I have no one to talk with, you know." He
thought of this mosquito as a spirit who came through the burning of
incense placed at a stupa. "I don't have anyone to be honest with me
and all of the friends I once had I've had to leave. Would you visit me
in Bangkok?" He spoke with such innocence that the mosquito had to
smile bashfully and look away from the awkwardness of knowing that only
a child believes that mother and father are extensions of his own body;
only a child walks into the forest with a kind stranger where he is
bound to a tree, raped and murdered; and only one warped in the wisdom
gained in tragedy finds himself inseparably bound by every stern,
euphonious truth uttered by a monster.
"Would I accept the invitation to come to Bangkok to bite you and
inject you with malaria? No, I'm afraid I would not be able to accept
such an invitation at this time and you shouldn't be extending it.
Always remember that truth is lethal. To know and to be aware of many
things is like a man too fat for his house and this obese pig of a man
is forced onto the streets where he can't tolerate the heat and cold
because of his flab; and then I come along and suck through his
baboonish skin before he knocks off.
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