Gummi bears (27.06.2005)

hey guys,

i´m writing this in the sincerest possible tone... i have a problem... and i need a little help from my friends. i have had this problem for a little while (poss ever since i started drinking) and it pretty much came to a head last tuesday morning... or monday night to be precise. this problem has been stewing in the back of my mind for a while now... but steve brought it to the forefront of ponderage on a hazy night in galapagos.

bascially, and many of you will know this, i have brad pitt-edward norton-type fightclub-syndrome. some people call this condition "skitsophrenia". i like to refer to it as my "gummi bear" problem... cos gummi bears also got a bit funny when they consumed certain beverages... and it´s less scary.

my two alter ego´s were neatly labelled "dave 1" and "dave 2" by steve. "dave 1" is the shy, recluse, verbal stumbler that a few of you will have encountered from time to time. it is not this character that i wish to use a scalpel on at the present time (although he will need to be addressed at some stage). it is "dave 2" that i wish to disect... and here is where i need your help.

"dave 2" rears his ugly head through the cloud of mental sobriety when intoxicating chemicals in my blood reach a certain level. as i said earlier, steve noticed this character and boxed it. i have been debating this in my head ever since and have come to the conclusion that i can break this "dave 2" down further... i´m going to call them "dave 2a" and "dave 2b" (i could go for "dave 3" and "dave 4", but lets stick to the branch hierarchy thing for simplicity). "dave 2a" is the slightly louder, more boisterous character that you all know and hate. believe it or not, he can pull from time to time... and therefore i do not wish to deal with him at the moment. "dave 2b" is the philosophical character that spouts spiritual truisms in the worst possible way... namely when truely fcked. "dave 2b" has never pulled... and it is for this reason that i wish to examine him now.

let me start the analysis, first of all, by giving you a previous example of how effectively dangerous "dave 2b" can be (2b can b... cool). who of you remember "soul mate" vicky that i met about a week before going to south america? hmmm, only one... thanks bas, i knew i could count on you. anyway, "dave 2a" met vicky one night... and i hate to be modest, but she was all over him. "dave 2b" took vicky out a couple of days later. all was going well until he blurted out something about aura´s (the topic of the day in spirit land). vicky was never seen nor heard from again. dangerous.

okay... so with the background info in place, lets flash back to monday night and get stuck into the meat of the "gummi bear"... picture this...

it´s monday night in cusco... last night out on tour... the culmination of three months of boozing, partying and scandoing. i´m at mumma amerika, having just completed the inca trail the previous day, and i´m looking for some action.

so i´m standing there at the bar, leaning against a pole, looking suarve and slick and cool and biting the straw of my cuba libre provocatively. pete has gone home (for reasons explained later). my eyes flicker to the dancefloor and i catch sight of my argentinian mate and the american girl throwing their bodies around ecstatically in amongst a deluge of jirating flesh. i´m not dancing because i am sober... the 17 cuba libres have all gone in the one end and have emerged as an avalanche of lumpy brown spludge at the other. this is due to the food poisoning we all picked up on the last day of the inca trail (this is why pete is at home, safely tucked into bed). so i am sober... apparently... but looking back now, i have an inkling that "dave 2b", even at this stage, was nibbling away at the biscuit of sanity. here´s why...

as i said... i´m standing there at the bar, leaning against a pole, looking suarve and slick and cool and biting the straw of my cuba libre provocatively. suddenly this rap/hip-hop song starts playing... prob by someone like 50 cents, or 1 sole, or 2 reals, who knows. anyway, i tune into the lyrics, and they go something like this... "suck my dick bitch, i´ll dog you from monday to next sunday, come on your tits, and slap little mr humphrey in your face"... wow... imaginative. so i look around and see girls, pretty girls, dancing to this and loving it... and i´m like "don´t you have any self respect... any self worth?"... and in my mind i end up having this huge raging debate about feminism and respect and sub-servientism... all whilst standing there at the bar, leaning against a pole, looking suarve and slick and cool and biting the straw of my cuba libre provocatively. that´s why.

okay, so being sober, i decide i need a ciggarette - maybe this will bypass my stomach, go straight to my head and get me into some sort of mood. i scan the room... guy, guy, guy... chick smoking. i saunter over...

a quick note... fortunately i cannot take full credit for the conversation you are about to witness. some of it must go to the book i am reading at the mo called "zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance"... awesome book... if any of you want a good mind fck, read this book. i have a mental orgasim every two or three pages... which is better than any sex i´ve ever had... that´s probably because i´ve never had sex... because i´m a virgin... it´s not for lack of trying... it´s because of "dave 2b"... bastard.

so i saunter over...

"hey baby, can i bum a ciggi?
"err, sorry
"would you mind if i borrowed a ciggarette?
"sure, not a prob
- she gets out a new ciggarette.
"can i grab a light?
- she hands over her smoke. i suck against it and light.

light up, light up
as if you have a choice
even if you cannot hear my voice
i´ll be right beside you dear

"where you from?
- i´m in... i sit down on the table next to her.
"south africa. where you from?
"london
"where in london?
"angel
- and we go on like this... the normal useless surface chit-chat that takes place at the beginning of any tourist encounter. i recall the time i slept drunk in an underground parking lot at angel after my mates left me (we won´t mention any names... shall we porto?). the music is really pumping and i slide closer to her "pretending not to be able to hear".

louder, louder
and we´ll run for our lives
i can hardly speak i understand
why you can´t raise your voice to say

- at some stage during this chit-chat i take note of what she looks like... and i´m not disappointed. dark hair, deep brown eyes, really soft facial features and the body of a school-girl (i love school girls) which is shadowed from the world by way of a scimpy brown top and a tight pair of jeans... hmmm.
"how long have you been travelling?
"oh, about 3 mths... around brazil, argentina, ecuador, etc, etc, etc
- she´s impressed now. her hand lightly slaps my leg every time she lets out a little giggle and on the last occasion comes to rest there. this is too easy. i can have this chick any time i want... but i´ll let her hang on a bit, let her ponder a bit... perculate, so to speak.

slower, slower
you don´t have time for love
all i want to find out is your way
to get out of our little heads

- so the conversation continues to build until something is said and i mutter words to the effect of...
"london is much colder than here
"tell me something i don´t know
- a simple statement used every day in conversations all over the universe... but my sober mind registers a challenge. luckily i already have one at hand. i don´t have to go wading through the damp smelling cave of subliminal hokey-pokey. it´s right there, carefully filed away in the manilla a4 envolope in the top right-hand drawer of the desk of my current conciousness. i blurt out...
"quality is the cleavage term between the objective and subjective forms
- her face cracks into a smile
"err, excuse me
"quality is the cleavage term between the objective and subjective forms
- she looks a little puzzled.
"no it´s not... it´s objective
"describe how quality is objective?
"okay, in a chocolate for instance, it is sweet and creamy and coco-y
"that´s true... but that´s a chocolate... describe quality independent of a chocolate
- her smile has been replaced by a "do i really know you" look
"err... err... err... i can´t. but then it must be subjective... because quality is what i like
"but quality decreases subjectivity
"no it doesn´t
"yes it does... think of this... do you like u2?
"yes
"how many other people like u2?
"lots
"why?
"because they are good
"ah ha. so lots of people like them because they are good or "quality". would you therefore agree that this goodness or "quality" decreases the range of "what i like" and makes it more uniform? quality therefore decreases subjectivity.
"i suppose so
- she´s starting to get a worried look on her face now... her hand has long since slipped off my leg... and she´s looking around for her mates to come and rescue her... but even in my sober state, i don´t notice this new found tension between us.
"so if you agree that quality is neither subjective nor objective, neither mind nor matter... what is it? quality, my dear girl, is the sun of creation. quality is not the result of a collision between subject and object... the very existence of subject and object themselves is deducted from quality. quality is the cause of subjects and objects. without it we wouldn´t know if we were alive or just dreaming
- her eyes are wide now... she has the look of a chick who is about to have an anxiety attack. through the light holes in her pupils you can see her brain physically rack up the letters "F-U-C-K-I-N-G W-E-I-R-D-O". but in my sober state i still don´t see it. she manages to mumble...
"i ju... ju... ju... just nee... need the toilet. see... see... see... you back here.
"yeah okay... cya.

have heart my dear
you´re bound to be afraid
even if it´s just for a few days
making up for all this mess

and i sit there and wait. and i sit there and wait. and i sit there and wait. 5mins... 10mins... 15mins... 20mins... she must have got lost. i get up and look around the club... no sign. so i go outside and check the other clubs... nowhere to be seen. "poor girl" i think to myself, "she must have got lost". so i go home.

dangerous.

do you see my problem? do you see the curse of "dave 2b"? he puts out the illusion that i´m sober and it´s not until the next morning, when i replay the previous evening´s events through my mind, that i know that he´s even been out.

what a dilemma... actually it´s not a dilemma... apparently a dilemma can be likened to a raging bull rushing towards you... move right and you´re impaled on the right horn, move left and your impaled on the left horn (actually, is that correct?... if you move right, and you´re facing him... you would prob be impaled on the left horn... and vice versa... anyway you know what i mean... no way out). this is not a dilemma... lets call this a... a "situation". i believe there is a way out... i just need a little help and friendly advice from my closet allies.

so what do you say chaps... please, help me to live a care-free life again... without the burden of "dave 2b" on my back.

thanking you in advance
d

this could be the very minute
i´m aware i´m alive

5th South American Email - 15.06.05

stupac (23.05.05 - 12.06.05)

hola chicco`s y chicca`s

hope all is good... sorry for another long mail.

my last email left you in lapaz... having just tortured ourselves in order to quell the pain of steve´s departure. the agony didn´t end there however... on monday we decided to climb a mountain, a very big mountain, in the country. standing over 6000m high and weighing in at well over 100million tons, it was a big ask. to cut a loooonnngggg journey short... we cramponed up snowy passes, ice-picked up 50 degree glaciers, and roped in with two french super-hero`s to summit this beast just after the birth of the most beautiful sunrise ever. however some advice for those of you thinking of climbing a very big mountain... don´t do it... go and have a beer instead...it´s much more enjoyable.

upon our victorious return, we were interviewed by a young, up and coming south african journalist, kurly kooksister... due to the lack of detail above, the bored ones amongst you may wish to read the article... if so (and the total number of requests i`m expecting here is one... mom don`t let me down), email me and i will forward the article to you.

upon our return to lapaz we soon learned that the social unrest had grown ten-fold... blockades and riots everywhere... tourists flocking to get out. the unrest is due to multi-national corporations raping the 3rd world and it`s inhabitants of their natural resourses... and the people don´t like it!!! a recent change in legislation to increase taxes and appease the people was not seen as radical enough and action was intensified(reports of vehicles being blown up with dynamite should they attempt to pass blockades were frequent). the faceless conglomerates have countered by taking the bolivian government to some or other international court... what price another triumph of human greed over human morality?

we have just learned however, that the bolivian president has been ousted and his successor has apparently been given three days to make the necessary changes or more action is planned. it´s crazy... but you gotta admire the people for having a voice... western society appears to have become lazy and blindly accepts whatever is thrown at it by the powers that be. anyway...six countries visited, two government coups... not bad going.

we managed to secure a flight to sucre and left at about 5am the next morning to avoid the blockades. sucre provided us with the first opportunity to meet girls since steve left, and we were determined to make the most of it. the victims were a friendly, but older, english girl and a prettier (if you didn´t have your eyes in) canadian girl. we went to dinner with them...we never saw them again. a learning... when trying to impress a canadian girl, never, under any circumstances, ask any of the following questions...

1. do you get beaver in canada?
2. are polar bears just albino grizzly bears?
3. are you aware that the canadian cricket team has a cult following in south africa?... and then spend the next 3hrs trying to convince her that it does.

so we bussed out to potosi... previously (approx 350 - 400 yrs ago) the richest city in the world due to one big hill that produced loads of silver. so much silver was mined in fact, that it underwrote the spanish economy for two centuries and enabled the monetary system to be fully implemented in europe.

i am rich potosi,
the treasure of the world...
and the envy of kings.

the mine was shut down by the government in the 1980´s due to the lack of profitablilty, but independent miners still work there and the working conditions are just as bad, if not worse, than your average accounting job(the average miner´s life expectancy is ten years from the day he enters the mine... the average accountant´s mental sanity usually lasts for a similar period of time). so we took a tour... caught them on a religious holiday... some old testament style sacrificing ceremony had taken place and the whole place was drenched with lama blood... so we bought some dynamite and blew stuff up... because we could... chewed some coca leaves... and sampled some of the local brew (apparently it´s like 90% alcohol)... then entered the mine... the booze was a better experience.

then it was off to uyuni for a salt flats tour... it was very cold...and white... and full of salt... and was prob more of a one day game that the three day game we embarked on...

but we endured it as we needed to get to chile... the promised land with beach, sea, sun, cervecas, parties, and a supermarket (you have no idea how central those things are to western culture until you don´t see one for a month).

so some final thoughts /observations concerning bolivia...

1. all traditional women are attached to a multicoloured cloth substance that hangs around their necks and over their back... no exceptions. this phenomonem raises two obvious questions in any foreigner´s mind... why are these attachments so brightly coloured?... generally speaking, nature endows the male gender with bright colours in order to attract the female... is this therefore a new evolutionary path?... a more advanced species?...a mutant gene perhaps?... freaky. the second, and most pressing question, is what do these strange attachments contain?... no-one seems to know...personal belongings?... remanents of lost inca civilisations?... a cure for aids?... the key to the entire universe?... hmmm... mysterious. there are things known, and there are things unknown, and in between there are the doors.

2. when bus companies say their bus is ¨directo¨... it is not. it will stop precisely every 127 metres along the way... resulting in the 60km journey taking 45mins longer than the 5hr journey time stated at the bus terminal. reasons for these stops are numerous... in order pick up passengers, to let the co-pilot relieve himself, to let the driver have a chat to his mate on the side of the road, because each of the digits in 127 is a prime number, or because 127 itself is a prime number (actually i`m just speculating here... err, porto please calculate and confirm).

3. if ever you are bored, just mozy down to the local plaza or square and watch the street procession or fiesta that is taking place... they take place 24hrs a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year, for the exact number of years that the planet has been in existence... and they are guarenteed to keep you occupied for a few hrs. if, by some slight chance, there is no procession, it is probably because the locals are rioting... but don`t stress... that makes pretty good viewing too.


4. no public fountains work... ever.

so to chile... the promised land... that promised much... and delivered. additional bonuses included paragliding and... err, actually that was the only additional bonus... but a fairly good one... oh, and we also had a superb braai (bbq).

final notes on chile... it sure is desert-like... prob because it is a desert... but they have good wine... but don´t buy the cheap stuff... because it gives you a serious thumper the next day.

after three days basking in the sun in chile, we headed into peru to start the last leg of our journey. we pretty much cruised up the peruvian southwest coast. destinations included:

arequipa (awesome colonial type town, backdropped by a towering set of mountains... nothing new there then),

colca canyons (twice as deep as the grand canyon and home to some awesomely huge birds... though not quite as big as the bird that dragged frank out of 54 that one time),




nasca (my cap floating around the cockpit was more impressive than the lines),


ica (a desert oasis town where we sandboarded, dune-buggied, cerveca-ed, braai-ed, scando-ed, sun-ed, chilled, and watched the biggest red sun in the world set over an infinite amount of duned sand),




lima (and some dodgy going on´s in a few less-than-straight nightclubs).

thankfully for you guys i will leave it there... suffice to say, a quick comment on the newest member of team sa is necessary.

as some of you will know, a certain stuart butler was recruited in arequipa. don´t get me wrong, it is great to have him with us, but he is by no means adirect replacement for "simple guy" little. instead of aquiring a prosthetic arm, we have had cosmetic surgery of sorts... a face-lift perhaps... or breast implants if you will. now although breast implants don´t have the same practical uses as an arm, they do have their own advantages... for instance, breast implants are way better to look at than an arm, and they definitely make us more attractive to strangers. they also keep you company when you are lonely at night... so, as you can imagine, we are superhappyto have him tagging along.

if you got this far you will be ecstatic to know that this is my pen-ultimate email of our tour... only one more to endure... keep the faith.

later
d

we used to laugh under the covers,
though not so often now.
the way i used to laugh with you,
was long and hard.

Night out in Lima - continued (11.06.2005)

alright so to finish the story...

i am standing there... the only gringo dude in a nightclub full of bodybuilders pulling the sweetest ballerina moves you will ever see... chick has stormed off cos i have lipstick marks on my neck... and i don´t know how to get home, cos don´t know the area i live in... also no money... except the kitty... but could never betray my moral values to use this money for personal reasons... i am the kitty holder after all. fck!!!!

so standing around protecting my ass... and wondering whether i should perhaps do a bit of sweet talking to try and organise a lift home... maybe with the promise of something to come (excuse the pun) and then get stuart and pete to help me wangle out of the situation... then... god smiled... and the chick came back from somewhere apparently having forgiven me... but wanting to go to another club. reluctantly agreed... walked outside and was light... found out time was 7.30am. then found out we were going out with the trans-sexual / transvestite that had approached me earlier and some other nerdier gay dude. what were the odds we were heading for a straight club?

my suspicions were confirmed when a huge black dude with rippling biceps (almost as big as your`s grant) and gold chains was introduced to me as "frankie". okay... so i take a seat with my back to the wall... and sip on my beer... watching about 200 dudes dance to ¨where is the love?". i was shocked at how promiscuous these people are... it`s not like a normal club where you kiss a girl a night (except pearce of course)... but these guys swap partners every time the song changes... and the more macho the dude the more sub-servient he seems to be. and they love transexuals... the guy we were with got plenty of interest... prob cause he was doing some real `britney spears`shake-your-ass type moves on the dancefloor. don´t mean to be modest, but i´m sure this dude was infatuated with me... every time i went to the loo, he was there, asking me to go into the cubicle... and when i left with the chick, it was like world war 3... shouting and screaming and crying and mind games.

anyway so we leave (10.30am)... mighty relieved to survive with my virginity in tact. my mind swings around to other things... where as before it was self preservation... now it was self maximisation... i hadn´t been cruising around puckering my asshole the whole night just to give some mr t look-a-like a tighter, more pleasing experience. so we head to the girls flat... the longest trip ever... taxi gets lost... only place in south america where there are robots... and we hit every one of them... then locked out of hotel... chick has to wander off to get key... eventually get into room... the most untidiest room i`ve ever seen (and most of you guys have seen my room)... have to move a pile of junk off the bed... settle down... get kissing... then chick reckons she needs to brush her teeth... okay, good idea. comes back. i reckon... well maybe i should freshen up as well... i`m a considerate person. toilet... have a leak... squirt some toothpaste in my mouth... splash some water on my face... yeah i`m ready!!! burst back into the room... and chick is asleep. fck!!!

so go to sleep... wake up some time and remember im supposed to catch a bus with pete and stuart out of town this afternoon... not a clock in the place so try to guess... prob about 1pm. chick wakes up and we chat... and kiss... and chat... and kiss... and i´m getting worried about the time... but chick says it´s early... please stay 30mins more... and i stay, hooked by the lure of future dabbles here and there... chat... kiss... chat... kiss... i need to go... chick goes out to check the time... okay it`s 2pm, as long as i`m gone buy 2.30pm should make the bus... chat... kiss... chat... should go now... no she won`t let me go... how many other girls you going to kiss? none of course... i don`t believe you and she grabs my neck and sucks... and sucks... and she`s still sucking and i can`t get her off... physco... eventually get her off... no mirror so cant check the damage. gather my stuff and make my escape... out the room... out the front door of the hotel... gate door is locked... cant get back into hotel... sht... no option but to scale the 10ft outside wall with spikes on top. hit the top and people in the street are looking at me funny... jump down. ask a street vendor the time... 5.45pm... fck!!! physco chick... deliberately lied to keep me there. gonna miss my bus... have to use kitty to catch taxi... desparate times. taxi driver looks at me funny. back to hostel about 6.15pm. pete and stu have checked out... hostel owner checks at me funny. oh well... i`ll just have to get some food... food dude looks at me funny. internet... find out pete hasn`t left yet... internet dude looks at me funny. meet an aussie dude in the street... what the fck is that on your neck, did you get beaten up?... what thing... memory recall... the sucker... find mirror... the biggest, blackest bruise/hicky in my neck ever. found pete and stu and caught bus.

so the biggest bonus is that i am still a virgin in my bum... but emerged from the scandle tired, hungry and frustrated with the worst case of blue balls you´ve ever known (was battling to walk upright at one stage) and a huge hicky guarenteeing that no chica is going to go near me for the next 3 mths.

hope you guys had a good wend.

later
d

Night out in Lima (11.06.2005)

hey chaps,

just had a crazy saturday night... it´s 7.30 on sunday night and only got home an hour ago. lima... you gotta love it... if you ever want to beat a drought, this is the place to go... but beware the terrential downpour.

had a heavy thurs night at the oasis... then a big fri night at the oasis (only approx 2hrs sleep). so sat was always gonna go downhill. met 2 american mates at the hostel for drinks... drank some beer. then out to the´bierhaust´... had some beers... then some jd... then some beers... then some more beers. suddenly (actually they were always there - but the word suddenly brings some sort of emphasis to the situation) there were a 100million girls around all gagging for it... it was too easy so i was thinking of opting out. but desparate times call for desparate measures...so after the 7th time the german dude told me that some chica wanted to meet me, i decided it couldn´t hurt to have a look (it was prob more the beers taking hold). this chick turned out to not be so bad... peruvian chick with blonde hair and blue eyes (prob both fake... but def fooled me in my desparate drunken state).

so with a click of her fingers and with a smidgen of a kiss i was hooked... and soon dropped my mates to follow her to another club (i´m a sucker for punishment... i should have learned from numerous prior occassions where things go bad after dropping mates). so this club looked decent enough... we were just chilling watching the dancefloor... when i noticed 2 boys kissing... hmmm... okay then. then a trans-sexual / transvestite walks up to the table and starts to talk to me in spanish... chick translates... turns out he wants to kiss me... what an opportunity to end my drought!!!... but i declined... wasn´t drunk enough.

anyway so i soon notice i am the only gringo is this less-than-straight jol. chick cruises off to dance with her gay mates. figure i´m still in a good position... will just mozy over to the banos to pass the time. so taking a leak in urinal... look around... there is a chick (poss a boy dressed as a chick) like 2 cm from my face just staring... she says something and points down... whole bathroom laughs... have no idea whats she´s on about, other than prehaps my extremely modest size... just smile... whole bathroom on tenterhooks, can cut the tension with the swish of a masochists whip. there it was... the first move... chick dives in... i duck out and she plants a smacker on my neck... okay time to get out. push my way through the staring crowd of boys and out onto the dancefloor. find chick... tell her what happened... can´t explain properly in spanish... gets mad at me for kissing other girls... storms out. great, alone in a less than straight club in the middle of lima with the biggest motherfckers you´ve ever seen with stubble and tattoos prancing around like fairies holding hands and kissing passionately. cursing myself, dont know the name of the area where i stay.

sorry have to go... pete and stuart arrived for supper... may finish the story later if you´re interested.

am i or am i not still a virgin in my bum?

laters