room eight awaits

1.19.13

This morning Maya told me a group of sixteen were coming so I cleared out of room five and am now in room eight, the common room, the high ceiling and empty walls were my home last year for two months.  An hour later we got a call and the group cancelled. Pity, the room I stayed in for five months has never been cleaner. 

I told Suraksha staying in such a nice room made me lazy and now I hope to stay where I am until I find a job.  Suman is insisting I return to room five but I will be fine here.  Last night’s rain cleared the dust considerably and temps warmed up so it shouldn’t be too bad.  Meanwhile…Dilu.  What about Dilu…a widow for seven years, we stopped and finished a bottle of rum in her simple room down a few steps from the road, this woman is beautiful I don’t need to say more other than she is regarded as untouchable with Nepali customs and family branches going everywhere that require all adhere to the rules which are, don’t marry an old foreigner.  Then we moved on to Rocco’s big new pink hotel called Hotel Mountain Garden where we took a tour of the rooms and then drank vodka and ate roasted soybeans. 

I don’t like the fact that I am wondering foolishly that maybe the Mayans were off a month, like in two days something will happen.  Absurd, the only thing happening on this day will be the inauguration.  There will be no end to anything and I will be a fool again.  I am glad after this date there are no other dates to consider except the end of the horoscope, which is, which will be, the beginning or the end of pisces, or my birthday.  I do not like this imaginative clutter in my head.  Thinking for even a second that something is going to happen is a case of something cultic and I don’t like it.  And now, now that I sit on this bed I have not eaten dinner and in my stomach swims rum and vodka, cheap, and ready to project over the railing.  Oh lord please let me live sick free tonite.   

1.20.13

A rich red sky illuminates the rippled range before the sun brings life again.  Laxman came by at five thirty and we had toast and an egg and tea since dinner last night wasn’t sustainable, thankfully there was no projectile vomiting into the jungle. Omigod I know better.

1.21.13

A month ago I thought I’d be in heaven or somewhere near, instead I confront the ugly truth.  Substance abuse.  I didn’t consume entheogens, I consumed hash brownies and ecstasy.  I am laughed at, deservedly so and all of the coincidences were miraculously produced in my head.  I am very close to the edge of meaninglessness, if I haven’t already crossed that line, and all that is left now is death.

I am not afraid to die, I pray for it.  I have nine days before I must apply for another visa but walking into the jungle and dying under a tree is preferred.  I am grateful for Laxman and Maya’s trying to find me a wife but my head is elsewhere and there is no hope anymore.

And the worst of it, really, the worst is the four years I believed, four years wasted with nothing to show for it.  Just my imagination, yep, it has left me broke, it has left me alienated, it has done nothing good.

The peanut lady lost her husband seven years ago.  The woman across from the library lost her husband seven years ago.  I lost my sanity four years ago.  Who is better off?  Shame on you, you lazy gangi toting son of a bitch.  Knock it off.  The taxi driver eats his plate of flattened rice and duck and shares the agony of having his thirteen year old son undergo multiple surgeries to remove a tumor from his brain.  He pulls off the boy’s hat and turns him around to reveal scar tissue and jagged lines just above his neck.  I am so ashamed and embarrassed when I see my own self-inflicted stupidities.  Religion and substance abuse, they are not good bed-fellows. 

I want to be hungry, I wish to suffer physically, only this will bring me to accept even with nothing now, and yet I know, it’s still better than the tumored boy, it’s still better than the peanut lady.  The fear of letting a child starve is the worst fear and should motivate to provide but when there is no way to go, when there is no hope, no plan, when one is reduced to begging, where is God but in the illusion of your mind.  It’s easy to believe when you can feed your children.  Take it all away and see what kind of faith you have.   Go ahead, oh thank you Jesus and Buddha for helping me bury my child. I’m sure I have sinned and deserve nothing less than continued starvation. Thank you so bloody much.

Do you know what it is like to be hungry with no hope you’ll eat soon?  I could confront this here or somewhere else and it is because of my abuse of the substances.  Shame on me to think a spirit world exists.  It’s cause and effect on earth, you deserve any suffering that comes this way.

The entire family is at a wedding and I am in charge.  An Italian lady is in room four and she is off somewhere.  I don’t know if she will ask for anything from the kitchen but if she does I will welcome her to cook herself something.  Sitting at the table in the afternoon sun is knocking me out.  Time to make tea.