades and then try and interlock your fingers with the other hand coming up from the small of your back… only to realize you can’t do it anymore.

I solve the psychological trauma stemming from this… sedentary lifestyle imposition by giving myself props that I can, at least, still touch my finger tips together… without something attached to one of my vertebra violently snapping off. But only just.

My shoulder has been giving me jib again. My left, an appendage, to be honest, that hasn’t really been used for much (during the course of my life thus far) other than throwing the occasional jab1.Now if my right thumb had given out… that I could likely appreciate as fair, considering all the things its gripped and manipulated repetitively through the years. If that sounds like a euphemism for chronic masturbation, its probably because it is.

[1] Which was only ever put out there as a feeler because if you can touch someone with your jab… you can touch them with other things… like a roundhouse to the Vastus Lateralis, which won A LOT of fights for me over the years.

In any event, I’ve been (somewhat half-heartedly) going to physio. She’s young and chatty but useless in terms of actually relieving my malady. Small town living, comes with its drawbacks… one of which is a variance of services providers, the foremost of which I miss from my urbanity is a forty five kilogram Thai chick with fingers like half inch rebar abusing me into a semblance of functionality. I maintain the Thai have more muscle-esoterica-voodoo than anyone learned or degree’d on the planet.

Still, yesterday I happened on a tiny ‘shop’ up a steep spiral staircase off the high street. ‘Chinese health’ read the signage, but not in a way that inspires confidence. ‘Oh what the fuck’ I think, I’m getting a little desperate.

Cheap ‘Chinese’ aesthetics… quite austere… but also a little pointless try give the room a bit of Orient-feel. I almost expect the furniture to be wrapped in plastic. She only takes cash… I have to break my vow and touch an ATM. I immediately have the strong desire to take steel wool and industrial chemicals to my digits. I strip down to my boxers and position myself with my face in the hole. I have vague thoughts about the hygiene of the towels…

Whatever she did… she fixed me good.

Its not 100%. But infinitely better… from two weeks ago having to take some pretty serious painkillers to fall asleep to being able to sleep on that arm without issue. Those are some pretty mad skilz.

For some reason I think of me in Kaohsiung. I was visiting a mill there… and the manager, a pretty Chinese girl suggested we go for a special ‘Taiwanese’ massage. We’d just had lunch at this orchid farm and I was likely a little tipsy. We’d gotten on really well and I think it had gotten a bit flirty. In any event, I heard ‘Thai’ massage… and I was ‘Yeah, that sounds awesome’. Thinking we were going to get a couples treatment… or something.

It turned out to be the most harrowing two hours of my life. Ha ha. I wasn’t sure I would live… and for a while I imagined I was on some weird game-show where they take this dumb westerner and beat the crap out of him under the pretense of seeing how much pain he can take before he taps out. Well… I stoically took my beating… although I’m pretty sure I was crying at one stage.

While I was getting ‘fucked up’ by someone likely more experienced moving crates of frozen fish around the docks… seriously, he had that sort of feel about him, she was having her nails done in another part of the complex.

Somehow I managed to get back to the train… where I passed out. Which now that I think about it, means I was likely in Tainan… still, not chalked up as one of the great experiences of my life. Which makes it even more interesting that I would trust my anatomy to some hole-in-the-wall… eh… up a spiral staircase and to the right.

In any event. My bravado paid off this time. Almost brand new and I’ve found myself being quite cheerful. There are even crazy thoughts of repeat business.



Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.