Floating Nightmare…

We’d been imprisoned on this luxury liner for five days now on what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. We’ve burned all people who’ve stood in our way, threatened the crew, and ruined tons of family vacations. I have become very paranoid, ill with trepidation, and I’m not sure how much longer my body will sustain such an intense level of sedation. Five days completely warped on acid, coke, ecstasy, pharmaceuticals, psilocybe, and booze. My partners and I have convinced ourselves that we are no longer humans but gaseous forms, recognized ghost if I may, observing human behavior and studying their patterns. Astral projecting without ever leaving this plane.
My partner, Rene, has just vomited in the pool while some sort activity was being played where everybody acted like parasites on a dog’s bald ass. I didn’t understand this game very much but that didn’t matter. That was beside the point, a new situation at hand was developing, and disgusted vacationers were fleeing the pool like cats from a rabid pit-bull. People cursed Rene and threw pineapples, champagne glasses, and dirty looks his way. Rene cursed them back on his way out of the pool, spitting incoherent venom, his eyes wild, retreating to our penthouse suite with his tail tucked between his legs.
My other partner and agent, Meyer, was in our suite finishing off the last of the coke and getting blown by a woman we recognized earlier as having a loving husband and three beautiful children. Meyer wasn’t concerned with these sorts of formalities and never has been for that matter. He’d accosted many women on this trip through the seas of Baja California with astonishing luck. Meyer is a pig of a man, built like a slug, and uglier then a chicken’s rectum. He does have a way with words and is a successful businessman. Women seem to be attracted to his cunning and fat wallet.
I on the other hand was in my own world menaced by vivid hallucinations and body rushes that sent electrifying volts through my body. I have no idea how my hands continue to run their course on this laptop and tell you this story. It’d appear that there are either stuffed animals or dead puppies floating about the pool. I try to ignore these things, random vampires necking in reclining pool chairs, heads melting into people’s chest, roses on the end of my fingertips, and ninjas peeking out corners; waiting to skewer another tourist. Ignore the eyeballs in my thirtieth screwdriver, webbed feet, and ugly people.
“Sir, can I get you another drink?” Asked a stout young looking woman who appeared normal enough, regardless of her CIA standing and trying to bug my brain for the truth. She was the real deal, didn’t fuck around when she fucked around, I feared if I didn’t order another drink she’d become suspicious and shoot me in the face then throw me overboard.
I jumped, as if caught with my swim shorts around my ankles. “uuummm, Karen! KAREN! Your nnname tag says Karen, right? What is this?”
“Yeah, my name is Karen,” she replied blandly. She’s dealt with this element before.
I knew what to say but somehow the connection from my brain to my mouth was severed. Fuck, I don’t like the way her head keeps changing shapes. “Is there nothing on this doomed vessel that isn’t alien?” Crap! I meant to think that, not say it. “I’m uummm… sorry.” Jesus Christ, I did it again! Am I panicking?
“DRINK! I NEED DRINK, YES, NOW!” There was desperate urgency in my voice. “More Gray Goose and juice! Old English works too. Need my medication!” I exclaimed stuffing my face with a handful psilosybe capsules and oxycotin, chewing viciously. I eyed her cautiously behind dark color Ray-Bans.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have any Old Engl-“, she started but was interrupted by my agent.
“I hope this man hasn’t been too troublesome. He has an extreme anxiety disorder and is overworked, hence, we’re on this vacation. Here,” Meyer said stuffing a twenty-dollar bill in Karen’s left shirt pocket, coping a cheap feel, “he’ll have a Gray Goose screwdriver and I’ll have a grapefruit and Captain Morgans. Make it quick, toots, we’re thirsty.”
Karen rolled her eyes and went to fulfill her duties as a cocktail server while Meyer squeezed drops of liquid into his mouth directly from his personal vial. The expression on his rainbow-colored, chubby face informed that he too was hardly human outside his oafish appearance. He leaned into my ear describing what it was like licking the MILF’s c-section scar. I pictured the beast all over the devoted woman, committing cardinal sin while her family dodged Rene’s vomit in the pool. This made me laugh out loud.
Meyer continued running his mouth while my mind drifted to different periods of the vacation. Unexplainable, incriminating situations that should be laid to rest but make good conversation pieces. All of which are totally random, so what the fuck?
It was either day two or three, things are hard to remember, Rene had a spat of seasickness and vomited while we were attempting to dine fashionably in an upscale portion of the ship. This caused a ruckus with the fellow passengers and caused some minor disorder, of which, Rene completely blew out of proportion. He came back totally collected and apologized to everyone buying rounds and rounds of drink. Rene had his revenge however and it wasn’t until two days later he informed us. It’d appear that Rene had laced a bowl of punch, a whole desert cart, people’s dinners, unattended pitchers of beverages, and what ever else possible and within reach with liquid. As the night unfolded things only became stranger and stranger, the sick ward was flooded with head cases who thought they were completely losing their minds. Rene joined them so he didn’t look like any type of suspect. Rene’s smart like that. I figured it was a random case of scurvy and doubled up on my vitamin C.
The rest of that night was filled with screaming, crying, running all about the ship, and sheer insanity. I dared not venture outside our suite without arming myself with a steak knife. Too many freaks on this full moon night. Men being consoled by their families, children twisted beyond words, and woman screaming about being sun goddesses. A chilling spectacle on any level of sedation…
I passed these things off as normal, for what I know for the past five days, this is the norm. These are the way’s I’ve conditioned my life, my vacation not only from the world but from myself. The process of leaving my body while staying attached. Unexplainable to those who have never suspected. And here I am, take your fucking picture and piss off, for this is the only me you’ll understand.
Another flash of lunacy regarding a sweet girl named Sara whom showed a great interest in my work.
It was early yesterday morning perhaps around nine AM, I was buzzing away on bloody marys with soma on the side. My hands were vehemently working their magic on the keyboard, documenting brainwaves, human thought patterns, and the bodies behavioral under, damn near, one hundred hours without sleep. A beautiful young hot-body named Sara came by and reclined near the pool and asked what I was working on. I informed her it was on the condition of the mind and body under extreme circumstances. She then asked what the extreme circumstances were and I let her in on my condition. This was it, I informed, the walking dead, a mere shadow of a human, practically killing myself and documenting it to better humanity. I’d accidentally become a martyr with any luck.
She was intrigued by my work and by me personally. It was flattering. I decided to spend the day with this Sara girl and put the work away. We’d hang out in my suite while watching two lesbians work each other over with a vibrator, drinking rum with ice, and laughing. We’d embrace each other as long term lovers do, passionately caressing, softly kissing, and spooning, all while avoiding Sara’s over-protective parents. I was not only engrossed by her smoking body & stunning features but how intelligent and intellectual she was. No we didn’t buck, her and I were passed that; we were two lost souls whom found each other to provide nourishment for our heart and souls. I must say that she was the most positive aspect of my trip.
That same night, Meyer & Rene had three women in the living room of our suite, all of which were looped on absinthe and GHB. Sara and I walked in on what was the most despicable act of love making ever conjured by humans. It looked like some form of twister, with cow sounding groans, shrieks of ecstasy, and bodily fluids oozing out of abused orifices. They seemed not to notice Sara and I while we crept like stealth cat-burglars, holding back giggles, trying to make it to the refuge of my bedroom in effort to retire for the evening. We were suddenly approached by a Saint Bernard that I passed off as a hallucination until Sara confirmed that it was really there. His muzzle was covered in vermouth and he was very drunk and needed a good pee. I was pissed about the vermouth and cursed the animal fiercely kicking the freeloader out on his tail.
Sara and I went back to my room trying to sleep, ignoring the audible nightmare which was unfolding in living area. She eventually passed out making me envious of her sleep. I couldn’t turn off the television in my head. Too many days, frying my brain, fighting sleepiness, and testing my personal threshold have now turned me into a literary psychopath. The only thing I’m good for on this trip is staying trashed (which now feels normal) and writing about it. I made my way out of my bed and redressed, then leaving my room; lap top in hand and made my way to the bar to quench my eternal thirst.
And here I am now. Trying to ignore the distasteful words of my agent, cramming keys, jaw clinched, felling the rise of another harmonic wave of distortion. The sweat pours off my forehead, clouding up my sunglasses, and the Grey Goose has never tasted better under the oppression of the Baja sun. I wonder what Sara is doing often, as if I should be searching for her. She was a balance in a world that I wished would capsize. Her and I would have our moment again but for the time being I am being killed by anticipation, anxiety, and fear…

Madness in Boston and a Girl named Kate

I was in Cambridge Massachusetts doing a story on men who love sheep balls more then they love their wives when I met Kate. The story was another sleeper but Kate made my trip to the East well worth it.
It all started when I was interviewing a farmer who had irritable bowel syndrome. The man was sitting on the shitter with another attack of the green apple splatters telling me about the first time he made sweet love to a sheep. It was quite a story. About three years into the farmers and the sheeps relationship a wolverine came and mutilated the farmers lover while in mid-buck. It was a tear jerking story. This man has no idea how lucky he is to still have his penis. The farmer was so flabbergasted that he let the wolverine eat his beloved and then got drunk on moonshine. The wolverine was never seen again …
Well, I was somewhere in the middle of that bullshit, jamming on my laptop in some greasy spoon when Kate came by and said hi. Hi back. She took a seat and asked what I was doing, and forced me to go into the farmers love story.
WOW! Yeah, no shit. No punctuation ether, for that matter.
She invited me to a scuzball tattoo parlor where her and I inked up like idiots, enjoying the buzz of the gun, whispering nothing of any significance, drooling in each others ears. Sick. The artist did a great job, hence, I tipped well and thanked him for the bee-hive directly over my ass crack.
I was sickened by the Massachusetts cold and Kate advised two bottles of rum, a box of condoms, and my hotel room for some hardcore buck action. This sounded like a plan except I’d taken an eighth of mushrooms some hour ago and the food from the greasy-spoon was making me break out in hives. At first I thought I was a test subject for the newly reinstated Project MK-ULTRA, yes yes, it’s all so logical. That fat whore of a waitress poisoned my chicken-fried steak with drugs. What a stupid, fat whore she is! Why would anyone slip me a Mikey? FUCK! Just tell me what to take and I’ll do it, Sweet Lord and Baby Jesus on a stick! Butter my ass! I am a walking chemistry set!
Somehow we made it back to the Nine Zero. The drugs the pig-ass waitress gave me were counteracting with the eighth of boomers, making me more pissed if anything. The endorphins from that tat were wearing off and I now lusted for true insanity. The doorman opened the door for Kate and I and stuck out his hand as if to be receiving a tip. I tossed a handful of change out from my coat pocket and smiled at the way the jingles bounced around the lobby. The doorman thanked me for my gratuity.
That swine! He’s getting paid to make a mockery of me! I’ll make them pay! How dare they, in front of this fine girl whom shares an interest in sheep and the farmers that love them! He’ll never get away with it!
Kate snatched my room key out of my pocket and made a mad dash for the elevator, her mouth filled with Kettle One. I chased after her, cracking the 151 and power-slamming like I just left a 12-stepper. Fuck em if they can’t take a joke. Huh?
I guess the rum didn’t want to be there because as quick as that half a quart went down it came back up, along with the poisoned chicken-fried steak, carrots, salad, and pint of beer. All over the fucking bottom of the elevator floor, mine and Kate’s shoes, and the walls. Did I cry like a little bitch? No. Kate and I laughed and I chased down the regurgitation with Kate’s smoother Kettle One. Yum.
Once her and I got to my room we took off all our clothes and snapped the bong for old times sakes. The vivid hallucination of the farmer telling the sheep he loved her from behind was hard to shake. I told Kate that I think I’d become jaded. Christ almighty! I need to be held, much like a sheep? No it can not be this way!
Kate asked I stop acting like such a bitch and gave me a swift kick in the bare ass and poured me a large rum with ice. From there on we spent the rest of the night ordering room service and tossing shit off of the twelfth story balcony. Crass, Subhumans, Rudimentary Peni, Jungle, Hardcore Techno blared, causing a ruckus on the twelfth floor. A random security guard was summoned to our room but was quickly and violently subdued by Kate and her seductive ways. The man now dangles off the balcony, a bed-sheet tied to his feet is the only thing separating him from life and death. The kicker is that he only makes ten-bucks an hour.
In all honesty I can’t remember if Kate and I bucked. I’m just not sure. The whole night after the fucking waitress poisoned me is a complete blur. My attorney met me the next morning and talked Kate and I out of spending time in jail for the security guard incident. A crazy place this world is. A dude can totally spend his life fucking sheeps rectums but when you get crazy at a place like Nine Zero all of Boston Metro gets bent. It’s a good thing I didn’t say anything about the Curse of the Bambino, I left that shit talk for my attorney. The bastards smart like that and eventually we were off the hook.
Kates as ill as they come. I can still taste the honeysuckle off her lips as we said our good byes and I boarded that plane, heading back to the insanity that is my life.

The

I was engaged to the Princess of Taiwan. I had moved to Taiwan in January 1996, fresh out of high school to live with her and her family and live in their estate in Taipei, the capital of Taiwan. Her name is Hsu Pai-Yu (pronounced She Pay E). She went by Annie to make things easier.
She had everything: beauty, power, money, etiquette, intelligence, and most importantly, my heart & love. It was an awesome six years. Her and I would frequent China, Korea, Japan, and Thailand, learning language, anthropology, and culture. We were inseparable. My devotion to her earned the respect of her family whom still embrace me as their own son. They are the most inspirational people in my life. Her father enrolled me in four year program at the prestigious Tsinghua University, where I studied journalism, international business, political science, literature, and foreign language. I was assumed the position of First Guard to the royal family after just two years of my courtship with their only daughter granting me Taiwanese citizenship, a badge, and a firearm. While in the orient I learned how to speak Mandarin, Cantonese, Vietnamese, & just enough Japanese to get me by. It was the happiest time of my life, the cleanest time, & the only time I was truly in love. Six years of which I didn’t drink, eat hazardous chemicals, or party in any way. Sure Annie and I would frequent nightclubs such as TU, Kiss La Bocca, & @live, get a little glow off sake and rice wine, perhaps American beers too, but not like things are now. About three years into the relationship I traveled with Mr. Hsu on business and diplomatic trips to Moscow, Washington DC, Beijing, Sydney, Mexico City, Rio de Janeiro, Naples, Paris, Berlin, & Saigon, serving as an interpreter and personal bodyguard. Mr. Hsu served the Clinton administration as a financial advisor and his services were requested on just about every continent. In my spare time I volunteered to teach English at numerous Taiwanese high schools. I loved the children and created a bond to each and every one of them. They too embraced me, welcomed me into their “clicks”, their lives and families, and daily activities.
The travel, schooling, and volunteer work was taxing on my relationship with Annie and I really didn’t have a lot of time for us anymore. In August of 2002 she decided it was in her best interest to call it quits. Our lives were forking away in to completely different directions. We had become to busy for each other. There were no warning signs, nothing, just a lot of distance and silence.
To this day I have never felt so much pain. As a matter of fact my heart grows evermore heavy with each keystroke. The words become harder and harder to type. I spent many nights crying into the chest of Mrs. Hsu, being consoled by Mr. Hsu & university professors, and sticking the barrel of my firearm in my mouth, any answer to release the pain.
It had become a life and death situation in the estate. If I stayed there any longer I wouldn’t be here to tell you this ill tale today. My body was weathering away, I dropped thirty-five pounds in two weeks, sickly pale, a 6 foot 3 inch, one hundred-twenty pound walking wakemare. I could barely stomach rice soup and water. Luckily I had finished my four year program at Tsinghua University. I informed Mr. Hsu that if I didn’t leave the island soon I would die of a broken heart. Much like our elderly, you know? When one goes the other is soon to follow no matter how healthy, they say he or she died of a broken heart, the loss of a lifetime of love that will never be replenished. Mr. Hsu told me he understood this and that he loves me like a son, he and I will always remain more then friends, he will always remain my father.
So here I am now, sworn NEVER to love again, afraid of it like a child’s boogieman. Annie has now married and it was arranged. I still talk with her family and miss them dearly. I can’t talk to Annie for more then five minutes with out breaking down and crying. It’s like picking a scab; my scars run so deep. She is constantly trying to reach me but I dodge her like a coward. I date women until they tell they love me then bounce them out on their asses before anything breaks. Jaded, yes, as sick as it gets. I can honestly say that I’ve danced with love, embraced it, and have lost it NEVER expecting nor wanting it again. I now shun it and those currently involved in it. It is bar-none the most dangerous of all human emotions, temporary insanity, leading to ones demise and complete annihilation.
I expect I will die alone.


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