Last Gasp of Reason, the Beginning of Malignity

A swarm of insects obscured the street light deep in a godforsaken narrow road, off the main street, Arkhan Songkhro. I see Bangkok laborers returning to their cramped houses, while others visit the street vendor, a husband-wife team, who sold spicy Isaan food and cheap Thai alcohol. Plastic chairs and tables are arranged neatly. The night grows chiller, while the laborers laughed softly among themselves at a private joke.

Bangkok has seen tough times these days, with the whiplash from within the terror-inspired protesters of Suthep Thaugsuban, and the presence of the whistling bourgeois, encouraging their southern distant kin to provocation. Hell, it is a political chess game to the lot, when the ultras are far too eager, and confident to step on the heads of the ostracized, the rural folks from the northern provinces.

Utter "Yingluck" or "Thaksin" without the usual feverish contempt, or without the venom-tone, and the flush will appear on their faces as suddenly as if they had been struck by a bloodied cane. Hate is growing among the ranks of the Democrat Party, politicians, social elites, southerners and, aye, the pitiful Thai man of the year, Suthep Thaugsuban.

The weal, of marching fascists, hate speeches, disparaging eyes and consumed by personal hatred. Born of envy, born of animosity, them and their small collection of foreigners, engaged in this murderous path to remove any sense of logic and empathy for those who think differently than them. This is Bangkok, a city which sucks the marrows of the oppressed poor and leaving them partly petrified husks for the slaughterhouse.
"Thainess" of Suthep's anti-democracy horde, the fuckery of articulation

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