As it is, I have no way to capture the warzone of effluvium that has mercilously besieged my olfactory senses. While I will most likely survive the stinky land in which I currently reside, hopefully returning back to my mother country with its gainfully employed laws of sanitation, I fear that the smell shock from which I have suffered will never be legitimized. The validation of all posttramatic stress incurred from months of funk whiffing, well, it’s never going to come.

Today, as I walked through the piss-soaked halls of the main building at the Songshan Shaolin Temple Xiao Long Kung Fu Training Center, it suddenly dawned on me that I will never be able to prove what I have endured here. It is an up-at-dawn, endless barrage of offensive odors that never goes away… EVER.

 And the whole time I am looking around wondering if I am on a movie set, wondering if perhaps they are filming Labyrith II and the whole film is played out in the Bog of Eternal Stench. Some days I even look over my shoulder half expecting a small dog-fox goblin to appear out of the vapors, apologize for the stink, and ask if I wouldn’t mind stepping aside so that they might continue filming. But aforementioned dog-fox goblin never reveals himself, and instead I am left with an absolutely mind-fuckingly putrid cloud of rancid haunting me with no escape.

Worse yet, unless someone has ever lived in a vat of moldy pig vomit or regurgitated cat puke fermented in feces, well, no one will ever understand….