A place for a

08.09.2015

Ayahuasca: The devil called me to Peru – Part 8: Interlude

I can not decide whether to sleep on the higher or lower part of the decrepit loft bed. A black cat is around and I like it when she visits me. I hope it is a she; I tried to look, but I am not a catologue. Top is farther from the dirty floor, though.

I ponder whether the cat is some kind of incarnation – can you incarnate if you are not dead? – of the black chick. One night, I heard her hiss and cry madly, followed by a hasty and trepid ascent on the wooden staircase in the gloomy center hall of the place. Seconds after, the owner of the hotel passed by my slightly opened door with an empty gaze in his face; he looked ghastly and possessed as he walked towards this house’s sad excuse of a toilet. I sneaked into the room where I thought to have heard the cry and found the distraught cat looking at me from behind a baluster; when I approached her stoically, she purred and rubbed against me. The ultimate white knight with his black chick cat.

That was when I knew I had an ally who recognizes the devil’s game. The black chick claimed to be a protector, after all, and it seems intuitive to assume that a black chick would now manifest herself as a black cat, existing solely for the purpose of protecting me. Who knows, though, maybe they drew a pact to drive me into the howling madness of solipsism.

It is nonsense, of course – a cat or chick can not protect me. She is a naive and weak companion who wants to give me a moral kind of support. I appreciate it, but I am also sceptic.

Another indication for my theory that it is the black chick is the sexual tension that I felt between the two of us when she visited me one night, laid down on my dick with her soft black fur and gazed into my eyes while I got a boner. Maybe mammals are more compatible psychologically than commonly assumed. Or ten days without fapping just make you weird.

Boring hot days

I do not want to spend the money and buy a ticket back to Munich right now. I still enjoy the distance. And the heat, for obvious reasons. When my father told me he left Germany and my mother for the warmth of Hawaii, I did not doubt him. Now I doubt him less.

The Ayahuasca diet does not allow it, but I ate Alligator. Raw with some kind of lemon sauce. Did not feel too well after that, maybe I am becoming superstitious. No salt, no sugar, no red meat, no sex. At least the last thing comes easy to me, although I exchanged grins with the waitress when we talked about it. Then again, she was an old hag. But the cute small thin girl at the cafe seems to like me.

The gal at the juice shop definitely digs me. Seriously looked into her eyes after inspecting the herbs in the vitrine. Then, as I sat and relaxed in a too stylish chair in the cafe while looking out at the boulevard, she said beautiful. I said yeah. She said no, you. I grinned at her. Had I had some balls, I would have asked her to come sit with me and do more later, heated up by the South American climate. It is backwards, though, she complimenting me. Something was fishy about that business. Later, as I passed by, she gave me high five; it is interesting to see how quickly attraction can vaporize, even in the heat.

I met some green guy with a just cause in the cafe. Came down here to support loam huts or something like that, total righteous fag. Figures that in a place that many consider a spiritual retreat, you find those who search for something bigger than themselves. He was, of course, against capitalism and any form of selfishness; I tried to argue with him – in my usual nonchalant manner – why the West should care about loam huts or whatever he was there to support. He and the really old lady he was with looked at me as if I was evil, but he did more so. Figures that the slave must stand more firmly behind his master’s principles than the master herself. A disgusting sight. I asked him what he will do when he comes back to civilization. How he will live, what money he will have. Oh, he does not care much, he has his cause. Fucking idiot. If money was no concern, I would be traveling and doing crazy stuff like this all the time. This is not smart. I told him that I was a web developer and came here to get some rest from technology. Being IT savvy comes with the drawback that idiots think you are their personal computer assistant. This guy naturally had some rusty laptop with connection problems. Felt guilty, but I told him it is not my problem and he has to solve it himself. He did not seem to take it very well. But why would I care.

Spent the last days reading the book about the warrior while I stoically suffered my burning skin and the maddening blister on my left foot. I not only suffered the blister, I walked in the possibly most harmful way to relish the pain. I am a warrior, too.

Most days, I bought a ton of fruit which I ate back at the hostel. The cat came to see me a few times.

At another restaurant on the boulevard, I saw a smoking hot French girl with ugly hippie trousers. Did she have dread locks? I am not sure. I was in indifference mode, anyway. Piece of cake. She sat with a guy whose shin seemed to have been eaten up by something. Another guy sat at another table, highly neurotic. Did some very bad attempt at small talk, telling her how he liked meeting her, resulting in her politely responding and otherwise ignoring him. What a meek attempt. I am glad it was not me. Then again, I was not even trying.

The memory of the devil is slowly subsiding. I am not sure I even want it to. There is something heroic about being at the edge of terror.

Some of these days, the guys from the retreat should be passing through. I wonder whether I will meet them. Not sure I want to.

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