For weeks we traveled. From desolation to isolation and back again, from nothing and nowhere, to nobody and no way. I spent three days aboard a cargo ship where the sun blistered up layers of flesh in the day and the cold wind eroded them at night. We crushed termites into our skin to repel the mosquitoes. In the jungle we fished piranhas and held crocodiles against their will. In Iquitos violence layered a thick hand against us, at war with the money-changers and men with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen. Even the banks give out counterfeit dollars here, and then refuse to take them back. Kids carry knives, Shamans die of liver failure. A rash has come to ruin my life. I came to get lost without realizing it meant stranded. I can’t go back now, but I am only just realizing what it means that I can’t go back ever.
It seems like ages since I’ve seen an English man or had some warm water pressed up against me. I miss the strong independent western woman, she’s been replaced by a million whores, not in my life but in the world that surrounds me. The tribesmen here have sex with the dolphins and say that the lust can drive them mad, but I think they were mad for lusting. People put curses on those they love to bind them to them, I am close myself. I can feel the jagged edges of where I broke hitting against the waves, all the decisions just becoming reactions against the days. This place is full of sex and bad magic. A religion that has not changed, a people covered in dust.
A spider opened up my thigh like a hot dog bun and left me unable to walk for a few days. I met a German who had amazing posture and was accusing a woman of immaculate conception, a giant cat pissed on him thru mosquito netting and for a moment I believed in karma. Where has the adventure gone? I’ve lost it. I almost lost my life too, in a war against a boat that we had to haul by hand upriver. Neck deep in mud. The fear is hard on our tails. We have traveled from country to country and now reside by large desert walls. Time moves to slow here to get away from it.
Never trust the music. Never love a man with a broken heart. Never quit eating civeche. Always hunt. Always kill. Elect poets to go to war for you. I will, if you find me such. I will come back if you ask me to. Here I am in Peru. Where are you? A world is nothing to travel compared to the places I’ve found my thoughts. I only ask that you respect what I have done, if you make me ask. That was never our style though, was it babe.
Right now a man is asking me to eat a valume. I think I will. He has a mustache that crawls blond across his face. Hair that pulls up towards the ceiling. A Peruvian woman with his baby inside her. I don’t think he has slept in a couple days. We should just relax he says. He’s right. If only for a moment, I can take his advice.
