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Published: September 8th 2009
18 km. east of Kostrzyn, 27-07-2001.
For the last two days I have been back to my solitary life style, sticking as much as posible to the back roads, looking for the green patches on my map that indicate fast tracks of forest. Totally alone to myself, to the dusty corners of my chaotic mind while my lungs heave, my calves protest and the perpiration covering my skin like a fine wed blanket, dripping into my sneakers...
Whenever I return from my voluntary retreats to the farther corners of my mind and look around at the here and now surrounded by the fastness of Mother Nature I feel besieged by the stories Nong told me last winter in Thailand...the spirits of the earth ruling the lives of us lower beings...not too difficult a concept to grasp when you cycle with a brain fried all day by the hot sun and ravaged by countless chemicals released through hard excerzise and fresh forest air...
The house looks grey and glum with dark gaping windows whose panes have long since gone, poison ivy covering the walls and low bushes in full bloom doing a serious attack to invade the house through
the numerous cracks in the walls...a sinister place here in the middle of the forest but a perfect overnight hauling place...ignoring Nong's nagging voice inside my Farang head, I drag my gear and my rusty old lady up broken stairs deftly avoiding countless little fragments of glass, ignoring the s*xual implicit graffity on the otherwise bare walls, I look for as more or less clean room...
With the flickering flame of a small candle my only illumination, sitting on my sleeping bag in the darkness of this old house, drinking my last cans of Tyski Polish beer, I try hard to let Nong's voice reemerge inside my head bent on certain nighttime activities - mental or not - but she leaves me alone with the sounds of the Polish night, the shrieking of mice and rats, the original inhabitants and probably not very happy about my presence here...
The dream world is not always pleasant, not here in the forest where Nong's stories have returned to my gray brain mass with a vengance, hostile ghoulds and malignant entities rule my sleep, my sub-conscious picking up the sounds of busy nocturnal beetles, the mortal fear in the shriek of an innocent mouse paying the ultimate price of life in the claws of an unknown killer, turning them into a cacaphony of auditory evil, more fodder for my already tormented sleeping mind...
Maybe I should stick to my tent next time!!!
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