Jay Gatsby, Robin Williams and Holden Caulfield in the Search of a Lost People

My latest fancy is to go and indulge in the ridiculously expensive buffet breakfast in the town’s most exclusive hotel. An environment where privileged tourists just continue their privileged lives in a foreign country, whilst under the illusion they are travelling.

An eclectic mix  of early morning, international Jay Gatsbys experiencing Thailand through a pair of Benjamin Franklin tinted Ray Bans.

A man who bares a haunting resemblance to Robin Williams, just younger and less dead, merrily makes his way towards a mound of bacon, affectionately tapping people from all corners of the earth, on their shoulders and elbows; like some modern day messiah trying to heal a collection of cosmopolitan ass holes. Encouraging them to remove their blinkers of cash that restrict their world view to an endless cycle of infinity pools, manicures, pearl necklaces, opera, fine wines and fancy hats, leading to their inevitable discontent, disillusionment and ultimately their grateful death.

It’s Holden Caulfield’s idea of hell, as Japanese, Korean, European Caucasian phonies in sandals, flip flops and clogs look amongst a pile of sausages for the real Thailand.

Dressed in fishing pants, cut off jeans and Lacoste polo shirts they try to project the image of a backpacker whilst lathered in La Prairie skin cream. As they make their way back to their tables in their minds they’re roughing it in the verdant jungle, or steaming mangrove swamps. Their plates piled high with more calories than are consumed by an average sized hill tribe. But this isn’t the time to compare and contrast the calorific intakes of the rich and poor, because to be honest I couldn’t give a fuck. For too long now I have been frustrated by the division of wealth, the inequality of opportunity and the exploitation of poverty in thailandthe vulnerable, but I’m too old and too tired to care anymore. Instead I have chosen to become the grandest phoney of them all; eating my breakfast in a place I can ill afford, aspiring to become one of the rich , privileged, elitist assholes I pretend to hate. At least I’ve achieved the asshole part.

I’ve just finished my fifth cup of coffee and it’s not even 8.30, it’s time to ride the crest of this caffeine wave to the shores of my next hypocritical discontent.

http://allpoetry.com/poems/by/James%20David%20Ro

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