I don’t travel.

I travel to dentists.

They’d sooner have you die in Australia than treat you for a reasonable price.

I want a politician smile. They all have nice teeth.

Talking heads have nice teeth.

They talk their heads off. I turn the volume down. But I can still see the bullshit cascading out of their mouths.

But their teeth sparkle. Some have succumbed to the Television Bleach.

Politicians don’t talk teeth, or cheap cigarettes for that matter.

They don’t need too.

They have a twinkle in their eyes and a set of teeth that dazzle.

And funded by the tax payers.

I have nothing against them. And I’m not qualified for their comfy profession.

I was rejected.

‘Get a new set of teeth and then come back and see us,’ was the rejection letter from the Australian government.

I don’t tell my Borneo dentist this and nor does she comment about how fucked up my teeth are. She can’t speak English so I wouldn’t know what she said, if indeed she did comment.

The needle went right into the tooth.

The filling cracked in Australia. For two months I’ve been nursing it against rot and decay.

“The only thing you have been nursing is a cigarette between your lips.’

Smokers are vile and disgusting people. Smokers and coffee drinkers are even worse.

We don’t belong in the age of bleach stained teeth. Our yellow nicotine stained teeth are an affront on their suspect sensibilities.

When that needle entered the tooth, seeking and destroying those active nerves that like nothing better than a painful party, they packed up and sent their receptors elsewhere. They are a jelly like substance. That I know from the first root canal treatment.  I’m getting aches in a place where a tooth no longer exists just thinking about it.

Much more work to do.

And I screamed like a new born baby when that needle entered my tooth. It never gets easier. I was about to throw in the towel and run to the nearest whore house and get fucked up. That’s how painful it was.

My dentist says she’ll need to do more work on my mouth.

Between the assistant and the dentist, they are pulling my face like its plasticine. I know it’s for my own good. Open wider, and when I can’t, they stretch my mouth until it does.

The pain in lower and upper jaw has gone. Before, the jaws were aching with pain at the most unexpected times, usually after eating or when I’m about to go to sleep. Now it’s just the sea of tranquillity.

The only eruption I had today was a visit to the toilet at the Green Cafe. It’s a squat toilet. I missed and it was one of those runny shits. I did my best and returned back to my coffee, like nothing untoward happened.

Just what was happening last night, I couldn’t figure out.

The usually happy go lucky security guard pulled out his Glock from the compartment of his motorbike, slipped the gun under his belt, and fucked off into the night. At least he didn’t put the gun to my head or yours, I told the night receptionist. The security guy looked like he wanted to use the gun. But the way he tucked it under his belt, I’m sure it could easily fall out without a holster.

I’m off the meds today. There’s no appointment with the dentist until Tuesday.

Did I tell you I gate crashed a Chinese wake?

I thought it was a coffee shop and just entered and sat down at one of the tables, and ordered a coffee.

To my left, a body was in a refrigerator, lying down, like an exhibit for cold cuts.  It was a Chinese lady, in her late sixties, with a coin stuck in her mouth.

‘This is not a coffee shop,’ said the son of the deceased. ‘But you are welcome to as much coffee and fruit as you like.’

Never one to shun a freebie, I did oblige.

The massage guy is from Semarang in Java.

He says a prayer in Arabic and proceeds to apply oil all over me.

No transitions, you say? 

I needed a massage and this guy just magically appeared.

I put on a racy Dangdut music number from YouTube while he worked his magic. His clients also include the police.

‘Don’t have shower until an hour later,’ he informs me, through Google Translate.

I inform him the next day that four showers later, that fucking holy oil still won’t rub off.

‘Even better,’ he says, ‘means it’s working even when you are sleeping.’

Gee, I’m surprised I haven’t been raced out of this town days ago. Given, everyone I meet seems to have the touch of madness. Maybe I’m just blending in for a change.



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