According to my dictionary, the non-musical definition of fugue is “a state or period of loss of awareness of one’s identity, often coupled with flight from one’s usual environment, associated with certain forms of hysteria and epilepsy.” Don’t know about the epilepsy bit, but with tens of thousands of red-shirted supporters of ousted prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra now arriving in Bangkok, the rest of this definition seems to capture modern Thailand.

The reds’ main rally is on Sunday, but the capital has been gearing up—and shutting down—all week. Banks, shops, embassies, and newspaper and television offices have boosted security. International schools have closed. The traffic jams have gone. Thaksin’s ex-wife and three children have left the country. Thammasat University has cancelled a seminar called “From Katoey [ladyboy] to Transgender Women.”

The draconian Internal Security Act is now in force in Bangkok, Nonthaburi and many districts of surrounding provinces. Soldiers man checkpoints around the city. Naval boats patrol the river near Siriraj Hospital, the king’s home since last September. The English-language newspapers are pulling out all the subheads: RED ALERT, RED MARCH, RED MENACE.

Meanwhile, in the sun-baked north and northeast—the red-shirt heartlands—water shortages loom and many provinces are blanketed in choking smog from forest and grass fires. The Mekong River is drying up.

Here in Bangkok, the Thai Red Cross is stocking up on blood, while expatriates talk about stocking up on water and other essentials. This feels like over-reacting, but who can blame them? There is a constant chatter of conflicting statements. Government officials appeal for calm and promise to keep the peace, then warn of bombing campaigns or violent provocations by “third hands.” Generals deny they are plotting a coup, which only makes you wonder whether they are.

Thailand is no longer a country. It is a fugue state.