Krabi Hotels
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On the Rocks
Entry 25 of 27 | show all | print this entry |
Rocks.
They don't grow on trees. The wisest and simplest human being ever to have lived once, after a long day at the quarry, looked into his bleeding hands and said, "son, you can break, crush, scatter, and gouge rock, but one thing you can never do is insult it." His son, an arrogant prick, climbed to the top of the cliff next to which they were both standing and hautily shouted, "perhaps, father, it doesn't speak your language." after which he lost his grip and fell. The wise and dissapointed man slowly shook his head, Calmly knelt to the side of his moaning injured son and said, "Thanks for translating."
Krabi is full of rocks; Tall sharp looming rocks. They hang over the beach like open mouths choking on a frothy incoming tide. They form claws, teeth, belly buttons, and other assorted body cavities/parts that shall remain nameless. For all intensive purposes, there isn't a human body part that isn't represented by the abstract forms the Krabi rocks can take. To a certain extent, climbing is really just getting to third base with a mountain. In this regard, I've had better performances.
Sweat pouring from my sun smeared limbs coats the holds as I balance awkwardly before the gap. The Crux is before me. Vibrating muscles spit in my face, defying my every command. It shouldn't be this way. Fruit and Muesli breakfast from the rasta man, and a warm up on the tight rope should be kicking in right about now. What happened to the pullups I used to do so well and often? Breathing heavy I grope the face for a sign, a hint as to where to go and what to do. I'm trying too hard for words. Desperation builds with each rejection and as my perspiration saturates the stone the rock is drying up. My failing fingers, far short of the dreamed for goal, simmer in compressed abrasive pain. It's not happening. Skin shears off my palms as I flaggedly plummet to the end of my rope. I lasted two minutes. How embarassing.
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