Lust, Drunk, Purge

My delicate and pure foreign lover has been gone for over a week now and my lust for her touch and flawless spine has not dwindled. Her departure was agonising, leaving my heart feeling as if it had been trampled by elephants wearing stilettos, sharp and merciless puncturing leaving me weak and dishevelled.

Very new feelings passing through and over me. Love, in its purest form, was always a foreign and rather abstract concept to myself. Obviously the love I share for my family and friends is as pure as freshly fallen snow but I always found it hard to believe such powerful emotions and attachments could be brought upon myself in regards to a girl.... Perhaps my fears of being some sort of highbred nymphomaniac sociopath with little or no capacity to love or sustain a relationship and at the same time having almost no remorse for past partners is unfounded.

Of which I’m glad, although my unrepentant lust for wanting her back is terrifying on many levels, if not only for the fact that this startling new emotion has got such a fierce grip on me that I dread to think how I may escape it, but it is a much warmer feeling than thinking of oneself as an ice cold sex demon. Ho ho ho...but then again, its early days yet.

However, now I’m left here in this oblique holiday resort deep in the north of Americas great forest and lake lands with all manner of mutants and fiends having to take my solace in heavy binge drinking, the occasional smoking of narcotics and relentless golfing.. not necessarily in that order but often at the same time.

Though this whole filthy set of circumstances can be brought down to the singularity of idiots and intellectuals alike coming together at the pinnacle of their being when stuck in such a god forsaken surroundings to achieve one goal and that is to escape from reality.

A lifestyle caked in boredom can be a terrible existence. We are a social breed of animal with a constant and unforgiving need for sensation, new or old, and monotony and boredom try to quash these urges, for some reason only known to the great magnet, to make us into Mongoloid effigies of the pure thrill and fun seeking creatures we are. Unfortunately this appetite for sensation can sometimes bring out the beast in all of us.

For instance the high levels of brutality and dread experienced in low level income communities such as mining towns not only stem from economic standings intertwined with high levels of testosterone and natural competitive instincts of man in general but also the implicit want and need to feel something, even if that sensation is pain. The humdrum and harsh realities of working in the pits not only breeds a want for escape, which is often brought about by alcohol, but the need for feeling alive, to be brilliant, spectacular, just for a second...the thrill of the fight.

Luckily our close knit social gathering her at the Ross Teal Lake Lodge has not degraded into all out savagery yet, but for such a small quarry of humans that we have gathered here I am amused by the amounts of alcohol and narcotics consumed, especially whilst remaining completely ambiguous to our senior staff. However, smoking opium and playing golf can only be tolerated for so long, in-depth conversations, with the Polish contingent in particular, tend to keep my brain from waxing over completely. In-depth however, does not mean intelligent, the language barrier often dictates to which extent a group of people can converse and regularly our discussions are simply anecdotal, about drinking, drugs and other general shenanigary.

My good Polish friend Woitech, who happens to be a fine example of a red blooded Pole, once put it to me straight whilst enduring a late night spiced rum session he leans back in his chair saying "Oh come on my friend, Poland can be a dangerous place to live" as I eyed him curiously he began to speak in a more serious tone.

"I was out camping with my friends one time when in the early hours we were woken up by what sounded like a group of people...When I came out of then tent there were three guys stood around all looking high as hell on amphetamine, I grabbed a smouldering piece of wood and began hitting one of them with it but he just kept coming"

By this point there was a definite fear in his eyes from unearthing such terrible memories, and he carried on.

"It was like Frankenstein’s monster, I must have hit him ten or eleven times with this big piece of on fire wood before he ran off into the woods with his friends like a pack of injured wolves, something Ill never forget"

And that is usually the extent to which our conversations go, but generally I’m not bothered by such tales of violence, stupidity and excess as they are as much part of the learning curve as any other type of education whether it be formal or sitting down in front of your parents to learn their wisdom. The ability to converse on all levels with all manner of people is not something learned over night, but is definitely necessary for a full and rounded life experience.