Along Lumpini Park at the end of Langsuan Road.

Must be why the BTS is all messed up.

Also big tree down on Sukhumvit near police HQ. Half of rode shut down. Branches interfering with BTS. Pretty sure current has been turned off.

Madness.

BTS just using one track on Silom Line. Chaos!

A world class city.

A world class city.

To be fair, the BTS normally runs very efficiently with far less service disruption than some other "world class" cities.

You had me all excited.

Thought you were going to tell us the COST of Power was being reduced. We pay more per unit here in CNX than anywhere in Australia.

A world class city.

world class post

.

That looks scary

Happy I missed that one

.

I'm on Silom MRT now.

10 min extra wait.

What's the problem???

Have a think of a little country NW of us, and think of their hardship now and in the future.

Damn, imagine being in one of those cars with all those electrical lines on you and around you and not knowing if they are live or not.

Kind of scary right there.

There's nothing poetic about power lines down so hardly literary.

Perhaps he just meant that it was well read.

There's nothing poetic about power lines down so hardly literary.

Power Lines

You were electricity running through my veins

but the power lines broke

now I'm left in the rain;

soaked,

with only the sound of thunderstorms

around,

with you nowhere to be found.

Power lines

Power-lines pulse over-head

easy streams by our quiet lives

the unarguable benefactors which

caress each man they touch

soldiers waging war on insurgents

with power-lines along the boarder

In this narcotic drip submergence

we lose our peace in the name of order

the egotists shout with their power-line minds

thoughtless words of each and every kind

At the promise of peace, wise men can see

the greatest peace springs from a tap into thee

Birds on Power Lines

my friends, my friends

we are birds on power lines

huddled for warmth

specks against the grey

surrounded by the late october gloom

and the steam rising up from the gutters

we are restless and sour

eyes pointing outward

-

every step

every teensy, solitary step

sealed with egg shell footprints

womb nostalgia

tenderness found in autumn colored flashes,

moth-wick sparkles, and fried dandelion blossoms

we remember our grandmas knuckles,

chipped tiles on the kitchen floor

-

my dear, my dear

we are stray brown tabbies

bellowing rumble, ears stripped of fur

settled into our corner of the front porch

once we were roustabouts;

waltzing to the waxing and wane

carpeted floors gave way to concrete chill

but now the summers seem longer

-

the smell of cardboard,

cinder block walls, and duck pond water

stale memories with naked omens

we turn to face the chilling draft;

tomorrow

harping on and on about grey areas

while we kick up alley gravel

balanced by surface tension

-

under quilts counting freckles

plasma paychecks peddling uphill

Perhaps he just meant that it was well read.

We literally have the Spelling Police out patrolling.