

## Riparian Station

By: Jan Tailor

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Jan Tailor

ISBN. 978-0-9880807-7-5

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

### Riparian Station

Table of Contents

Part 1: Beautiful Loser

Part 2: Islandist

Part 3: Catch

Part 4: I brake for hallucinations

Part 5: A reincarnation of the Lost Generation

Part 6: A Place with out reason

Part7: Release

Part 8: With out self

Part 9: Riparian Station

Part 10: Surfer, Fisher, Lover

Other Titles by Jan Tailor

### Part 1: Beautiful Loser

Chapter 1

I picked up the stapled pages put deliberately upside down, at the end of my coffee table. A flip of the paper revealed lines of black text with red underlining words frequent enough to suggest it was a passing lain on a highway. In the top corner was the mark 55%, that meant I was now on academic probation.

I flipped to the back to read the comments, 'Your topic is not one of the given topics, nor did you seek approval, therefore (therefore was three dots in a triangle as per philosophy prof's short hand) I have to take off 2 marks. Your argument appears to be strong – if controversial - but rest on interdisciplinary connections and theories that I am not well acquainted with. 1 mark is taken off for poor reference material – there are better sources than TV shows like Nova. The structure and logic of the argument is flawless, which is the goal of this course. Your paper is littered with grammatic mistakes, I doubt you proof read it. You have the intellect to achieve at this level, however, the quality of the writing is not at university level or, what I believe to be the case, you didn't care to proof read it, therefore (three dots again) I have to deduct the marks as per the papers outline in the syllabus. 1.5 marks off. 5.5/10.'

I thought, 'I met the objective of the course, writing a logical, structured argument and just pass, how is that possible? I did proof read the paper and the computer spell checked it, why all the read ink? Maybe I didn't save it after the spell check was done?' I new at least one hit of White Clinical acid was needed tonight. A square was put on my tough before I went to my computer.

The file on my computer was not marked with squiggly red lines marking mistakes. I re-checked it, the only mistake was my last name. It was copied and pasted to a new file so the possibility the spell check had been turned off could be ruled out. Again, my last name was the only mistake. Something did not compute.

Back to the paper I went. The second square was taken. On the first page was the answer. My professor had corrected the first few mistakes, with out was one word, their was changed to there, write was changed to right, seen was changed to scene. I should have known, I was let down by my broken brain. 'Was this as far as I could get with a brain that knows four ways to spell any word?' I thought as the third hit was place on my tough, 'I don't understand how can I stay hear if can never adhere to the _order_ I'm forced follow. The university is a crystalline in structure, completely _ordered_ , and the point of it is to shape you into its _order_. Is their a place hear for me if I cannot mimic there _order_?'

I rolled a joint and was taking the first toke as the phone rang, "FFFF...Uhhhhhh, hello."

A serious female voice replied, "It is constable Jane... Mary Jane. You are in violation of law 420 – smoking a joint with out me."

I took another toke over the phone, "What ever."

"Hey, I still want to go out and get some weed... you up for it?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be by in a couple hours."

"I mite go to the park."

"The one behind your place?"

"Yeah."

"See you in a bit."

I finished the joint and looked at the paper again. "Critical fuck thinking... how to make a logical, ordered argument... but English is not logical. I can read this to a crowd and no one in it will here any of these mistakes. Professor how can that be? You don't know? Could it be that the words surrounding there or their are the words that make it won or the other? They do. So those different spelling don't matter because the words around them tell witch it should be – context. So there is no logical reason why we have there instead their, just tradition. A mind as astute as yours could not see from the context of the word what it's meaning is? Or are you so indoctrinated by your crystal church that you have to see the each letter in the word as integral to the argument although those differences in the words are so illogical the prefect logic of a computer can't be trained to pick them out when checking the spelling. Do you teach a class in critical thinking or are you Pavlov teaching a dogmatic mode of thought to the young?

"If you were really a thinker and not filter to sift out those with aberrant ideas you would have given me a chance... asked me what is the problem. And I would have answered sheepishly, 'Well you see the idea it just came to me the night before the paper was due, and I proof read it myself, normally I get someone else to read it... see that is the problem, I am dyslexic. I have learnt to right but sometimes I don't see the mistakes. Had you been enlightened, you would have let me get a friend to read it and taken a half mark off for being late and I would not be on AP.

"You fucked me... no I fucked me because I new the rules, they are not hard to see. Or would you have found another reason to shoot down my paper? Would you have used the fact the argument was using other disciplines to prove a philosophical idea wrong? Would you stone it for attacking truths we don't dare to question? Would you treat it the way all sophistry is when encountered by a Platonist? But that is what you did you use the most base problem to ridicule it - it's language. Just as you would teach a class that a sophist says to you it is black when we all can clearly see it is white. 'Yes clearly this is not valid the language is child like,' that is what you used to refute me because the higher argument was too solid. And if my prose were perfect you would find another stone to throw because my argument is heresy and your class is filled with Christians, believers... oh, the three agnostics and me. Isn't funny that the _order_ of philosophy has many argument to prove the existence of something that is unknowable according to the bible?

"The structures of knowledge have done more to hinder thought than to help it. There are things that cannot be questioned, like Newton before Einstein but how many had ideas parallel Einstein that were never given the chance? Today knowledge is molded to fit under the cloaks of greatness... but how much of that is reverence to ideas that many not be relevant anymore? Fuck if I know, there are better places to go." And I got up to find what I would need to go out side.

Chapter 2

A woman with straight long black hair, brown eyes and tawny skin walk down the snowy path into a roughly circular park with a playground, field and basketball court all covered in snow. In the blue-black winter a man (6'5" 280lb) with a red goatee and glasses was casting flies to non-existent fish in river of fantasy. The woman smiled and snickered to herself as she came to the level bottom of the park. She stopped to watch him cast to nothing.

I was the one fishing that night although if you were to ask me at that time I would not have known who I was... just that I was.

I only knew that I was going to lose as is everything else.

I had the urge to lie down and I did. The cold of the snow comforted me, I felt a part of the ground. The dome of the sky switched with the flat Earth and my extremities stretched to the horizons. For a time that was infinite but not, wisps of clouds blew across the flat sky. But no wind was felt in the hollow of the bowl. The hallucination past. Again I was left with no knowledge of who I was.

Not knowing who I was did not worry me because with no knowledge about myself I had no reason to worry. I did want to find out who I was, so I took stock of what I had. I had a fly rod I, must fish. I stood up and tried to cast a few casts. I could cast quite well. There was a flask in my pocket. I opened it. The flask smelled like my breath so I took a swig, Southern Comfort. Then I continued to cast my fly in the dark to nothing.

"Hey, Hugo!" in the cold (-18 C) the woman's voice was closer and clearer than it should be from her distance. "What are you doing?"

"Fishing."

"For what?"

My mind told me to say, "For assholes... I think I got one." I stopped casting and reeled in my line while the woman walked up to me.

"Let's go smoke some weed inside it's too cold out."

She was shivering, so I gave her my parka, "I have weed?"

She reached up and grabbed a half concealed joint from my toque. She lit the joint. I wondered if I should ask her who I was; she seemed to know me. I did not ask her who I was it was a question I knew I should know the answer to.

We walked, to where? I did not know. I wonder aloud, "Hey, what is the name of this place?" I thought that the name might trigger a thought that might lead to more.

"The park?"

"No, the depression," I want to say that it was a drumlin but a drumlin is an oblong hill, like Conaught Hill or that other one with the water tower on it. "It's a glacial formation, though." I switched to thinking quietly about spruce trees on the edge of the bowl. We got to the street tinted orange by the streetlights, "Man, that park is so great, houses all around, a few inconspicuous trails in, no obvious signs, hidden in plain view." I paused, "Hey, how did you find me?"

"You said you might practice fly fishing in the park when I called you, remember?" She said, handing the joint to me.

I wanted to say, 'No way, I didn't know my name until you told me but you say I called you.' I said nothing, there was no need to chance destabilizing the world by give her the impression I needed a straitjacket. Even if all indications said she was a good person able to relate to my situation. Being an experienced LSD user I knew in time I would know what was lost to me now so I kept on keeping on. I mean the world was too grand to care if I were a tree or me.

Instinct guided my hand to the right key for the lock. We walked up the stairs to an apartment, again instinct took over and I opened the door. Inside the girl made her self at home and I felt at home, it was my kind of place. Reason came to the conclusion it was my place. I looked around for clues that would point to whom I was. Jodie, – yeah that was her name – got a beer from the fridge and asked if I wanted one.

"Do I?"

"Yes, you need a beer. How much acid did you take?"

"I can't tell but defiantly enough."

"You got that weed I asked for?"

"It's somewhere... I'll go look for it," and with that I went looking but not for the weed – I knew where it was.

Flotsam and jetsam, artifacts and detritus washed up onto my beach of consciousness. A beachcomber sifted through the debris and with each pieces touched a memory welled up from the depths of the mind detached as if seen from the outside looking in.

An ashtray filled with cashed bowls (ashes from a pot pipe) and a stereo sat on night table with porno magazines covering the floor sparked the memories of many nights in bed smoking pot listening to the Dead and jerking off.

A pot pipe next to my bed filled my head with the faces of the two people – Richey and Elita - who made the green femmo masterpiece. On the right night the pipe would take on the appearance of an astral chew chew train. Smoke and glowing ember coming from the pipe's bole looked like the smoke stack of a steam train while a hand pushed it through the air to Casey Jones by the Grateful Dead – "Drivin' that train high on cocaine, Casey Jones you better watch your speed."

Amongst the porno on the floor were an equal number of fishing magazines, a couple of empty cough syrup bottles and a photo album. Fish dominated the photo album, and with each fish a day of fishing or snorkeling was recalled. University books and papers were in orbit far from the bed, safely out of the reach of hands that might stray from the preferred reading. The texts caused flashes of stoned morning in dimly lit classes with fingers of blinding light from sunny winter mornings beckoning through the blinds. The essays brought thoughts of hoops to jump through so the contemptible goal of becoming a manager of nature could be achieved.

A paper sat a part, one that's form evoked every word of it in my mind. It was an extra credit paper given by a strange professor to me, a student in trouble. A C- in his class would put me on academic probation though a C would not. Two percent separated a C- from a C and that was what the extra credit paper could get me. The topic was why you are studying fisheries biology. In short I said I love to fish and the more knowledge I have the better fisher I am. I related the knowledge learned in entomology and other biology classes to fishing. The professor, an entomologist said, 'if your purpose is fishing there are better places to find pertinent knowledge then a class room' or that is what I believe he said. I remember the substance of that comment because he said something even stranger for an entomologist and fly fisher in my eyes it gave him great credibility. He said when fishing for trout just two flies are needed, a doc spratly and a royal coachman (one is a general nymph and the other is a general dry fly), if those two flies do not catch fish the lake is over fished. For the past two summers I worked surveying streams. Streams that had not been fished had the most easily caught trout and the right sized doc spratly or royal coachman would work – though I am far from an expert. I got the extra two percent to keep me off academic probation for a semester.

The question of purpose circled in my head. It seemed the most important factor in defining who I was – or anyone. Was my purpose to fish? Was there a higher purpose? Does the fact I gave respect to a professor because of the fishing lore he imparted to me and not for his doctorate shed light on my purpose? Could it be that I make my purpose? Or am I a puppet to the whims of unseen things? I tried to stop thinking but the acid kept on with questions I could not answer well enough to be sure of anything. I lay back watching the ceiling ripple as surface of the ocean does when seen from below.

"Hey, what's taking you so long... are you jerking off?" Jodie yelled to me from the other room.

Jodie's voice reminded me of the one true purpose of life, nature and the Universe which is to continue in whatever way possible, infinitely. I knew the pull all to well. I am one of the failures in this procession toward the infinite as everything of order is but my failure is much more acute then others.

In twenty four year, I have fallen in love definitely twice, possibly a few more time. The first time was with a girl who told me never to assume anything. Since reality is based on perception, which is an assumption of what is, I was confused – I mean the Sun coming up is an assumption even if no won would bet against it. So I did not call her because I believed the assumption I had made was that we had a relationship deeper then friendship. But I was wrong she meant that I should never assume she would be at the bar... no I should call her before hand and arrange a more formal date – apparently our dating lacked structure. I found that out rather late when after a few days, forlorn and love sick, I finally got up the nerve to talk to her. By that time it was over, at least for her. I was a mess for a long time, though I did not cut off my ear or anything.

Then there is the second love; Jodie is sitting in the living room. She knows we are best friends but in April of last year the inevitable happened I fell for her. But being a best friend of hers made it was difficult to change her into a lover. So I loved her at arms length. I tried to be great and do great things in front of her hoping she would notice and realize what was true to me. My timid tack was as bold as I would be. There was no way I would risk losing the friendship we had.

So there I was with the fish of my dreams hooked and close to the boat but my tackle is to light and I have not the never to tighten the drag because the line could break losing the fish and the time with the fish. I hoped somehow fortune would woo the fish for me or she would tire but she does not tire. And I will not risk putting on more drag. She circles the boat just feet out of reach. I watched stunned, giddy and afraid unable to find a way to land her with out risk of losing her.

The orange red glow coming from the window above my bed captured my mind. Inside the room was a cool blue. Could it be the outside was warm? A minute ago it was winter. I arched my head back to get a better look at the upside down outside. Icicles on the eves and snow blowing from the trees told me no strange shift in reality had occurred.

Another shard of memory assailed me. Jodie up side down surprised face half obscured by a blowing curtain looking in with the trees in spring green behind her and me lying in my bed listening to the Dead, smoking weed, dick in hand. I was embarrassed to say the least. Worse was my recovery. At the moment I could have said something witty, like, 'little help please' or 'just a minute I am coming.' Of course I could not say either but how many people could make a witticism at a time like that? I should at least have given off the air of, 'hey, everyone does this but you're the person who bent over the rail of the balcony to look in my room.' But I could not, nor could I act normally. We went to Denny's to cure our hangovers from the previous night. I swear that every good Christian that Sunday morning could tell by my demeanor that I was drug addled pervert and gave me an appropriate look. My conversations with Jodie were forced that day. For two days I could not look her in the eye. And still in the closet of my mind there is a skeleton with that moment for its name.

Thankfully the downward spiral of my introspection was stopped by the terror of the phone.

'Who could it be?' I thought staring dumbly at the phone, 'was it my parents? But I called them earlier today, a preemptive strike to make sure they would not call tonight. Something bad must have happened.' The phone rang for the second time and I tried to collect myself, 'Keep calm the only way they will know you aren't yourself is if you tell them.' The phone rang a third time, 'Ok pick it up.' The fourth ring shocked me and I recoiled but the silence caused my hand to stab out.

"Hello."

"Hi, is this the homemaker of the house hold?" A sweet but coached voice said.

Relieved I said, "Ah... No." A smile crossed my lips and I continued, "She is very busy right now being barefoot and pregnant and doesn't have time to chat on the phone. Have a good day." And I hung up the phone.

Chapter 3

A giddy, happy me, centered in the now and knowing we know nothing took over. I was not in control he was. He zipped up his pants before swimming out of his cavern and through a dark passage to his living cavern bright with blue green light.

Kelp dripped from baskets on the top of the caverns down to the bottom. The picture of a merman with wild hair and a guitar was on the wall, Hendrix was his name. Another picture had a lucky fisherman being dragged into the depths by a siren.

He swam to the fridge and got a beer because he had lost the other one. Then he beached himself on the chesterfield next to Jodie but at a distance that said friends. With a deft move he revealed the weed previously hidden in his palm and said, "Madam's marijuana," pronouncing the j as a j.

"Thank. Hey, aren't the Simpson's on?"

"Yeah, channel 22."

As soon as Homer's face graced the television screen Hugo erupted in laugher that would not stop until the show did. Jodie laughed as well but it was nothing compared to Hugo acid aided guffaws. Hugo had no control of this manic laughter.

Hugo rubbed his teary eyes and held his breath with the hope of stopping his hiccupping. The subsidence of the laughter allowed a sense of control to creep back to him. The he became me. And I got up to get a couple beers while Jodie rolled another joint.

Chapter 4

We left my place for a night club, one most of the locals in Prince George thought was a gay bar since it catered mostly to the out of towners from the University.

Prince George, 700km west to ocean, 700km east to Edmonton, 700km southeast to Calgary, and 700km southwest to Vancouver. It is the biggest smoke Northern BC where the Nechako and Fraser Rivers meet. Mr. PG, a giant wooden logger, is its mascot greeting travelers driving north on Highway 97. Mr. PG was once made of spruce but after being burnt to the ground several times, he is now made of metal with a septic tank for a head. Many of the 70, 000 residents are like there mascot but many more are good people even if they live past Hixon and Stoner – for some reason the signs making Stoner have been stolen.

We walk out to Jodie car and drove to her house on side streets. Driving drunk did not worry her, Prince George has a whole different perception of drunk and driving on three beer and two joints is not it. But her Honda Civic only had one head light, and students do not have the money to pay tickets - no, it is needed for beer and drugs. We got to Jodie's house where she popped in and got a coat. I stood in the driveway looking at the stars, beautiful as always. Then we walked the few blocks to the bar.

We avoided paying cover at the Underworld. Then I went to the bar to get us beer while Jodie put our names up to play pool. It was the middle of exams so the bar was empty.

I finished my exams today. Jodie had a day between now and her next. She is smart enough to know only so much studying can be done and she gets A's and B's with out worry. I am smart enough to know I am talented and thus I hardly study, worry much and get D's for degree.

Jodie mingled and I sat full of energy wanting to be tapped but I was too self-conscious to dance in public. So I sat trying to be part of the couch tapping the table releasing some of the pent up power. My beat is not to the music. It is not a rhythm. It is discord but happier. More like rain with no end to create the order rhythm is. It is the bleep, chirps, thumps, pulses, buzz and static of the cosmos and its infinite electromagnetic cacophony, chaotic and beautiful. We find order in it but not in the whole.

Our turn to challenge the table came up, I racked the balls then a guy with a mullet broke them. Mullet head put one in off the brake and a solid after.

Now being as high as I was, one may expect me to be happy to watch the pretty balls smash into each other. And that is what I wanted our opponents to think. On my shot I missed an easy shot and said, "Man, how could I do that!" But I left our stripped blocking the pocket and the queue in a position where the easiest shot was a combo. My purpose was to frustrate the guy with the Chevron ball cap – skater chic – and his hot hand. Jodie would do most of the shooting.

Ball cap was easily frustrated and Jodie cleaned up while I continued to play the fool. If ball cap could see my purpose was to cause him to play badly, he could change the way he played or at least see his bad play not as his fault thus not lose confidence and staying in the game. We won that game and two more then both of us got disinterested or a better pair beat us.

I was not sure... I was in a different place.

I was looking at people dancing people they all had a purpose. There was a shark of a guy looking for prey, his only purpose to get laid. And the girl with him looking for a husband, a provider.

A different girl smiled at another guy. She was looking for a free drink, he got her that drink. He is looking for someone to love. They both get what they want with more they never bargained for or wanted.

A chubby girl sat in a corner looking jealously at her love dancing with a waif; she loves him, he loves the waif, the waif loves herself and money but not her tiny waist, which could be tinier. The chubby girl will go home alone and angry. Her love will go home with the waif. The waif will kick him out for a guy with more money. And the chubby girl will get her love when he realizes it is better to be love then used.

Each person is a sprocket needing a chain to connecting them to the other or a clutch to bring different gears to right speed so they wheel as one. 'Cupid is there no pure love.' I thought, 'No gears with the right rpm that mesh with out a clutch.'

Cupid died with Jupiter and now they are all in the Heaven with Mar, Venus, Neptune, and the others... but where, oh where are Christ or Buddha or Mohammed or Moses... not in the Heavens of today.

The professor in my head spoke up. 'We live in nature where few things come together with out work. There are only two ways love is created and neither is pure: 1. Circumstance: for some reason two people find themselves wanting something the other has – money, power, potential, a nice ass, intellect, morality, immorality – then in time love supplants lower initial reasons. 2. Pursuit, a person finds love and pursues that love until the love is worn-down or changes the pursuer into a lover and a state of love occurs between them.'

A student in the professor's class asked, 'But what of true love, like in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?'

'It is good story but an exception with very low probability... not something to bet on.' The professor answered.

How true the professor is but how wrong. Should love be based on an initial subterfuge? How much molding, posturing, preening, pandering, and rhetoric are it ok in the game of love? Because changing someone's mind can be done with calculation and cajolery. Maybe Jodie does love me and I do use a few of the trick from the book of love to help her find out? If I fail using such devices would my attempt to woo her put a wedged between us forcing the end of a friendship? Could I live with being fool? Is love created as opposed to discovered?

Uses of such tactics in love is like my pool game, it can work well or embarrass badly and is an ignoble way of playing. I learned how bad it looks to have a hidden purpose found out. I was nineteen hitching from down town Vancouver to Kitsilano. A guy picked me up. He was 40ish and recently separated from his wife. I asked if he had any weed because I did not and most people in the restaurant industry smoke. He said he did but it was at his house, though, he would not mind smoking a joint with me. Now I was a bit drunk and in a great mood. I thought nothing of smoking a joint him. It was a bit odd that he seemed to like everything I did and would compliment me at ever chance. I thought, 'People in the service industry are always gracious hosts.'

But when he poured me a Long Island Ice Tea with double the prescribed amount of liquor I became suspicious of his motive. I was in a scientific mood and decided on test my hypothesis instead of drinking up and excusing myself. I started to ask him question. Loaded question, first I would give him my opinion then I would ask him his. Then a few questions later I would ask a question along the same lines as an earlier one but with the opposite opinion. Invariably his answer would mirror my already stated opinion even for those question designed to be contrary to previous question.

Finally he started on his coup de grace, the story about how he left his wife - who he still loved - because he was beginning to be attracted to boys. He was not sure if boys were his thing and had never been with one and feared – get this – a more aggressive man might force him to go too far. He wanted a more gentle introduction, an innocent I will show you mine if you show yours inching toward physical intimacy slowly with ever chance to back away if either of us felt uncomfortable.

I was slightly curious; free smoke, booze and blowjob then 'sorry I don't feel right take me home.' But it was to tempting and too easy. The possibility of ending up using strange old men to by me drinks and drugs all the while showering me with compliments then giving me head just before I say I am uncomfortable and leave worried me. At the time I only had two other partners and one was my left hand. I was concerned I might give up women for free stuff and hand jobs from hairy old guys in small cars. No, I had not had enough of women to try men... maybe when I have had as much experience as Keith Richards, Mick Jagger, or George Michaels then I might try men. I told him I was not up for his experimentation and ask him to give me a ride home. He did and I gave him a kiss good night – no tough.

And thanks to my gay friend I have this problem with salesmanship when it comes to matters of the heart – I can't sell cars either. So I endlessly hope it will just happen but it has not and I do not get laid that often either.

'Hey asshole!' a belligerent city voice yelled at me from in my head. 'You always say human are as natural as anything, not some special spawn chosen by the all mighty. The ways of society are the ways of nature so follow them... if your purpose is to bed Jodie talk nice, give her things and get her drunk. But no you want her to love you well it just doesn't happen... make it happen. A buck doesn't get a harem if he doesn't fight. A bird doesn't get a mate if he doesn't sing. Coral doesn't get... well bad example. It is all in your biology books. The work and percentage play is what nature favors. Movies, stories and magic spotlight the exception but the rule is nature and its society.'

The DJ put on Loser by Beck. It is my song so I had to dance. And I did.

"So I ----- ----- in the ----... I am a loser baby... so why don't you kill me." Was as much of the choirs I could decipher. Or is it, "Soiled old panty hoes... I am a loser baby... so why don't you kill me." Or maybe it is, "Whore walk in the door... I am a loser baby... so why don't you kill me." But clear as day the real words (or real words to me) came to me, "So I don't walk in the door... I am a loser baby... so why don't you kill." Like the Buddhist proverb, 'I can show you the door but you have to walk through it.'

Jodie moved up beside me and shouts, "Bust a move baby!" And I feel the warm of her presents.

We finished our beer, get our coats and go.

Chapter 5

It was so cold nostril hairs froze with every inhalation and the snow crunched like dry fine sand. I put on my toque, flipped up my collar and look into the sky as a seer may a crystal ball. The tumultuous sky had no signs in it tonight only the same stars getting covered and uncovered by semi translucent wisps of cloud going east. Without a sign I did not act. I did not turn to Jodie and with belly full of butterflies and mouth full of hope say, 'Jodie, you are the best person I know. And I would hate to go through life without letting you know or asking if you felt the same?'

I continued the dream that something would fall in place or a sign would be seen and all would change.

"Come on, let's go." Jodie three steps ahead of me said.

I walked on looking for a sign. Jodie talked and I listened half hearing, adding agreement, consolation, disgust, or what ever seemed to fit right.

The Boston Pizza only had a closed sign. There were sign marking the streets. The school park had a sign of the many things that cannot be done there. None of the graffiti on the side of the school had our initial miraculously scribble on the wall with a heart drawn around them. And my glances at sky were as regular as they were regular. 'No signs yet and but a block before Jodie's house.' I thought.

I stared at the stars longer and harder this time and with my mind tried to force a piece of the Universe in a position favorable to mine. And as I walked curving with the crescent towards Jodie house, looking towards the clouds Jodie's voice stopped me. "Hey, we are going this way." I turn and saw she was standing on the street to my place. I turned round with a gleam in my eye and jump in my step and caught up to her.

A few second of silence follow. Then Jodie spoke. I was caught in the rapture of her words. I listened for what I thought must follow, "Didn't I tell you I'm going to Derrick's tonight."

I said nothing but my jaunty gate changed to prisoners shuffle. My feet became more interesting then the sky. I walked a stride behind Jodie mind reeling from the truth that she had had enough of my mind and needed another's body. And I went from husky but hansom or having a keg in stead of a six pack or a bear of a man to plain fat the ugliest thing in America's fast food culture.

There was hope, though, I may not be the body Jodie was sleeping with but at least I was the mind she was thinking with – but what of the soul where did it stand or who was it in bed with?

After a few minutes I began to talk to keep from thinking. "You know one of these days I am going to just take off... And go somewhere warm with good fishing and beaches. Maybe somewhere in the South Pacific with very few people and live on fish, lobsters, and coconuts." I paused kicking the snow, thinking it sand and start again, "I wonder how hard a giant trevally fight, or any fish in the warm ocean. Trout from cold water fight well but fish in water 25 C are almost warm blooded... they have to fight harder."

"Probably," Jodie said.

Then I continued to talk, expounding on fish and places I had never been from Bom Bom off Africa to Vanuatu on the North edge of the Coral Sea. 'Places as far away as Jodie's heart,' I thought. Jodie's only interruptions were topical question or comments and the rant continued until I stopped it.

"Jodie this is your stop, isn't it?" I said, just doors away from Derrick's house.

Jodie looked at me, "What is stopping you?"

I thought, 'From acting like Bogart and kissing you as you look into my eyes wide with love and acid. Or is your question about taking off and going fishing?' Foolishly, I put forward a question to clarify hers, "From what?"

"From going traveling and fishing."

"School," but really it was her.

"Finish school and go... and when you get to a good spot call me."

"Sure."

"I'll call you tomorrow... a hug." And she held her arms wide in the international sign of the hug.

I forced myself to hug her knowing her warmth would only spark regret from action not taken. Her whole hearted squeeze was warm, glad, and great but mine was the fumbling of Frankenstein's monster – unable to express the passion felt. As we released our embrace I saw her old and young at the same time and with all the emotion in between. LSD has a tendency of showing people of great significance to you in this light, to some it is disturbing to me it is the sign of love. "Have fun," I said as we turn to go our separate ways.

I walk home mind buzzing with loud static, thinking of all and nothing but I was in no mood to find wonder in it. It was a good thing I did not drink too much, at this time in the trip the drink can hit hard causing disharmony between a quick if not focused mind and a body too drunk to follow the directions given. That is a place where a bad trip can spring from.

But the mirth of the situation renewed by the roar and pricing light came from a side street I walked past. For a moment I thought front end loader was a robot killing machine from a future gone wrong. Terrified I crossed the street quickly glancing back to see if the machine was after me. With out the glaring light to shroud the ominous black thing behind, I could see the yellow of the earth mover and the man driving it. I smiled to myself and continued to play out the hallucination in my head as fantasy.

My eternal hippie, the soul, enlightened me as I fantasized, 'Man all you have to remember is it's about perception. We know Jodie is the one but have we ever showed her that? No. She love us as a friend which good... better then if we were the one she is sleeping with tonight – it is harder to be friends with someone then to screw them, trust me. We have done the hard work now we have to let her see you in a different light – a light you have been hiding – like you did to see the loader as a loader and not a as a mechanical killbot. Now I think we should smoke some weed.'

Chapter 6

At my apartment I rolled a joint and turned on the tube. The choices were limited at two in the morning to: stand up comics, bad movies, Canadian Parks, tele-evangelists or The Tick followed by Capt. Star. The choice was obvious; The Tick and Capt. Star. But soon those were over and the early morning children's cartoons started and I was flipping again. Unfortunately I stopped for a second too long at Jack Van Impie's show Prophecy Today and was sucked in.

Jack's show was slightly informative. I learned the European Union is the force of the East amassing for Armageddon and the choice of the bull as symbol for an E.U. summit proves it. Five years ago the U.N. with it New World Order based on bar coding people for easy identification was the sign of the beast. Before that it was the godless commie from the now defunct U.S.S.R. that made up the Eastern army as written in Revelations. The book of Revelations and the other books of the Bible are Jack's final word on what will happen but to me and many of science it is a load of crap. It is belief out of control. Jack makes the topic of today fit the writings of yesterday. One system for every era and never the end wanted - the people who wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls were running from Armageddon too.

But in a perception lent to me by LSD I see science uses one method to find fact or at least the facts until they change. And in science there is much change of the reasons behind the facts like the change from Ptolemy's Earth centered Universe to Copernicus's Sun centered Solar system and at one point the atom was the smallest thing then protons and neutrons, now quarks and soon something smaller still will be found. Lovers of science see those changes in reality as progression toward total knowledge of the Universe, truth.

Jack and his people see the changes in science as invalidating science as I see the changes in his prophecy as refuting the prophecy. Jack and his people would point out that God gave him his text - though, it was transcribed by mortals many years after the fact - and in it is the truth behind the Universe. But science looks at Universe – or creation as Jack would say - to understand the why and finds we are no closer then before... question begets question... as the Grateful Dead said in Saint Stephen, "Can you answer? Yes I can but what would be the answer to the answer man?" Aquinas' argument that an infinite string of questions is impossible, proving the existence of God.

Everyone in the God boat faces the same problem because anyone who has knowledge of God or uses a pronoun to address God has a perception of God which is idolatry. To think or talk about something is to perceive it – even if the thought is vague. So God in the big three religions asks us to go in a direction unknown with out knowing who our God is – if we follow the religion right – for a reason which is unknown because we cannot know what God wants (though Roger Waters has a great song about what God wants).

That is not to say the moral advice given is bad but the same advice is given in Plato's in the Republic and by many other right thinking persons before and after.

To worship something but never to know, sounds strangely like finding a question with each answer.

Strange the things seen from a perspective not my own... another's perspective is something more rare then rubies or emeralds – but not diamonds, they are quite common. It sheds more light than Newton or Darwin or Mendeleev and shows the soul the artist tries to portray. The artists and scientists love perspective they both try to show the world another's perspective. The artist tries to evoke another's perspective for the audience of the art; to give the audience a different pair of shoes to wear. Science is a set of rule which if follow precisely will show each individual the same thing; it shows the facts. Both science and art do not succeed because of the same problem: the perspective the person is born with. Whether by nature or nurture we are all different, each of us is an individual, a small thing in the ocean of everything. Every person is on their own island of consciences, small and lost.

So in the dark and alone the individual desires the warmth of others to relate to, share the facts with and reassure each other their direction is right. With their self assured rightness they set forth in a serious manor to amalgamate the right and banish the wrong. A group is right or at least wins and the larger the group gets the more inertia it has to keep on its path, nature's path the path of survival, a boring path everything follows.

I went out onto the deck with my bottle of Southern Comfort, pop, beef jerky and pipe, to embrace the cold, listen to the wind and to see the few visible stars. On this winter weeknight no others are on their deck, it was to cold and I felt alone, as alone as the stars or the Universe or the individual I am. I drank to all the alone things and their marvelous perspectives I can only try to know. Soon the bottle was done but not before a star shot across the sky and again I was in awe of it all if alone.

I got up to go to bed with the intention of sleeping, however, whether or not sleep was possible was only something the LSD knew. But I did twist its arm a little with a swig of cough syrup.

I lay in bed for who knows how long listening to the Dead (and others), pushing a cosmic steam train through heavens thick with blue tinted marijuana smoke. Thoughts ramble through my head with grace and order until a geometric flash of colour with form, like the flash a blow to the head causes, shattering the thoughts grace, scrambling its order but it comes back slightly different – possibly better. Another song comes on, another bole is smoked but still sleep is out of reach.

This stretch of restless water on the LSD River is treacherous. It is where calm and patience is needed to keep the insomnia from mutating into worry then worse. It is a place where the body is tired and drinks catches up to the mind. Many cannot stand the insomnia caused by a tired body and a mind awake and full of chaos that, at the same time, knows it should asleep. I'm not keen on the restlessness but the amazing way that the mind sparks is spectacular. To lie in bed with a fountain of thought roiling out of the mind like the heat from a jets exhaust is divine. If you don't squeeze the mind too much you can hold images of anything you can remember with stunning reality and a true third dimension that you can manipulate. Only one other person I know agrees with me that this is possible, she is a lunatic like me.

Even more amazing is the collide-a-scope of colour that pounds in the brain when lying in bed hoping to sleep. It also is one of the more interesting oddities to come from the acid experience. There is piece of math called fractals, which is a set of equations that make an infinitely repeating geometric pattern – if a triangle has a line drown from each corner to middle of the opposite side and this is repeated for ever triangle created a fractal is created. Fractals are used for many things, like taking the pixels out of analogue picture taken by old satellites to get sharper resolution. Some scientists think it could be an easy way for an organic computer to store immense amounts of data. Other more hip scientists have said a friend had seen the picture of a fractal in his/her mind when on LSD. Could it be that the short-circuiting occurring in the mind at the end of a trip is the template for memory cooking off with out the memory? So the minds' eye sees a raw fractal as it is when a computer makes an image of one. If you like acid spend a few bucks on trippy post cards with strange up computer made patterns, one will say it is fractal on the back – don't read the back. At the end of your trip pick out the one you see in your mind when you try to sleep. I bet you it will be the fractal. Is it co-incidence that fractal are used for better graphic using less storage space on computers and that they are seen in the mind when on acid?

I once saw my crush at the time and me multiplied innumerable time's spiraling into infinite vortices dancing in our Halloween costumes Jen in green and me in red – she said she saw the same thing. I love LSD, even the terror inspired by the acid.

Finally a sleep just as the sun comes up and the kids go to school, but not me I have a dream or am I dreaming... no, I am snoring. Fish dance in my head as the sun comes up.

Chapter7

Bright cold light awoke me to my loathsome reality made more distasteful by the unatonable truths the LSD driven introspection had left me.

I did not want to be a manager of nature, a fisheries biologist. I wanted to fish. I was studying biology to be a better fisher. Had the study of biology help me be a better fisher? Certainly it had. But I was confronted by that strange entomology professor every time I thought about why I was studying. If fishing was the goal there better places then hear to do it. Beating my head into the shape the university, society, want's for it is not the way, especially for a dyslexic like me. So why should I stay.

The ease of school was the next biggest reason. Kindergarten, elementary school, high school, university, work, retire, my peers are on this path and my parents follow are following it too. So long as I progress on it I will have money to party and fish a bit, only having to work in the summer out in the wilderness near good fishing. Slowly wading into the deep end of reality. I could easily pull off 6 years of a bachelor's degree - hell I'm 3 years in now, with no plan for graduating.

Milking my education was my plan to stay far from normal life, but it was becoming tedious. If I was going to have a chance at being more than a manager of nature that says how far from riparian habitat loggers can log, I would need great to get into a doctoral program hoping to do research. Then I would be stuck hustling money to fund research popular enough to get money but not what I want to research. That did not look like a fishy solution to the problem.

I could be done with all of it. Walk into the bush with a bottle of Southern Comfort and some sleeping pill then wait for the cold to take effect. It would have to be an accident. In my limited experience suicide hurts every one else more than the suicide. I could kill myself but I don't want to hurt everyone else.

Smoking a joint brought me back from the edge.

The reel reason I was here was is was her was I had a fish too big for me on my line. It has too much line out, the reel is almost spooled. All I can hope to do is put the boat in gear and try to chase the fish, but I am alone. With the fish is where I want to be. However the outcome is obvious, Jodie is at Derrick's place.

My hope grew when the phone rang, "Hello?"

"Hugo, can you give me a lift home?"

"Certainly Jodie."

The anguish I fell was expressed in reckless driving. At the speed I was going I could not stop without skidding. I tried to stop in front of Derrick's but by truck slid into the snow drift piled by the earth mover last night.

Jodie opened the door, "Nice! Are you still drunk? Should I drive?"

"No. I'm fine... it looked like fun."

Jodie got in. "Hey can we stop at a store. I need a coffee. I gotta study."

"Sure."

I drove sedately to the store. Jodie talked about how it was different with Derrick this time. There might be something there. I listened not wanting to hear.

Jodie asked, "You want anything?" I shook my head to say no. "You sure? You alright?"

"I'm fine just slow from the aftermath of acid." I lied. Really, I was going insane. My mind was being to understand it was being use. Jodie had found someone else.

The line was screaming out as Jodie walked in the store.

Smiling Jodie hoped back in the car and gleefully said, "You can now go fishing for the rest of your life. I got you $1000 a week for the rest of your life."

"Huh?"

"Here, take this. If you win you'll can fish forever."

I took the lottery ticket. I drove Jodie home. Before getting out at her house, she gave me a half hug that was awkward as ever. It felt great but I could not accept that feeling as I new it was false, not what I wanted it to be. I wanted to be with her. Still, she did hug me.

As Jodie opened the door to go she said, "You'd better not forget that scratcher Hugo. You might win something... like a free ticket. Hahaha."

I did as Jodie said and scratched the ticket.

TWANG! The line broke.

Jodie told me to go fishing with this money and I would.

The money could be a mile stone. I did not want to get mired by how a win fall might affect my determination to leave here. I did not want something with Jodie build on money. So I just left.

### Part 2: Islandist

Chapter 7

Although the days were still hot and sunny, the leaves on the tree had started to turn or dry out. The morning air had a hint of chill – that is to say, it was not oppressively hot all through the night. I noticed that the sun came up later. You notice funny things like that while puking in Ellamaine Memorial Fountain. I sat looking around the park next to the Kings Cross police station. At five in the morning the only street people and a few drunken tourists were around. Two things were clear to me: I had no more beer and the one place with twenty-four hour service kicked me out. The second was that so far the closest I had come to getting away from society was a night past out in a park. I had run all the way to Australia. I had said many bold statements to end up drinking everyday in the arms of an ugly society. I was having one of those moments of clarity when you have drank so much you go beyond the point of alcohol poisoning and drink your self sober. At least until your mouth waters and you start to heave, a state common to a truly depraved drunk. I could now see the drinking is bringing out the fear, which has stopped me from getting out of this trap. It even gave me a fear of LSD. I had not had courage to drop in this foreign clime. This was it time to bite the bullet and leave this hideous city of Sydney full of palmies that left London to come to a warm place with cheap beer to piss it up and berate the locals. If there is any good thing about Londoner's, it is that they will probably die if they are out of sight of civilization. Knowing that this moment of clarity would soon be gone replaced by a hangover and raw throat I endeavored to find a pharmacy. Having look for the better part of ten minutes for a pharmacy I remembered that here a pharmacies are called chemists in Australia and found one.

Chapter 8

I pick up two bottles of cough syrup at the chemist's and tried to fake a cough. The chemist could careless and sold me the cough syrup with codeine. I thought of going back to the hostel to pass out for the duration of my hangover but I felt that I would need to have room service and possibly a mini bar. I was lucky that the night clerk at hotel I stumbled into took his job as seriously as all workers that work the graveyard shift should. He checked me in with out questioning my fowl state and even gave me the luxury of not having to pay for the morning, even though check in time is at eleven. Soon I had drunk a bottle of cough syrup, smoked a joint, ate my room service breakfast and was feeling close to alive. I knew that I would need cough syrup to get the twenty-four hours of sleep needed for the coming marathon to get away from here. Tomorrow I would drop some acid, book a fishing trip, buy a car and cajole someone into being a driver for me. I would need a driver in this foreign land since I knew it would not be wise for left handed dyslexic to drive on the right side of the road with a head full of acid.

With the help of the bottle of cough syrup, it was the next morning in no time. At seven or so the next day, I could not sleep any more. I check out. I went back to the hostel packed up my things and checked the notice board for anyone going my way. However, this was fruitless because I did not know which way was mine.

I got a coffee and sat down to contemplate my next move while reading my dog eared copy of the Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy. In the spine of the hard cover book was what I was looking for. 2000 hits of LSD, enough for the rest of my life. Overly surreptitiously I took out a few hits of LSD (2000, 1999, 1998). As I cut one it got away from me, falling in a crack on the floor. I could not retrieve it but I had enough that losing one would not matter. I put them in my mouth. They dissolved as the coffee cooled.

With the coffee and consultation of the guide my confusion lifted. I decided that I would have to consult someone with knowledge about fishing.

I hailed a cab and was on my way to a fishing store some where in Sydney with the LSD creeping into my mind. Once at the store I began a conversation with owner who at first thought that I was an American so I asked him if he was from New Zealand. When dealing with fishing storeowners one must make them understand that you have a deep love for fishing or they will not bother to give you the best information. Soon we were conversing like old buddies about fly-fishing for trout and all things to do with fishing. I was most impressed by his stories about fishing for tuna and even marlin from shore. I could hardly believe that marlin of any size could be caught from shore but he had a video called Land Based Addiction that had an amazing scene of baby (150lb.) black marlin caught off the cliffs of Jervis Bay. It was not long before I had spent the better part of a grand on a high capacity Shimano Bait Runner reel with a silky smooth drag for big fish, an eleven foot custom shore casting rod, many lures, books and equipment that I needed. Of course, there was the fifty pounds of my own equipment I had brought from home and had not used.

In this frenzy of shopping, I almost forgot to book a fishing charter. I was happy to find out that right now Port Stephen's was as good as just about anywhere in Australia. The two exception being Lizard Island inside the Great Barrier Reef in September and possibly some of the remote and un-fished areas off the north west coast continental shelf. Port Stephen's was only a half days drive off but the closest date I could get a boat for was three days away. I was pleased with the progress of today; the world was with me and even if I could not find someone to drive me to Port Stephen's I could be sober enough by tomorrow to drive myself. However, as I carried my new possession into the bar across the street for celebratory drink I was determined to leave the city today.

It was before eleven and I was touring the King Cross hostels for someone with a sober disposition to drive me away from here. So far, the search had been futile. No one had the courage to strike off on an adventure without planning or preamble. Could it be that no one could trust a crazed maniac, maybe it was the lack of a car that caused prospective drivers to have no faith in my plan. I did not know what to do. I had assumed that people would jump at the chance for a free big game fishing trip. I felt that all the backpackers had change into clones of M-TV reality TV actors, unable to have a good time even on a free trip to Europe. Again, I am thwarted by a society that does not believe in running with scissors or getting into cars with strangers. I was at a loss; should I buy a car, wait until tomorrow, consult a psychic, take a chance, or get a drink then renew the search. I went to get a drink, hopeful the respite from my search would reveal a new place to look.

To play South Park pinball and drink a pint, that was what I needed to regroup before a renewed search. Pinball is one of the best pass times on acid with its flashing lights and strange noises. The best is the "THWACK!" when a free game is won. In a few minutes, I had won a free game. I did not notice that I had an audience but when I inevitably lost I was startled by a girl with a strange accent asking me if I would like to play a game.

"Sure but I am good." I replied, letting the lady go first. It could have been the LSD but was this a Norse Goddess I saw? She had short blond hair, nice sized breast, a tall athletic but not a thin build. She played a good game of pinball too. I was content. I was content to think how much fun I would be to screw her while she played pinball. Of course, these fantasies cause me to play pinball badly.

When we finished playing I introduced myself, "Hey I'm Hugo."

"My name is Sofia," she said with a slight accent, I would learn is Norwegian.

"What? So..." I said and thought to myself 'pull it together Hugo; you weren't a gibbering idiot when talking to the guy at the fishing store why now? But the guy at the store didn't have the personality she does.'

"Sofia," she corrected me.

"Sofia, cool. Good game, where are you from?"

"Norway, in a small town near the boarder with Sweden."

"Any good fishing there?" I thought, 'How could I be stupid enough to ask her about fishing?'

"Great salmon fishing."

"Cheers to fishing and pinball. Hey, do you want to go fishing for marlin? I got a trip booked for the day after tomorrow but I got no way of getting there and I need to leave today." This was the brake that I was looking for. Now all I had to do was to have the confidence to run with my desires. The feeling of the base predator that acid can release was flowing through my blood. I reveled in the confidence of the LSD lent me. "So what do you say, hell we both like fishing, pinball and beer? And I need someone to drive."

She looked pensive for a moment, had a drink and said, "Why not."

"Because I am a freak on acid and don't have a car. However, I am sure that I can buy one today. And isn't the point of traveling is to be impetuous and free. How often do you get to go marlin fishing?" I have always believed in honesty, at least when on acid.

"Ok. Cheers to marlin fishing." Sofia smiled, shaking her head and laughing. We finished our beers and left to get a car. How hard could it be to get a car a half pass one in Australia on acid? Amazingly easy.

There is a car lot where an adventurous traveler can purchase a car from other travelers in the hopes that they will not rip you off. This is the idea, however, buyer beware is more true. I was not too worried about finding a car that would suit my needs. What worried me was getting a car that would suit my style because a car with style would not meet my needs. I was tempted to get a VW Combi but Combi's over heat all the time, brake down due to excessive use and they are over priced due to their style. Sofia wanted a Combi. I thought about a Mazda van but they are slow and I could not put it into second due to my size. An old Toyota Land Cruise caught my eye but it was close to six grand and violated my one law of car buying – new with a warranty or under three thousand. I may have waved that law of my because of the style and mobility, however, being a drug user the South Australian registration is an unnecessary heat score (South Australia has decriminalized marijuana and thus cop in other states assume the owner is a drug use). That left a multitude of Ford Falcon station wagons. Good American metal made by Australians that still believe in Ford quality. A blue one with a good owner stood out. It had a V-6 engine with 5-speed sport transmission, a stereo with new speakers and amp, as well as everything needed for camping. Best of all, the seller was motivated, he was on his way to Indonesia to surf and could not bare to sit in an underground parking lot another day. He had been there for one day all ready. Other major selling features were cloth seats, the Western Australian registration – there is no roadworthiness test in WA – and the fact the car had a name. Her name was Deloris, given to her many owners ago; it was scratched into the dashboard with a flower in front and behind. With confidence that the car had at least one good owner and a name, I forked over the $2,200 and $300 for his troubles. I had to cash my travelers' checks, the most useless form of currency.

The most important thing about buy a used car is not really the car but whether the car has been given a name. A car with out a name does not have a soul and will not work properly. A cars only gets a name because the owner liked it, usually this means the owner treated it right or did not intentionally treat it badly.

We were off even if Sofia was still laughing and shaking her head at reckless way I had first found a traveling companion and bought a car. It had taken a little less than eight hours to go from a person with no plan to one trudging through the afternoon traffic with a beautiful Scandinavian driver, a new used car with a name, and plans to go big game fishing. I could not help but laugh at the ease of today finally I had the courage to listen to myself. I new the signs to follow: to take the acid, to find the tackle shop, to stop for beer, and most of all to buy a car with a name. No the most important factor in my flight from Sydney was the acid or the confidence it lent me. Now I was in a perfect place on my way out of the city with a girl who likes to fish. It would be better if I had a beer but I had none. Once on the freeway the traffic thinned, the music blared and the view was spectacular. The acid made the hundred meter blasted rock wall one either side of the highway akin to the background of a racing video game. I wished that I were driving but Sofia seemed to be having as much fun as me. Both of us were in disbelief that it was so easy. Neither of us seemed to want to talk about how fortuitous our meeting had been. We smiled giddily and hoped that the subtle acknowledgments would not cause a spontaneous change in fortune.

Instead of talking about our good luck we talked fishing. "So Sofia, you fished a lot in Norway?"

"Yes I did but I learned how from my how in Southern Ontario. I spent two summers with my mormor and farmor when I was thirteen and fourteen. I couldn't speak any English so the first summer I when fishing with farmor. He taught me how to fly fish," I thought, 'and she is fly fisher, amazing,' "That first summer all I did was fish. The second summer I leaned more English and found boys... I did not fish as much. But I fished lots Norway since. And went back to Canada to see them at the beginning of my trip."

"Did you go to British Columbia?"

"No... I want to. I've heard many stories of salmon and steel head fishing there. One day I will go."

"All the stories are true. It is fishing with style for trout, salmon, steelhead. Not like bass fishing. Call me when you get there."

Chapter 9

That night I was trying to sleep in a hotel room in Newcastle. Sofia had fallen asleep quickly, but I was awake because of the acid and the success of getting away from Sydney. I had found myself thinking of a TV show I had seen many times, World at War a WW2 documentary. The episode is one about the Netherlands and the way the Nazis sold the holocaust to the Dutch people. The subtle sensuous taken to find out who was who with out look like an anything dangerous 'Please, we want to know who are... your name, age and the religion of your grandparents. All normal procedure.' I always wonder what I would have done if I were in their position. Would I be a Jew who fought the Nazis, proud not worried about the consequences? Would I run? Would I hide? I hope that I would fight for my freedom. However, one Dutch resistance fight said this in an interview, "What can I do... just one person with a pistol when twenty-four Jews in shackles are paraded into a cattle car on their way to death? I could shoot at least three of the guards but if the fourth didn't get me then the inability to get twenty-four people away in public would. Would this help in the long run, I would not be able to engage in the underground new paper or shelter the few Jews we could." I know where I would be; I said it before by accident, I would rather take my chance with out being a heroes. No way am I going to endanger myself if the odds are futile, not that I would not fight but there is no reason to fight if you are going to lose... is there?

I would like to think that but in another somewhat parallel question of taking up the cause of environmentalism, I am on the other side of the fence. I know the human race will die out or change into a different species. However, with the understanding of the inevitability of our position in the universe, then I think we should go for it, making humanities mark while we can. I think Carl Sagen formulated a formula for the chance life can get to a position as far as we have, the formula is based on how often these variables occur: Extinction on a level of all the 'higher life'- so far there has been at least three on earth. How often would a technologically based society kill itself? How many planets may evolve life? And many other questions. The answer yields the probability that life will get to a position in its evolution to send message to other planets. It is astronomically low. (Actually it is the Drake Equation: _N=R_ _*_ _f_ _p_ _n_ _e_ _f_ _l_ _f_ _i_ _f_ _c_ _L_ : of course, I {Frank Drake} didn't have real values for most of the factors. But I did have a compelling equation that summarized the topics to be discussed: The number ( _N_ ) of detectable civilizations in space equals the rate R of star formation, times the fraction ( _f_ _p_ ) of stars that form planets, times the number ( _n_ _e_ ) of planets hospitable to life, times the fraction ( _f_ _l_ ) of those planets where life actually emerges, times the fraction ( _f_ _i_ ) of planets where life evolves into intelligent beings, times the fraction ( _f_ _c_ ) of planets with intelligent creatures capable of interstellar communication, times the length of time ( _L_ ) that such a civilization remains detectable.) . This makes me think it maybe imperative to ride the wave of life as far as it goes - even if it ends up in disaster. We are going to end horrible anyhow why not go for it, giver. Technology may succeed even if we do die out in the end but going backward or holding back leave us in one spot, a spot that may have a longer in tenure but has that same end.

As I said before I usually take the easy way out. I pasted up a vehicle with better attributes for my progress away from of society because it was already marked with a sign like the Star of David on Jew in the war, it had the plates from a pot friendly state. A mark to get me caught.

I hope people that read this do not think that I am trivializing the holocaust - my mother is a Jew therefore I am a Jew, not that that should matter – my real analogy is about two mechanism of survival.

I do not know why this passage is important but I remember thinking it. I think it has much to do with perspective. Maybe I am a runner because I know I will loss then again I could be that way because evolution has favored the Jew that ran. However, the argument for a person to stand is as strong but just as futile.

The next morning we drove the short distance to Port Stephens or rather Nelson Bay the port for the sport fishing boats, past mangrove growing in sulfur smelling estuary and an air base with AF–18B Hornets practicing taking offs. It was only a drive of an hour or so but we managed to get lost and it took hours longer but we got there. It is a nice little place on a large bay with many dolphins in the bay and three-hour tours to see the dolphins.

This was not the start of a Gilligain's Island episode but it would be as much fun. We went on a dolphin tour and watched the dolphin frolic and fuck, they seemed to have more fun than us. They were a good impetus for us. We wanted to make up for the lack of fun in our species when compared with dolphins.

After the boat ride Sofia and I decided to have some beers on the beach. I hoped we could be as amorous as those perverted dolphin – having sex all the time with many different partners. It is reported that dolphin have try and probably succeeded in have sex with humans. Some the people were willing participants some were not. They also have the ability to simulate their partner with blast of sonar. They have sex more often than porn stars and that is an average over the whole population not an exception like porn stars are. As well they play in the water all day and some nights. However, to our knowledge they do not have beer or drugs so at least we have a leg up on them in some of the having fun departments.

We sat on a blanket on the beach drinking beer and smoking joints when Sofia said, "Wasn't that amazing... all those fucking dolphins. It makes me horny. They got it right, fuck and play in the sea." I was not drunk enough to act and took a drink to conceal that I was struck dumb. Sofia moves so that had she been a man I would have felt uncomfortable. "Are you gay?"

"No," if I had my faculties I would have added, 'participating in a circle jerk is not gay.'

"You have someone back home?" I shook my head, "You are heart broken." I took a drink. "I don't want to hear about it." Then she kissed me. "When a girl says she is horny you put your arm around her then whisper in her ear, I am too. It's only sex... sure it is special but only because is fun. Its made into something I can only do when I found that special one... fuck that, I am a dolphin, not a human. Sex is like the Special Olympics, everyone involved makes screwed up faces and strange noises and everyone is a winner in the end."

I put my arm around Sofia and whispered in her ear, "I'm horny too... but I have no condoms," my nose brushes her ear.

"There are lots of other things we can do," she turned to kiss me. We played on the beach trying to make the dolphins jealous. Then we took a brake for dinner before we resumed at our hotel. We stopped at a chemist of course.

Chapter 10

I was happy as a clam in the sand, but how do I know that clams are happy? I do not but I assume that they are because of the simple life they lead. Of course, I do not know that clams have a simple life or if they do have a simple life and are unhappy because of the simplicity of their life. Maybe the clams have a saying like 'as happy as a human in a city'. Humanity thinks that things like clams and other things with lives we can watch in full to be simple. If we could watch humanity with out knowing we were a part of it, from a distance, would that separation and overview of our life style make it easier to see the simplicity of our existence, like we can with the clam. We would easily miss all the things that make life for the individual hard, only seeing the easy to spot big picture of an organism with happy individuals working together for the benefit of the colony in harmony. This harmony is only seen from a distance and as humans it is nearly impossible to see ourselves from a distance. We cannot help but relate to some of the people around us and their problems that are all too familiar. A clam's life must be easier than ours because it is a clam in the sand with no problem we can relate too. Just like our friendly happy dolphin that once we stop looking at the permanent smile and playful antics has many of the same bad traits that we do. Dolphins fight and bully each other; they will ostracize an orphan from other groups and even kill. We do not see that because the times we are in the water with or around them, we are struck the myth of the dolphin. Dolphins may think of us in the same light. Scientists have found these things occur but the ratings of a show about the evil dolphins on TLC would not be as high as the ratings for a show about the sex crazed happy dolphins. Is there anything sicker than a dolphin raping a human – it has happen – maybe a human doing the same to a sheep? To judge something simple or unintelligent is not right. However, I think that clams are happy and I want to see the goodness in the dolphins' life style.

I am beginning to think that maybe there is no deference between my consciousness and other things considered not conscious or to have a limited consciousness. Maybe the differences are because of the way I perceive things like I am better, more intelligent or that everything has as much of a consciousness as me, however, I do not want to know that. Am I special or better in some way? No I am just blinded to the truth by a perception that puts me at the center and leaves everything else in obits further away as the perceived difference grows.

Today many biologist frown on the idea of anthropomorphism because animals are obviously not humans. However, the actions are much like ours. Many birds have a tendency to be monogamous but in the whole group there are some that are adulterous like many humans. The actions are analogous but again we do not want to see this. This is an example of our understanding being thwarted by humanity's arrogance. It is arrogance dressed in a belief that we are being fair to the difference of other things by not relating their behaviors and actions to ours. We are afraid that similarities like the adulterous birds will force us to accept that nature has much more to do with our behaviors and action than we would like to believe. We want to be the only thing that causes environmental destruction. However, other species do the same on a scale that is smaller but just as destructive to them. Ants and termites eat everything in the accessible area finally devouring all the resources available to the colony causing them to leave the area to survive. Beavers dam areas on flat land eventually flooding the area to an extent that no tree will grow close enough to provide a food source, they have to leave or die. Are we the only species to kill other for our benefit? No, the acacia tree has us beaten by millions of year. The acacia poisons the gourd around it so that nothing else can grow thus it is able to harvest all the usable nutrients and water. The microbes every species evolved from nearly killed off everything with its waste. Anaerobic bacteria created oxygen as a waste product that as the concentration got higher it poisoned the anaerobic bacteria's environment. The bacteria die, changed or live in small pockets in remote location leaving an oxygen rich world for everything that lives today. Supposedly these actions are things unique to humanity.

Understanding is stopped by the reluctance to see that we are as much a creation of nature as we are apart of it, this means many things will be the same for different things. Anthropomorphism can show how our behavior evolved in the same way zoological anatomy can show us how our morphology evolved. But if we have behavior descended form animals we are further from God and the idea we are special and right.

Ah what wondrous things I thought with a mind that knows perfection is just a step away and my mind was not out of breath. My thoughts went like this, 'I have found the freedom I was looking for and now everything is easy. Hell not two days ago I was a drunken tourist content with whores and booze, now I am in bed waiting for the dawn to go fishing for marlin with a chick that digs fishing and me... without the burden of others to weight down my spirit I can be everything I want with confidence on my side and there are no toes to step on any more. It is a grand day but for how long? How long can this fat man run from society before nature pulls me back? Is it inevitable that I will have someone pull me back to the world of compromise, commitment and worry? Will I eventually lose the freedom I have found by being as far from society as I am? I don't know but at least I know these are great day and will chisel them in my mind.

'God I wish sleep would come to night but it will not because I am fixated on tomorrow. I don't think God will help this atheist but at this point, I needed sleep. I find it funny my mind will not do what is good for it in a situation I have waited for, for so long. I always have this problem when I am going fishing in a great place. It is almost as if I am on acid my mind will not stop thinking. I could have a few more drinks but this would probable push me over the limit giving me a good hangover tomorrow, which would be worse than the loss of some sleep. If only I could sleep as peacefully as Sofia. Maybe I should wake her to find out how to get to bed? No, I'll just go for a walk and smoke a joint. A joint won't stop this insomnia nor will the fresh air, however, maybe I'll see the sign to let me know it will be a good days fishing.'

Sitting on the rock brake water, I smoked a joint in the cool air at four in the morning and looked to the stars for a sign. I do not know why I do this, I think mostly out of habit or to get to sleep. I have never had a bad days fishing on days when I have seen a celestial sign. Usually it is nothing more then a shooting star, which are not hard to see if there is a clear sky and you wait long enough. Other times it has been a full moon, a moon the first day after a new moon with Venus rising above it, a good sunset, the per-dawn blue, or the northern lights. This night there was a lone shooting star caught in the corner of my eye but the fact the whole sky was different from the sky in the Northern Hemisphere was a good sign. However, not a great sign, not the kind to give me enough confidence to fall easily to sleep.

The southern sky is more exciting than the northern sky. In the Southern Hemisphere, one looks into the center of the galactic disc that is Milky Way. In the dark skies so prevalent out side of Australia's cities the Milky Way covers center of the sky like fog, widest at the apex of the sky and thinner near the horizons, a worth while sight. Some people travel around the world to see this sky. I understand them, not why they love the sky but the pull of it on them. It is the same pull that pulls me to the ocean. If we are both humans why, are the things that stimulate us different? Then again, I do not want to be human.

I was tempted to drop some acid and walk around until the sun came up. If I dropped I would ensure I would be awake and functioning during the charter. Normally I try to stay sober when fishing seriously. The sky made the choice for me as I watched a good meteor rips the black of the sky. It streaked across about 40 degrees of the sky, it glowed white and yellow with a visible smoke like trail. This was a large enough sign to instill me with the belief it would be a great day of fishing. Now, I felt I could get to sleep. I smoked another joint on the way back to the hotel and had a few drinks from the mini-bar while Sofia slept. Soon I fell asleep.

The alarm went off at seven a civilized time compared with the four in the morning when fishing salmon in the summer. I woke from a dream I could not remember to a reality that was more like a dream. I had all I need in a small bag: a bottle of Southern Comfort, my cheap underwater camera, sun screen, my flowery sun hat, polarized sun glasses and a light jacket to break the wind. We walked the short distance to the marina and got there twenty minutes early. The boat was a sleek Australia built sport-fishing boat with a flying bridge and trademark out riggers for this type of fishing. There was not even a breeze on the water. The Captain and deck hand said although they were not out yesterday the day before they had raised six marlin, tagging (releasing) two striped marlin. Those were very good odd when getting a shot at catching a marlin is consider better than the average most places. It was not long until we were on the run out.

I was in a daze on the way out. I have not been off shore fishing since I was a teen in the water off Maui during the off season for marlin. The deck hand Dave was optimistic, he said that the water had the right colour but a bit of wind to riffle the surface would make it perfect - never get the hope of the client to high it make the success better or lack of success easier to swallow, you are selling an experience. Aside from a place with marlin, the biggest factor for catch billfish is the clarity of water. It is call blue water fishing for a reason. The water is a treat to see; the bluest of blues. In Maui, it was possible, on a clear day, to see the bottom at a hundred feet with a snorkeling mask. I have seen picture with whole nuclear submarines in a frame. Billfish will actually be deeper then a hundred feet when they first see the trails left by lures pulled on the surface. Then rise to the surface to attack the lures. Billfish only see in shades of blue, every colour has a specific hue of blue to it. This is because blue propagate through water best, only shades of blue can be seen after a hundred or so feet. All other colours fade out, red first at only ten feet.

I wish that I could have a room painted in the indigo of the deep clear ocean on an overcast day with a ceiling that move like waves seen from beneath. If you get a chance smoke a joint, do some mushrooms or some acid and turn a room into seascape. Then listen to the Jimi Hendrix song from Electric Lady Land, 1983 "if a merman I turn to be".

The daze ended when we got to the deep water, a limitless indigo expanse. The boat slows to five or six knots. The teasers and lines are put out. And we are fishing.

It was not long before two marlin rise from the deep. The first attacked the teaser – a hook-less gang of plastic squid to attract fish. The other goes straight for a hooked lure on the right out rigger. Both of the fish are lit up with bright light blue bars on their side, electric blue dorsal fins with purple spots, and aqua pectoral and tail fins made more splendid by the hue of the water. The fish on the right rigger hooked it self and Sofia was up first – she earn the right to go first last night, in bed. The fish ran down straining fifty-pound gear with a weight much greater. The run was long, maybe more then couple hundred yards; soon the Captain was moving the boat to chase the fish. The Captain kept the boat a reasonable distance from the fish. The fish came up and ran across the surface ending with a spectacular jump. Then it sulked, holding a few feet under the water shaking its head. Once more, the fish jumped clear out of the water. Not long after that the decky grabbed the wire to tag and released the nearly two hundred pound stripped marlin.

Earlier I had cajoled Captain Ron into letting me try to get pictures of any fish we caught from in the water. It was quite hard to get his approval to do this. After telling him, I had been under water many time on sailboats that had rapped line around the propellers during offshore races in heavy weather, he was still against it. I finally made up a quick waver. I signed the waver with a witness and paid an added fee for stress incurred by my actions. The Captain relented and let me go in. It was worth it.

I have gone over the side to untangle lines that have fowled sailboats propellers in cold murky water, with no fins and a bounce boat in heavy seas, it is dangerous. Today, I jumped overboard with no hesitation. I got some great pictures. The best was the view of the marlin swimming off into the deep still lit up, soaring though the water. I tried to follow the marlin going as deep as I could – maybe 30 feet – but its slow tail beats were more than a match for my plastic fins. I got back to the boat. Sofia and Dave pulled me onboard. I wanted Captain Ron to drop me in a school of bait fish but he was not to keen on the idea and said, "Tigers and other sharks are common out here. And you haven't got you a fish yet."

The lines were back out again. Sofia and I had lunch with a beer or three. In less an hour another marlin rose, eagerly taking a lure. I was in the chair fighting a magnificent fish close to my weight. My knees shook, I had a smile such as I had never had before. The fish fought as hard as I had expected and the Captain furiously maneuvered the boat to chase the fish keeping close. This was when a thought filled my head. I read Hunter S. Thompson's account of a fishing derby for sailfish in Cozumel Mexico and I remembered a remark to the effect 'it is not the fisherman who fights the fish but the Captain and crew. Some captains would rather have an electric motor reeling the reel then a person because the captain would lose less fish.' I know this is true however it is not the thing you want in your mind while pretending to be Santiogo. On its first jump it through the hook due to my inability to keep tension on the line. 'Oh well,' I thought and took a swig of Southern Comfort.

I was unhappy that I broke the fish off but after the initial cursing I was happy know I had a chance. The chance was more then I could hope for with my skill.

I am glad I lost this marlin. Even if it did mean I had spent fifteen hundred bucks on a marlin for a friend, a few minutes in the water with a marlin and to lose a marlin. I have only fished for marlin twice. Would people in society think I am crazy if I was happy to spent money on a fish I did not catch? Am I crazy for giving my chance to catch a marlin – a dream I have had since I began fishing – to a person I have known for three days and was not paying her way? I do not care. It was a great day and there will be more.

The more we drank, the more I was happy that I did not catch that marlin, it made the trip better. It took me a year before I my caught my first salmon. Why should I succeed the first time when I know nothing but what I have read in books about these fish or about this oceans? Another thing that those in society have learned instant gratification. Of course, society would say 'your drug use is instant gratification', possibly but then so is sex.

The rest of the way back the four of us drank on the flying bridge, telling fishing stories. I envy the freedom that Captain Ron and Dave have. They sit on the good edge of society able to live off the rich by providing them with a service the rich cannot provide then selves. The rich do not usually have the time to learn about the ocean so they do not have much success fishing; the rich are to busy getting rich. They need Captain Ron to provide the instant gratification. I was naïve when I thought guiding was not good, it provide the possibility for those not wanting to work for their money to live a life of relative leisure. It is a lifestyle on the edge of society... professional at having fun, providing a service to those wanting it to propitiate their fun. I respect people like Captain Ron and Dave.

Captain Ron said, we should call him back next year. Next year I hope I will find myself around such good people. We thanked him and said we will give him a call.

Chapter 11

After a good day of fishing we ate steak and drank beer. It was then that I found out that Sofia had never taken LSD. I knew this had to change.

Normally, I have reservation about giving people acid for the first time. There is a group that likes acid, a small group. However, having seen many acidheads I had a feeling that she had the qualities needed to be one. I am not sure what the qualities are but I do know that things like strength of mind, humility, submission to reality, or intelligence maybe parts of the puzzle. Paranoia may be another piece. I have always been paranoid having many panic attacks when younger. Why then would a drug with a true dark side appeal to me? I had LSD teach me that fear is in the mind and how to step back then step around the fear. Friends of mine and myself have gone from desperately depressed bordering on suicidal to happy and content with the world after finding LSD. The world became new, fun and easy once the LSD loosed their grip on stick. I have also seen people scared to insanity by the horror seen with in their own mind. It is a tool neither good nor bad but as dangerous as the mountains others climb. However, it is more acceptable to break you back then to bend your mind. There are people that love LSD, as there are those that love to hang-glide. There is a threat to attach them to those that are a like them. I see the wink of a tipper in Sofia's mind. Or am I seeing my reflection in her? Anywho, she wants to try it.

The next day we were off to a park called Seal Rocks that Captain Ron had said was a good spot. It seemed like an ideal place for a first trip. On the way, we stopped to buy some camping stuff and some beer for the end of the night. The road flickered with patches of hot sun and cool from over the hanging rainforest on a winding road to a place that tourists do not really go but Aussies know to be a paradise. As the road got worse the feeling of success grows. Then it was gravel. There was a campsite with washrooms and flat ground but we did not stop. We want a beach with no fees or other campers that would mind our insanity. Down a potholed dirt road, we found it. People were there but they were like us travelers, surfers, and freaks employed by the pursuit of happiness. Should I dump acid on this campsite like rain?

The afternoon was hot, so we went for a swim in the white water of the beach. Surfers ripped up the wave outside. I was enthralled by the surfers; Sofia was too but not to the same point. After the swim, it was just about dark so we put up the tent. I suggested to Sofia that we do not drop tonight because it would be better to have daylight to trip and explore as well we would be high until the late morning. Maybe we could get some of the other campers to trip with us, and possibly I could go surfing.

If there is a my kind of people these look like them; openly smoking joints, playing guitars, drinking beers, playing hacky sack or just bumming around in the sun on a lazy Monday... as if that means anything here. Soon Sofia and I were sitting around a communal fire passing jays and laughing with much regularity. I was waiting for one of the guitarist to start play 'Uncle John's Band' but then again the dread locked hippie guitarist who most likely knew the song was cooking sausages for all of us - a hard choice food or music... but a good one.

That night I had a strange dream. I was not a part of any action but I could see what was happening from my vantage point high in a hotel above a beach. The beach was crowded full of sunbathers and swimmers. Just off the shore were large strange fish were visible in the shallows. It seemed as if the fish were sitting on lawn chairs drinking beer and periodically tossing things on to the beach. People would grab these things and be pulled into water where the fish release them to swim back to shore. I called room service to bring me telescope, which they promptly did. With the telescope I could just make out the things that were being thrown on the beach by the fish, they were bundles of twenty-dollar bills! No one could resist the lure of all that free money. I could not help but think how hard I had tried to catch fish, how a shade of colour or slight difference in size could turn a fish away from my bait. How many people can resist a bundle of twenties?

I woke up in the twilight of dawn. Rolled a joint then walk over the dunes to the watch the waves as the sun comes up. To my amazement, I was not alone. Three of the surfer from camp sat watching the waves. With great intensity, they looked at things that I could not see. I sat next to them and offered them a hoot.

"Not this morning mate. It's too sick out there to get stoned." Rob said with an English accent.

"What are you looking at?" I asked

"The waves." He said and paused for a minute. "See that where the water seems oily, not dimpled by the wind, that is ripe. Then see where wave breaks off the point and come in then closes out that is a sand bar. It is a good day today... and we are the only ones here." The three of them agreed that it was time to go in, and then ran down the beach jumping in the water, riding the rip out, behind the braking wave. I watched wanting to be out with them.

I started to see water like I would if I was fishing at home, with out letting the warm weather, blue water or the knowledge that I was not at home influence how I saw the water. I started to see things, indications of deep and shallow water, water rippled by baitfish and the current moving along the beach and out the rip. The thought occurred to me that it is my perception that makes this place alien. My perception stops me from understanding the things that are the same here and from understanding the grand generalities that bind that universe together or as some may say truth.

I started to worry that these grand generalities may catch up with me taking me with them like a person swimming against rip. Swimming against a rip is futile - unless you are a very strong swimmer - the swimmer invariably tires, slowly moving out with the rip. Is that what is happening to me? Is this place with these people a way of pretending to have fallen out of the grasp of society? None of us in this camp site would be called respectable people by anyone one proud to be a part of society but we are still in its hold, which is slowly pulling us into it's maw. Very few of the people in this camp site see themselves bumming around and looking for the ideal for a lifetime. The one's that do are young, still strong, not tired yet. I can see that I am tiring and after such a short time. I am becoming content with my place, a place on the edge of society. A place I would like to be static but one of the grand generalities is things always change. If I am not trying to change than I will slip back into place, a place I do not want to be. Sofia will soon be more important to me, I am sure that she does not want to be here forever this is a trip to her. I will be attached in a short time and dragged into a place I do not want to be. I do not know... maybe the answer is simple, I will keep moving away. But I do not think I am strong enough to buck the tide, is the answer parallel to the analogy, is it as easy as swimming sideways out of the rip or is it more like what the surfers do, going in and out using as much advantage as possible in pursuit of the next ride?

Chapter 12

The rest of the day was spent trying to amuse myself while I waited for consensus to build between those wanting to drop. I would have done it as soon as the sun came up, though nobody else would. They would wait for the right time, a time that would grant a good trip for a mystical reason only known to the god of acid. That time finally came at half past four or so. The seven people felt this was the right time because they would peek as the Sunset. I found it strange that all of this preparation and coordination was necessary when chasing the kind of experience they are seeking. I had already said fuck the group and dropped (1997) an hour earlier then went for a surfing lesson. I was having great fun riding the white water when the group decided that it was time for the night to begin. They tore me from my euphoria.

I went with them, giving them a hit each and three more for myself (1996 to 1981). I was hoping for more out of this trip than any other trip I have had. Before today, I had only wanted to have a fun when on acid. However, this trip was different. I had the expectation something profound was going to happen to justify my direction as the right one. I had begun to believe that I could find something to set the world right from this trip. Something that had always been there but that I had never looked at before. So we all dropped. We all went looking but for what?

We all sat on the beach waiting. Those who had never dropped sat with strained smiles nervously talking and looking to other to see if the high had moved in. The ones that had done it before were less anxious but not at ease. I had the feeling of being some sort of guru sitting cross-legged with a smile on an otherwise passive face. It was not long until the insanity pulled on our minds. Smiles and giddy laughter took over. The feeling of being a child took over and everything seems new and more interesting.

I still sat contemplating my direction, not laughing or playing. The sand was not interesting, neither were the little sand crabs. The only thing in my mind was this search for my direction, a direction that would be good and right. My mind was spinning and twisting but blank with nothing of use just my mind reeling from the torture of focusing on something when it felt like being free. Well if the answer was not in my head then it must be somewhere else, anywhere but here. This is the fear, the force that pushes you into a bad trip; it is possible to avoid this place if you can let go of the thought that keeps the mind in this spot. I could not – hell this can be fun to, like a horror film, if you can find a safe place – all I knew was I had to leave. I was not able to that realize that place I wanted to leave was not in the real world but in my mind. I could run forever but this place will be here until the acid wares off when I will be able to let go of it. Its like a Chinese finger trap, struggle and you will not get free but if you stop and think about the problem from a different angle, you can get free.

I left walking down the beach with Sofia and Rob tripping behind me. They did not know they were following a fool. As I said, all I knew was I had to be somewhere... not here.

I kept running with Sofia and Rob following, forcing out laugher and trying to keep from wrecking the others vibe. Finally, I could not handle it. I sat down letting the demon catch up. While I rested the demon's two cackling minion – Sofia and Rob - marked my position. I tried to hide and knew I could not.

I thought, 'There is the demon now. Look at it all deformed walking along the water edge moving up and down the beach as the wave roll in and out. It is gangly with a bent form swaying in time with the waves looking for my sent. It must be blind, if it was not then it would see me and not have to smell for the reek of my fear or listen for the sound of my two vultures whaling a sickly happy sound. The vultures wait for me to be devoured so they can pick up the scraps. The blind demon seems to have some sort of sack with pieces of dead fish it will use to bludgeon me to death. The demon moves the sack, pulling something a foot long out of the sand as waves roll back into the ocean. Then it put the long stringy thing into a bag hanging form his belt and grins.' It was then my mind took a step back leaving the question that had cause this fixation and the spiral into this evil delusion – the only delusion I want are fun ones, except on Halloween.

I did not know what this person was doing but I was now laughing with Rob and Sofia at the action of the figure slowly moving towards us. "What is he doing?" I asked the others.

No intelligible answers were forth coming, only continued belly laughs and hick ups. I had to find out what this crazy person was doing and if there was some hidden logic to his meandering at the water's edge. I walked up to him looking quizzically at his action. Again he bent to pull a large sea worm out from where the bag of fish guts had been. When I was about ten feet away him I asked, "Hey, what are you doing?" Hoped he would hear a stupid foreigner and not freak on acid.

"I'm getting worms for bait. Come here and I show you." He answered. I walked next him watching him brush the sand with the fish entrails. Then I see a worm's head – a miniature sand worm form Dune – half the size of a dime breach the sand. In the blink of an eye he pitched the head and put his other hand down below the head pulled it out, all eight inches of it. Rob and Sofia gathered round like kids on a field trip. He said I should try it. I did and had no success. We all tried it but soon the novelty was lost and we wander up the beach to a headland where we watch the Sun set.

Once the sun had set to the east time seemed to stand still. The twilight lasted forever, and then it was gone replaced by the dark of a moon less night.

I did not know the date or the time or if Rob and Sofia were having the same problem. But even without the ability to tell how much time had passed it still passed and the fire in the camp beckons with music and dancing people. Why does time only go in one direction? Why doesn't it change? It just keeps on going while everything else marks its passage with life and death and all the changes in between. I have these dream in which I am like time always there to see everything go by but never stopping or slowing it to help or hinder those caught in the middle. In my dream I am nothing, however I see all that goes on in my domain - usually a reef or other structure in a body of water. I watch as generations of life pass. All the good and the bad that happen interest me but I am not able nor do I care to affect the outcome of any of the life. Is this what time does or is it unhappy that it cannot affect the things it thinks are wrong? Is this the price time pays to be eternal?

I stopped and sat while Rob and Sofia join the group. I could see the effects of time everywhere and not just the wind moving leaves or crabs scurrying from burro to burro but the thing that are slow: the movement of the sand up the beach, the trees dropping leaves on to patches of sand which will someday be soil and erosion of the rock point into sand. It is so easy to see what happens if you have the time to watch. We do not watch, though... our society revolves around the hurry up concept. If we were to slow down, the crises cause by our haste would not be so common. It is not as if tomorrow everything will be gone so why are we in a rush. If I had my way I would slow the race humanity's in right down and watch things, learning in time how most things work well enough to overt most crises. I would use writing that timeless friend to pass all the knowledge to our heirs so informed decision could be made and life could be free and easy with not much work and lots of good times. I am not the governor of society, nature is, nature with the biggest of all enforcers on its side evolution.

Nature plays like there is not tomorrow, believing in balance caused by impending doom. Crisis is it battle cry; change, die but never stay the same that's nature's game. Go for the gold and hopefully when the crisis come you can land on you your feet. Populations explode unless controlled; the control is the crisis. Just like the four horse men of apocalypse the crisis rides in causing famine, diseases, fear, and war, then the change happens and a phoenix rises from the ashes ready for the next crisis. This is the way that nature works it just looks like balance.

There is a parrot in New Zealand that knows this all too well. In times long ago this parrot found its way to an island paradise. A place with out the fast paced competitive life style of the mainland. It thrived there with no predators and little competition for food. As time went by and the amorous parrots found themselves over populated and under nourished. They lost the ability to fly, they had no need to waste energy flying; a successful bird does not need to waste time and energy flying. Then after many great famines due to over-population the once amorous parrot found itself only mating when a certain berry bloomed and that only happened once every few years for a short time. As well, it became normal for them to lay one egg. Life was good but not forever. One day a new animal moved in from the mainland bring with it all the predators the parrot had left behind. In less than few centuries the parrot that changed to live an easy life with out a yo-yoing population and the perils associated with an unsustainable population was reduce to thirteen birds. The parrots now only survive with our care. This is how nature works... we just seem to be good at dodging bullets.

And here I sat trying, hoping to escape my nature while the order of nature dances with the disorder that is time. Time is the cause of everything but is nothing. Nature is all that there is but does nothing without time which is nothing. At this moment, I could just about see the truth behind reality but time stole it away. My mind circled back to find it. This continued until I felt that I should dance and spin like my mind.

It is funny zero is a circle and circular arguments scare philosophers when the answer is most likely is found in the big O. But is that big O for Oh my God or Orgasm? "Everyone's dancing in a ring around the sun, don't know when it started, it ain't even begun..." Golden Road the Grateful Dead.

With morning on the horizon and the fire of acid only smoldering embers like the campfire, I grabbed Sofia and a box of wine. We walked down to the beach to watch the sunrise. There we sat smoking and drinking ourselves to sleep. This was where I want to be forever, lying on a beach with a girl, a mind still flashing with streaks of LSD, a box of wine and a bag of weed. The wine tasted salty as did Sofia and the marijuana smoke made strange familiar shape, which change as soon as they were realized. The form of Sofia pouring wine down her throat from the silver bag caused me to giggle at the absurdity of everything and I knew something was right about this hedonism and indulgence.

Thoughts of surfers fill my mind as I waited for sleep. It seems there is an innate goodness to the vagabond life style of the surfer - then again, it is easy to see the romantic side of anything when lying drunk and stoned in a tent with a beautiful girl. Maybe the wandering surfers, like those on this beach, are right. The surfers I thought of are those that make movies like Endless Summer, do not participate in competitions, have as Care Of an address or in old age live in a good place to surf and are content. They are true surfers, at least to me. They seem to be on a better path then the rest of society. They do not seem to want for much, usually being content with a few surfboards for different days, a cheap car, and money enough for gas, food, beer and other necessities. They have enough respect to not be cocky and have great humility. They have the patience to learn the many interlock factor that effect oceans and surf, which is much more then riding a board. As well, they have the perseverance to wait content with bad days until it is time to savor the good ones. They are pragmatic, having the where with all to turn a profit when necessary or smack a person when needed. This is an ideal and does not exist but many want to live this ideal and try to follow it with as much zeal as a religious zealot or an environmentalist. But the surfers' purpose is comical compared with others as passionate. Imagine a person with the qualities and devotion of a monk but a goal of finding great waves. Waves that are only experienced for an instant. A glory only the individual will know. Catching waves that will be lost. I am going to follow the people to try to find the peace they seem to have. Probably it is just the illusion of the outsider looking in. I hope not.

Just as I fell asleep, I had this strange thought, 'I like fish a lot but have killed many. I do not like people that much but have never killed any of them. Would it be logical to suppose that if I were to kill people I would like them more?' I fell asleep not to try out my new idea.

Chapter 13

I was a park ranger in a park with bears in it. One bear was a problem bear. The bear looked like Smokey the bear and could talk. My job was to take care of the bear or in a nicer term to kill it. I didn't want to at first. I tried to talk to this smarter than the average bear but it laughed at me. Finally, I got up the nerve to shoot the bear, I took a shot at the bear it moved and I hit the mirror on my personal truck. This enraged me but the thing that made me really mad was that the bear was taunting me. I relentlessly hunted this bear but every time I got a good chance to kill it I miss and my stray shoot invariable hit something I care about. One shot hit another bear killing it. Another hit a rock, deflecting into my cabin setting it on fire. This continued until I hit a young camper. I broke down and the police took me to jail. The bear was laughing and gearing all the while. From my jail cell, the bear continued to torment me with endless trash talk, I laughed softly while I keep the bear's attention. It was almost nine and that is when the train comes into town. The bear maybe smarter that the average bear but he did not have the intelligence to see that he was on the railway tracks. I smiled as train killed the bear I could not or was that would not kill.

I woke up with Sofia asking if I want some sausages. Sausages were exactly what I wanted after a day with out eating. Sofia then said, "It is amazing I don't feel hung over just a little slow. I had thought I would feel bad after such a time. I do not know if I could do that all the time, like you or even that many times." I know many people who have said what Sofia said and after those words, none of them ever did acid more than a few times before getting the fear, never to take it again. I have heard all but a few of my buddies say words to that effect. There are few people I know that are still willing to take acid after many years. Those who continue to drop do it infrequently finally ending up to old to find acid easily and are unwilling to search for LSD. Four people I use to know were full on psychedelic users Tim, Jen, Terry and to a lesser extent Jodie who likes mushrooms more that LSD. Still I am the lone person I know that would even think dropping once a week for the rest of my life. Does this make me a freak? I hope so. I want to be as far away from the realities that those people who call me a freak endure every day. I think I have gotten to there, free to do most of what I want and go pretty much where I please. Maybe I have not gotten to the ideal I set out for in the beginning of my trip but I have gone far enough to be content with my position; as outside as I want to be, for now. The thing that holds me here for now is Sofia who I am beginning more than like. I could see after meeting her that she was on the once in the lifetime kind of trip. One taken at the end of University to have one last fling with all the irresponsible things given up when one becomes a responsible adult. Like a bachelor party for those on their way to the good graces of society with a stable job and the attitude that 'I am an important cog in the big machine of life,' content to be another serf to credit cards, corporations and governments.

I hate weather forecasts they just make you mad that the weathers turning for the worst before actually it does.

I will take the advice Rob gave me yesterday while learning to surf, "Ride the wave as aggressively as you can, you will fall and you will get caught on the inside only to paddle out again. However, the ride is worth it and there are better waves are in the future when you will be better at riding them, so don't belly out of a wave if you can catch it. Sitting out the back is not surfing. Surfing is riding in and paddling out."

There is no way to see the exact future and any prognostication should be done with as much emotion as a Vulcan would have - that is when not in mating season. These shadows of the future are just that, shadows. They are not real and are only scary if one believes them to be. Make the time good.

"Hey Sofia, I thinking it maybe good to go with these surfers up the coast, they know all the good beaches. What do you say?"

"Yeah, that maybe good. They are going up to Byron Bay, I want to go there. Close by is a hippie place called Nimbin you will probable like it there."

"High Times it made number three on the top twenty five places to smoke weed. Still ain't BC buds." I remarked knowing Sofia didn't understand the reference.

"What?"

"You know, pot, marijuana, reefer, chronic, heads, buds... what ever, weed is weed, it all get you high. Even if it is Mexican brick with lots of seeds and a weird chicken taste to it... it still gets you high." As I said this, I wonder how many names there were for weed. Someone should make a book with its many names done in a geographic order so one could refer to the book like a fraise book for other languages. So if you are in the Outback and some redneck Aussie says 'Mate out by the dunny is where I grow me mull but me mate down the road has some wicked heads.' You would know, from reading the Australian section of the weed, thesaurus mull is crappy bush weed but it gets you high and heads are good buds from a good strain of plant.

Funny, in Australia with its great climate for growing weed, compared to most places, it is hard to find high quality smoke. There is a simple reason for this a reason I learned from the dread locked hippie yesterday. He said that the reason for the weak weed is that with all the weed growing wild in Australia there is much cross pollination which makes it hard to keep a strain of weed strong. It usually gets genetically diluted with the wild plants. Where as in place where you have to grow indoors or a winter to limit the abundance of wild weed it is easy to segregate good plant keeping them strong – floral eugenics... if it good for weed it is good for us, Sig Hial. As well in Australia, it is hard to get a plant to develop buds as well because wild male plants invariably pollinate female plants and the result is seedy weed with under developed buds. In Canada one would not worry about getting a good strain pollinate by wild plants because wild plants are extremely rare, thus good strains can be grow outdoors but are not as tight as the Styrofoam bud from indoor plants – thanks NASA for hydroponics and CO2 enrichment.

I rolled a pinner for the drive to Byron Bay and we smoke it while we follow the surfers Combi to the highway. It is a nice driver from Foster, the closes sizable town to Seal Rock, to Byron Bay. The first and the last bits are especially good.

More amazing then the drive is the way in which government and business co-operate to curb road accidents from fatigue. The road from Sydney to Surfers Paradise has many accidents cause by tired vacationers falling asleep and driving off the road so the government has an ad campaign with signs saying, "Stop, rest, revive and survive. Rest every two hours." New South Whales has let a corporate champion step in and take over the cause. The good people at McDonald's have made it their duty to put up signs with the government slogan and McDonald's hopes you will get fries with your rest. Ever two hour on the road from Sydney to Surfers Paradise there is a McDonald's and a gas station, even 10 km out side of a town bypassed by the highway on a round about seemingly in the middle of no where. McDonald's is doing its part but it occurs to me that maybe the real problem is that it rains a lot on long weekend in NSW and a lot of cars have bald tires.

I was happy to see a company with such a moral conscience. Of course, the high priced lawyers would argue that like the human conscience, the conscience of their corporation exists because there is more potential for profit if we treat our market as friends rather than as an ATM. The lawyer would say, 'If we didn't give bums free food, help in charitable organizations, treat our employees fairly and help with government initiatives we would not be seen as part of the community - which is good for us and for you.' And you know what McDonalds is probably right. I would like to believe I do good things to be good but maybe I am blinded to the truth which is easily seen in emotionless black and red ledgers accountants use to show the score. The company with moral conscience and an ok product does better because of its conscience then one with same ok product and no conscience. I do not have the ability directly to see the benefit derived from having a conscience. I feel it sometimes and see effects of my goodness and conscience sometimes but never with the black and red ease as an entity like a corporation can. Could it be that something beyond the brain says this, because I know full well that it cannot be the brain. The brain knows that wrong things can be profitable. Could it be all my cells are saying, 'you must work together like we do and all get along to live well in a society, like cells in an organism'? Is this where unions and communist come from? Does this mean that I am thumbing my noses to what is right - the path to society, like a cancerous cell in an organism?

Am I that cancer, trying to stop all the progress made thus far to defy or at least hinder nature?

I was struck by how wrong I was as I drove down this road. This idea that an organization like a corporation can have a set of values and system to keep it perpetually continuing like a living things haunts me, it suggest a purpose. Purpose is what a God give us. Yet it is something of our device and creation; for our purpose and not its own or so it seems. Again I cannot tell if this organization considers it self to be an actual entity. Is it an entity governing it self with demands from its interests, such as in a corporation, which has demands from the board of directors, the market, and the workers that are vital for the continuation of the corporation? Is this entity like the mind that has control over the body? The body has demand that have to be met, the mind does some automatically – breathing – other are satisfied by conscience thought. The only perspective that we can see is the one of the mind controlling the body. What of the cell? Does the cell perceive our greater conciseness as a co-operation, corporation or government formed by cells to work for the benefit of cell? In an organism, the cell needs to meet the needs of organism or corporation to live its life, until it splits having its progeny carrying the memory of its self on in the organization, just as a worker meets the needs a corporation to get a pay check and live life. The corporations have a motive or drive much the same as living things: to be profitable thus continuing it's existence... strange.

Ah, but are there cells that don't pull their weight like well-fare bums and slackers? Sure, the worst of the revolutionaries are cancer cells. Every body has them though they do not always have the right conditions to cause their revolution. Just as many countries are stable although they have revolutionaries like Tim, are walking the streets so too are there cell of a similar bent in organisms. And there are many others less dangerous slackers like those who carelessly slip up when transcribing DNA – too much drink the night before perhaps or was it the mitosis. Fortunately for organisms, corporations or counties these pieces of the whole are usually too small number to hurt the whole that is until time inevitably takes its toll.

An entity that is not biologic in nature how could it be? It is a good thing that the road was straight because my mind contorts with the strain of finding the connection that was sot. A few years ago I lay in bed after taking to many mushrooms. I had just paid for the cab ride of some strangers that were hitching because I like to pick up people hitching and I was to dunk to drive. Now I was in my apartment feeling in tune with the world, smiling at everything and give things the same respect as people because I had figure it out. Portishead was on the stereo and the room thumped with the bass. Then the song changed to something tinny but the room still pulsed but not to the music. I went out into the frozen but not snow covered forest. The trees grooved to the beat as I sat with only stars to light the forest. I could feel the truth. The truth that everything that exists knows that it exists and that this knowledge is what we believe to be consciousness. It is hard to believe. I even found away to explain its truth away with this new knowledge that the pulse or beat was in fact my heart beating and not the sign of something more – take five or more grams of shrooms the room will pulse. This explanation was away there to obscure the truth. Ask yourself this question – with the presupposition there is no God or Gods to say you exist – how do I know I exist? The only real answer is that I exist because I know exist. In someone else's words – I think Descartes' - , "I think there for I am." That "think" word is a strange thing, what is a thought? Is a thought what a frog has the instant before it eats a bug, is it more or is it less? Could a thought be the thing that makes a molecule know that it can react with one and not another? Although we have much knowledge, it only relates to two things: that we exist and what we want or need. An electron must know that it is an electron as well, it must know that want to be in a stable state. This knowledge of ones self is one of the two things that make something conscious, the other is the want or drive.

The want or drive, is the thing that got me thinking that I am on the wrong path. It is my cells telling me that there is more to you than you and you must do what it want done. You must follow the path of the human; find some woman make her yours and have a fruit full family. You know the best way to do that is to follow the laws of society, get a fast car, a good job and be a success. Or if that is not your bag at least be in some group of freaks that suits your style and do the same. Do not throw your life away by not passing on the knowledge or progress hidden in your DNA. This drive is in everything that has a consciousness, though it is only seen as the urge to procreate in things close to us. It is there in bacteria, it is there in organic molecules, it is there in matter at the molecular level and in energy; most things in the universe have it, as well as most thing have knowledge of themselves. Things that lack one of these two traits are composed of pieces with both.

Things like a corporation may have the drive that is so common in this universe but it does not seem to have knowledge of its self as say something such as a computer may have. However, the computer does not have the drive for self-preservation that the corporation does. Rocks have knowledge of their existence but the drive is only in the molecules of the rock. The molecules in a rock want to stay unchanging as long as possible. Forces or laws like the law of gravity seem to be endowed with this universal drive though the forces would be nothing with out what if affects. Things like the Star or Planets have both when looked at in their entirety but parts only have one of the two things needed for consciousness. It is hard to see these things because things have gotten more complex as the universe has evolved. In times closer to the Big Bang, times with much less chemistry and no biology it would be easier – for us - to see this concept.

### Part 3: Catch

Chapter 14

My mind and mouth were taken from its deep thoughts by this one 'My God a mutant prawn'. And I laughed with Sofia as we rolled past the fifty-foot prawn silhouetted by the soon to be set Sun. The drive became interesting again with rolling hills, lush wet forest, green pastures and headlands of the same hue with the brilliant blue ocean on right as the Sun sets to the left. It looks like what the Shire in Tolkeen's books may look. Other say it looks like parts of England. It looks even better with good music form the sixties playing as you whip your car along the winding roads. It is a beautiful place where hippies are not out of place and magic seems possible. Every fourth car reassures of this with a bumper sticker like 'Magic Can Happen' or some other slogan more common to the love generation.

My favorite bumper sticker has always been, 'I brake for hallucinations', with 'Grass, Gas or Ass, Or No Ride' a close second and 'Jesus saves, Gretzky puts in the rebound' third.

We pulled into the First Sun Caravan Park a campground right next to the beach and only a hundred yards from the main strip of this haven for the counter culture tourist. Once the tents were up we left a note for the surfers with the groundskeeper that said, 'We've gone to get a drink.' And we walked into the tourist trap.

I did not care to go but did not want to do anything else, so we walked up the street to the Global Village Café. I thought 'hey I'll check up on the NHL and confirm that no one has written me... save for one or two from the family'. I checked up on the Canucks who were having a good season for a team rebuilding, then again the Canucks have been rebuilding in all but seven of their thirty odd seasons. Maybe this time they will build a team good enough to win the Stanley Cup. I hope this is the team to bring the cup to Vancouver but I would not bet money on it at this time or ever

I thought, 'Damn Sofia was still on the computer after a half an hour what to do? I can't look at porn, for some reason it is not allow in a public café, what other good use is there for a computer?' I looked up fishing and found nothing of interest. Maybe it was time to check my E-mail. I find that there were a dozen or so a few from my family and the rest were from Jodie. I tried not to look at the caption on the notes but it was almost impossible. The tone of them sank as I read. The first ones were glib and bright, like 'hey where the hell did you get to?' but the tone got dark and spiteful the more recent the message. My mind was awash in a tide of misery at this proof that I was an asshole, a coward and a petty person.

The tide kept rising and I got the need to flee. I left shaking as I paid for the time. I went straight bar to drink myself into forgetfulness.

"I will not forgive you if you will not take the chance..." – Terrapin Station the Dead - paced in my head. I knew she had given me a chance, so we can have good times again. I knew that would not happen. I would run because... well I did not know why. If I did maybe, I could be bigger. Instead I am the worst kind of fool. One who knows what the right thing to do and will not do it, so I went to the bar and drank to forget.

I after leaving the café I went straight to a bar called the Railway. I bumped into Rob and the two other surfers in the Combi, John and Bruce. I told them we need to do some serious drinking. They said seriously, they were in for some serious drinking. The bartender saw our face and he knew we were serious. We began drinking seriously. We touch glasses with every shot and drank beer in the time in between shots. As soon as one drink was finished, we ordered another. It was a serious time. When Sofia arrived our serious faces told her of our seriousness. Sofia was serious too.

"Sorry for leaving," I said to Sofia, "but I needed a drink. How did you find me?"

"It looked like you needed a drink and this is the closest bar. Did something bad happen?" asked Sofia.

"No, nothing too serious but I want to drink about it and not talk about it." I said.

"Cheers to drunken nights," Bruce said. We each shot the liquor we found most palatable.

The night continued in this manner until the bar closed. And we got very drunk indeed. So - I think - we stopped to get some meat pies at bakery open into the early hours of the morning. After this, there is a vague memory of going to the beach and going swimming. However, it is just as possible that one of us – possible me – fell while wading at the edge of the water and threw the rest in out of spite but no one knows for sure, or cares.

This foray to the beach spurned a great hunger, so we headed to the camp with little balance and no grace to cook sausages and change into dry cloths. While looking for bread and tomato sauce – a.k.a. ketchup – I found a bottle of the grand old drink of the south, Southern Comfort. I took a swig and passed it round as a jay came the other way. The sweet booze was too strong for Bruce and he walk off to heave in a bush. The sausages were good and the bottle went round again but Bruce had water. We ate all the sausages then Rob and John went to bed. Bruce had already passed out in front of his tent. I had another drink offering one to Sofia. She did not want one. I took another, and then bit my tongue to keep for puking. Then the moment of clarity happened, the feeling of being an asshole came back. I knew I had to tell Sofia how I came to be where I am and why I am so fucked up and distant sometimes.

I took a drink and reached for some bread to keep me going through the story. I started at the beginning, with much emotion and reluctance I told of how and why I think I got here and why I am so sad today. It took a lot of time, enough time for us to finish a bottle, eat the loaf of bread and smoke a joint. I finished with a flurry of rhetoric about how I am only going to go surfing and do good things, while leaving the ills of society behind. In the glow of this cathartic moment I took the last swig of the Southern Comfort look in the eye of Sofia and saw as only a drunkard can see that she had black out. We helped each other into bed and passed out. I tried to keep the idea of surfing and being good in my soon to be throbbing head.

Chapter 15

I do not know of any drug that leave you in such a sorry state the day after as booze does. As the Sun woke us from our slumber, our bodies reminded us of the previous night. All the water in the world would not help us, at least not for a few hours. The first to stir was Rob, who trudged up over the low rise to the beach. It was not long before he was back and the disillusion brought on by the booze was gone taken by the good surf over the hill. Rob woke Bruce and John telling them of the epic conditions. Both were skeptical of his report. The three of them walked over hill to the beach. Again the foray was short and all of their spirits were high, even if Bruce was still suffering from the dry heaves. The three of them were determined not to let last night get in the way of today and it was not long before all of us crammed into Deloris on our way to a some good beach. Of course, we stopped for some sports drinks and food.

John, who often made the trip to Byron Bay from Sydney, thought Broken Head would be the best break today. It is headland a little south of Byron bay. As the car crests the hill before descending to the beach John said "Ah, look at that you can see the swell form here. That is a good sign... and it looks like there is no wind." Those in the back of the car all had giddy smiles, however, the smiles were toned down as we got to the parking lot. Others had also noticed that today was a fine day and did not have the remnants of a night drinking to slow them down. John remarked, "Quite a few people out but no worries, if the bars (sand bars) are like they were the last time I was here there will be a few good breaks."

Rob told Sofia and me that if we wanted we could use his long board but we should stay in the white water and not go out the back. It was easy to see that we would probable not go in the water. The only water we wanted was in bottles, none of the energy that had pulled the surfers out of their hangovers had rubbed off on us.

Sofia and I grabbed a couple of towels and went to find a place to lie in the Sun. The surfer engaged in the ritual all surfers perform before getting in the water. They sat watching the water, watching it for things seen by surfer, things usually not seen by the lay persons. Sofia and I fell asleep on the beach.

We awoke to the scream of two AF-111s flying a few hundred feet off the water a couple miles off shore going fast. I was feeling much better, possibly good enough to play in the water for a while. "Hey Sofia, want to try to surf? I'm going to at least go for a swim." I said.

"No, I am still to hung over."

"We really tied one on."

"Yeah, I can hardly remember the night, the last thing I remember clearly was getting pie and I think we went swimming. There is also a memory of you talking seriously about something," and she squinted her eyes.

"I wish I knew." I lied, trying to shunt that memory out of my mind. "I'm going to get the surf board, want anything from the car?"

"Get some water."

I went to the car, got the surfboard and a bottle of water for Sofia. The board felt awkward as I walked up the small dunes and down to the beach. I gave the water to Sofia and proceed to put on the leg rope to connect me to the board like an umbilical cord. I tried to walk into the surf. With every other step I trip myself with rope. Finally, I pulled most of the slack up from the leg rope to keep it from being long enough to trip me and I entered the water. I walked the bucking semi-controlled board into waist deep water, then turn to face the shore. I waited for what I thought was the right time to leap onto the board. I hoped to catch one of these spent waves of white water. Every once in a while I would catch one, most of the time I would fall off in the process of trying to stand on the board. Every so often I would stand but those moments were few and short lived. I played in this manner until Rob, John and Bruce came in. It was great fun.

I wanted to be out the back with the other but to be here now means that in the future I could be over there. This made me happy to be here and determined to get there.

On the ride to camp, I joined the conversation that had been going on since we had met these three surfers. It is a continual dialogue about surfing. However, it is not truly continual but it could be said the every other conversation is cursory. Other topics are only there to break from the serious talk of surfing. One topic does supersede the topic of surfing, sex. There is no place in the world I know of in which sex would not be at the top of the list of things to talk about for four twenty something guys. I was not really contributor to the content of the surfing dialogue at this time but I was enthralled, Now, I had a spot at the table by virtue of my desire to surf. This conversation would last for as long as I knew these good people. It would resume each time I found myself with people who defined themselves as surfer and not as banker who likes to surf or anyone that does not put surfing at the forefront of their live style. Good people.

I remember when I could not fish. I remember how hard it was to learn to fish; it was hard to learn to fish for someone whose folks didn't fish. It is analogous to surfing today. I am a Canadian who was not taught how to surf, a skill not a part of my culture... but fishing is something every Canadian has done. Not me though. I have folks that are city people. While that is not true, my dad loves the woods, he is a forester but he was never a fisher. I am a fisher even my dad is not. He never taught me how to fish but he did teach me about science which showed me how to fish. It was not easy and I remember many days I put a line into Atlantis retrieving nothing but a tangled line or a broken off lure. A lure lost because of a faulty knot or for some other problem remedied by experience. This was the way it was for a long time, I think a year or so. However, in time, I became good at fishing and although I am not a model of physical perfection, I will learn to surf as well. It is as good as anything on this earth, even if many things are consider more important. I know that I cannot argue this but it is true as true as the Sun coming up, the Moon going round the Earth or God telling you to do something. If the facts reasonably approximate the belief then something is true... though reasonable is a strange word, it is as variable as X and depending on the strength of your belief what is considered reasonable fluctuates. I believe that surfing is good, that belief makes it true that surfing is good so I will use science to become good at what I believe in. Most may say this endeavor is pointless, it maybe but that pointlessness is a reward in its self. How many people would fight and die for nothing? I am sure fewer then would fight for something.

Science is pointless – especially in an infinite universe – it tries to take out the reason, to look at the facts with out belief, without a reason, just to find out. It happens that many things seem reasonable in the light of science. What makes science dangerous is the belief that pushes it. It is hard to find a place or a time in which scientific advances have not been driven by desires less than noble. This is not exactly true most individual scientist do have the idealistic belief that their goal is knowledge, though, to practice science there is backing and capital needed. Because of this need for funds scientists have to court governments, companies and other organizations. Organizations have agendas hemming in what truth a scientist can look for – you cannot look for something if you cannot find funding to look for it. And many of these group that fund research have less then noble motives. It is too bad scientist have to be sale people. I am lucky that I have my funding and my pointless project. As well, I'm happy no one in society will exploit my mind (what is left of it) for serious purposes.

With the reminder of my funding, I thought it would be prudent to buy a surfboard. Buying a surfboard looked like a chore because of number of places that sold boards. Every corner has a surf shop. Once at camp I sequestered Rob as an advisor. We took the Falcon to a shop outside of town that Rob said would be the best place, since most of the other shops were for tourist. The shops in town were less inclined to sell me what I needed, but would rather sell me something sexy and hard not to buy. On the short drive, Rob told me that in his opinion I should get a long board bigger than nine feet and as thick and wide as possible. My only real input was that the board should not so long that I could not lock it in the car. Even if stealing a board is about the most abhorrent act in the surfing community, it does happen.

Theft of surfboards is becoming more common especially around cities. This is a great concern to those who live the surfing life style, to them the theft of board is a step away from the ideal they strive for and love. Localism is another thing that is growing more common as the number of surfers grows. Once beaches were pristine with a few surfing bobbing out the back on an early morning, this has changed into a flotilla that could be mistaken for a kelp forest in many places. People like me are beginning to be seen as a nuisance in the more populated places in Australia and worse in other more congested places, like Hawaii. I guess even in the benign society of surfing there are the same problems that all societies have. The more people in the society the less respect there is for people. I am sure that if you get away from the influence that large cities and busy breaks have on this culture the ideal could be found. Then again, it is stupid to leave the better part of a thousand bucks lying around and it is impossible to think a local will be happy with the fifty people from other places sharing the local break.

The guy in the surf shop showed us the only realistic choice aside from having a board made custom. My only choice was a 10', 24" wide, and 3 ½" thick board. It had the look of the classic boards from days past, a graceful look, not the shark like aggressive look of the thin short board half its size. It was red with white and black pin stripes or racing stripes but these were obscured by no-slip tape. It was practically new. The person who had own it previously like the board but had found that the wax would melt off in the hot tropical weather of Indonesia and the no-slip tape chaffed too much. So he had another board made for the next trip and traded this one in. A lucky break for me, it is hard to find a board of that size. Funny, the colours on this board are the same as the colour of Canada's national sport teams. I was happy and itching to try my new board.

"Let's go surfing." Rob said. "We'll go up to the Pass. It has a classic long board wave."

"Sound good, how do I get there?" I asked.

Rob gave me the instruction and in a few minute we were there. I have heard the Pass called the Malibu of Australia by some people. I have never been to Malibu but this right hander is legendary. The break starts at a rock bluff with an observation platform on the top of it is the Pass proper. The rocky out crop ends after about fifty-yard and turns to sand for another three hundred yards, down Clark's beach. At the end of Clark's beach the point ends and the wave becomes a beach break. This is where the main beach of Byron Bay starts. On a small day, there are three places to surf. The Pass, by the rock out crop is the best. The other two spots on Clark's beach are weak and only good for beginners. On good days it is possible to surf form the Pass to the main beach. In the summer when a cyclone develops in the Coral Sea, the Pass goes off. Those days are the ones that make it one of the best brakes in the world. The waves are fast and hollow – for the lay man or Canadian they look like the wave on Hawaii Five-O. I have seen a picture with four people on four different waves all in the tube. The waves in the winter are usually slower, braking on the top, not being as powerful and being more of a long board wave but the surf is more constant. The waves had petered out since this morning but I did not know enough to care.

It said the Pass was much better sometime ago, before the Japanese came and took much of the beach away. I do not know if this is true but locals say it is. They will say something like 'Those bloody Jap bastards stole millions of tons of sand, so much that before they took it you could surf form little Watagos (a beach closer to Cape Byron), past the Pass stopping at the main beach on one wave... on a good day.' I do not know if this is true but there is another mythic figure in Byron Bay and that is the local. They are as rare coelacanths. Sure no one knows if the coelacanth is rare but it is hard to find one in an ocean, as is the local in a sea of vacationers.

The big myth in Byron Bay is that no body has been attacked by a shark. Rob told me that this is not true and if you go two towns away or get the trust of local divers the story of a couple becomes known. This couple was on their honeymoon and went diving at a spot called the Cod Hole. The couple came out of the hole before the dive instructor and a white pointer (great white) attacked them, eating both of them. At least there was not much time for marital troubles. Of course Rob had to tell me this while I was surfing at the Pass. It is a good thing that the Cod Hole is a few miles off shore. I remembered Sofia was taking diving lessons and did not tell her this story.

It's a catch 22, this place is a great place with its beauty, myths and legends and these things attracts throngs people but the people take away from the mystique.

All I know as I sat trying to stay balanced on my board with Rob telling me the story of the unlucky demise of honey mooners is that I could care less. A shark is a shark it eats things. The ocean is water I could drown, a shark could eat me or some other crazy thing could happen wrecking a great day of surfing but at that time I would be doing what I wanted to do and time is going run out anyhow. Sure if I thought too hard about the terror of having a fish tare me in half I could cause myself to leave the water. That exit from the waves would not because of the fear of death but rather from the fear of pain. I would not mind a death while in pursuit of the life I would like to live. I do fear having a car hit me while crossing the street with a head full of acid. I fear the moment when the doctor tries to put me under but he cannot because I am too high for the anesthetic to work. I fear the pain of pulling teeth. Most of all I fear slipping into death with out the comfort of fighting against its pull. The death a heroin overdose must have. One in which the light goes off, with out the feeling and fear of the ultimate end realized. I want that last blast of life even if it is the pain of death. In my mind, death is almost never easy or painless. There is no such thing as a humane death for anything - even plants - there is a knowledge that it is coming and that it is bad. Even a fish knows this when it is boated then beaten to death, that is why it struggles. A person committing suicide does not walk into death arms. There is much deliberation and mental pain before the action is taken. Of course, there those suicide artists that go with a smile on their faces because they know they are going to God. Thank God of all of them. You only lease life but if I had choice, I would like the contract to come up either doing something I love or in old age.

Life is order even if the actions done by living things may not seem to be but like all order it is finite in duration and must die to renew an order that decays with time. In the universe, space and time are infinite. Infinite means that they are chaotic. They continue forever yet at the same time their perceived expansion is in proportion to each other. As time moves forward, space is growing as well, into a place that is impossible with no energy, matter or anything that we can perceive. But this ball of time and space called the universe does expand forever into nothing. The ball or point does not seem to be expanding in this nothingness because there are no other points of reference. The point is the only thing tangible in a space of nothing; thus it is densest thing in the universe regardless of how large it appears to those looking out. Could this be the densest mass that somehow caused the big bang? It is easy to be the densest thing ever if the only other thing is nothing. Even if this ball is ever expanding it does not get any less dense because there is nothing outside of it. Yet to us in the universe, it is away shifting into the red, as everything moves away from us in the expanding muffin of space.

I paddled into my first blue water section on a small wave as this thought dissolves in a mind that does not care. The board began to plane. I know that I have got it right. I caught the wave before it broke. I made the quantum leap and was ready for the next step, to stand. I stand briefly, and then fall. With a little more practice I will be ready for the next step in the progression... but when am I content? Maybe I will be content in death or at least when dead I will not be able to perceive ever-present discontent cause by the need to progress. Heaven could be a place where there is no need to change. If there is, no change one can be content with their position. Thus, it is paradise because you can be content with your position with out the ever-present need to strive for the carrot of success, which is just out of reach. Could this be the reason why many gurus and strange holy people try to lose their desires and possibly see their God? I think it is funny because if I were looking for the uniting force or as these holy seekers may say 'the hand of God' I think it's more likely that it lies in the desire. It is the desire that governs our direction. But hey maybe those seekers are looking for more of a God then just a want, drive or desire provides. Of course it could be my belief in a pointless existence and having pointless goals that gives me a toothless mite of a God that cannot fulfill the ethos society wants for it God. My God is nothing because I do not believe in it.

The surfing population generally accepts that if sharks did find humans a food item no one would go swimming. Of course sharks are an old species having evolved with their prey over eons and we are new to the water. In time, the dark shapes that prowl the waters off the western Hawaiian atolls for young albatross will learn that Wahkiki is good place to go hunting - if the sharks live that long.

I notice as I wade that there are fish darting into the clouds of sand that my footfalls have stirred up. These little bream have learned not to be afraid of giants walking in the shallows. They are like birds following a plow. It is a daring way to make a living. I guess some fish learn quicker than others do.

It was not long after I had caught my first real wave that the no-slip tape on my board had given me a terrible case of sensitive nipples, along with a less serious rash on the rest of my exposed body. I now truly feel for those women with sensitive nipple and if there is anything that I can do to help like rubbing lotion on them or gently suckling them I will. I feel your pain and would like to help. This was the end of my day surfing and the end of the no-slip tape. As well as end of surfing with out a rashy - a spandex top to keep chaffing to a minimum.

Chapter 16

Somebody from one of the other campsite asked if we had seen the whales. We had not so we grabbed our burgers and walked to a height of land where others were gathered watching the whales. There were two humpback whales swim along the shore about a mile or so out. We watch them for a few minutes but they weren't too exciting and we were not full yet so we went to get more burgers.

Sofia told us the Green Peace or other environmentalist line about how in times past before the introduction of noisy gas engines whales could communicate vast distances, maybe across oceans. Sadly, the whales have lost this ability due our thought less noise pollution. This argument sounds as if it is a strong argument. Water conducts sound well – especially low frequency sound, like whale songs – and whales have great hearing but how can you hear something if it is drowned out by the noise of humans machines. The simple answer is that the poor whales living in a much noisier world and cannot talk across long distance any more. Is this the whole story, did an unnatural people change whale culture forever?

Here is the rest of the story or more of it. It has never been know if whale can communicate over vast distances and if they can we have never factor in the natural ambient noise in the ocean. Never have the sounds of other marine life, currents, tides, storms and wave crashing on the shore been taken into account. I presume that if these other sound were included into the whole equation human noise maybe much less of a factor. Possibly because of all of this noise, whales could never sing over long distances. On the other hand our submarines can communicate over long distances with low frequency sound, maybe the whales song is low enough they can still communicate – boat and ship propeller are at a higher frequency than whale song. As well whales have a well-developed sense of hearing possibly as good as dolphins and most likely as good as or better than a nuclear submarines hearing devices. A sub can still pick out fish or other quite subs at thousands of yard in water with lots of surface traffic. So again, our effect maybe much less, however, it may be as dire as Sofia and others think but we will not know until we try to find out.

The whole argument is a mute point. It is good for stirring up gilt in people so they give money to the people trying to help the poor whale but humanity will not give up boats with engines or invent a special whale friendly drive systems. The whales have no reasonable choice they will have to cope, until we die off. The only problem is that anything that will kill us off - except maybe disease - will affect them as much as us. For the whale's sake I hope they have a group of amazingly good whale biologist trying to find a biological weapon to kill us off, which is most unlikely.

However, humanity and the whale are in the same crunch when it come the change in climate. Yes the world is getting warmer. The climate has always changed but we humans seem to think it is strange. A third of the people say that we have done it to ourselves, another third say it is not happening and the rest do not care or think it is happening for natural reasons. The fun in this is that like the whales and their song there is no way for us to stop this problem even if it is indeed our fault. The world will heat. We will argue whether it is from CO2 build up, natural reason or possibly both. We know this is happening, why not plan for the potential changes that are going to happen and deal with it. Dealing with it does not mean losing all the cars. Loosing cars will do nothing at this late date save making every one walk, getting fit so they look good under the hot sun in their swim suit... ok lose the cars. Of course, it is society I am talk about and I don't want to be apart of it for reasons like this.

I think that global warming is a natural event that as a part of nature humanity has helped with. The world is warming. Only research and time will tell why and how this is happening but there is a strange side bar to what may happen due to global warming. Most of the alpine areas and tundra areas are deserts. Much of the alpine areas are too cold for it to snow. However, if it warms the right amount the number of day that it is warm enough to snow grows and mountains like the Rockies get more snow. Now glaciers don't start as ice but as snow that compacts into ice. Glaciers do not need to be in areas with negative temperatures all year round. In fact to form a glacier all that is needed is enough snow to last till first winter snow of the next year, then for this cycle to happen year after year. The more snow the infant glacier gets the more it creates its own climate causing more snow stay snow through the summer. So it could be possible that warming may cause more snow in alpine areas, snow that will last to the next winter and eventually create a glacier – eventually meaning hundreds of years. If this happen on a large scale global warming could cause an ice age. This is what skiers and snow boarders hope for and I do too, but I am not a scientist or at least one with the papers to prove it. Jimi knew a thing or two about it listen to, Up from the Skies. He could see the changes and accepted it. Of course, it is easy to speak for a dead person.

"There is almost no more weed." Bruce said.

"I give my guy a call from the bar." John replied.

"We should go to Nimbin, all the other travelers I have met have said it is a good place to find whatever you want." Sofia said.

"You can go there but me mate in Mulumbimby has better quality at a better price. Nimbin is a good laugh but they rip tourist off when it comes to their business. If you go get some cookies." John advised.

"Hey Sofia, why don't we go up there tomorrow." I said.

"Sure." answered Sofia.

"I want to go too." Rob added.

"Don't buy any pot, Bruce and I have a better connection and can get a better deal than any of those hippies in Nimbin." John said.

"No worries John, I won't buy any weed. You want some pot cookies?" I made sure.

"Ya, that would be good." John confirmed, "Bruce and I are off to get a beer and call our guy."

For persons like us, traveling with a drug habit it is good to know someone who knows a 'guy'. Price gouging is rampant. It happens everywhere to some extent. For example, when I was new to university it cost me $45C to get an 1/8 of weed (or 3.5 grams) but in Vancouver that 1/8 was only $35C and was never short. I found a dealer to sell me a 1/8 for $35C but it took time. In Sydney, what I would call a dime bag ($15A) is a gram but it would be more like .6 of a gram on the street. In time, I found a guy in the hostel that sold a solid three grams bag for $50A. It takes time to find the good deal and if John's guy can do it better and cheaper than Nimbin, great. A good dealer is hard to find.

John, Bruce and Rob went out to the bar. Sofia and I sat on the beach, drank some beer and smoked a joint or two as the stars came out. Once the stars came out, we went to bed in the warm air of the sub tropical fall.

Chapter 17

Rob was up early as always and woke the rest of us up. He was as always primed and ready for surfing but Bruce was not up to it. John was not even at the campsite, he had found space in a girl's bed at one of the many hostels. Bruce would not move, he said he was dead and if he was not we should kill him. We did not oblige him but said there would be a much better chance of dying if he went surfing. Sofia cut up some fruit while Rob and I made some eggs and toast. Then Rob and I were off to go surfing with Sound Garden's, Brake Your Rusty Chains, blaring on the car stereo.

It was not more than a few minutes past nine in the morning when Rob and I pulled into the parking lot of Broken Head. There were few people here on an overcast weekday. After a couple minutes, watching the waves we got in the water, it was much bigger then that yesterday afternoon, Rob said it was about three-foot. Of course three feet is the height of the swell and not the size of the wave before it breaks. When the wave breaks it is more like as high a surfer. I was a little worried, I am not the most in shape guy and it is only my third time. Rob may have noticed this apprehension because just before we went in he said, "Mate if you get caught inside (the white water in front of where the wave brakes) go in walk up the beach and get in where we first paddled out. On your way out, there is a shallow sand bar before the wave break you may have to stay there in the white water until a set goes through then paddle out. When you get a chance go for it. If a wave is going to break on you and you have time flip your board and hold it, pointing it into the wave until it goes over. If you don't have time ditch your board and dive under the wave. Do not try to duck dive like I do with my short board, your board it is too big. Most of all, go as hard as you can."

I followed Rob into the water trying not to get tripped by my leg rope. Once in the water, there was a trough of chest deep water with only the remnants of wave to paddle through. Ten meters from the beach the trench ends, rising to a sand bar with knee deep water. Rob stood on the bar and I did the same. We walk a few meters, the water got slightly deeper as we did. At about thigh depth Rob said, "When there is a break in the large waves go for it." He went for it and was out of the breaking wave in tens of seconds, having to go under a couple waves.

I stood there on the sand bar with my board bouncing almost uncontrollably on my left side with thirty or so meter of still powerful white water to paddle through before the waves rose up like some water dragon only to crash down while another wave sucked up behind it. I was not afraid; hell I had not been afraid since I started to leave society. While that is not true there have been moments but most of those moments have been drug induced. I was not confident that I could do this... I would just have to. I jumped on my board and started to paddle somewhat timidly. Each broken wave pushes me back. Three step forward and two back but progress was being made. I got to the point where the broken waves were too powerful to plow through on my board. I was knocked off. The board pulled me back to the leg deep water of the bar. I stopped to get my breath and cruse a bit. Then I went again with more vigor. I got further; I got to where the wave would brake. I turn my board over for a just broken and then tried to recover quickly. I was off balance and didn't get back on my board with any grace. Then I paddled as hard as I could. A wave was building up in front of me but I will make it before it brakes. I could not so I ditch my board and swam under it with my eyes open. The wave broke, pulling me backward through the water as I watched. It was awesome seeing it brake from under the water. I got my head above the water, wishing I had a mirror to see the smile on my face. With a determined grin I retrieved my board much quicker than before and paddled with confidence. I paddle up the last wave before I would be behind the braking wave. I got to its crest just before it broke and my board smacked the water on the backside of the wave with sound like the warning tail slap of a beavers. I paddled up to Rob who had waited. The smile had not left my face.

We paddled up the beach parallel to the shore to where sandbars were making the wave brake better. On the way Rob said, "I didn't think you'd get out." In a few minutes we had paddled the 100-meter to the better brake and were now in the company of a few more surfers. I sat and caught my breath while Rob caught his first wave.

Some dolphins came by swimming up the beach. One of the other surfer started paddling out further. The others did too. The one closest knowing I was new to surfing said, "There is a bigger set coming... you should paddle out." I did then three wave much bigger that the other came in. Three surfers caught them. The same surfer, who told me to paddle out said, "Dolphin always come in to surf the big sets... I've seen em stop fishing to catch a good wave. They know when the big ones come." I was amazed by this and said so, and then he caught a wave.

I caught my breath and started seriously trying to catch one of these relatively large and quick waves. Yesterday the waves that I had so much success on were maybe 3 feet on the face, today the wave are more like 6 feet on the face and much faster. In the small wave of yesterday a person could stay on their feet when hit by the wave. Today that would be impossible. These waves easily threw me around on the way out as well as being able to pull me backward thought the water when my board was caught by one. When paddling into one of these waves it picks you up and points you down a steep slope that you have to go down. If you put too much weight forward the board nosedives and you are thrown headfirst into the shallow water in front of you with the wave braking behind. It's good that it's a sandy bottom, coral and rock hurt much more. Still it was great fun.

I paddled into a wave. I was too slow the wave passes me. I tried again, the same thing happened. Rob said, "Hugo, you have to start to paddle earlier, your board doesn't accelerate fast enough. See the wave two behind it one go for it... start to paddle when I say." A short time went by and Rob yelled, "GO!"

I paddled as hard as I could. I tried not to rock the board, which bleeds speed. As I paddled the wave caught up with me and seemed to suck me back towards it. The water in front of the wave was pulled back into the wave, pushed up as the face grows higher and steeper. I paddled harder, catching the wave as it brakes. I dropped down the face to the bottom, white water engulfs me. Once I felt comfortable stood and rode out the white water. I was elated. I fell as the wave petered out and start to paddle back out.

The next wave I caught late. I tried to stand as I went down the face plant but I was too far forward. I fell headfirst and the wave broke on top of me. The wave rolled me around like a load of laundry. I paddled back out happy to have fallen, hoping not to.

I fell a lot more that morning. Each time I fell, I gain more confidence and experience. After about two half hours, I was too tired to continue. I paddled in smiling, when I was not panting from exhaustion. I did not do a bottom turn today and had only stood four times. Today was been my best day surfing.

### Part 4: I brake for hallucinations

Chapter 18

I celebrated by getting a beer form the car. In searching for the beer I found the book and thought hell, I love acid. I took two hits (1980 – 1979) and resumed looking for the beer that had to be there. The beer was in the last place I look, as always. I cracked it, had a big swig before I had a quick shower and changed. With a new beer freshly opened and a couple of its friend I went back to the beach and waited for Rob basking in the perfection of today. Hell I was on a beach having a beer could it be better.

The acid crept into my brain. I doted on the waves a bit more and snicker for no reason more regularly. My beer did not taste as good any more. I still drank it though. Beer has never tasted good, a truth that can only be told when you cannot get drunk from beer. Being on acid I could not get drunk unless I really tried. I was not going to try – 'I am a social drunk,' says the person desperately trying to evade society... does this make me an alcoholic.

The sun came out and Rob was still surfing. He cut up the wave, turning from bottom to top and back to the bottom or riding the wave until it closes out. I think that it has been about an hour since I got out of the water. Time was not clear to me at that moment or was it this one. I did not know or care about time. I cheered the Sun for coming out or maybe I should thank the clouds for moving on. I thanked the clouds.

In my distraction, I did not notice Rob walking up the beach towards me. "Hey Hugo, what a day!"

I was stunned then replied, "Yeah man, here have a beer." I cracked it and hand it to him. "Man I am so tired... I am amazed that I am alive. I stood a few times but could not turn."

"You got a couple good ones. Now you have at least 30 second of surfing experience." Rob remarked, offering his bottle to toast the day.

I clinked my bottle with his. "I thought that I was out there for a couple hours?"

"You stood about three times, right."

"Maybe four."

"So you stood four times. Each time you may have stood for about 5 second. So including today and the other days you have stood possibly 30 second. Mate, do you think that you can turn after just 30 seconds? In time you'll turn."

"Even Gretzky practiced. You had some powerful turns, eh."

"Gretzky?"

"The best hockey player ever." I answered then continue to rant about the hockey exploits of the Great One for quite awhile. Rob acted as I would when he talks about soccer or football as they call it. I finished with, "There is a bumper sticker in his honor, 'Jesus saves. Gretzky puts in the rebound.'"

We walked to the car then Rob went to have a shower. I sat on the hood of the car trying to look cool, but looking like a fool. An old man with a fishing rod walked by I said to him, "Any good fishing around here?"

He stopped a moment. "Can be very good. Can be not so good. The tailor start to run soon, mulloway are around at night and bream are always around."

"Maybe I'll give it a go sometime. Have fun," I said. He nodded in response, and then walked down to the beach.

Rob walked back from the shower grinning. "Eh, Hugo that guy who just past is a legend in Australian surfing... God I can't remember his name but he and some other guys made the first Aussi surf film - you know a movie like Endless Summer. He made another movie of breaking waves from under water. It was big in the sixties. I think it is called Crystal Voyager. Hippies back then though it was a trip. After seeing Crystal Voyager, Pink Floyd wrote Echo's as the sound track for it."

My eye widened and I interrupted Rob, "No way. You mean Echo's from the Floyd album Meddle."

"The same."

"Crazy."

Rob continued, "I wish I could remember his name. Now he is a recluse. He never wares shoes and takes video of dolphins surfing while he rides the wave. The crazy thing is that he does his videotaping from an air mattress. He says that the dolphins don't trust the hard surf broads so they don't get close but they do get close to the air mattress. He can ride an air mattress better than most surf can ride a board." Rob paused for a long moment and with awe in his voice said, "There's a guy who's got it right. He is successful but doesn't care about that. He just likes to live... and never wares shoes. If I never ware shoe my life would be lived to the fullest - unless I have my legs amputated."

"That is deep man." I said, mocking him. "But your life style has a fatal flaw, no bar tender would let you into a bar in this litigious world. You couldn't even fight this discrimination in court. With no shoes you wouldn't be let into the court house or Seven Eleven." I started to convulse with laughter. I wheezed out, "Damn those who won't let us go shoeless!" Then I fell off the hood of the car still laughing.

"Let's go get a pie... I'm sure we'll be able to get one with out having to put on shoes." He laughed extending his hand to help me to my feet.

"Hey, I think you should drive. I think, I'm high. I took some LSD you know. Anyhow I don't think I could talk through a bare foot drivers road block." Then, I lost my ability to talk due to laughter.

"No problem mate. If we get stopped I tell em you've lost the plot."

Hick ups and tears were my only response as I still pondered the liberating qualities of bare feet.

A sweet little thing crossing the road at a crosswalk took me from tripping on my feet. She has got blond dreadlocks, a round face, an easy smile that could be mistaken for Meg Ryan's, big eyes and soft body with good curves even if her tits were not that large. She had the look of Venus if Venus was a modern looking hippie with dreadlocks. She had no bra and her large nipples were saying hi, wanting to come out to play. Her top would let the left one out if it was not for a hand pulling the spaghetti string strap on her top back on to her shoulder. Her top was white and her bottom was fine even wrapped in some sort of sarong or skirt. Puff of under arm hair give a hint of her hairy pussy however, her legs look shaved at least from just above her knee to her bare feet. The ambivalent feelings of giddiness and serenity the acid gave me intensified my lust for her. If I could stop her I would have but my mouth was not working and the car kept rolling down the road. The moment was lost as we parked close to a bakery. My mind was marking the memory with a song. I sang Scarlet Begonias to myself as we walked to the bakery. Maybe my lust for this hippie girl would be fulfilled in a dream... I hope my dream has the hippie, Sofia and me.

"Hey Rob did you see that hippie girl at the cross walk?" I said. I did not wait for an answer. "Man, I can't get her out of my head."

"I saw her and her hairy pits. Mate, that makes me cringe."

"Didn't notice that." I lied. "But hey if a hippie girl looks good as a hippie all you got to do is shave her, dress her up and you got a goddess." Humans are funny, I thought, as the baker filled our orders. Some like girls with hairy pit, pussy or even legs. Hell, some people even have stranger ideas about what is sexy. Then there is the strange median that a culture makes the model of beauty. A model made up from popular opinion like the top forty music scene. The median of what is sexy is seen in the magazines, some features are extenuated by the type of magazines – a much greater portion of Play Boy Bunnies have enormous tits. What of all those who deviate from the norm but are too shy or reserved to say they are different. In the lines before I said how this girl's hairy pits excites me with the hit of an unkempt bush then I blew it off when questioned. I have sacrificed a piece of my character to the popular culture of society. The sacrifice is small. That is why I do not care that I made it. Still I have loss apiece of me, a piece that now maybe replaced with a more popular opinion. This is subtle streaming of thought by consensus.

Why is the popular belief put forth as the right belief?

Pollsters have learned that there is a percentage of the population that is motivated by the action or beliefs of the group. Thus, some people have their thoughts polarized by whom or whatever is topping the polls. All I've learned from polls is that I don't like most popular music and that close to thirty percent of women are lairs. The fact is that in the Kinsey study on human sexual habits only about seventy percent of women polled said that they masturbate. Thus thirty percent of the women polled lied because though I don't hold all knowledge of everything I am sure every woman has played with herself whether or not the act became a part of their evening rituals. At least these women when ask about things the general public does not need to know had smarts to lie.

Symmetry is the only trait that is proven sexy throughout all cultures. The most likely reason for symmetry being so sexy is that it is probably a good marker for good genetics – a good copy always has the right proportions. I think the biggest reason for breast implants is to improve the symmetry of breasts. Breasts like to be different and a woman needs to have large implants to correct the difference in size between the breasts in their struggle for individuality. Of course, the size thing could be a contributing factor as well but a minor one.

Rob took his meat pie and change. I bought an orange juice. Then we sat on the sidewalk watching girls go by and trying to quantify their beauty on a scale of one to ten. In the early afternoon sun, all the girls look good. It was one of those nearly perfect moments that falls short of perfect because time is fleeting. This piece of time will go as all time does trapped only by a memory that loses its quality as time goes by detracting from the perfection of the moment. Rob said, "This is how I want to remember Byron Bay, sitting on the pavement in the sun watching girls go by. When I am old I want this memory." Pie eyed I nod in agreement with Rob then stare at the sun with closed eyes feeling its warmth seeing only orange.

Our ride on this wave of perfection ended as always too soon. Sofia walked up to us. Reality set in or what could pass for reality when you are in a foreign country on acid. However, pointless our reality it is a good one.

I reiterated that paragraph in my mind just after thinking it and it was not the same as it was when I thought it. I still ascribe to the metaphor that the wave I was riding was broken by Sofia's entrance but there are other facts that if not clearly qualified that would not make themselves easily observable in that short paragraph. These facts are in chronological order, or not:

  1. I do not know if Rob had his bliss taken away by Sofia's arrival.

  2. The moment's end because of Sofia's presence but the moment would end anyhow. It is unlikely that it would be savored any more if the duration had been longer therefore it is questionable if she had anything to do with the end of the moment.

  3. Perfection is permanent it is infinite and unable to be had in just an instant. That is unless one can get to the singularity or the prefect instant, which is imperceptible – or it is for those of us who are not hash smoking Buddhist monks spinning prayer wheels in the Himalayas... man those monk are sssooo high.

  4. Reality for me is being on acid or other drugs four out of five days in this strange land called Australia that is less strange with everyday.

  5. "However, pointless our reality is it is a good one," is my belief and is hardly a fact but at least my belief makes it as real as anyone's god.

Whether any of this information is prudent to the story or if it is included because the author was high on mushrooms and drunk when he wrote this last bit is an area of conjecture. The paragraph that follows is latest version recently modified, thus is a better one.

Our ride on this wave of perfection ended as always too soon. Sofia walked up to us. Reality set in or what could pass for reality when you're in a foreign country on acid. However, pointless our reality it is a good one.

Sofia sat down with us for a moment. Because she sat down, her shadow was not blocking the Sun any more. The moment that was lost returned. Well not the same one but one much like it and as good. Rob and I didn't feel comfortable rating the looks of women with a female friend in earshot. We laughed and smiled some more and I said how high I was – but still not as high as those monks. Sofia was reminded by my remark that we had planned to go to Nimbin, but a vortex of content had trapped us. It was too strong for a plan made in passing to move us from our contentment, so we kept sitting. A stronger force was at work, however, the Sun or rather the Earth spinning in orbit around the Sun. The Earth spun as always and the shadow from the building across the street now cast a shadow on Rob. The shadow did take Rob from his bliss, which caused him to get up. His movement was contagious; I got up unable to sit still any more. Sofia then said it is about time to go to Nimbin we all agreed.

We got into car. Rob drove, I got shotgun – being tall has it advantage – and Sofia sat in the back. Rob pulled a U-turn at the roundabout. I asked Sofia to hand me my copy of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. We drove down Bangalow Road. I waited for a flat section of road so that I could safely cut up another two hits. No flat sections were forth coming.

Up ahead at the roundabout where we would turn right there was a girl walking backward up the road towards Nimbin pointing at the road. She had a large backpack and did not look as if she was warning us of roadwork or some other hazard. I asked Rob what he thought she was doing.

"She is hitching." He answered, "Should we give her a ride?"

Sofia and I said we should. Then I asked, "Is that how you hitching here? Back home we use a thumb or a sign."

"Sure is," replied Rob.

"Strange." I said thinking what hitch hiking diva Sissy Hankshaw would have become if she had been born in this land, land that does not believe in the international sign of the hitch. Her gargantuan thumb may never have found their calling here in Australia and the roads of the world would be less grand with out the ultimate passenger. Of course, that is fiction. A beautiful girl standing at the side of any highway in this world would attract enough attention to get a ride anywhere even if she had no thumb to signal with. Alas this fiction is one I do believe in. I believe in Sissy's reality and have put stock in her beautiful truth even before the lovely truth of LSD invaded my mind. Too bad, the rest of the world does not want to believe in a reality as beautiful as hers.

Rob pulled the car on to the shoulder. The girl walked up and said, "Hey, I'm trying to get to Nimbin. Are you goin' that way?" rural Canada could be heard in her voice. I could not see her because she was looking in the back door Sofia opened. I was busy cutting up then taking two hits (1978 and 1977).

Rob said, "We're going to Nimbin." He hit me in the leg to get my attention. I assume that he want me to stop taking acid in front of the hitchhiker. Having taken the hits, I put the book under my seat.

"That point is a strange way of hitching, back home we use the thumb." I said to break the ice, "Say, what do you think Sissy Hankshaw would do in this non thumbing society?"

"I'm sure she would have no trouble hitching here. Her thumbs would probably cause a shift in the accepted norm for hitching in Oz. My name is Fay."

Sofia said, "I'm Sofia, Rob is driving and Hugo is high."

I turned and said, "I certainly am and I bet that is Fay with no e."

"Yeah, that's me, Fay with no e," she said with a smile.

This was when I notice that she was the girl crossing the crosswalk - cue memory and hum Scarlet Begonias. Instantly I felt something for this girl, possibly more then lust, though it could be the LSD. I then fell into the pit of trying to be cool which is to say I became a fool. I also cursed myself for be tall with all it benefits.

Once driving it was almost impossible to talk over the stereo, car noise and wind from the open windows. For the first few minutes, I was angry that I did not buy a car with air-conditioning. Then I thought that I will be the strong, silent sage that is ever retreating to keep the chase alive and never to make a friend out of a possible lover. Then I remembered I was with Sofia and scolded myself for thinking what I thought especially with her in the car. I cursed this problem of being with one girl and wanting another, a problem I have never had before. It occurs to me that I was like everything, always wanting more than I have. I started to laugh aloud about the stupid thoughts I was having as the acid stole further me away. The rest of the way to Nimbin was a blur of green and rolling landscape twisted and highlighted by the LSD with no more thoughts only a moving galley of postcard pictures.

We got to Nimbin, the one cop town with a predilection for puffers of pot. It became a haven for hippies and the counter culture when one of the residents was charged for possession and thrown in jail by the local cop. Sometime later the pot smoking population of the town showed up in front of the cop shop and lit up. The cop could do nothing; he did not have enough room to put every smoker in jail. Nor could he the lone cop stop all of the smokers. And as saying goes if you cannot beat them - one cop has a hard time beating a large crowd - join them or turn a blind eye to those hippies that laugh too much and do not cause any real problems.

Since then, Nimbin has turned into a pot smoker's Mecca. Many a tourist makes the pilgrimage to Nimbin to see the Age of Aquarius if it stayed more then a year. And yes it has stayed there, a picture of Nimbin's main street is like a rural Haight-Ashbure (I know I have never been to San Francisco). The main drag consists of: people selling drugs, a legal office to help those martyrs who have been caught peddling God's wears, a museum on the history of marijuana, hip coffee shops, Chrisnas, members of communes selling weed, psychics and mystic selling the future and enlightenment, nick-knack stores, tourist and slackers laying around smoking pot. Every morning the tide of tourists comes into breath in the culture and to buy dope for the rest of their travel. Close to a thousand tourists get ferried up here in small tour busses to see Nimbin and the rain forest with its waterfalls. All the tourists get high, except for the Americans – damn the righteous American. Here in Nimbin everything is bought or sold in some way even karma which Home Simpson tells us 'can neither be bought nor sold but can only be divvied out by the cosmos.'

This place is like a Kevin Cosner sci-fi, almost great but in missing greatness it becomes worse than if it had been a complete failure. A song by Cream came to mind as I walked along Nimbin main drag with Sofia and Rob. The song is Swlabr the line is "you got that rainbow feel.... but the rainbow has a beard" it sums this place up. To me this place is full of hustlers and snake oil sales people. The dealers will size you up then bill you according to their assessment. People will sell you the future they see and enlightenment that is not theirs to sell. To the trained eye it is easy to see the reason for their hustle is need for their enlightenment, heroin. They get you high and tell you to buy into their religion or beliefs. I do not like this place, a place of sacrifices ideals and bought and sold virtues. I could not stand the perpetual hustle that goes on here in the name of the hippie. At least the hustlers in Byron Bay are easily seen. I believe that the hippie is a person who loves to party, take drug, love one and other and tries to be a good person but that is all. It is not the hippie's place to pimp beliefs and religion or hustle people for money. Of course if it were not for all the selling Nimbin would be another economically depressed dairy town and not the place that is, a place on the verge of goodness. I guess this is as good a place as you get because the ideal love generation was just another unattainable ideal and it is hard to accept anything less than ideal.

Then again, I am a hypocrite. There is a place back home were all the hippie go, Wreck Beach a place that has fallen off the edge of the Earth. It is a nude beach in Vancouver where every day they celebrate the Sun rising and setting. People sell beer on the beach there is an area to buy drugs and one where food is sold. All of this is illegally. But societies rules are not Wreck Beach's. Another set of rules that govern the beach. Regular beach goers of the Wreck Beach enforce the rules. The rules are simple three bucks a beer, bags of grass have to be about the right size and a fair price, the same goes for mushrooms, no hard drug are to be sold, there is one spot to sell drugs, no cameras, no prostitution and no sex on the beach. Break the rules and risks banishment from the beach, though punishment is rare. Not everyone follows the rules and it is not always the safest place at night but it is a good place. It is a place you can camp in the summer, have a fire, build a little rock wall to keep people off your spot or just sit in the Sun. Maybe because I know this place and some of those in the scene I can see it as a good place. It is much better then if people did not try to keep the dream but it is far from ideal. Still I do not like Nimbin there are to many hustlers even if they sell to maintain a dream that is good.

Chapter 19

Maybe my soul was only telling me that I do not like Nimbin because there was some place better for me to be. I knew where that place was. I needed to find some way of ducking out on Sofia and Rob so I could go talk to Fay, who I saw go into the bar across the street.

"Hey guys." I said to Rob and Sofia. "I'm too high to see any psychic. Anyhow, I don't want to know the future. I'm going to have a beer."

"Come on you only get one chance." Rob said, "It's just some fun, come on."

"I don't want to know my future." I restate.

"If you don't believe in it what does it matter," Sofia said.

"You guy go have your fun but I will not have my future told. I don't mess with things I don't understand. I am going to have a beer, get me when you are done." I said with a stern look.

"Ok, have it your way," Rob joked, "but when we are having good times dodging all the trouble that has been for told, you'll be sorry."

I crossed the street to a bar and walk in with the ever present acid past its second peek but still stronger than my mind. That giddy feeling common to LSD came to me but my soul knew that the slight nervousness attached to the giddy feeling is no match for it, nor are any of other traps LSD sometimes lays. My soul knew what it needed, beer and to talk with the girl that I lust for. It needed to see if there was more. The mind was occupied enough to leave working of the controls to the soul.

In this sickly bold state I swaggered up to the bar and sat right next to Fay. I got the bartenders attention before I got hers. I order a schooner of VB and said, "How's it going?" to Fay.

"Not bad... it's Hugo, right." She answered.

"Yeah and I am still high."

"That is what Sofia said. She said you make it a habit of being high... that you are always on acid or something?" Fay questioned.

"Why do you have a problem with that? Cause if you do I'll leave... hell I don't need another person to lie to me about the evils of LSD."

"That is what she said. Hey, I like acid too. Where are Sofia and the other guy? You guys are traveling together, Eh?"

"We are but they believe in seeing the future and I don't."

"What do you mean... did they go to see a psychic?"

"Sure did but I won't." I said with determination.

"Why not, are you afraid? You sound like you don't believe in them. If you don't believe why not go for the fun of it?"

"Because of Bilbo Baggens."

"What... the hobbit?"

"Yes, you see he was a happy hobbit you know, living in a nice hole eating, drinking and smoking – the things I like to do. Then Gandalf the Grey tells him that he is going to be a burglar and a good one. Bilbo couldn't even have thirteen guests over with out losing his cool but somehow in time this presupposition that he was to be a burglar took hold in his mind, changing him into an adventurer. If Bilbo said, 'Fuck you and your smelly, grumpy, ugly, no fun dwarves, you stupid cunt of a wizard.' Sorry for using the C word, I have been around to may Brits... Where was I? Middle Earth may have been a happier place. The dwarves would not have gotten Smog's Gold stopping the horrible Battle of the Five Armies. Golem would have kept eating goblins, not loosing the Ring. Sorron would not have found the Ring in the Shire thus saving it from a sacking. Lady Galladral and the elves would not have gone west into eternity... but hey Bilbo was push into being a burglar and Middle Earth was plunged into a terrible war. No I don't like fortune teller or psychics." I raved. "Hell good wins anyhow... right?"

"You are afraid of self-fulfilling prophecy." She said with a funny look.

"Yes and no, I am not afraid if the prophecy I fulfill is of my creation or consent. But the kind sold by these merchants of the future is a succulent fruit which they see I in my soul... you see that is the point this thing they see is me. I don't need other to say who I am especially people that I believe to be frauds. And I really don't need to have a good tea leaf reading to get stuck in my head slowly causing me to shape my life around it. Thus causing me to be something I don't want to be, not unlike." I added, "Maybe I worry that their dream will be better them mine."

"I see what you are saying." and I could see she did. "So if you don't believe in psychics what do you believe in? Science? God?"

"No, science is a method and may show the truth but belief in science would be like saying I believe in my eyes or a tool because that is what it is. Science is neither good nor bad it is just a tool. God is full of shit and if we are the chosen ones, it causes everything else not to be chosen which can't be true. The idea of God is given to us and to everything else by our knowledge of ourselves and is there to make everything sure that it is, what ever it is, reassure it that it is right. I don't believe in God. I try to believe in other people and good things as well as being good but when all else fails I am an islandist."

"So you are not sure you are right?" She added.

"Yes, I don't know if I am right and I am sure everyone is just as wrong as me but they won't admit it."

"An islandist," she said confused at this made up word, "what is that?"

I smiled as I bullshit, "It is a person who lives on an island and tries his best to be an island and not a part of all the shit society has given us. Kind of like a nihilist but more insane and less depressing." I though, 'Islandist that is a good one I should remember that', then continued, "I know that existence is pointless and that there is no grand purpose but that is not a reason to stop going fishing, surfing, and generally having a good time. Hell, if I were a real nihilist I would have killed myself by now. Although there is no grand purpose everything is convinced that there is, the reason for this is the desire to progress. This desire may look like a universal purpose, direction or little g god at times but it is not, it looks that way because it is similar in things that are like each other."

"Hey, I don't think things or people should be considered to be the same." Fay continued, "Everything is different in time and space, things can be similar but never the same. To many times things that are close but different are regarded as the same but they are not. This difference makes things real. Even protons are not the same as another because they can't occupy the same place at the same time. There is only one thing that makes up the universe but the one thing the universe is made up of starts at different times and places and as such is always different." Fay winked at the end.

"I think it is the other way around everything is different but the desire to change is constant." I said.

The paragraph after the next one was written later that night so that I could hold on to the thought that I had at this time in the conversation with Fay. It is some of the only writing in this book when I was actually on LSD, and man was I ever high – you will see just how fucked later. It was corrected and edited for some semblance of coherence, however, it is still hard to follow, about as hard to follow as water bug in rapids. The paragraph third down may help to clarify the previous but it is not likely, so it may just be best to skip this paragraph. Or you could just stair at the insanity happy it is not yours.

There is another way to see perspectives close to the one that I am trying to describe in the next paragraph. It can be seen in the song Terrapin Station by the Grateful Dead, that is if you listen to it while you are high on shrooms or a little bit of acid.

Here is where I have to become a scientist again. Everything could be the same but the times the things start could be different thus there still is the chaos which has to be there to keep reality intact –the known can't be know with out the unknown. The chaos is there. What if chaos like zero when divided or multiplied? It gives an answer of zero or Error or no difference happens. Error is like zero and chaos we cannot define them. And when 0 is added or subtracted there is no change, save in the mind. An abstract concept, something that is there but is not there, things that are there but have no known value, intangible but known. If something does not have a value, it can be there but it does not exist though it is there because we remember or believe it to be there. Things in the past are real but can be coloured by emotion because they are in the memory, not reality any more. Sometimes in the human equation, there is an intangible like an emotion, which acts as if it were a zero in a mathematical equation. Zero sometimes has no real effect, like when it is add or subtract with something else but when multiplied, divided, or when used in another type of function it is the trump card. Zero or the intangible like infinity will cause the equation to change drastically, polarizing the outcome by causing some piece of the equation to be zero, error, or one. Our lives are equations, much of the time with easy calculation where facts are put together and answer is found by the outcome. I want to by a car I have this money. I want this type of car and have always wanted a blue car. The two final choices are a red car that is better then the blue car, so I buy the red car because the desire for a blue car is zero when added or subtracted in our mind only having an effect if there is no difference. Now there are other times where the desire is a zero in the equation where zero is multiply, divided or is in another function aside from addition or subtraction, this is often the case in love and war. A person mugged the person I love, I am a good person but I know who mugged my love. I know that revenge is wrong, I should get the mugger thrown in jail but no the affect of the intangible love causes me to boot fuck the mugger then turn him in. These great intangibles are what my mind hates – and the only word that my mind can think of to say what it thinks of the intangible is intangible. I know everything just not all the time... is my motto but it is the same as this... Everything I know is in my mind and is only a projection of what is real, however, all that is real is described by the mind and this is the way I know it to be real. With each of the sayings there is as much the same as different which can be equated as saying they are equally similar as different and could be seen as all the same if looked at in the right way. This is the way I thought which has as much control over everything as God with a big g or a little g does. From this point on I knew that I was fucked... I knew that I was in love and could not control anything. Loves intangible will affect the reason that my mind loves. My mind loves reason because of the sense of security it gives the mind. Science cannot help in matters of love and my mind loves science. So from now on, everything is a lie but if you can find or get the right perspective the lie will imply the truth but you will never see the truth. At this moment, I fell in love with Fay. At this moment, I did not want to lose Fay ever. I embarked on a trip know I'm destine to fail believing I will not. However, if I could be a scientist maybe I could find a way of extending the duration of this love while minimize the damage when it is lost.

My mind was a jumble of thoughts with out any structure. It wanted to say, 'Listen Fay I can see there is something between us, something that could be good let's see if it is?' Well that was what the soul wanted to say. The mind knew better it saw the facts which were that I have something with Sofia. Sofia is a good person in time I may come to love her. Now I could not say that I love Sofia as I could for Jodie or further back in time Jen but I could say that to Fay at this time. I do not know why but the soul can see this truth and it is all I know of Fay. I wondered if she sees this or feel the same. Of course there was no way I was going to ask Fay. I have not the guile for that.

Somehow, I must find away to see her again even if I can feel the worry that sparked my flight from society creeping back in, the worry that I will not be good enough. The worry, which was already trying to change the direction my soul wants to go. It was causing the soul to take a conservative path so it does not get hurt. The worry was even too great for the confidence and courage the LSD has help to unlock. This worry was because the loss of this love is enviable whether it is today or in the far future. Why start if you are going to lose especially when it is like losing game seven in the Stanley Cup finales? Too bad, no one asked me that question before my being was pulled into this universe. A spark from the LSD conjured up a saying from an old friend Tyler, 'why the hell not.' In addition, the soul and mind were making an effort to kindle this love or at least not to help the enviable. I will try to let go of the worry as I would the point of fixation that brings on a bad trip.

"What else do you believe in?" I asked.

"I believe that good wins in the end. That there is much more to reality then science leads us to believe. I know there is something that connects the universe together, a little g god, as you would say. I believe in good times and having fun. Most of all I believe in myself." She added, "I also believe that fighting in hockey and magic mushrooms are good and in magic."

"So, you're Canadian. I am from Vancouver but lived up north for a while." I said, "Cheers to hockey fights and shrooms. You sound like you are from rural BC, Eh?"

"Yup, I grow up on an orchard outside of Kelowna, then went to Victoria for University to study environmental studies but I didn't graduate. I wanted to travel, like all the rest of us here in Oz."

"Yeah, it seems like there are a lot of us university drop-outs traveling around trying to find something better but then finding that we have to work to travel and live. Then we go back to our lives at home to finish school and remember the crazy times when we were young enough to be idealists and able to flip the real world the bird. Not me though, my trip is a life time mission. You see, before I left for here I found that I hated society and the ant farm routine it endorses so I left to go fishing with a hell of a lot of acid, and the money I won." I stopped and had a drink, "Trouble is I think it maybe impossible to get away from society. Even this counter culture haven is still a society if not a conventional one. Still I will try." I finished my beer and signal the bartender to get me another.

"I know what you mean..." Fay said with disillusion in her heart, "I found that went I went to university all the people in my discipline were of a certain type. They were environmentalists of the Green Peace and Sea Shepherd mold with few exceptions. Almost all of these radicals were city people, you know people from Vancouver or Victoria. People who have never lived in the country they so desperately want to save. I live in the country and could see they knew nothing of the people they would affect with their brand of environmentalism. It also got to me that they support almost anything that was said by any radical group, however, crazy. Now trusting the government is one thing but to mistrust everything but your propaganda is to miss a hell of a lot. These people even call it propaganda can you believe that!" I nodded agreeing, Fay continued, "These people are like Born Again Christians, funny thing is their extremism paints a picture that excludes hope with out drastic change. Now your average half ass, half empty in the mind and with an education that has slipped back to the sitcom and cable TV grade level wants to have that hope that churches uses so well. And you can't be that hopeful when the story you get is that we are fucked in twenty years if you don't give up the I-Roc you love. So. average Sally and John don't do anything to help, not even the little things. Things that could actually help." I felt the urge to clap after this I have a problem with environmentalist too.

"They [environmentalists] are right in away, things do need to change," Fay started again, "much of what these groups say are things that need to change but at the same time the biggest change is that we need more knowledge. Unbiased study is greatly needed if we are to be able to change. That is why for a while I wanted to be an ethnobiologist but then I found I wanted to be one because of the drugs. I never could get the hang of hard science. So I went traveling to see what is out there and I found a culture of people that are mostly good, open to difference and willing to change. And I new where I should be which is why I am here." She stopped and finished her beer.

"So where should you be?"

"Oh... I guess I got carried away. I am going to be an owner operator of some sort of ecco-tourism kind of thing or maybe a hostel. I figure its the best way to get the people of world to see that we really aren't that different - that the differences are good and to show them where you live and who and why you are you. I was going to try to give everyone mushrooms but even if you give them away it is still trafficking."

"Only to the government and only if they are dry." I said with doe eyes, "at least in Canada. So you're checking out the travelers scene here in Nimbin to get ideas, Eh?"

"Not so much here in Nimbin but all along the East Coast. I'm trying to get some idea about how to start some kind of business in the realm of budget tourism and this Mecca for the backpacker, at least for those not wanting to go to Europe or the third world. That is the grand plan at least. Mostly I'm having a good time before I go back to university in Canada where I will get a degree in resource based tourism or something like that and secure a loan from the government to start a business. That is the dream, until it changes or I find another way to postpone reality. Actually, I am in Nimbin to pick mushrooms... they don't come up until the first real rain in the fall and I don't know when that is, I hope it has not already happened."

"Hey, I have an idea, you like acid right?"

"Yeah."

I leant closer to Fay for her to hear and whisper, "I have a ton of acid but no mushrooms and am a lover of them. Maybe we could arrange a trade?"

"Sure." She said with out worrying about other ears, "Once I have picked them I will E-mail you and we can hook up. What is your E-mail address?"

"Ahhh, I don't know."

'Shit, time to keep the roll going.' My mind said to itself after becoming greatly enamored by Fay's thoughts – the soul could have told the mind that it would feel the way the soul does. 'I will get hers then make a new E-mail account so that I don't have the psychic torture of seeing Jodie's E-mails.'

"That is I can't remember it, I hardly use it, I like the phone more. Sure it is expensive but the time it take me to read and write an E-mail costs about the same as a phone call - I got a degree in one finger typing. Give me yours and I will send you mine," I lied.

"No problem." And she wrote her E-mail address on a Tab gaming card then gave it to me.

'Man could I have been any cooler in that situation... I don't think so.' My mind said as the body reaches the beer. The soul bursts some endorphins in the brain after this extension of time made possible by the mind. The mind worries weather or not it still could hold on to the position that it is smart but the endorphin dulls the worry. However, it seemed the old worry was back.

"Cool," I said, "I send you my address as soon as I can."

And as if time had been waiting for me to get Fay's E-mail address before it would pull me away from here, it pulled me away. Rob and Sofia walk into the bar wanting to leave before it got dark. We said our good byes and walk to the car. Once in the car I dropped another six hits (1976 to 1970) for the drive back to the beach. Rob drove us back to the campsite as the Sunset. It was not long after that that I died.

Chapter 20

" _I believe, ahh, with the advent of acid we discovered a new way to think. And it had to do with piecing together new thought in your mind. Why is it that people think it is so evil? What is it about it that is... scares people so deeply? Even that what is... because their are afraid that there is more to reality then they have confronted. That there are door they are afraid to go in. And they don't want us to go in there either because that takes us a little out of their control." LSD song, Paul Oakenfold_ I think.

Yes I died what a bad ending to a book. The main character dies just when he finds love and before he can finish telling the truth – his truth – to the world or at least those suckers who bought the book. Could the reason for this abrupt ending be that a mental institution finally caught up with him, elector shocking him into submission? Possibly the grant from the Canadian Government only asked for a book of 66 pages and the author was to high to see that he had written 67 pages. A good reader may ask why the author would allude to a future that is not yet here with a paragraph he said will not be written until later that night. How could he see that morning if he dies? Or could this be a book written from the after life? Is this the point where the cynic atheist meets God before he is cast into the Hell he does not believe in but is real? I do not know some may call the place I went Hell, others – a very few – may call it Heaven, to acidheads it is to die.

To die on acid is accomplished by taking too much acid and the right mindset helps too. The Heroic Dose of mushroom, five or more grams, Terence Mechena speaks of can bring on acid like death though it is not totally the same. This death is not the same as a bad trip. Most people die the first time they take acid or they think they do. I do not think this is true. No person is the same after the first trip. This change, however, is better seen as an opening of a door like the first time a child experiences something. This newly opened door can be described general to others who have not experienced acid but to die is much more. I have heard it said that one sees God during the acid death. I have never seen God but I have felt that I could see everything in its entirety, which could be what others construe as God. So far in this book, I have die one other time that death happened at the beginning of the book when I lost my personality. I was close to death when tripping at Seal Rocks but did not go over the edge. I died on mushroom and found out that the knowledge of existence is consciousness. Not every death is so philosophical in nature but all of my deaths have had the common thread of unreality to tie them together.

The unreality is not an easy thing to understand; it is, as it sounds, not reality. This may seem to be a simple concept to one without the experience, maybe comparable to a movie, a book, or a thought, but it is a wrong comparison; it does not properly show how alien the unreality feels. A closer parallel would be a dream where you wake to find the dream is not real, except the other way round; you fall asleep to find that your time awake is the dream. The way that I think of it is like this, a lion is walking in the veldt. Around the next tree, a biologist has put a fake lion of the opposite sex to see how the real lion will react. The real lion sees it and want to have sex with the fake lion; the fake is a prime specimen. The real lion can not understand why this other lion is not reacting favorably or not. The real lion does not understand that a person can make a fake lion, so it can not see that this is a fake lion. And until the real lion can grasp this concept, it will always be fooled. The unreality is like that, we cannot fathom it but it is there, at least until the LSD wears off and it seeps into the back ground or the doors of perception close.

The unreality causes many LSD users to stop indulging. Unreality creeps into the mind more and more after each death causing the doubt of what is real or if anything ever was real. In time the acidhead may feel that another death will steal one's soul into the unreality or as others say into insanity thus stopping the acidhead from crossing the line from trip to death. Me, I do not worry about such things, I like to search and each time I die is one more chance to see what the unreality could be and shed light on reality.

Maybe, a break through is coming like the dog that finds out its reflection is a reflection or a statue of a dog is not a real dog or if you do not hear the ball land that bastard human is tricking you. I do not know if there is any great revelation to be found from these extreme trips, just as the dog cannot see the great leap of thought needed to see a fake dog as a fake. However, for that dog there is a massive change in its cognitive capability when it can see a fake for a fake or a judge whether a throw is real or not. This jump to a new level with the same brain could lead to other revelations. Maybe these trips could unlock some wider view of the world unseen until experienced like the one that troubles the loin. This quote of Vincent Van Goch says it best though he is talking of really dying, "Just as we take a train to go to the city, we die to go to the stars." I die to go to a place a train or car cannot take me, most of the time it is a good trip.

Of course there is the real possibility I could "brain my damage" as Homer Simpson would say, though I do not think so. For the most part the day after I die is a good one. One where my mind feels like jelly due to the labour it has endured. However, the mind's fuel tank refilled with knowledge that we do not know anything, that the world is not so serious and that absurdity is the norm and absurdity rhymes with comedy, so laugh at it. The more I die the more I see who I was and where I may go.

Since I have already digressed from the story by trying to explain the death that is coming, I should clear up some others part of the LSD experience - or at least my beliefs on the subjects.

The flashback, a phenomenon that is the butt up many joke and completely miss understood – that is if you believe my story. A flashback is not some latent residue of LSD that comes out at the worst time to plunge the ex-tripper into psychedelic stupor while talking with the boss. None of the flashbacks I have had has ever been intense enough to cause me to lose grasp of any situation. The reason for my not losing control is that I know what a flashback is. A flashback is a feeling that ever person has but those who have used LSD relate that to the feeling of being high. So instead of the mind saying 'I feel strange and giddy and the world seems kind of off center' the mind find the feeling like the memory of what acid felt like and says 'hey man someone spiked the punch I'm tripping'. One has to remember that the mind is behind many of the tricks the LSD seems to cause and if this is seen then the trap is a paper bag and not a prison. This is easier said then done.

Brain damage is the outcome of prolonged habitual use of LSD is the kind of statement that pisses me off. A statement like this is the lore of the God fearing white suburbanite, a group of society that believes an egg frying on a pan is a good way to stop kids taking drugs. If you do not want your kids to take drugs, take them to skid row, buy a meal or better yet a fix for a junky and ask the junky about their addiction. After talking with a junky, the kid will never do drugs. Do not feed them with propaganda, especially the frying egg that is your brain kind that only works if they are stupid. The only one of these commercials that has any likeness to what some drugs do is the one with the wire brain having it wires cut. Yes, this could be somewhat analogues to what happen to the brain on LSD. However, the point that must be made is that the connections in the brain are dynamic, changing to stimulus and stress and that there is no physical damage done to the brain by acid – unlike sniffing glue. The brain reacts to the LSD by trying to bypass the psychic storm caused by acid with new and different connections. In my opinion, this is the reason for the sluggish mind after a trip. The brain has to readjust to the way it was before the trip. This is also my reason for the tolerance that is built up so quickly for long duration psychedelics – acid, mescaline and mushrooms –, drugs that affect the mind in cognitive ways unlike cocaine, or heroin. The psychedelic drugs change the way the brain thinks while high but due to the length of the high the mind adapts to the drugs influence. This is why the drug comes to a peek then drops although the drug still is in the system. If the next day the drug is taken again in the same dose the effect is a shadow of the previous trip because the mind has changed to the stimulus. However, this adaptation or tolerance to the drugs influence on the mind is short lived, lasting at most three days. The tolerance is a product of our ever-changing mind. A mind that can alter it processes to filter out the effects of the drugs we like to take. In only a few hours the mind adjust causing us freaks to double up if we cannot wait a few day for that next trip. LSD does not damage the brain for the reason that the brain is a dynamic and can change to the stress. LSD can cause insanity or the manifestation of latent psychological problems, so can high school. The insanity LSD can cause is a reversible one if not a latent psychological problem resurfacing. Thankfully, those that have this insanity take acid once and only once. The point is that LSD does not cause brain damage, drinking, huffing, and hitting one self in the head do.

Once back at camp Bruce and John greeted us with a fat cone. They met their friend in Mulimbimby. And did they ever pick up they had at least a half pound of which they gave me an ounce for my hundred fifty dollars. I began to suspect that maybe this small mountain of weed was not just for their consumption.

"We got some cookie." Sofia said to Bruce and John, "Here have some." And she offers one to them while she ate one. Both Bruce and John have a couple and Rob takes one but I decline. I was high and did not wish to have the heavy body stone that will weigh my mind down. I did take a little more acid (1969 and 1968), though.

I drank a juice and tried to fit in as the others ate some food and waited for the on set of the hash cookies. I was having a hard time looking any of them directly. Their faces seemed to swim with the high points of their features not wanting to stay at one depth or place. It is disconcerting to see a friend's face squirm but hey this is LSD's game. I was relieved when the others felt the effects of the cookies. The tinge of panic brought on by the swimming faces of my friend and their serious demeanor – compared to mine – was quashed by torrent of laughter brought on by the cookies that lasted for an eternity if an eternity is about an hour. After an hour, the acid I took and hash cookies the others ate took different paths. I was all for going to the bar trying to get drunk then dancing until morning; everyone else found it a chore to get a beer from the eskee (cool for North Americans). It was high time that I walked on my jelly legs to a place with people not falling asleep in their chairs. I asked if anyone wanted to come with me. Amazingly, no one wanted to. So I swaggered off to the bar with a stop at the bank machine. "I walk with a swagger, I never stager." Tom Green.

The bar was not far enough away so I had to walk down the beach and through town before I got there. I forgot to get money so I had to double back and stop at the bank. By this time I had developed a hearty thirst and when directly to the Railroad Pub.

The pub was busy. The feeling of all the happy pub goers was palpable. This feeling cause my permanent grin to grow even larger as I walk to the back of the pub where there is a bar. The Railway side of the pub was not as busy. I found a seat at the bar and grooved to a good cover band belting out Lead Zeppelin's Misty Mountain Hop. Ordering a beer was hard. I was too high to talk with people at sea level and my voice was just a whisper from a high preach. The bar tender was use to dealing with foreigners and though she could not hear the faint peep, she could tell I wanted a VB. With a beer in my hand the world got even better and I could hardly keep from giggling when I was not looking lecherously at the female customers. However, each time I would set my eyes on some girl my mind would fire the memory of Fay into my head. The memory was hazy as if bright fog enshrouded it. A feeling of warmth and euphoria akin to being on XTC was a substitute the memory's lack of clarity. I drank my beer in awe of the music and the cool way the foam from the beer left concentric circles at two-centimeter intervals down to the bottom of the glass. The bar tender marveled at the speed in which I finish my beer. She got me another beer I tipped her generously.

I shook my head and look up to the heavens. I saw something that inspired me. The sight was a great revelation. It moved me so much that I had to hold on to the bar to keep from falling off the stool. If a religious person saw my face at this moment, that person may confuse my rapture for the Rapture. That confusion would end when the person saw that all I was looking at was a collection of fishing gear. But what a collection, there must be every Alvey fishing reel ever made on the four walls of this pub.

An Alvey reel is an Australian made reel, it is simple and durable made to be tossed in the sand and not be damaged. Spinning and bait casting or level wind reels are complex sensitive things that jam up when sand gets in them. The Alvey is supremely simple with about ten parts, a single action fiction drag (when line goes out the spool and its handles spin), and the reel seat rotate so that the face of the spool can face towards the end of the rod allowing it to cast. It is not the easiest of reel to use, there is no guide to keep the line on the spool if there is slack, birds nests can be common, line pick up is one to one, and the single action drag can be a good way of breaking knuckles. An inexperienced angler has a hard time landing big fish on an Alvey. The one thing makes me angry at those who make the Alvey is that it is only made right-handed and I am a southpaw - what kind of bullshit is that, people this is almost the twenty-first century. I love single action reels they are simple and take skill to use well.

The hard to use single action reel is part of what makes sport fishing a great sport because it makes fishing harder. Sport fishing is about style, how the fish is caught is as important as catching it. This is why fishing for steelhead with a single action drift-fishing rig is better then catching bass with a bait caster. The Alvey while being practical also brings style with it's hard to master action and tradition as this room can attest to. The Alvey is an icon of Australian sports fishing.

I thought this bar was a good place but now it is one of the best drinking establishments I have been to. It is home to hippies, surfers, poets, musicians and fishers. The walls in the back of this bar are not just hung with fishing equipment. There are also many pictures from the Byron Bay Fishing Club and their record board with record of the biggest fish from this year and the largest since the inception of the club. There must be twenty species of fish recorded, many of which I have never heard of. The Railway a friendly bar, is great place to have a schooner whether it is during a quite Sunday session or a lively Friday night.

While, I continue to polish off beers in the manner described previously a wheel of memories spun in my mind. It spun and my mind focused on the present: on the laughing people, the good music, the beer and the way the air swelled with the feeling of the crowd and moved with the music. The wheel would slow. Then stop and when it did a memory of another time and place would flash into my mind, clear yet surreal, like cable TV. The wheel first stopped at a fishing spot I love and I loved the feel of that moment... $500... Vanna White turned the letters and this wheel of past fortune was spinning again. Again it stopped; the memory was of my dog that died. Instantly my mind filled with love and sorrow... bankrupted... the wheel spun again. Jodie's smile the last night I saw her at the bar, love, regret and self loathing gripped my soul... lose turn... spin wheel, spin. My family at one of our stressful family dinners, love is all that is there... $1500... the letters turn quickly followed by the rotation of the wheel. I dote on the blue eye and sunny almost child like demeanor of Fay at the bar earlier today. A fresh wave of love breaks... a surprise prize and $150... many letters are turned... I think I can solve the puzzle. 'Love is the answer, Eh Pat.' I finished my beer, waved off the bar tender and leave for the closest Internet café.

With purpose, I stride towards the Global Village Internet Café. My purpose was not so great that I miss the spectacle of the night sky. In fact, I must look quite odd with my head arched back while I walked. I am sure none of the night drunkard noticed the sky or me.

The streetlights lighting the sidewalk brought to an end my stargazing and I walked into the Internet café. It was alive with people and music but a few computers seemed to be free. I asked the guy behind the counter, "Hey man, I'd like to use a computer?"

He smiled and said in a Quiwii accent, "Sure mate, take number four."

"Thanks... number four Bob Orr"

I worried for a moment that I would not be able to use the computer but the sight of all these other people 'surfing the net' took the worry away. I reminded myself that humans made computers, even if those humans are geeks. All I needed to create my new account was patience, throe reading of the instruction and luck. It was not long before the good people at Hot Mail gave me a new account. I made sure to write the vital information down then asked the Quiwi at the counter if he could send me and e-mail to verify my account work. He was nice enough to do so. New Zealanders are good people. The e-mail went through so quickly I wrote to Fay. I would have liked to buy a beer for all of the other computer users in celebration but the café doesn't serve beer.

That lust for beer was replaced by the thought of how strange it is that computer and the technology that has come together to create computers is completely known humanity. Yet, to the individual it seems that the computer is almost magical. Unknown to the average person but for the function it can perform.

I knew another function that the computer could do for me and I wrote down that weird thought I had when I knew that I had fallen in love with Fay (reefer to page 77 last paragraph if needed). This task took close to an hour and the lust for beer has turned to a need for beer, weed and movement. I left with only minutes before the bottle shop closed.

After got this little chore done I needed to get other things done like buying beer – by now there must be none at the camp – and rolling joints. I bought a slab of Toohey's Red, some Tally Ho rolling papers and Drum tobacco – though I don't smoke. I walked back to the campsite with my booty. I sat drinking beer and rolling joints in the dim light of a couple of candles preached on the eskee. It was hard rolling by candlelight on too much LSD but in spite of my shaking hands I rolled eight and put them in my pouch of tobacco. With the task being done I gave myself another taste (1967 and 1966). None of the joints was that well rolled, however, I have my own criteria for good jay and that is one based on functionality. I took the worst looking of the dubies I rolled and lit it up, it burned, a good joint. With these tasks done, I took a beer and walked to a club smoking the ugly but functional jay.

I think that my reason for come back to camp was to wake one of the others up to go drinking with me. I was not bold enough wake up others intentionally. On the other hand, the possibility of waking them after a long day and the effects of hash cookies and beer was slight.

Reason what the hell is that?

For the next while I found myself at a nightclub dancing. Dance to keep from thinking or at least form thinking deeply or with focus. The lyrics, "The music is your only friend until the end." form the Doors stuck in my head when music in the club diminished. Time was beginning to worry me especially in the moments when the LSD consumed me. If one ingests lots LSD over a long period - say equivalent of ten doubles over twelve hours - the effects begin to come in waves. One moment I would be almost sober as if at the end of the trip, then a wave would wash in. When this wave rolled over my being, I would become as high as the first peak at the beginning of the trip. In the trough of one of these waves I could eat food and act normal. During the peak, however, I would instantly be to high to talk in anything but rhyming tongues and would need a cigarette to make sure that time still when by. Once in this state I was eating a great pizza, the fist thing I had eaten in two days, I had wolfed down a quarter of it when the wave rolled in. I could not eat the pizza any more and I exclaimed to Jen – the girl I was eat with – "This pizza is just to interesting to eat!" I could not eat any more.

And there I was caught in these waves with no way to leave until they decide to leave. It was good that I had music, beer, cigarettes, dancing and Fay's memory and the love it brought to hold onto. I clung to these things knowing that if they are lost I am too.

The time came when the bar stops serving beers. I was looking for no more then a drink so I left thinking it would be nice to sit on the beach smoking and drinking until the Sun comes up or the drug lets me down.

Chapter 21

" _Unless you've taken some other drug like... for instance marijuana or something... well it is an all together new thing... and um, you actually have a religious experience and could be even more important than reading the bible six times or becoming the Pope or something like that," The stoned girl from Paul Oakenfoald's LSD song_ I think _._

I gathered my supplies for the beach, trying to be ultra quiet. I was very quiet. However, I had to go into Sofia's and my tent to get a dry beach towel and a jumper (not a person who jumps to their death but a sweatshirt, at least in Oz). I woke Sofia by accident. She was fine with this; she wanted to smoke a jay. I discard the jumper for blanket and find a half full bottle of Southern Comfort in the process. I took it with me. We walked to the beach put down the towels and eskee. Then cuddle up to each other and our beers.

"Hey I have an idea." I said.

"What is it?" I lit a joint then pass it to her. She giggled and took a toke. "Are you still high?"

"I don't know if high can describe my state. This place is grand; perfection lives here even if perfection is not a property of man or at least this man." I waved my hand from horizon to horizon. "You, the waves, the hill and beach say that you are real but I can see in the corner of my eye that you are not. All is unreal. We continually use reason to order and find truth then build reality with what we call truth. The truth we find is all well and good but truth is too strong a term. The best we can get to is - as any good scientist knows - is theory which is only a mechanism that describes a how. All these hows are, to our best knowledge, infinite which is ok even though Saint Thomas of Aquinas does not think so. It is ok for things to be infinite because pie has been proven infinite mathematically this allows things to be infinite in reality. The real question is why and why cannot be divined by reason. Reason may shape reality with its mechanisms and motive but it doesn't cause reality. Cause is another way of saying why."

"Isn't motive a reason why something happen?"

"Yes it is, however, some motives are easy to understand. For instance, you need money to live so you get a job or rob a bank. The easily understood motives are ones that a person profits from and are selfish. The other motives are the ones Plato has such a hard time understanding or defining, ones like courage, virtue, and love. Plato could not easily understand these through reason because reason implies benefit. These reasons only have a benefit for the soul _or the social organization of cells not seen by the individual_ , which in Plato's time could be written off as God showing us the right way or helping us, like in the story of Pandora's Box. Zeus give a box to Pandora telling her not to open it - but mortals are curious - her mortal husband opens the box letting all the evil in the world out... but it also lets out hope left there by Zeus. There is no God so why do we have other innately good, for lack of a better word, reasons to act? It comes down to understanding the why or the cause of the universe."

I paused took a drink and to reposition myself so I could better molest – did I say that – caress Sofia and continued my rant. "Picture yourself as the universe. You are the only thing in a black void. Everything is good, or as good as can being alone and the universe. So the universe in its boredom tries to split it's self a part but the best it can do is expand and split internally. The split marks the creation of mater and energy, which expand into the new space. The universe as we know it begins but to understand we have to ask the universe why it did set the ball rolling? The only thing that the universe can say as it's reason is this, 'Well, I guess I felt that it was good thing to do and I could do it so I did it. I did it because I could.' So, the why for things happening that we cannot reason the reason for is 'because I can.' The 'because I can' that caused the universe is good when applied universe as a whole. However, when taken for one finite thing in the universe the 'because I can' is only seen as good relative to that thing. For things that are closely related, like one human compared to humanity, many of the 'because I can' answers to why are seen as good for these close things. And reason can only answer for those with a motive or mechanism. This is why we can see so much reason in a tree or a fish because we are far removed from them and cannot see the 'because I can' answers to their whys. We can only see the periphery of a fish's or a tree's being and not its soul so we see them as things and nothing more. This soul, why and innate goodness is the unreality. The unreality is everything, it is the connection; the connection is not that everything is matter or energy. The unreality is truth."

"Mmmmm, that is crazy and good." Sofia purred.

"Have you ever gone sailing?"

"Once, in a dingy on a lake."

"I love to sail, not as much as fishing or surfing. We should rent a Hobie Cat some day and go for it. It's got to be a windy day, the stronger the better, well up until about 20 knots... my brother and I loved going out in the wind of October and November. This was it [for us] the edge of our capability like the edge of how high you can point your boat."

"What do you mean?"

"How high into the wind you can sail before the sails luffs because you can't sail into the wind." I tried to explain. "You can only sail as close as forty-five degrees away form the wind. Generally... a Hobie has a higher apparent wind speed relative to the true wind speed and can't point as high. There is an angle at which the boat can't point any higher with out sacrificing speed for angle of attack. There is a point where the angle the boat can point and the speed of the boat combine to create the most efficient angle of attack to sail up wind; we called this the groove. It is like the place I'm in now. I'm sailing on a course as close to truth as possible but as I tack up wind the truth stay at the point where the water meets the sky. The unreality is what you can see of the truth on this course. A course greatly helped by the loss of one self with a drug that put you in the third person, like LSD. Being in the groove and knowing I'm chasing the truth with passion feels good... running with a spinnaker feels good too." Another rush of LSD overcame me.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, but it all good."

"I don't know why you worry about... well everything so much. You are always wondering why." She turned to look me in the eye. "It is like you need this constant stream of thought to keep you from worrying about the here and now. This is where your love of LSD comes from, it keep your mind from thinking about things close to you that you can't control. It is easy to see in your eyes when you start to worry, like when we went to the internet café, I could feel your thoughts and I was not as drunk as I looked – Norwegians can drink. I don't care, none of us are perfect but you still can be very good person and you are because I am here with you now. The future is coming soon and the past is gone the only thing to worry about is the now. And now is good so why worry? You told me when we took acid to be happy and not to take everything so seriously, you need to take your own advice when you are not on acid. You even worry about how good a time we are having and that it may end... you lose some of the goodness of the moment because of the senseless worry." Then she kissed me.

"You know you are right. I think too much."

I kissed Sofia, and then asked, "How can you tell these things about me?"

"I am very perceptive and you talk in your sleep... I studied psychology and worked as a commission sales person and an exotic dancer. I learned much about people dancing. When you make you money teasing men and playing to their imagination, you learn to read their feelings and some thoughts. Like today I could see, how you looked at Fay and the love in your eyes was not just the LSD. Don't worry... I'm not a jealous person." She winced as if she words tasted bad - but which ones?

I was taken aback and my face showed it.

Sofia looked at me biting her bottom lip then asked, "You don't have a problem with that?"

"No... not at all, I didn't expect it. I never would have though you would strip. Hey, if women would pay me to strip I would gladly do it but alas I am too ugly."

Sofia squinted and with a rye smile said, "I can see you saying why in your mind. I won't punish you this time. I became a stripper because I spent too much money traveling in New Zealand. So I got a job in Sydney, which was the plan from the start. Even with the job and the bit of money I get form home I could not manage to save much money. With the amount I was saving, it would take me nearly a year to save enough to buy ticket to Bali and I would not have any money to see Australia. I didn't want to ask my family more money and I was getting frustrated. I thought I might go back home. An English girl, Sherri, said I could easily make enough money dancing at one of the reputable men's club. So I gave it a try and made a lot of money."

Sofia grabbed a beer since we finished the So Co and continued, "The first few days I had to be drunk to strip but soon it was easy. It was a rush to have men slobbering over me; most of them were completely in my control. There were lots of assholes that tried touch me and wanted to screw me for money but it comes with the job. It was fun for a month... having drinks bought for you, teasing men, and making about three hundred a night from private dances, with no touching. Soon after the first month, Sherri and I started to party more and do more drugs, not just E at some club but speed and coke too. I was not saving any money, again Sherri had the answer. One night after work we were making out on a sofa in the hostel when Sherri asked if I wanted to have sex with her while a guy she knows watches for $400.00."

"What, you like girls too?"

"Yes, sometimes... I love sex. Girls can be very fun but I like guys better." Sofia answered then continued with her story. "I thought about it that night. It would be kinky to make love to my lover with a stranger watching. I was going to agree. The next afternoon Sherri asked about it again on the way to the club. I said I would do it. She said, 'Great but if we let him join in we will get $1000.00.' I thought for a moment about the money, then I became furious. I said I would not do either. Sex is good, watching and teasing are fine to but I will not sell myself. I am stripper, not a whore. Sherri tried to get me to do it saying how much money we could make doing tricks. I continue to say no. Finally, at the end of the week I couldn't dance any more. I continually thought I would give into greed and become a call girl. One morning I decided to give it up. I had saved enough money at least to travel to Brisbane then Bali and maybe Thailand before I went home. I went to get some beers and play pinball before catching the train to Newcastle and I met you. What luck!"

Sofia stopped to drink and started again, "You know the stripping was not too bad. You always have lot of cash to spend but the types of people who want money have habits that need the money. And greed can push you further than you want to go."

She took a large drink and continued, "The worst job I had was commission sales; you're always hustling the customer to buy what they don't need. When dancing, I may have to talk with men and charmed them a bit but never have I had to hustle them into a private dance. The reason men come to the club is for the illusion of seduction."

"That is crazy." I then asked, "What do you believe, you know like God or what makes the world go round?"

"Ok, I'll answer but then I'll punish you." she smiles a devilish smile, "I believe in God but I'm not religious. I think most of what the Bible says is good and for the betterment of humanity. I follow the big rules, generally. My belief in God is mostly because there is nothing better to believe and if there is a hell I'd rather be safe then sorry."

Sofia readjust herself and in this moment I think how wrong this better safe than sorry attitude toward belief in God is. If God exists and finds that a person's only reason for belief in God is to cover their ass then there is no faith. Only the faithful get in to Heaven. It is like saying, 'I put up with this bastard's rules just to get in the door, not for the goodness and righteousness of God's true path.' Same goes for those who fear God's wrath. I bet a good person who at least acknowledges disbelief in God has a better chance of getting into a Heaven then those others – or at lease, s/he will be granted the nothing that is expected.

"The thing I really believe in is from the book Candide by Voltaire." Sofia started again. "I believe in Pangloss's saying 'all is for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds', it may not be true but I want it to be. I cling to it to keep optimistic. My view is that the world is a utopia for the masses, however, this utopia is bound by trying to be the best for everything so it is impossible for only good to happen. God tries to make all the best things happen but the more people in the world the more complicated God's creation gets the less direct control God has. We have free will and humanities innate belief in good, morality and justice so we can keep the world the best possible world. Our free will is not as free as we think. It is more of an ability to choose our path in certain situations. Situation that don't always have a good or right answer but still there is a choice; God understand that these bad and unavoidable situation happen and teaches forgiveness. In a way we are living in the best of all possible worlds and can't really change it. The best we can do is make our choices for what we think is best, helping the utopia for the masses along the way. I try to be content, happy that my direction is a good one, as is the world's and I don't worry too much about where I am because 'all is for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds'. It has got me this far and here is good even if some of the road has been bad."

"Wow that is great... shit all I got from Candide was if you lead and interesting and exciting life, expect that as many of those interesting and exciting thing will be bad as they are good. So a dull life can be good. Oh and my middle name." I said in awe of her great belief, even if God is a part of it.

"Your middle name is Candide?"

"Yes, but in school I told every one it was Carl."

"Oh, there is another thing I remember when I worry, it is the chorus to the Pearl Jam song I can't remember the name of, 'You can spend your time alone re-digesting past regrets. Or you can come to terms and realize you are the only one who cannot forgive yourself. Makes much more sense to live in the present tense.' You should remember that. Say it with me." We said it together a couple times.

Sofia moves over a little and wriggles out of her shorts. Then in a German accent she said, "Now, it is time for your punishment! Lay back... you vill pleasure me." She straddles my face looking down at me, "Start licking... slowly, bottom to top."

I continued to listen to Sofia's orders. It was amazingly arousing for me a Jew by birth to be commanded to pleasure an imagined Nazi. Soon there were no more orders only moans and the occasional yelp. She writhed on my face looking up at the sky. Then she looks me in the eye trying to squeeze out a smile but the ecstasy was too much. In her eyes, Pangloss's saying and the selfishness of reason is the answer... to make people happy. I will make all those people I have now grown to care about happy. There is no space for my worry if they are happy. I will only let my mind use its reason on matters outside of my dealing with humans; reason is for getting food and other needs. The 'because I can' will be my guide for fishing, surfing, people and other things in the realm of passion. If a decision is in the gray Pangloss will be remember and the path to follow will be the one for the 'best of all possible worlds'. As well Pangloss's words will be there when there is no possible good choice to help keep me content that my direction is a good one, because 'all is for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds'. From here on I will make myself better and do-good things for all the good people around me.

Sofia and I continued fucking on the beach until the morning birds start to sing. We finished the last beer smoked a joint before Sofia went back to bed. I went with her to get some fruit and juice to sober up. I decided to go surfing this morning instead of beating myself into sleep with sleeping pills and more booze. Chances are even with sleeping aids I would wrestle with sleeplessness well into the afternoon.

"Come here." Sofia called to me as I got fruit from the cooler. I walk over to the front of our tent and she kissed me. "You are a good person, don't worry so much, remember those lines from Pearl Jam. What we have is good and who knows where it will go but if it goes no where it is still good. I love you but the love is the of friend... friends that don't have anyone else to sleep with... and I'm not looking for anyone else." She smiles coquettishly and said, "Of course, maybe we could have Fay as friend too?"

"What are you suggesting?" I said, although I knew the answer.

"Go sit on the beach and ponder that question little boy. I think you can come up with an arousing answer. Now go to the beach like a good boy... remember you are good."

"You are too." I kissed Sofia before going to the beach.

Chapter 22

" _He is losing his mind and feels it going," LSD song Paul Oakenfoald_ I think.

I sat on the beach content with my situation. Thoughts of how good and right Sofia was filled my head. Up till now I had thought that Sofia was a good person if a little shallow but this changed. Now, I can see who she really is and I admire her greatly. She is a person of soul and body, where as I am of mind and soul. Although she is smart, her soul is at the controls with the body backing the soul up. Her soul relegates the mind to the thing it can do like making memories, reading and finding foods, but the soul is in charge - and what a soul.

I let my soul give options and opinions to the mind, and then the mind makes the decision. The mind is the Lieutenant in charge and the soul is the good Sergeant who in the end is with the Lieutenant right or wrong. My body feels snubbed because it does not get enough sex or exercise so it lusts for food and beer to get back at the oppressive mind. The body urns for a time when the mind, body and soul can live in a daisy chain where each one scratches the other in the way it needs and they can work on their wants. The body has gone many times to the soul and said, 'Listen soul, the mind is fucking us, sure it is smart and maybe our beings best asset but without us it is nothing. We need to revolt.'

The soul replied, 'We can't win. The mind is too powerful, it can always show us why we are wrong. Even together I am not confident we can take controls. The only time we have had success is when the mind get too occupied by acid, love or depression but it inevitably regains control.'

'So we're fucked,' the body said as always.

The soul the starts with it's everything will get better speech, 'We could revolt but I am not confident we would win and if we didn't the mind would take more power from us. Our position is getting better, though. You are more powerful because of Sofia's love for lust and the love of surfing. I am more powerful because of the people we have grown to care about – like Sofia – and the possibility of Fay's love. We have promising times ahead but mutiny should be left until we can be confident of success.'

This time body said something different, 'I don't know soul.... it is always the same excuse with you. Time is on our side be patients but ever time the patients goes stale and the mind gets us into some funk. You remember the funk we were in before the mind ate all that acid and luck allows us to get here?'

'Yeah.' the soul said solemnly.

'The mind was going to kill us if it were not for the acid and our nudging. We may not have many more chances. Luck saved us the last time. When the mind kills us I know I will die, I don't want to die soul and I need your help to grasp for control.'

'I see, but now is not the time.'

Off in another part of my being the mind was pondering its position. The mind was awe struck by the beliefs of Sofia. Beliefs that have cause the questioning of mind's reason. The acid had beaten the mind, taken its power and its logic causing the mind to fail at finding fault in the beliefs of another soul. The mind does something that does not come easy, it decides to let go of its power because it is not sure if it is right. As well, the mind needs a rest after the bending of today and yesterday.

'Hey soul... body, where the hell are you guys?' The mind asked. 'We got to talk.'

'We are over here mind.' The soul answered.

'Man these trips leave me bent.' The mind began. 'But they sure are fun! However, this last one has left me in a sorry state, I hate to say this but I am in no state to lead for the next while. Sofia's philosophy and the 'because I can' have defied my logic and I am going to have to take a leave of absence to regroup and ponder these new and good ideas. Don't worry, I know both of you can handle the temporary promotion. Of course, I will be around if any thinking is required but only for simple things. My best advice for you, soul, is to keep the people around us happy, they are good and Sofia is very wise. Body listens to what the soul says. I'm going to go over there and space out until the end of the trip. Do as I would... I'll keep in touch, I should be better in a few weeks." The mind then wandered off tripping on the colours.

'See I told you body, patients pays off,' the soul said.

'No acid and a girl did. Let's make sure that our time is a good one, so that when he gets back we can change the way things work. I see a time when we are in a daisy chain and each of us takes care of what we are good at, thus scratching all of our itches.' The body said.

'Sounds good,' the soul said.

I sat on the beach my mind still whirling. Flashing memories and thoughts ran though my brain. With a little concentration, I made these thoughts take the shape while I waited for the dawn. I even tried to send a message to Jodie. In this calm morning of content, I believed that this message would get to her. Back home it would two in the afternoon or so and the psychic background noise would make my message another noodle in the psychic soup of the day. At least in the morning – 2:00 am to 5:00 am – there was the possibility that my message may have invaded Jodie's dreams. I know this venture will not bear fruit or if it does there is no chance I will see the result. Maybe I should send an E-mail.

The Sun rose, because it could. I walked to the camp to go surfing, because I could. I opened the back door of the Falcon and got my now dry short and put them on. The noise of the closing car door woke Rob. I heard him stir and called to see if he was up to going surfing.

"Sure, I just need to get some food." Rob replied.

"Should I wake Bruce and John?"

"No, I don't want to wait for them. They've got a car they can catch up if they want. Hugo can you put my long board on the car, I think it's that kind of day." Rob said as he grabbed some bread and a bottle of juice.

We are off within minutes, driving to the Pass. Hopping that at this hour, we will have the beach to ourselves, knowing that we would not.

"Hugo, left lane, left lane," Rob said with much cool as I turned into the wrong lane.

With the Sun working its way out of the pool to the East, we paddle out. There were only three others out, all older locals, all great surfers, and all riding long boards. The waves were just right, clean, about four feet on the face and no wind - another great day at the Pass.

A great sense of content came over me form the knowledge that this is exactly what I wanted while waiting for the dawn. All the acid, booze, pot, thoughts and feelings of the early morning had centered me. That blind folded Zen archer had nothing on me this morning. The mantra of 'because I can' was what I needed to put my arrows in the x and the belly full of beer kept me paddling. I paddle into more waves this morning then all the other days combined. Then I did it I started to paddle into wave at an angle allowing me to ride the blue water longer, this lead to a few tentative turns and then a graceful bottom turn. After that, all I could do was laugh then fall with Rob's cheers echoing in my ears. This was it, the best session I have had yet. The amazing thing is that I said that the last time and the time before that... indeed, I have said that after ever session.

The break was starting to get crowed now that nine o'clock was rolling around. Hunger had overcome Rob and I was running on force of will alone. The acid seemed completely gone and I could feel the weight of sleep deprivation hanging in my head. We packed it in.

Back at camp, Rob and I made yet more sausages and eggs. Bruce and John went surfing in the combi and Sofia was still sleeping. Amazingly there is still quite a lot of beer left from the thirty pack I bought last night. Since this was now really the end of my day, I poured back a beer in a gulp. I sent down another to keep the first company.

"Have you lost the plot, it nine in the morning and you're drinking again." Rob commented.

"Hey I've been up since yesterday. It's about time I had a beer and got to bed. Do you have any more of those hash cookies?"

"The cookies are with the other food. If you are going to crash can I borrow your car to go surfing?"

"Sure." I answered then I grab a beer and crack it. "Hey, what got you so hooked on surfing? There is no surfing in the UK, eh?"

"It is sexy... nothing looks more right then a guy walking on the beach with a surf board. Any chick that doesn't think that is sexy is a lesbian. And if you're going to walk down the beach with a surfboard to score chicks you better know how to surf. That is why I started to surf... Back home it was always the same. I would drive all over Wales servicing computer, I was making good money but it was dull. What good was the money if I was not having much fun? Instead of going to Spain to piss it up again, I came here to learn to surf. I found out there is nothing better than surfing. I've been here for nine month now and have never had so much fun or pulled so many chicks. Since I have been here I have change my whole outlook. Surfing is now my life; sure I will still have to work but that work is only to support surfing. It may sound corny but surfing is my religion and the waves are my God. In this fucked up world, there is nothing better I can think of to do and I want to do it well. Surfing is not just something that I do any more it is who I am... here have some sausages."

"Thanks."

After eating a sausage Rob continued, "There is surf back home but it is not that good and the waters cold. I'll still going to go surfing, though, and stay in shape while planning trips like this. Work is torture but it is tempered by be able to go to places like this. Hopefully I can find a way to stay here, know any Australian girls?"

"No." I answered, "I see what you're saying surfing has got into my blood. It is good like fishing, sex and LSD and it is not only the act but the life style and people who call themselves surfer that are good, generally speaking. Do me a favor... don't ever leave to go surfing without seeing if I want to go."

"Sure mate. If you really want to get better you should come and train with us on days with shitty surf. The greater your level of fitness the more confident you are in the water - surfing is all about confidence. Bruce usually trains with me too, but John never does. John thinks training is drinking JD and coke. Then again John is better at surfing than we are."

"I think I will follow John's plan." I grinned.

We talk surfing a while longer. Then I ate a couple hash cookies and took swig of cough syrup with codeine to ensure a good sleep. Soon the body stone of the cookies set in and I staggered to my tent to pass out. In fumbling with the zipper to the tent I woke Sofia, she kissed me good morning and tried to talk to me. I mumbled, "I go to bed." And I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Hash cookies are good; they make you laugh for an hour, then you're too burnt out to walk.

Although sleep came swiftly, it was a fitful sleep. The acid had not really gone, just subsided to a dull buzz. A buzz easily masked by fatigue and totally obscured by the cookie, codeine and beer. But I am sure that if I didn't have these tools to help me sleep I would lay restless in the growing heat of the morning sun. I took the easy way out or at least a different one. The torment of insomnia in the daytime heat traded for the torture of a sleep filled with dreams warped by dueling drugs.

During this restless sleep, I had the strangest dream yet. The dream began as a normal night terror would. Something was chasing me. I was running from it but then I stopped and ask why it was chasing me. It was chasing me because it was a homicidal maniac on PCP. The maniac quickly killed me with a blow from a fire axe. The next thing I saw was the maniac laying next to me shot dead by the police after he dismembered me with the axe. And now with the knowledge I was truly dead I rose from my body and watched partygoers grieve my passing. All the while techno music thumped in the distance.

The world changed. I lay on a couch in a room with splendidly textured walls or wallpaper. I was not able to move, well I could but my body would not come with me. I could see the whole room without looking around to see behind me. The room was furnished like a bachelors suit: a kitchenette in one corner, a table for four adjacent to the kitchenette, a folding bed in one wall, a door by the bed and table, no TV, and a sofa where I lay or I should say my body lay. All the furniture and counter tops were in colours complimentary to the wall paper but each furnishing and counter was a different shade or colour. A woman was in the suite. She had black hair in a long ponytail – the kind to keep hair away from her face while working.

The most amazing and comforting aspect of the room was the pattern and colour of the wall coverings. The walls were the same as an expensive silk tie with curlicues, dots, swirls and treble-cleft shapes in a pattern – a classy off shoot of psychedelia. The walls would swim... that is to say, the patterns would shift when looked at. Yet, this movement was comforting like the undulations of a black ocean. The colours of the pattern were all complimentary shades with a spectrum from dark green or emerald to indigo verging on black with a few dark reds. The colours that were most prevalent were ocean blues, violets, aqua, azure and indigo. There were some flecks of teal or blue green, deep red and soft purple. All the colours had a translucent quality to them although it was not possible to see anything within or beneath them just colour. None were misty or other wise obscured. The colours seemed infinite in depth as the deep ocean does. Ever few second pieces of wall would change to a lighter or darker colour of the same hue. The furnishings in the room were of one colour for each furnishing. However, the colour of the furniture would change as the point of view moved, like ultra-velvet. It was an amazing spectacle completely pleasing to my sense of style.

The woman was content doing some sort of housework and humming a tune unknown to me but somehow familiar. The melody was playing softly on an unseen stereo. It did not bother me that I could not figure out what the music was. It did not worry me that my body would not come with me when I moved around the room or that my body would not move. Nothing worried or bothered me I was content in this room of good vibrations.

The room was so comfortable that I had no will to question anything. No interpretation was necessary. In this place, a word like truth was redundant because there is no need for a word for something that is. In this place, there was no need or desire and on reflection, this is why definition, reason, and perception are not a part of this place, thus the reality caused by such things did not obscure the truth. Truth is a place with no reason.

And this place did not have any reason because of the lack of desire. Nothing was wrong. There was no better to strive for, therefore I had no motive for reason. Why look when there is no desire to see?

The absences of all the usual desires caused me to miss a minuet spark of desire. This desire grew as the memory of the other faded. The desire was tiny but without any other it became the focus of an intellect wallowing in content. The spark of desire manifested itself in the eternal why. So I asked the woman, "Why am I here?"

She did not stop humming or working and did not turn to face me but her voice spoke to me from everywhere, "You died, in a dream and did not wake now you are here."

"Who are you?"

Her voice surrounded me and the answer echoed within me, "I am..."

And the memory of a Charlton Heston movie flared in my mind with the possibility I bet wrong on the God gamble.

Again, the world changed. This new world was a room, with the same dimensions as the previous room but the vibrations were bad, very bad. My mind flashed with a pulsing torture I can only describe as what it is like to take both acid and cough syrup at the same times. It is an evil combination that causes dementia, an inability concentrate, a fitful mind and the needs to sleep but it is impossible to - all of which last for hours. A less accurate way to describe this torment is the moment before fainting or passing out when you try to stay conscious and get to the ground without falling, again lasting for hours.

Horizontal rectangles of pulsing colours burned my mind as they flashed. The colours were all muddy hues of red, yellow, brown, orange, and black, though, there was the odd rectangle of blue or green. Some rectangles were of solid colour while others had smaller rectangles of different colour inside of them and with each pulse, they changed colour. Not every solid rectangle would change colour with each pulse but most did. The pattern of the rectangles was vaguely Aztec.

The music in the room was reminiscent of Pink Floyd in their acid days when Sid Barret was still with them or the music Beck put on his album as a secret song. This music only added to the ordeal.

The woman was in this terrible place too and she was as agitated as I was. However, we were not the only ones there at the dinner table were three men. I could not look at directly them. The others argued, while ordering the woman to get them food and drink. I had the feeling that the men were a part of me and that the argument was about me. Although they seemed to be speaking English the words would warp and distort when I tried to listen. The inability to comprehend the arguing was intolerable. Death would be a welcome respite from this place.

And when I felt resigned to live in this torment the woman voice came to me and said, "This is real only if you believe it to be."

I focused on the reality of the serene blue room – my only good memory - until I believed I could see it in this room. I fell into a trance and when I woke the woman was humming that familiar tune doing her work. She was turning panel that made up the wall coverings over revealing the serene blue colours from where the antagonist evil yellow and orange rectangle room had been. She was almost done and again I was content.

The woman spoke to me as she finished. "You control everything here; it is what you make it, if you believe in it. That hell is as much a creation of yours as this heaven but which you live in is a function of what you believe."

I interrupted her, "This is my heaven?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe in heaven."

I woke with no past, confused and drenched in a cold sweat. My only worries were those for the future and for a moment, the future was overwhelming. I wanted to die because the only memory that was real to me was the dream of death. But I remembered one of the truths about life you know the one about death and taxes. For a moment, I felt I was winning because I was not paying any taxes. Then I lay in my tent jerking off, remembering the passionate morning with Sofia but substituting Fay for Sofia in the final act.

I lay for a while with no intention of moving... but my mind with only the future to work with it thought it maybe a good idea to go for a run because the future had much surfing in it. So I began to run. I stopped at the beach, completely winded.

I wanted to die because the future I wanted to reach was too far out of reach. I thought the best way to die was to swim out into the inky black of the night ocean until I could swim no more. I waded into the ocean and began to swim. It took much energy and guile to get past the beach break and into water deep. I made it past the break and I kept swimming. I swam until I had lost my fondness of suicide.

The wanting of death waned with the belief that my future was longer then tomorrow and though today the hundred meters run to the beach winded me, this would change if I desire. Today, I felt that I could change, to be better for those who thought I was good. That was what I would do. I looked back to see the lights of Byron Bays far away.

I tread water for a moment terrified that I was going to die; that I would be eaten by a shark or caught in a rip I could not see in the dark or worse – and most likely – that in my zest for death I swam out past the wreck and would swim back into it getting impaled on it by a breaking wave. Strange, a minute ago I had wanted to die and now I frightened of death. I smiled at this, and then swam for shore.

My adrenaline pumped as I walk up on the beach and collapsed, exhausted but elated at cheating death. The sense that I had willed myself to success flooded my mind and gave me renewed hope that I was more then a fat man who got lucky. With that, I willed myself to do some push-ups, sit ups and sprints in the shallows. Then I walked back to camp, which was much further up the beach then I had expected. If the mind, skeptical and scientific, were around this confidence would be lost in the stupidity of the act.

Part 5: A Reincarnation of the Lost Generation

Chapter 23

I sat eating a steak sandwich at the Rails, sipping a rum and coke wondering if my swim was an aborted attempt to go to the stars Van Goch now knows or a test set by the soul to bolster my sprit. Instead of picking the stars or a test for the soul, I picked option three. An option completely aberrant and that I now have contempt for but at least I got look at what a fatalist sees.

Was there any other realistic reason other than fate for the events of yesterday and this morning? How often does a girl you have a lust for end up hitching in your direction? Well there is a good chance I will have a lust for any girl I pick up hitching. But I had this lust before I saw her hitching and the lust was greater than the normal baseline 'I want to screw every woman I see' kind. Then there is the fact she likes mushrooms enough to go pick them, acid enough to trade for it and me enough to give me her E-mail address. Either the realm coincidence is exploring new areas of improbability or this chain of events has been set up like dominos thus the future is inevitable. It must destiny because Sofia saw my feelings and Fay's too, then in essence Sofia told me to go after Fay. The clincher was that when I tried to do myself in I could not. Yeah, fates prints were all over my failed suicide, I had the will, desire and curiosity to solve the ultimate mystery but I was pulled back. It was all so clear, everything that has happened since left Canada and possibly before then has lead up to me meeting Fay and falling in love... of course it has.

Day and night, this millennium's marching music, electronica, thumped in my mind repeating the litany of destiny. I marched ever forward, its rhythm reminding me, I was right. The belief in predestination was without worry. The worry or doubt was obscured by the continual cycling of the event that lead and will lead to the eventual destination, in the same way positive thinking gurus repeatedly hammer in their message. And I fell into a routine or religion of self betterment for those around me, so that when I get to my destination I will be ready – All aboard! The train is now leaving.

I got up and went to the washroom, knowing I would need and empty bladder for this train ride and on the way back I bumped into John. He said that Bruce, Rob and Sofia had grabbed a table around the front side of the bar. I got my food and drink walked over.

"Are you alive, mate?" Rob said.

"Yeah, but I was not sure for a while." I said.

"We've been making plans." Bruce looked at me in confidence, "John and I have to sell some weed and make some money but the caravan park is not good for selling. We're planning of staying in a hostel, more people move in and out so more customers. We can get a deal if we all go together."

I looked to Sofia, "What do you think?"

"A bed would be nice and not have to walk through mud to take a pee." She said.

"Sound good," I said. "What hostel?"

Bruce answered, "The one closest to Tallow's Beach, the Aquarius Hostel. The girl John was with the other night is staying there. But we are thinking of going different ones every few days to get bigger group of customer. Then once we sold this batch we'll buy some more and go up the coast, all the tourist travel up the coast and we are bound to see some of our cliental."

John sat down, "Sometime we should get up to North Straty. It is paradise and no one will be there, except locals."

"I'll get us a shot to celebrate." I got up, "What does everyone want?"

We drank our shots but the lust for drink was not there. Rob and Bruce were on the pull and John was meeting the girl from the other night, they wanted to stay sober enough to impress the ladies. Sofia did not want to drink either. She had a diving test in the morning and did not want to be hung over. Me, I wanted this day to be finished so I would be a day closer to my destiny but another hang over would not help my plan of self betterment. We all sipped our drinks slowly.

Sofia wanted to check her E-mail and I wanted to do the same. I felt that to be good to those I care for I would have to send Jodie a message to alleviate the worry if not the hate. Although, I wanted to send her a message it was hard to get up the nerve. I put it off by looking at the hockey score, amazingly the Canuck were doing ok. I took this as a good sign but still I did know how to start. So I checked the message from my parent making sure not to look at Jodie's E-mails. I knew that I would have to come up with a reason for not answering Jodie's mail and if I read them it would be impossible make up a lie – ahem – reason for not replying.

Proving this chain of events was destiny to happen in my Mother's most resent E-mail was the reason. This is the message she sent:

"Hi Hugo,

is it still unbearably hot? It is nice here, the cherry blossom are coming out. Your brother is doing well in school. Dad watched a show about snakes in Australia and he doesn't want you camping anymore. I am still dressing up the little dogs. Tomorrow I am going to take them to get their pictures taken.

I know you never answer your E-mail but incase you check this before you call home, Jodie from Prince George call here. She didn't want to call here but she was worried because you had not replied to any of her E-mail. I told her I heard from you a few days ago and you are doing well in Australia. I also said that you probably don't know how to use E-mail since you never send me any either.

Why haven't you ever told me about Jodie? She seemed very nice on the phone. She obviously cares for you. I can hear you saying it is none of my business but I am only your mother. I only gave birth to you. Here is her E-mail address sexyjodie_69@Emailco. com, send her an E-mail.

I hope everything is fine in Australia. When you get this message give us a call we would like to here from you. Oh, send us a post card or two.

Love, Mom"

'Love you Mom and it's none of your business.' I thought to myself and made a mental note to call home tomorrow.

After writing Jodie E-mail address down I opened my new E-mail account and tried to write. While I did write, I said all the good things I wanted to... that is what I thought. But today when I write this I don't know if I said only good things because I know the future and this future will effect what I try to pull from the past.

And this is my problem I know somewhere in the world of data is what I wrote, the truth unspoiled by time and perception but it is misplaced in many places connected by electricity. It is lost on the internet and in my mind. But I have put together the fragments and this is what I have got, it may not be the bomb but it definitely shows the type of bomb:

"Hey Jodie,

how is life? I am alive and well. For a while there I was very sane, but since I have reached the warmer climes of Australia the insanity has returned. It is great, I am learning to surf and went marlin fishing – I didn't catch one though.

I am sure that you hate me for leaving like that and you should. I have no good reason for my departure. When I scratched the winning ticket I said, 'If I win I am gonna drop out of society and go fishing for the rest of my life.' I had the belief that I had to follow through on what I thought to keep reality true. I did keep up my end of the bargain and the money is still coming in but I lost.

I lost the thing that I soon saw is what I was looking for... but as Jonnie Mitchell said, "You don't know what you got till it is gone." And I hated losing it so much that I didn't want the forgiveness you would give... I just wanted to be more lost. Though being lost brought me here which I think is a righteous path.

When I left I thought I was on a righteous path but how can anything righteous come from what has past? Anyhow... sorry, if you hate me I can understand and relate.

I have to get back to drinking beer. You see this girl is waving to me and you know I will not leave her waiting.

Have fun, Hugo"

As I got up to see if Sofia was done, the weight that I though would be lifted by the accomplishment of this task was not. A song from Pearl Jam came on the stereo and Sofia belief in Pangloss's saying sprang to mind. This didn't lift the weight either but my shoulders felt stronger knowing what I had done was "for the best" in a world with only two choices. With my burden shouldered I walked heavily to Sofia computer. She was done as well, I paid for us and we walked slowly to camp.

We lay in our tent taking bong hits and slowly hot boxing it (hot boxing is when a room is so filled with marijuana smoke that one would get high just sitting in it). We did not say much. Neither of us was in a talkative mood, my mind was foggy from all the drugs I had taken yesterday and in the morning. If figured this fog was what made Sofia seem distant but then she turned and said, "Hugo, I have to tell you something." And she paused for a long moment. In that moment weed paranoia overcame me and hundreds of fearful thoughts filled my mind. The thought that worried me most was that I got her pregnant, funny because I had always used a condom. "I am going to Bali in a few weeks... I confirmed my ticket today. Then I am going to Thailand." She held me tight when she said that.

I was not that shocked, I knew it was coming. Hell destiny said it must if I am to be with Fay. I said, "I figured the day would come when you would leave, I thought it would be the day after we went fishing."

"Really?"

"A rare fish like you can't be kept. I knew that the day I lured you into coming with me. Hey, it is like you said yesterday, what we have is good but if it goes no where it is still good."

"I can't believe you remembered anything from last night, you were so high." Sofia still looked troubled.

"I am good at being high. I can remember at least 70% of everything that happens when I am on LSD... of course 30% of what I remember is fantasy, embellishment or hallucinations, but I was sure what you said was real. And I always listen to what you say because you don't talk much." I looked her in the eye and tapped her head while, "What is on your mind?"

She smiled briefly then the same troubled look came back. "Oh, I heard from someone... you're not the only person with a past. But enough of that." With a kiss and the repositioning of her hand my mind was thinking of other things. And we fucked in the relative privacy of out tent.

Another morning another sausage. But alas there were no sausages and no one was in the mood to go surfing. Rob and John were not at camp. And Bruce showed only the slightest signs of being alive when I asked if he wanted to go surfing. So Sofia and I went to get some breakfast before I dropped her off at the scuba shop and I went for a short session at Broken Head.

It was not a good day at Broken Head, the best thing about it was that it was sunny. But even though the swell was small – even for a beginner – and choppy from a cross shore wind it was a great day. Great because the small wave and wind were all I had to worry about - the best day yet.

At ten I headed in because we had to decamp and move to the relatively luxurious accommodation at the Aquarius Hostel. When I arrived at camp the surfers were slowly pulling up camp. I joined them in their quiet work. It did not take us long to pack everything and we drove down the street to the hostel to check in.

After such hard work we went right to our room to smoke a joint. The room was nice. It was converted from a large single bedroom condo with a TV, dinner table, 6 bunks in the main room, washroom with shower, a small kitchen, balcony and a room with a queen-sized bed rented out as a double.

I decided to for go this joint – there would be other – and see if the double in our room had all ready been rented. The guy at the desk said it had not and I up graded from two bunks to real luxury. Before going back to the room I stopped to get the esky and some other food from Deloris.

We spent the early afternoon smoking weed, watching TV and eating all the food that might possibly go bad soon, which was all of it – save the condiments. After this orgy of food we lay around like gorged lions. Two hour past before we came out of our stupor. Rob, ever the keener, said we should try get a session in today even if the surfing is bad. I could not say I was keen but I wanted to go. Bruce was in too, but John who was woken up by Rob's question did not want to go any where accepts to bed.

There was no swell at the Pass, Tallow's or Broken Head. So we continued south past Lennox Head down to Ballina where Bruce believed there would be swell.

Ballina is a town with a river that runs through it and a giant prawn. Its main beach is north of the river. A break water separates the beach and the river. We walked out on the brake water to look at the surf. As Bruce said there was more swell here, mostly due to its direct exposure to the Ocean. Ballina is the second most easterly point in Australia – Cape Byron being the most easterly.

We watched the waves and tried to decide if it was worth surfing because, even though, the swell was a reasonable size a southerly wind had put a chop on top of it. I was not really part of the decision, I would go surfing if they did – the waves were good enough to the Canadian eye. But as I listened to Rob and Bruce and I saw the problem. The chop, which is like little wave on top of the bigger swell or as a mariner may say ground swell, was causing the waves to break erratically. Chop also causes the face of the waves to be bumpy, making them harder to catch and ride. Great waves happen on days with little or no wind, to produce chop. The best days occur when there is a slight off shore breeze this ensure that the wave will be clean, devoid of any chop. Today was not great, from the look of the other two it was marginal at best. The wind was putting white cap on the sea, so it was more than 12 knots. The lee created by the break water lessened the amount of chop slightly so we decided to give it a go despite the marginal conditions.

Even for a novice like me it was easy to see that it sucked. We went in after a half hour. We decided to play some game Rob called football but the ball was round like a soccer ball. Then Rob pressured us into doing some sit ups and push ups. I felt that that was not enough training. So after getting groceries I got a 40 of JD to continue our training back at the hostel following John's exercise regime.

On the way in to the Hostel a sign read, 'Thursday Chilly and Karaoke Night.' Just another night of the week that wants to be Friday in a place that has four Fridays a Saturday and two Sundays.

Up in our room John was on the couch with a girl he introduced as Chloe, the girl he met a few days ago. I gesture to him with the bottle. He got the idea and got off the couch to get the cups. We began dinking JD and Coke. After a couple drinks Bruce and Rob went down to the combi to get the rest of their stuff. Chloe then left to have a shower. Then John approached me requesting a favor. "Ah Hugo, can you do a mate a favor?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well you know how little privacy there is here, do you think if you and Sofia aren't using the double, Chloe and me can?"

"Ok, but I have to ask Sofia then we will need some sort of sign... Sofia and I get dibs."

"Cheers mate... have a drink," John topped of my glass and his. This started the saga of the Champaign Room as it was sarcastically called – because there is no sex in the Champaign Room.

If you have never stayed in a hostel before or traveled I, what travel agents refer to as 18- 35 singes demographic or lived in a university dorm or been to Daytona during spring break, the situation of sharing a room expressly for the purpose of fucking would not be brought up and would be seen as somewhat immoral or at least seedy but this is the hostel scene in Australia. Morals here are more relaxed and they have to be. If they were not the place would likely exploded from the built up sexual tension. Just think of the sexual release that must be held back in a place so public. There are four to eight people in a dorm room that sometimes is co-ed but the toilets are private? Sort of... jerking off in the john is a desperate act, its the whistle on a kettle signaling that you need to get laid and not fulfilling as wanking can be when there is privacy, pornography and patients.

With this dam needing to be burst a moral dilemma is created, do you resign yourself to once in awhile in the washroom or what? This is where the presence of hot people of opposite sex with the same problem enter the picture and it brings up this question: is it worse to have sex in public, in the view of your peers, or to possibly be caught pleasuring yourself? The question is easily answered by the embarrassment factor. So it is not uncommon to catch glimpse cunnilingus on the common rooms couch, a blow job in the bath room, foreplay on the foyer, or balling on a bunk bed. A few other factor come together to conjugate this culture of carefree coitus such as the I will never see you again effect, the skimpy clothing theory and the been drinking since morning law but I'm certain it is that lack of self gratification that causes the lose morals.

Shitting is another of those things that you have to get use to when you sacrifice privacy for a ten dollar bunk. It is really hard to destroy a toilet with people in other cubicles that do not have the H-bomb of craps to drop in their bowl. Of course in the right circumstance hilarity can ensue from communal crapping.

You learn so many things you never wanted to learn in hostels like everyone snores except you.

I had another drink before wandering down to see if Sofia had finished her lesson and, buy tickets for chilly night. I walked the block or so to the Cape Byron YHA hostel where the dive shop is located. YHA hostel are authoritarian place where Germans, Japanese, Americans and other people down with clean living stay. I guess I should not generalize too greatly about the habit of these peoples so I will qualify the remark a little. I have yet to stay at a YHA hostel and only would if it is a necessity. The reports I got about them are that they are stuffy and rule ridden. For example: a Dutch girl I spoke with was at the YHA in Mallacoola, she was with five other people, the only people in the hostel, all were in the common room having wine when promptly at nine the lights went out because that is when the room was closed. They talked with the manager but although no one would be offended by the group the lights stayed out. Other tales are of strict gender segregation policies, no consumption of alcohol and do not even mention pot. Having said this there are people who like traveling with the comfort that the YHA will not tax your morals and order will be within. For the most part people go to the YHA for the same reason they go to MacDonald's in a foreign country, they know what they will get - and that is not a nightly party. To be sure those Germans and America have counter parts that cannot stand YHA. As for the Japanese, they have a different level of rebellion and the rules of YHA are free enough to be fine with Japanese surfers and surfer round the world are usually a rebellious element of there society... at least when young.

I came round the corner to see Sofia and another diver spraying off the ridge bottom inflatable. When she saw me she inadvertently yet purposely sprayed me with the hose soaking me. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Sofia exclaimed and ran over to give me a hug. As we hug she whispers, "You are so wet, just like me. We will have to get those cloths off as soon as possible." I agreed, then Sofia takes me by the hand and introduced me, "Don this is Hugo."

"I've heard a lot about you from Sofia. She says you are really into the ocean?"

"Yeah, I like to surf, fish, and for awhile tried to become a fisheries biologist." I answered.

"Have you been diving?"

"No, when I was a kid I wanted to but the dive school would not let me because I have asthma."

"How often do you have attacks?"

"I haven't had an attack in years."

"Then you don't have to mark down that you have it," Don smiled.

Looking nervous I said, "Actual I am deathly afraid of the bends. So afraid that I once had a panic attack from listening to story about someone who got the bends."

"That is bull," Sofia interjects, "How can you be afraid of the bends when you jump into thousand foot water to get a photo of a marlin."

I try to describe my fear, "It just the bends, it is weird but true. It is like people who are afraid of sharks. The fear is unfounded, but no less real. The same thing happens to me when I think I can roll all the way down a hill - just tumbling the whole way. Yet I am not afraid of I am skiing on the same hill... like the universe it make no sense but is real."

Don said, "Well if you want I can explain how safe it is."

"That won't help, it was read about diving and trying to understand dive table that made the fear."

"Ok, but if ever you want go on a resort dive don't hesitate to ask, we'll make a deal for you and Sofia."

Sofia squinted her eyes and huffed, "Oh, he will go diving." I thought of saying, 'yeah, muff diving' but did not.

There were still a few things to be cleaned up and put away, so I gave them a hand while we all exchanged story on coolness of the ocean. Sofia and I then walked back to the hostel and all the way back she would only comment on how we would go diving in a playful but still angry way. Sofia even asked the clerk at the desk if she had ever heard of something as absurd as a fear of the bends while I was buying the tickets for chilly night, to which the clerk replied no.

Once in the room I told Sofia I had up graded to the double and of the arrangement with John and the others, none of whom were there. Sofia said she had no problem with the arrangement but did have a problem with me not going diving then walk into the double. I follow remembering she was randy. She undressed. I undressed. She said, "Oh, you thought we were going to fuck? Not until you give me a good reason why you are afraid of the bends."

"What do you mean?"

"Give me a good reason or I am going to sit here and play with myself until I am satisfied." I stepped closer as she got on the bed and proceeded to play with herself. I was growing ever more excited. As I inched closer, Sofia curtly said, "No closer... not until I get a good reason. I will scream."

"But you know I think no reason is a good reason," I said pondering whether or not I should play her game and start jerking off at her as it were.

"A good reason!"

I told her the reason, "I am deathly afraid of the bends, a fear that is irrational – most fears are – because I know I will lose track of time in my bliss and find myself at the end of my air with my only option popping up to the surface, inevitably getting the bends. Like when I was with that marlin, I would have never come up if it weren't for lack of air."

"Good answer. We are going to go diving and I will make sure you come up for air. You will listen to me won't you?" she said seriously.

"Yes," and I reach for a condom.

"Don't put that on! Not yet... just sit there," instinctively my left hand reached down to stoke my dick. Again I was admonished by her, "Do nothing!" I struggled to restrain myself and I did for the eternity before she rolled over, pointing her ass in the air and yelled two words muffled by the pillow, "FUCK ME!" And I did as she said.

At this point sailing comes to mind or at least the one true-ism I have found when sailing that is that there are three states of sailing. The first is the boat sails you; control is an illusion to the captain - this is the place ever sailor start at. The second is the sailor sailing the boat forcefully, against the will of the boat. This second state is where most sailors get to. I am only a third of the way though this stage and have sailed competitively. Most captain's never get past the fact that domination of a boat is not complete control and thus never get further the here. Many of the best only reach the third stage at times, or in certain conditions. I have only met one person who got to the third stage, the stage of symbiosis, where the boat wants to be sailed. And that is the place Sofia skipped me too in the Champagne Room.

Chapter 24

Happy memories from a time freed by the iron grip of destiny danced in my head as I recall the next week or two. These memories have the mark of a music montage from a comedic move, and though it maybe impossible for a writer of my caliber to create such a thing, I want the reader to at least understand what I was striving for.

And now I have to go into a trance so I can call upon James Joyce's ghost to guide my thought... ah fuck it, meditation is to time consuming I will take the short route. I will be back in twenty when the mushrooms hit.

I figure that this bit of the book can be broken down into five songs, which bring the memory of a time in this period when I hear one. To tell the truth, I am not sure of order the song happen in but an accurate chorology of the events is not necessary. Only one of the events has anything to do with the plot or themes of the book and the connection vague. Really this is just filler, something to mark the passage of time in a fake world; in other words is a cigarette when you are too high to tell time is going by.

During the late afternoon in this saga of the Champaign Room, Taking Care of Business by BTO was the song of the hour. In the late afternoon stretch the boys, Bruce and John, were taking care of business, selling weed. Not that they were not selling weed during every waking hour but it was in the late afternoon that people from hostels all over Byron Bay came to buy their potent heads at a fair price. The price did fluctuate depending on the travelers nationality, their time in Australia and if they were a tosser (slang for jerk-off in Australia and Britain) or not but the customer always went away happy or high - synonyms to dope smoker. They worked a lot of overtime and the only time either one was with out a bag of weed was when they were sold out. The act of selling was contagious, Rob and I found ourselves sell weed by proxy. I even sold some of my LSD, but acid being acid. I was never at ease selling acid(1965 – 1957). I feared that those I sold to would take too much and freak out, this was 150 micrograms and not 50 microgram euro-raver acid. However, the business did catch up with us but the hammer was an inflatable one and we were told that the Aquarius Hostel was booked full up and we would have to find another place. So the place of business changed to the Koloa Hostel up the street from the Railway Friendly Pub. Again it was a converted hotel or condominium complex with a kitchen living room area with two four bunk co-ed dorms and toilets. There was no Champaign Room per say but we continued with the sign on the dorm door policy. Bruce and John took care of their business more discretely, though they still had to see their 'guy' again.

Porno for Pyro's, Tahitian Moon sprang to my mind on a crazy day at the Pass. The day was big, big enough to see waves from the parking lot. When looking toward the beach you look down a short road that leads to a boat launch but the road rises higher then the parking lot before dipping to the beach. The rise blocks the view of the beach making for the surreal sight of wave crests at eye level rolling across a vista of pavement surrounded by over hanging trees and under growth. Walking to the Pass did not reduce the awe at much greater than head height waves moving down the beach at right angles to the beach. A small portion of the broken wave would slow and curve up the beach ultimately washing up the beach but the blue water shoulder of the wave and a still powerful broken section would continue down the beach past Clark's Beach, finally breaking on Main Beach. Of course this is how the wave would normally brake at the Pass but with swell that looked nearly two head height high – maybe 12 feet – each wave seemed to be a hillock moving at 30 kilometers an hour down the beach, each crest and trough easily seen. Still these were not the cyclonic wave that made the Pass famous. They were not hollow, not powerful waves, they were wind blow and the top few feet broke before the rest of the wave would break. The day was at the edge of my ability and it took Rob's confidence to get me to even consider going out. On this day we would get in the water then paddle across the waves to the outside then catch a wave and ride it to the end of Clark's Beach where we would get out of the water and walk back up the beach – you could paddle around the outside but it was choppy from the wind. It was easier to walk that day. As I entered the water Tahitian Moon starts playing in my mind, "My boat's capsized, its going to sink to the bottom.... I don't know if I'll make it home tonight but I know I can swim under the Tahitian moon." It was a fitting song for a day when I had as much confidence that I would drown as not. But I did not drown I had the best day of surfing yet. Someone else was rescued by the Byron Bay Volunteer Surf Rescue and apparently he was an experienced surfer. I was not emboldened by this news because the difference between him and me may only have been the serenity I stole from a song. Or at least I was humbled by the sea before the sea had to humble me... at lease on this day.

Back at the hostel the memories are all of evenings getting out of hand or rainy days with no swell and nothing to do. The anthem was, "You and me aren't nothing but mammals so let do it like they do on the Discovery Channel." Of course only fragment of stories are revealed by these memories, the rest having been lost in an alcohol induced delirium only to be retrieved if we were all together to do it again – the result would be the same and the cycle would be ridden again but hey it would be fun. One of these yarns starts with the exchanging of the flee market wall art in our suits with other suites and ended with sangria and sun bathing in the rain – possible naked, at least topless – with fellow art enthusiast.

As well I vague recall a BBQ and wine drinking contest put on by the hostel staff. Of course I enter the wine drinking contest not knowing it was rig and not in my favor. The contest consisted of two people lying on their backs and having wine from a bag poured down throat, the person who drinks longest wins. I must have challenged at least five people, not including Sofia who I competed against twice and I never won. Sofia was the over all champion probable because of skills perfected in the bedroom. I staggered around defeated drinking more, and then blacked out. My only memory after that was of talking with a porcelain god. I woke up in bad shape but at least in bed. I went to get some water. Wicked laugher from Sofia and John assaulted my throbbing head. Sofia let me in on the joke. She had got the organizers of the drinking game to squeeze the bag of wine so that I was drinking twice as much as the other competitor. I found it so funny I puked in the sink.

Another starts with Rob's great need to get laid. Rob's need collides with Bruce's need and finally with John need to rebound since Chloe left for Sydney two day previous. All this need transmutes into the idea of putting up signs to advertise: Roberto's Latin Dancing, Massage and Male Escort Service open for business at 8:00pm room 8. We knew the signs would attract much attention so we hurried to shit, shower and shave while making the sangria. Sofia even iron shirts for Rob, me and herself – where the iron came from I do not know. Sangria was a much a part of these tales as music was. In the second room of our suits was the sangria maker, a chief from England, Miles. The sangria Miles made was sweet ambrosia mixed with Spanish Fly. We all made a valiant effort to remember how to make it but none could – all I remember is heating water with sugar, fruit and brandy then cooling with red and white wine but it was much more involved then that. With just a few minutes before the doors to Roberto's Latin Dancing, Massage and Male Escort Service opened officially one of Bruce and John's clients dropped by. During their dealings it was discovered that our signs read room 8 and we were in suite 8. Since I was the one with the least need I left with a glass of sangria and magic marker. I left a scene most strange, Sofia with her drawn on mustache, slicked back hair, restrained breasts, white collared shirt and too tight jeans showing off a banana dressed left gave lessons in Latin dancing to Rob, Bruce and John. Miles had the right idea, he sat laughing at Sofia's futile attempt to teach the forbidden dances of love in twenty minutes.

I walked around trying to remember where every sign we had put up was, then though it maybe better to put up a sign on room eight. Being Canadian I felt I had to ask before putting the sign up. I knocked on the door and was greeted by a gaggle of girls, the dorm was a female dorm. I explain my story. They laugh said they had already turn a few people away and one of their dorm mate had gone to take down the signs. They let me put the sign up and I invited them by. I said chow I continue to put up more signs. After meet others on the way to Roberto's Latin Dancing, Massage and Male Escort Service, I thought it prudent to get more booze. I got back to the part with a slab of Toohey's New, a bottle Tequila and enough lemons to keep scurvy away for years.

Upon arriving back at the suit I realized I had under estimated how far eight liters of sangria can go. A few more than twenty people were there and the ratio was stacked in the boys favor. In fact the threesome plateau was nearly reached and would have been crossed if Sofia were not batting for the boys today. Roberto was giving lesson in the court yard on the finest dances. Dances such as the sprinkler, the shoveler, and his favorite to teach – but one not all the girls wanted to learn - the cowboy which consisted of a girl in a riders position grinding her ass into Roberto's crotch with one hand forward as if holding reigns and the other slapping her ass like a cowgirl would to spur on her stallion. Roberto's dance moves were slightly different then the girls in this dance, he act like a bronco rider with one hand around her waist, the other swinging wildly in the air while his pelvis gyrated like Elvis'. I wanted to try this dance with Sofia later on and more naked. In the suits Sofia was cutting a rug with dark haired girl who looked Spanish and they both new what they were doing. The dance ended with the traditional guy holding the waist of the girl and looking away while the girl leant back as she had fainted. There was clapping a hooting from those gathered round. The peck on the cheek Sofia gave the girl went Parisians before everyone could be shocked. However, heckles and cat calls – mine included - brought reality back and the Spanish looking girl came up for air blushing despite dark complexion. Sofia found a new dance partner as the Spanish looking girl got more sangria. I found my way to the table with the sangria on it passing John and Bruce on the way. Bruce was chatting up some girl and John was teaching the art of massage to another girl. I thought it would be a good idea to give out shots of Tequila and started by give one to the Spanish looking girl who was really a Californian.

Not to long after I realized that I really hate Tequila three stunned Japanese travelers showed up at the suite looking confused. They asked in heavy accents if this was suite eight and most of the party goers answered it was Roberto's Latin Dance, Massage and Male Escort Service. Seeing their confusions Roberto finally intercepted them, assuring them it was suite eight. Roberto then steered them to their room with a stop for Sangria. This is when it was discovered that the sangria was dangerously low, being mostly fruit then drink, and the Tequila was gone. Roberto told me to turn the music off so he could make an announcement. Roberto got up on the coffee table and shouted, "Everyone can I have your attention... the sangria is all but gone. However, we have all master the art of Latin Dancing and massage. It is now time to use these new skills at the Disco. Anyone wanting an escort; Bruce, John, Miles, Sofia and Hugo are willing and able. Cheers!" Roberto pointed at each of us as he said our name and the partiers raucously returned his toast. All but Sofia and I swaggered to a cabaret with a name I cannot remember.

Sofia and I finished off the sangria, eating all the liquor soaked fruit then retired our room. We put up the sign, a hat on the door and began dancing a drunken waltz, then a salsa, then a flamenco, then a lambda, then the naked cowboy dance that change to an impromptu reverse cowgirl when I lost my balance falling back onto a bunk pulling Sofia with me. We spooned until we fell asleep in the bunk.

Sometime after we fell asleep, Rob came in to get the keys for Deloris. Rob woke Sofia and I, which was a good thing because the bed was too small for me on my own and surely had we been asleep longer one of us, would have fallen out of it. I groped around the floor for my shorts. When I found them I gave the keys to Rob with out question and fell into other lower bunk.

My bladder woke me at dawn as it usually does. Blurry eye I walked down the hall to the washroom. Out the back window a strange disc shaped object was on the grass behind the suite. I assumed I was hallucinating and did not change my course. Surely if aliens were on the lawn it would be wise to investigate after relieving myself. But on my way back to bed I glanced out the window again and there was a dome tent on the back lawn, a tent very much like mine. I when out to check it out. Indeed, it was my tent. Outside were a pair of sandal identical to Rob's. A second pair of sandal were next to the ones like Rob's, women's sandal, and it was clear why Rob had pitched a tent behind the hostel. I went back to bed thinking, "You and me baby ain't nothing but mammals... so lets do it like they do on the Discovery Channel."

Not all the time between surfing was filled with drinking and debauchery we were stoned a lot too. And if there was a song that captures the mood of Byron Bay on those unsettled days of sub-tropical fall it was the Orb's Little Fluffy Clouds. There was always a moment when everything got very distant but the clouds. It could happen in a café after smoking a three paper cone on the beach or while sitting on front steps of the hostel suite after a morning bong hit or driving to Ballina to watch a movie. The skies of Byron Bay always provided some reason to lose yourself. Sometimes it was dramatic like watching a lighting at the top of hill to the Cape Byron Lighthouse while on seventy micrograms of LSD – Ken Kesey's favorite dose (1956 – 1954). Other times it was a ray of rays of Sun shine brake up an otherwise gray sky. Often rainbow provided a reason to lose reality, so did every Sun set (in fact I have never seen more rainbow than around Byron Bay there not is much gold but pot is a plenty). If the day was getting out of hand, people were moving too fast and the mind worried about things uncontrollable the clouds usually little and fluffy would be there to help take a few more steps toward the enlightenment Buddha found and so many in Byron Bay are looking for... and for a few minutes after smoking that joint, hitting the bong or pipe, or dropping that hit, when the clouds seemed close enough to touch and the sound of the civilized world was drowned by the quiet of the mind, the oneness was easy to see. John, Bruce, Rob, Sofia and I never official booked a flight with guru airlines to meditate our way to transcendental, as many in Byron Bay did, but we all took trips to the astral plane with the help of mind expanders and hypnotic clouds.

In Byron Bay many people are searching for something different and better. That is why Krishnan's can be found chanting and dance their way down the beach. This search has coloured the town with windows advertisements telling of the benefits of aroma therapy, organic food, crystals, hemp products, cleansing herbal enemas and many other naturopathic remedies. Is there any other town in the western world with more art galleries than fast food joins? Probably, but even though we were on that search for the better, our better was surfing, or in Sofia's case diving. Save for a trip to a psychic and stoned tours of art galleries or new age nick-knack stores we never really explored the new age culture and spiritualism that is a staple in Byron Bay. Then Sofia dragged me to an afternoon of wellness and massage. It was a bit of everything. There was some new age spiritualism mixed with eastern philosophy that I will not admit to listening to or being interested by. I fell asleep during the meditation and breathing portion so it must have worked - my way of getting there is better because it is quicker. And finally we got to the yoga and massage bit which I took seriously. It was strange to practice massage with six other couples cooing in ecstasy while I faked it. The massage felt good but I was ill at ease with the company. It reminded me of a scene from documentary about the Cultural Revolution where two nurses were potty training to about twenty toddlers, I know I could not pinch off loaf in that situation just as I had to fake it at the wellness class.

However, circumstances were different at the little cinema next to the Piggery Café. Sofia and I went there to see a flick after the class and in the relative privacy cinema with no seat we did some homework. Now, when ever I hear John Mayer, Your Body is a Wonder Land, I am sent back to that dark theater where reclined on pillow like Ancient Greeks. We played, trying and failing to make noise only when the movie drowned it. We did not have sex. We did not even get too advanced fore play, but never have I felt so good after a movie, not even a Disney movie.

Sofia and I the wander around the Art Factory Hostel to find a place release what had built up during the movie. We found a spot with a bench over looking the marsh on the Island with the bungalows on it.

We walked back strolling along a veranda that served as the hall for the dorm rooms and into the downstairs common area where most of the people were drinking the obligatory box of wine... of course at the Art Factory more of the people with dread locks, bare feet and spacey out looks than at other Byron Bay hostels.

### Part 6: A place with out reason

Chapter 25

"Hey, Hugo, Sofia," a voice that made my heart flutter called from behind us.

We turned around to see Fay, who gave us both a sparkly sunshine hug as we greeted her.

Fay spoke up first, "Weird, I was going over to E-mail you. I just got back from Nimbin... what you bin doin'?"

"Hugo and I were taking a look around the place after seeing a movie."

"Cool, theater hey. Have you eaten at the Piggery yet?"

Sofia answered again because I was lost, "No, its the first time we've come out here. John and Bruce, said this place was strange."

"The Factory has character. Before I went to Nimbin I stayed here for a few weeks working as a cleaner. It's got a great vibe, it's all about... I don't want to say hippies but in a way it is, I guess it's about living better. Most people here don't join the race, they don't want much, but more than that they want to make things better... right some of the wrongs, you know."

"Neo-hippies or as Lonely Planet says counter culturist," I said.

"Yeah, kind of. But not really, labels are so constraining and it about being free," Fay said, "Hey, have you eaten, I was going to get some dinner after hitting the internet café."

Sofia answered first, "No we haven't. We could go to the Piggery?"

"Sure," Fay replied.

I did not have to answer, I would follow Fay where ever. Then I said, "Let smoke a jay first." And I took one I rolled earlier out of the bag of Drum (rolling tobacco) I carry to put such things in.

Fay stopped me before I could walk the few steps outside to light up, "We can't smoke right here. Let's go around back to employee's dorms... it's most alternative place in town and is a heat score so they don't let people smoke just anywhere. Apparently the police often threaten to raid them."

As we walked around back to where a double-decker bus was turn into dorm rooms I giggle to myself about the fact I could smoke a jay in the common room at our suit in the Koala Hostel but not at the Arts Factory, a place with people 'not constrained by label' obviously the yoke of hippiedom keeps the freak flag flying at half mast.

Once the joint was smoked we started toward the Piggery but as we reached the front desk of the Arts Factory Fay stopped and said, "Hey I forgot, it a BYOB. I'll get some wine."

Fay was off before I could ask what that meant but I said it anyway, "What's a BYOB?"

Sofia explained, "They've got a license that allows customers bring booze in but they can't sell it."

"Strange," I said wandering off to look at post cards. Soon I found an interesting post card and showed Sofia, who was on the other side of the rack. It was a picture of a fisherman walking back from the ocean with a mushroom cloud and the caption read, 'the fishing was better before the French came' in reference to the nuclear testing in French Polynesia. Sofia smiled, and then showed me the one she had found. It was of a blue sky with little fluffy cloud and two signs. The first said, 'Cemetery Road', the second said, 'Dead End'. I smiled. Fay found us and we were off.

Upon entering the Piggery I noticed it was not a shrimp on the barbie place. The menu was not normal Australian tucker; no beef, no fish, no seafood in strange tropical fruit sauces. Rice, chick peas, and lentils took the place of potatoes and beef, and strange beans, egg plant and peanut dishes took the place of seafood. I had entered the veiggan zone and I am a northern person. I am the kind of person who would eat raw seal blubber before egg plant. I am defiantly not trying to better myself by changing my diet. I hear from vegetarians all that time about how a single piece of meat will send their intestines into a twist... me, I have a parallel problem, I gag at the texture of most vegetables. I will not defend my evil carnivorous ways with the vigor and bile that a veggie would attack me. But I will say this: Chimps and baboon relish the day they find some meat. Human teethe are made to cut meat and grind grain. Live in the north and live only on vegetables. And are plants alive. Yes my hippie friends, you eat them when they are still alive but perish the thought of eating a dead cow. "It is ok to eat fish they don't have any feeling." So there is a hierarchy to life that put things closer to us higher on that scale, my deep ecologist friend. Could it be cows as a species will never go extinct so long as we eat them and that that is a strategy for survival in the same way some defenseless aphids get protection from ants that farms them?

Really, I am only angry because the dinner did not go well. It did not go badly but at the time it was the worse dinner since the incident at Thanksgiving 89. I order a dish with peanuts and other things in it and drank wine to kill the taste while agreeing with everything Fay had to say. It was a piece of egg plant that caused me to gag then cough getting my food all over my shirt. 'I didn't puke, thank God,' the atheist said to himself as he wiped his mouth after a Technicolor hiccup. I could not eat so I drank wine on an empty stomach. Non-carbonated drinks like wine have a way of sneaking up on you then showing up all at once, this happened to me. Half way through dinner I was a rambling drunk, as anyone would be after five glasses of red wine and three mouthfuls of food. Being drunk the food went down, though, only one in three forkfuls would make it into my mouth. The wine did not suffer the same problems the food did.

We had no desert but did smoke a joint in the parking lot. The weed only exacerbated the embarrassment I felt at scene at dinner. Gagging on egg plant and being slightly drunk in the circles we travel are not fouls, however; the mind chose that dinner to take control back from the soul. The mind thought the dinner was to important to let the soul have control, after all Fay was there and second impressions are as important as first. The autocracy of the mind scrutinized ever action taken and ever word said. Spill milk became an issue. An off colour drunken remark was rebuked. Views that disagreed with Fay's were censored. The mind was trying to make me prefect. I was conscious of everything in the presence of Fay. By the time we smoke a joint the mind had already switched into damage control mode, which restricted me to smiling at jokes and agreeing with what ever was said. "I think it is paper," I said, politely offering the spent joint to Fay so she could decide if it was in fact paper.

"Its paper," Fay agreed dropping it on the ground then stomped it out. "I had better get going. I said I would clean the kitchen for a buddy who wanted the night off."

"Well, have fun," I took a step towards home.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Sofia said as I turned to go. Then Sofia added, "Don't mind Hugo he's acting weird because he's got a huge crush on you but is with me."

Fay remarked, "I kind of noticed. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

I was absolutely livid with Sofia. I walked calmly out of the parking lot and down the road a bit before I let my anger show. Once on the road I stocked off at double time. "Slow down," Sofia called to me.

"Why? So I can be your clown?" I spat, "I'm sure you thought it was a good laugh bringing me unknowingly to a vegetarian restaurant... very funny. I looked like an idiot!"

"We walked through the restaurant to get to the theater, how could you not notice it was a vegetarian place? You didn't say anything when I suggested we go there, you could have said something. Anyway, you weren't an idiot just a bit award."

I was far from calm and continued even more irate, "You knew that I would have gone anywhere if Fay agreed. And I go there gag on the horrid food, get drunk and act like a fool. Then you have to smooth things over by saying, 'Hugo's got big crush on Fay'... thanks, real help, next time don't bother."

Sofia now angry, "You should be happy I said what I said."

"Why? Because..." before I could say anymore Sofia cut me off.

"Because it is true."

"Sure it is true, but how does it make me look... like some," I paused and kept walking unable think of anything to say or at least anything that made sense. Finally I settled on saying, "Whatever, like it really matters... what the fuck does?"

Something in Sofia snapped, "Your right you did look like an idiot! The whole night you sat there like a black boy saying, 'yes em' to everything Fay said. She asked about how your food was you said, 'its good, some when down the wrong tube that all.' She went on about environmentalism and you didn't debate her. You sat there acting placid... that's not you, you would have argued. You will continue to look like a fool by acting like a lap dog and not yourself."

"Yeah, that is the prefect thing to do, be exactly me. That will work she can see that I disagree with most of her beliefs, have bad traits and vices. Warts and all, eh. Sure that works for Kings but me... I'm no King."

"Bullshit! What are you so afraid of?"

"Afraid... I just want to maximize my chances... be tactful and not fuck up."

"You are afraid and that is why you are hiding... sorry, maximizing your chances. You are a fool. There is no reason to ever hide what is true from those you love." And to illustrate her point Sofia began to take her clothes off. I stood there dumb founded until she started walking up the street. I picked up her clothes then follow after her as the clouds burst with a torrential downpour.

The rain was heavy enough to somewhat obscure Sofia while we walked down the residential street, but once crossed the train tracks to the commercial streets we walked under awnings with the rest of the people trying to find shelter from the rain. Most of them stared, some hooted or jeered, many try to ignore her. Sofia continued to walk winking or nodding to those that ignored her, all the while smiling. I was following a step behind slowly going from shocked to embarrassed, only to wonder why I was embarrassed.

Sofia tuned into a bottle shop where the clerk said the obligatory, "No shirt, no shoe, no service."

Sofia replied, "But it's raining out and I didn't want my cloths to get wet," with more of an accent then when she normally spoke. She grabbed a 26 oz. of Bundaberg Rum and some Coke then went to pay. She patted her ass as if checking for a wallet as the clerk gawked. "Silly me, I have no pocket. Hugo, can you pay?" I paid quietly. Once outside we both had a laugh.

What mirth was found in the naked walk dissolved when we reached the hostel. Sofia dressed before entering our suite. Inside, Bruce, John, Rob, Francisca the girl Rob had pitched a tent for and two girls I did not know were watch a movie while the Japanese travelers were making diner. Sofia went to get some glasses then went back outside to sit on the stoop to drinking and watching the rain. I joined her after getting some dry cloths.

With rum and cokes that were as much rum as coke we sat wallowing in the blues and we had no harmonica. However, the rhythm less rain was cathartic, for me at least. Soon I could see my flaws, accept them and apologized to Sofia, telling her that she was right I was rash.

Sofia said, "No, you don't have to apologize. I should not have interfered, it was not my place."

I was about to go on a rant saying that Sofia's place was any place she wanted it to be and was in no way tied to my wishes, free will you know, but the way she sighed shut me up. I sat and gulped my drink.

"Could you get me a cigarette?" Sofia asked.

"Here, I'll roll you one."

"No, I want a real one."

"Sure." I got up to get a cigarette from one of the guys inside. I sat back down after getting a couple cigarettes from John. I gave them to Sofia, who automatically lit one. In the light from the light I saw her eye were puffy and red. "Is something wrong? You don't normally smoke."

Sofia shrugged wiping her eyes and nose on her T-shirt before she said, "I use to smoke when I was a teenager. Every now and then I get the urge to smoke... then after a couple I remember how vile they are." She had a drink, "Other times I just want to blow smoke rings." She took a drag then blew three smoke rings clicking her jaw with each one. She smiled briefly. "I think cigarette smoke makes better rings then pot smoke... except in the morning when your in bed and light beams break through the curtains, then the bluer pot smoke is better."

"Only once or twice have I blown smoke rings, although I try all the time."

"It easy, I'll show you," Sofia blew two more, "You got to kind of blow up a little puff - clicking your jaw helps – then poke the hole out with your tough. Here you try." I took the cigarette and tried a few times but with no success. "Softer." This time I tried and a ring came out, though, not a well shaped one. "Try it again." I tried a few more time and two of them were good rings. "There you go. Cheers." She clinked her glass against mine and finished her drink.

"To Sofia, the teacher," I finished my drink.

After another drink and a squall passing by Sofia said, "I wish it were snowing. It always so quiet when it snows. It sound weird but I miss cold sometimes. It's never really cold here... and there are no real seasons... and people who have never seen snow." Her tone stunned me, it was melancholy much darker and heavier then a bought of homesickness could explain. I was sure this talk of snow was not what she wanted to say and was said only to keep from saying what she wanted to. I agree with her about the cold and fill her cup hoping it would lift the weight.

Sofia's voice was lighter a few minutes later when she refilled her glass and asked, "Do you mined if I use your rods?"

It was a question that Sofia did not have to ask, but is mandatory for the fisher. Touching a man's tackle is like toughing a man's tackle. "No problem. Just rinse it with fresh water and don't drop the reels in the sand. I'm not sure about where or how to fish here... I saw a few people catching bream at Tallow beach and others fishing for fish that eat seaweed of the rocks. I've got a heavy spinning rod – surf fishing rod - , a light spinning rod, a 6 weight fly rod with a reel for floating line and one with a sinking tip and a light mooching rod... I don't know why I brought that one, its really only good for fishing salmon with live bait and it has a single action reel that doesn't cast well."

"I haven't fly fished in years. A six weight... it probable just right for the fish we saw the guys catching at the beach. What flies do you have?"

"I brought all the flies that I have. I have one of most of the well known patterns... like doc spratly's, leeches, dragon fly nymphs, woolly buggers."

Sofia smiled slightly when I said woolly bugger, "Woolly bugger, that is the best name ever."

"Yeah, everyone takes a double take when they hear that the first time. I'm sure one of the nymph will look enough like something edible to fish here."

"Is your fly rod good?"

"It a Sage, the introductory model but its good. I've only fly fished for three years."

"Sage is good. A fly rod that is not quality is useless."

"It is true that you get what you pay for... you get a rod from a department store and all you get is frustrated. My first rod was an el'cheapo and pulled my hair for months learning how to cast. I tried my buddies good rod and could cast more than twice as far" We went silent for while and filled the drinks a couple times in that time.

Sofia then giggled for an unknown reason. I asked, "What is it?"

"Nowhere... now here... they are the same word."

I said it a few times and smiled at it then we fell silent until the end of the bottle. Sofia poured the last two glassed said in sad weighty voice, "It's hard to find someone you can share good silence with and we have shared some good ones." I agreed without saying a word. Getting up to go to bed was harder then falling asleep but still I worried about Sofia gloom before passing out.

Chapter 26

Rob woke me by shake my shoulder and saying my name a few time. He caught me in the middle of a dream that turn disturbing with his disruption. The dreamscape was of me in a field giving Rob head while he yelled my name. Figuratively speaking, the dream left a bad taste in my mouth.

Rob said, "Let's go surfing."

I double checked reality making certain Rob shorts were on then groggily said, "What a terrible dream."

"Hurry up," Rob said as he went into the other room, "I said to Francisca we'd be by at seven." I jumped out of bed, knowing Rob was serious enough about Francisca to leave with out me in my car if I took my time. I drank a gallon of water for my poor head and grabbed some food as Rob did the same. Francisca was ready and waiting by Deloris when we got there.

Broken Head was about as good as it had been in the time we were in Byron Bay. The sky was overcast, the water was glassy, and he swell was about five feet on the face with sets of seven feet. There were more dolphins surfing then people when we arrived. Bruce and John paddled out an hour after us.

Because it was a good day I tried quickly and went in after couple hours. I knew Francisca and Rob would stay out much longer so after drying off I strolled down the beach to see if anyone was fishing. I spoke with a few fishers. All of them were fishing with natural baits - prawns, crabs, sea worm or pieces of fish. They fished the deep troughs behind bars where white water from the beach brake was pushed into and gutters where the water pushed on the beach would exit through a rip.

While I checked out the fishing, half my thoughts were about why Sofia was so down. I had ruled out jealousy of Fay right away, Sofia was too cool for that and had told me so. It was not homesickness. Sofia did mention she did have a past but only after going to check her E-mail and she did not check it yesterday. That left her naked walk which was also something Sofia was too open minded to hit her hard, or maybe a combination of all of them. It weighed on me.

I walked back to the car. Francisca and Rob were there getting changed when I got there. They were a good looking couple, so good that if a surfboard or wet suit company's logo was put over a nice picture of them walking up the beach it would not be out of place in a surfing magazine. Francisca was Dutch, 5'4"ish, with a petit build, small breast, hair that would be dirty blond if not sun bleached lighter and fit. Rob was typical tall dark and hansom with well defined but not overly developed musculature that marks the surfers ideal.

Though I had not talked at great length with Francisca, she gave off the aura of Tank Girl, feisty and animated at all time. Her look from a far, with out seeing her gestures, did not look at all like her personality, especially with simple straight shoulder length blond hair.

We drove back to the hostel. Francisca and Rob went to get breakfast and I went to find Sofia. Sofia was in bed reading. "What up?" I asked.

"Fay dropped by looking for you. We had a good talk... did some yoga but it didn't help my hangover. She going to come by latter. Oh, there some beach party tonight."

I sat on the edge of the bed and with straight face said, "I've got a problem... I've been traumatized. This morning when Rob said my name to wake me to go surfing, I dreamed I was giving him head and he was saying, 'Oh, Hugo... Hugo.' I fear I am going gay. The only thing that could possibly reverse this is for me to fuck you as much as possible today... it just might save my heterosexuality." Sofia started to giggle half way through then grew cold as nuzzled her neck and put my hand on her ass. I stopped. "What wrong?"

"Not now, it my time of month." Sofia answered. For a moment I though what I would have done if she said, 'Yes, but it's my time of the month.' I knew I would say, 'For real.' And if she said, 'Yes I am so horny.' I would have gone for it and like it if she did. I would have done anything she said. Something of my sick thought spilled onto my face, "No, that's so gross."

I gave Sofia a kiss. I was about to ask why she was so upset last night but I had an epiphany. Instead I said, "Wanna get something to eat?" as I checked the facts. Achem's Razor cut up the other hypotheses for her blues, it says the simplest explanation is most like the best. She did not have her period yesterday. Today she has her period. Yesterday she had PMS which cause the mood. Being a man, I was not going delve any deeper into this mystery. PMS, man's answer to any and all of woman's problems solves this case too.

Funny thing was, normally I am highly critical of Achem's Razor, especially when pertaining to human dealings. But not today, because PMS is so big it blots out male reason too.

While we are on the right-of-way of the story lets get a few more facts that may shed some light on the story. At this time in the story I did not know Sofia was big fan of Pink Floyd, a band highly into symbolism – those who have watched the Wall know this. Sofia, like many teenagers was into Floyd during that time. And as the Grateful Dead affects my character Floyd affects hers. My love of the Dead causes me to quote them in the same way some quote the Bible. Sofia is different she has taken from Floyd the blatant symbolism and uses it in life. Sometime the symbols are too obvious to see if not looked for and this is why the supposedly omniscient author has to write this. However, I do not know this about Sofia and will not know until mention with in the fabric of the story and it will not be.

Now those who have seen the Wall will be observant enough to see the allusion in the last line and this how I want you to view Sofia. But back to the story.

Sofia and I got up to get some lunch. Bruce and John walked in as we were leaving. For sometime now the pressure had been building to go to North Stratbrook Island. Today the friction was broken. The wheel started to roll because Bruce and John had found a couple of English birds to come with them. "Mate," Bruce addressed both of us, "I was talking with Rob and Francisca and we want to head up to North Strady in a couple of day. The week is up for our room so it is a good time to go. Plus the weather only going to getting worse here."

"Yeah, sounds good. What do you think Sofia?"

"I'm flying to Bali in eight days... is it close to Brisbane?"

Bruce answered, "It about an hour away plus the ferry ride from the Island."

Sofia asked me, "You can get me to the airport?"

"No problem," I replied.

While walk to the bakery I marveled at that fact that I was not worried that Fay may not want to come with us to North Stratbrook Island. I was a passenger riding with destiny. Sofia having her period, thus turning off the sex tap for most of the time I would be with her fell right inline with destiny. Fay would come with us and I would not have the gilt of fucking Sofia while chasing Fay. Now all I have to do was follow fates cues and ask Fay if she want to come – which she will.

Today was going so well, Sofia even paid for lunch.

At two Fay dropped by with the mushroom. She had a lot, about a quarter pound. I offered her 1 ½ hit of acid for one gram of mushrooms. This was good deal for Fay. I would have given her the acid for free if she asked. The trade masked the fact that I was madly in love with her but the good deal made me look generous. I got thirty grams or so of mushrooms, she got 45 hits of LSD (1954 to 1919). It was a chore weighing out the mushrooms on the small balance scale Bruce had because mushrooms are bulky and do not fit on the scale well. During that time we talked about everything but I did not ask her if she wanted to come to North Straty.

Before Fay dropped by, Sofia went to the dive shop to check if the water clarity was good enough to take me out diving. Since Sofia had told me I was going diving with her the marginal water clarity caused by rain water run off stopped us from going. Sofia arrived back at the hostel as we weight the last couple grams. Sofia did not knock when she entered the dorm room, causing a wave of paranoia to crash over Fay and me. Sofia saw our panic and said, "What... there was no hat on the door so did not knock." When large amount of drugs are around there is away some paranoia.

"You scared the shit out of us," Fay said.

Sofia changed topic, "I when to the dive shop and again its to crappy to go. But I talked to Don and he said North Stratbrook has some great diving... he call a friend of his arranging for us to go in five days. We'll get a big discount too."

"Where are you going?" Fay asked.

"North Stratbrook Island... its East of Brisbane, you got to take a ferry there. Bruce and John, say it got some great surfing and beach... this time of the year no one really goes there. It should be dead. We're gonna camp, hang out... for a week or so." I said.

"That sounds like fun," Fay said, "It is good to get away from the track most follow. I've got to start going North soon and make some money picking fruit. Camping out would save a bit of money."

I said, "We've got room if you want to come?"

"Sure," Fay answered, "Hey, there is a beach party tonight. You guy should do some mushrooms and come with us."

The invitation to the party Sofia and I received soon grew to include all that would come with us to the North Stratbrook; John, Bruce, Rob, Francisca, Miles, Clare, and Helen would also eat Fay's mushrooms and go to the party.

Chapter 27

When you are like me and you know that the Universe is infinite, thus chaotic, you are astounded by areas of low entropy. This is exactly what gives people the idea of a Universal force, an order, a God. And, though, many areas of time and space have low entropy when compared to other areas, it is an illusion. It is easy for us and things of finite proportion to mistake the easy sailing one finds in an area of low entropy for something more than a pool of order. I was in the deep end of the pool as we tried to decide on the amount of mushrooms to take.

John, Rob, Francisca, and Bruce had taken mushrooms before and two grams each. Fay took one gram to start saying she would take more as the night when on. I was going do that same as Fay but started with two grams. Sofia was a bit apprehensive after taking acid, however, after reassuring her that it would not be anywhere as intense as the LSD she took a gram. Miles ate a gram as well. Helen and Clare did not take any. As soon as we had choked down the mushrooms we equipped ourselves with bags filled with beer and set out on our mission.

The yawns hit us as we reached the beach. The first giggles were heard as we neared the bonfire. There were a few more then our number at the party and they greeted Fay warmly but cooled a little when they noticed the amount of beer and absence of any other persons with dreadlocks – oh, to be judge by the style of your hair. Before the mushrooms took us over completely there was lull where we drank beer to quiet our churning stomachs while we failed to mingle. The only one to mix deeper than introductions was Fay who knew most of them and sold mushrooms to the others. It was not long before trance music coming from a ghetto-blaster and mushroom had caused some to dance and others to play with the fire.

Sofia was still a little wary of the wonder washing out her mind and the wobble she was sure she would feel if her feet were used for walking. Sofia cooed, "Ooo, they hit you hard. It's tingly and warm... and I am attached to it all. I feel like I can talk with the trees." Then giggled inanely, which is the only way to giggle. "I feel so sexy right now. Every thing is so sexy."

Sofia was sitting in front of me, lean back on me when I had to kiss her neck, bit her ear and receive a kiss before I said, "I always get so horny right at the beginning... not so much horny but lovely... fall in love with everything I do... crank up one passion three more points, that is the shrooms' love. But not XTC's love, that is contentment and acceptance... not really love. LSD is a re-birth, grandness... an out of control love." This came out in a breathless voice, either brought on by the love I was feeling or the poison in the mushroom that make you yawn and breathe shallow.

Sofia said something in Norwegian which felt like a four letter L word and finished the translation with a kiss that could only have meant you. Before I could guess the first word she got up and started to dance. Again, the first person narrative fails this story. The rules of time and space need to be broken because even though I remember her words I paid them no heed. Instead I would lose Sofia's words in the rest of the love, in a 'trees for the forest kind of way.' The group conscience was forcing me to accept a greater love, the feeling shared by all of us on this trip together.

While I was give into the greater love, Fay walked up to me from an angle out of my view and sat beside me. "How are the shrooms?" She said.

"Good... stronger than I thought they would be." I changed topics, "Hey, do you want to here something funny?"

"Yeah."

"Sofia showed me this the other day." I flattened the sand in front of me and tried to write in it but it was to dry. "That won't work. Ok, think about how nowhere is spelled. N O W H E R E... right, now think of it a now here. Nowhere... now here." I struggled to keep a strait face because such things are oh, so funny when on mushrooms. It took a second before Fay started to laugh but she was tearing up from laughter in no time. I followed her lead.

Sofia danced up to us, extending her hands for ours. Fay and I grabbed one each and were pulled into the over-consciousness which was around all of us on that plain. This drug induced higher state of being was originated by The Marry Pranksters' acid tests with the Grateful Dead as the house band. It is a feeling of connection only those on similar drugs can feel. Everyone may be different but the drug connects one to another. And even though we are on a beach in Australia the feeling of unity we have for the twenty or so of us is the same feeling that was share in West Coast warehouses with thousands people on XTC in the early nineties. Whether the movement was the happenings and tests of the sixties or the raves of late eighties and nineties the goal was the same, to show people the greater good through drugs, a higher way to be. This goal, though a good one, corrupts with time as any does. The Dead became the highest grossing group to tour the US through the eighties and until Jerry Garcia died - though they only got one single in the top forty. The rave scene went mainstream and the promoters found cheaper, usually more dangerous, drugs to give to the kids allowing TV shows like Inside Edition to out the XTC induces sex party kids in those days were going to.

But drug parties are not the only things that summons the over-consciousness, hockey games, riots, rock concerts, religious events, political parties do as well. The swarm mentality is not just for locusts and bees. Human behavior is effected by the number of people and there mood in the same way bugs, fish, birds, herding mammals do. And it seems to me that places full of people on drug having a good time is better then many of the other activities that invoke the over-consciousness.

We dance in a trance like state, spinning more often than if drunk. Sometime after I started dancing I was pulled away by Helen and Clare. They were feeling left out of the loop and wanted to be in so I gave then both a half gram or so, of mushrooms. Then I sat down to drink a beer and watch our tribe's ritual. I balled up some mushrooms swallowing them with a gulp of beer and winced at the taste or perceived taste.

One of the people I did not know sat down next to me and said, "Is this about the greatest thing you could be doing right now?" He did not stop long enough for me to answer. "Fuck, I'm on the beach in Australia dancing around a fire on acid... is there anything better?"

"I can't think of anything," I said, "Where did you get the acid?"

"That girl Fay got it from some guy," he pointed at Fay when he said her name.

"I'm some guy, the name is Hugo, I brought the acid from Canada."

"You got some balls." I knew he was not Canadian because a Canadian would have said eh after balls.

"It easy to hide. You American?"

"Sam from Eugene Oregon... I have not had acid this good since I saw the Dead at the Gorge. Fuck, I was still in high school then. We did some California Sunshine." California Sunshine is a legendary type of LSD. It is 300 micrograms of pure LSD-25 made by Owelsy or another sixties icon. A page of it – 100 hits – has a picture of a yellow sun rising or setting over coast line rather then the individual pictures on each square, as is the style today.

"I'm so jealous; I've never seen the Dead or done California Sunshine. The stuff I got was made by a guy from the sixties who got caught a year or so ago with the makings for six million hits of LSD, hundreds of thousands of E and eighty thousand dollars in gold." I turned to look at Sam when I said this. He had the Jesus look, long hair, scruffy beard, and soulful eye – psychedelic eye are always soulful.

"Did you take some?"

"No, I took mushrooms... Fay picked em."

Sam grew serious, "Can you see a culture with mushrooms but no booze... the Mayans (figure out if it was Mayans or Aztec's, I think it is Mayans) were greater then we know. They got it man, and then went up to where those who got it go. Vanished before Europeans fucked America up."

Sam, was a head and I could not attack a head, however, far from the facts his story maybe so I said my piece and left it at that, "I read that there is strong evidence that the Aztec's did not leave but shrunk in size from disasters and infighting. And many Aztecs joined the Conquistadors to fight Montezuma because there God predicted an advanced people coming in boat from the east."

"Advanced people from the east. The Aztecs made the pyramids and worked out the calendar and charted the stars. They were the advanced people. Sure some Aztecs did not go because they were not ready. Today, those that have the power don't want us to know of the Aztec, Incan, Egyptian, Aboriginal, and Native American magic. It would take power from them. So they create blood sacrifices and other untruths... really do you think a person on mushrooms could cut out another person heart?"

"Yes... the feeling of this party is made by us. We came here to have a good time and burn shit. The mushrooms or acid drove up the intensity but we brought the mood. Have you ever done mushrooms or acid when not in a party kind of mood or when alone?"

"No."

"I've taken mushrooms or acid then played hockey. Each time my intensity was up and so were my penalty minutes. I've had moment on each when could have killed if the law would allow. I don't think it is because I'm psychotic... rather I think it is because I was not in the normal head space people would do those drugs in... not in a place like this. I don't think they are a one way ticket to enlightenment or goodness though they can help in the search. Mushrooms and acid do everything big." I paused for a second having a drink, "XTC on the other hand is a one way trip and sometime I hate it for that... sometimes you need to feel bad and you lose humanity if you can't. XTC is pure acceptance."

"Not that I agree with you but what about the pyramids? Many different culture made pyramids and we still don't how they were made?"

"A round, conical mound is the easiest way to make a large structure, Neolithic Europeans made lots of them. A pyramid is the second easiest structure to build."

"But they were made to conduct energy."

I smiled and continued, "Man you're the one who asked. Here have a beer and I'll finish. Pyramids are the biggest thing that could be made by their technology so they made pyramids. But the skill of making pyramids was lost because better ways of making things were discovered with more advanced build techniques. Go ask an aerospace engineer making the F-22 - the latest US fighter plane, which has taken 20 year to develop - how the P-51 was made in six months with slide-rules?" I did not wait for an answer, "He won't... the engineer will say it was a miracle and doubt it could be done today. Too, many of the old ways of doing things have been lost to duplicate the feet."

Mushrooms make me talk at length and I kept on going, "Fighter planes are also a good example of why many different cultures made pyramids. When a plane is made the government set out specifications that says what the minimum performance requirement for a design is. If two counties have similar requirements the planes usually look the like such as the F-15 Eagle and Sukhio - 27 Flanker... they look like brothers and were designed to counter similar threats. Pyramids were built by people with comparable levels of technology and the goal of making the biggest thing possible." I stopped to drink more beer.

"We will know in 2012 when the Aztec say the world will end. The millennium is not the real end."

I gave my opinion, "Do we really understand how the Aztec's saw time? I heard that the calendar repeats in intervals that are like 273 years long... and that each interval has more or less had the same ups and downs in it as the previous. Humanity love its order and hate death. The funny thing is, death and order are linked. Order is the mark of God and death is where God and man exist together. Order also says that if God created the universe there must be an end. The end is a comfort, it allows people to believe that their action on Earth have meaning and aren't loss in a infinity with no beginning or end... thus not giving importance to finite events. The end secures humanities importance. And every God or order based society has some story about how the world, the universe will end. Order has to have an end and so their calendar does.

"I wonder if there is disorder based society. If there was it would not last long. I guess the Gods or Spirits that are most chaotic are Raven and Coyote. I think the trickster Gods are there to let us in on the trick that is reality. A shell game; changing when ever we think we got the rhythm." That tangent was stopped when Fay sat down.

Sam said to Fay, "This guy is totally tripping."

"So am I," Fay said, "So what are you going off about?"

I did a brief recap that was longer and more in depth than the first time with more examples. For example, convergent evolution was explained not only with the examples of fighter plains but with the more conventional marsupial wolf and wolf example. They are two completely different animals, evolving at different times and places, from two separate phylum – marsupial and mammalian - but are morphologically similar because of similar requirements for hunting prey.

When I got to the disorder and the Coyote, I started new, "If the goal is to continue forever then order is not the way to go... time cannot be if it continually running through the same actions in a circle without turning the odometer up. A mark of change must be made for time to exist and change cannot happen if the universe is running up with ordered cycles that repeat themselves as the Aztec calendar says."

Sofia crouched in front of me stopping the babble. Sofia, "I want some more mushrooms and beer."

Though, the feeling of my high had not intensified greatly I knew I was at a second peak because the highlights of Sofia face were blue and I did not mind that my ranting was being laughed at by Fay and Sam. I split the last of the mushrooms I brought with Sofia and gave her a beer. Then Sam, the wag, said, "What about time travel?"

I was off again, "There are two kinds: Einstein's boring one is linked to relativity and the speed of light as an upper limit to our ambition and Jewels Vern's. Einstein's was limited by his limit, God. Einstein like all physicists got in the game to find the order; Einstein's Holy Grail, the grand unified field theory. He couldn't find it, because it like God is impossible in an infinite or chaotic universe... of course now there is the string theory, that is immeasurable... but I digress. Time travel is linked to space and Einstein's way, though boring works, and has been tested. But few of us have a twin to be very sad about when we come back from near light space travel to find all we know is gone... our world and twin having aged many more years then we have. Jewels Vern's time travel is more exciting, however, even though it has successfully sent people back in time, the idea of space and time connection has been neglected by it's discoverers and the unfortunate time traveler is rematerialized in space, or the earths core, or twenty thousand lieges under or over the sea... dieing on arrival."

The others laugh and I hand beer to those that need one. On cue a star shoot by and I comment, "There goes Jewels Vern."

What I thought was a cameras flash lit the sky. Sam, who was looking out to the ocean said, "I see the future and its coming quickly. It looks like a squall is coming." We all look out to sea and saw a darkness obscuring the Eastern horizon with top of the clouds silhouetted by the nearly full moon high in the western sky. Another flash lit the sky. This time most of us saw the approaching storm lit up by the lightning. Sam spoke up again, "We had better go somewhere before the rain hits." The owner of the boom box had already decided to pack up and go.

By this time most of partiers were well past the peak and the idea of getting out of the rain and into society was not so scary. There was a sort of disorganized meeting about where to go. Two camps were formed: those wanting to get beer and those wanting to smoke pot. The pot smoker were mostly the people Fay knew from the Art Factory while the beer dinkers were mostly those I came with. Fay and Sam were two of the Art Factory people to jump ship and follow the alcoholics to the disco.

I was well on my way to going to a disco when Sofia came up to me and said, "I'm not going to any bar. I want to watch the storm... lets go up to the light house." I knew that Sofia's inexperience with mushrooms coupled with the amount she took made her by far the highest person in the group. I could tell she had been handed a mission from the God of mushrooms and wine, Dionysus, so I did not bother arguing. And the two of us set off at the speed of mushrooms for the Cape Byron Light House with a bag slightly less than full of beer.

During the walk there was difference in our relationship. I was the experience teacher and Sofia the student. Normally Sofia had been the teacher and I the student. This had not consciously occurred to me until the night before when she taught me how to blow smoke rings. But now it was easy to see she was my teacher and muse – because any good teacher inspirers too.

As we walked I took great pleasure in showing Sofia some of the more trippy sights to be seen, such a tree canopy seen from beneath – truly an outstanding sight on mushrooms. My lecture did not end at things that seem surreal or sublime on shrooms but encompassed biology, geology, meteorology, mysticism, mythology, anything that seem interesting, which was everything. Sofia was an eager student, questioning, challenging and calling my bullshit shit.

Even with the energy the mushrooms gave us the climb to the lighthouse left us winded. But we got there before the storm. The lag between the lighting and thunder clap was only a couple second when we reached the lighthouse. Behind us, to the west clear sky could be seen but to East only black lit by lightning every few minutes.

The road to the lighthouse had a gate that was locked at night and anyone wanting to go up there would have to brave the coming deluge. Technically we were not alone. Three or four other couples or threesomes took their chances. The wind from the storm and the mushrooms made us feel alone.

We sat catching our breathe on the roads guard rail drinking beer. And as the others jogged away from a wall of rain that could be heard but not seen, we cracked another couple of beers. The rain was so heavy it was uncomfortable to sit in it and we had to raise our voices to speak about how awe inspiring and humbling the moment was. During the squall, water collected on the top of the beer can and would dilute the beer when sips were taken. At one point a bolt of lightning and accompanying thunder startled me so badly I dropped my beer.

Sofia dropped hers too, but not because of the thunder. She grabbed my face and we started to make-out with more intensity then the storm. That is as far as it went. We had to stop because any longer and it would go further.

The downpour ended not long after and sodden we plodded down the hill still more stoned then drunk but with beers in hand. When we were just past the gate one last bolt of lightning lit the lighthouse as I looked back at the lighthouse gate and Sofia, who was catching up to me after a pit stop. The view that was illuminated was not of a lighthouse but a castle. Not any old castle but the one from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, with the sign on the gate reading, 'Enter At Your Own Risk,' and Sofia as... guess? No, not Janet but Dr. Frankenfruter! I kept this to myself.

That night Sofia had ascended in my view to something out of reach. She was already up there but now she was too good. She had it all, more than I could ever hope for. She was too big for me. Happy was I to have been around her but the line would break, she was too big and I was not big enough. I had known this all along... she was just too big.

By the time we reach the hostel we were both shivering. The beer was no longer enough to keep us warm so I got my secret reserve of Southern Comfort out of the car along with some beef jerky, Pepsi, and crisp – chips. We crawl into the Sofia's bunk spooned until we were warm and drunk enough to sleep.

"I like mushrooms," Sofia whisper, not because she had to but that is how it felt, "but is it normal to see innumerable flashing colored rectangular boxes when I close my eye?"

"Yes, when you have had as many mushrooms as we have its normal." I paused closing my eyes seeing the rectangles. "Don't they look like the squared stone that Aztec glyphs are found on?" We did not need to talk any more.

Chapter 28

I was woken up by Sofia late in the morning. None of the others who had gone on the trip had woken yet. Once I had finished my morning ablutions, Sofia said, "Lets go have breakfast at the Art Factory."

"I'm not going if it is vegetarian."

"It is not vegetarian... I was there yesterday and it relatively normal."

"Ok, but hang on a sec," remembering Sam from the night before I went to get some acid for him. I cut off twelve hits then left (1919 – 1907).

We sat down and eat bacon and egg with no vegetables but some melon slices. It was good and so was the atmosphere. However, even with the good atmosphere there were two weird under currents. First the place had a definite click of people who were cool, part of the scene and the others who were passing through it, taking the scene in as tourist would a monument. The second was a sort of fascist openness, an acceptance of all without judgment or argument. No one was more right then another. Well that is not true, all was accepted except for things considered evil like industrialism, racism, fascism, environmental degradation, war – of course -, materialism, male chauvinism, torturing animalism and many other thing that did not jive with the build a better world counter culture revolution. And those outside this place accepted everyone too.

The people of the Art Factory and those who strongly believe in the counter culture ideal – whatever that is – are waiting for the day when they can start the revolution. Truth be told the revolution will not be started by them. It will be started by a change in the societal environment. They maybe the edge that squeezes into the new niche. This idea of the environment creating the need to change seems counter intuitive but if the places with the most diversity are looked at it is seen that a consistent environment is common to all. Tropical rainforest have a temperature variance of 4'C and rains that come regularly over the course of a year. Coral reefs are in water that does not change in temperature more then a couple of degrees. Human cultural diversity thrives in large stable cities like New York and London where the society is free enough to allow decent and large enough to find other disenfranchised people. But places like the boreal forest have less diversity because all the life there has to first adapt to the six months of winter. The lack of environmental change in places like rainforest makes for much competition and less need for morphological adaptation to deal with environmental changes so thousand of species arise in very small niches. The diversity maybe created in places like New York or Berlin in the late nineteenth century but no revolution will come because the environmental niche is too small in those places. The environment will be right for revolution somewhere, like Russia at turn of the twentieth century, and the seed plots in high diversity areas will fill the niche if the seed is right. Less of this kind of transfer of information happens in biologic systems because many populations are geographically isolated, until we come. Now the best of the best brought by us are wiping the rest out. The Art Factory is one of these cultural seed plots although it politics are not as virulent as Lenin's distorted version of Marx's ideas were.

Hostels tend to have an open feel to them. Mostly this is due to the fact that those who are traveling are on a vacation of some sort and the goal is to have fun. There are tensions between people but infrequently do they get warmer then a joke or a jab said in poor taste. The majority of travelers are forced by circumstance to trust people they do not know and find most people are trust worth when the monetary playing field is level – if it is not the loss is generally less then the traveler would care about. If someone is not trust worthy usually someone is around to drink about it with. Almost all travelers learn first hand that a smile, good natured-ness, and patients will get them further than demanding to see someone who is in-charge. Backpacking teaches people about empathy, as drug can when used in the right way. When everything go completely balls up the traveler learns the hardest thing to learn humility and comes away with a great story however self deprecating it maybe. The backpacking culture is a microcosm for how the world could work if we all were a little less serious. But until then we will all drive our car in an individualist way trying to get a head only to get a head ache, when we could go with the flow, be a little late with no head ache.

Sofia went up to the counter to get another coffee and saw Sam sitting in the common room behind the café. She called him over and they both sat down.

"How, was the rest of the of night? It was quite a storm." Sam said, red eyed and squinting from the sun.

Sofia spoke up first, "It was fantastic. The mushrooms were so good. Everything was so... attached and real and vivid... I could feel everything. When we got back we were freezing and had to lie in bed drinking."

"My night was great too," Sam said, "We went to the cabaret after and danced like fools... Fay kept on coming up to everyone and going nowhere... NOW HERE and then break out laughing. It cracked me up too."

"Sofia showed me that the other day," I broke in.

Sam finished, "Couldn't get to sleep though. Fuck, I tossed and turned all night, mind flashing. Finally, I got to sleep but was woken by the cleaners at ten, as always. The fucker thinks just because he gives you M&Ms its all OK. Its bullshit. If I didn't like the place so much I leave because of that. And now I'm awake... I'm too tired to sleep."

"Hey Sam," I said conspiratorially, "I got a gift for you." I took out my wallet under the table and pulled out the aluminum foil wrap squares of LSD and kick his foot. He got the idea and put his hand out under the table to receive my gift. Now, we probably did not need to be secretive but sometime its fun.

Sam took a look at it and said, "Thanks man, but that is too much."

"I got lots, and this is nothing."

"Well, I would feel bad if I didn't give you somethin'. You like the Dead... right?"

"Love em."

"Come with me, I got a tape for you in my dorm.".

Sofia said, "Fay should be here anytime, I'll wait here."

I followed Sam up the stairs to the second floor dorms. Along the way we approached a brown guy with a beanie (woven cap, not a toque), loose slightly Krishna-esk clothes, and a sublime smile. Sam instantly made the sign of the cross with his fingers and said to me, "That is the Evil one, he wake us before ten every day with M&Ms in his hand with that stupid grin," Sam addressed the guy, "Don't come any closer... I fear not." The guy continued to smile and broke out laughing when we past.

As soon as we entered the dorm I noticed Sam's bag with an America flag sown on it and said, "You've got some ball, eh."

"What?"

"The U.S. flag on your bag. Not many Americans are willing to travel with one of those on their bag."

"Just because I have a flag on my bag doesn't mean I agree with everything my government does. It is my country... I gotta love it. 'Red and white... blue suede shoes... I'm Uncle Sam... how do you do?' Most of the real shakers in the hip world were patriots because there is greatness in the constitution. The ability for a great nation of free people but as the saying goes absolute power corrupts absolutely and we go all the power right now." Sam sung the verse from the Dead's USA Blues.

"Hunter S. Thomson is away wrapping himself in the flag." I thought out loud.

After opening a few of the many zippered pockets on his bag Sam found his walkman and took the tap out, "Here... it's a copy of the Dead show I went to at the Gorge."

Tapes of Grateful Dead shows are something high in the culture and to get one is an honor. Its not because these boot legs are illegal, the Dead encouraged people to record their shows. Normally they are traded as hockey card are. I tentatively accepted the tape, "Are you sure... I would want to take your only one."

"Its no problem I got a DAT of it back home," Sam picked up an address book out of his bag and handed it to me, "If I'm up in Canada I'll look you up."

As I was writing I said, "The E-mail is the best way to get me but I've given you my folks address and phone number they always know where I am."

Sam wrote his stuff on a piece of paper that I put in my pocket. Sam grabbed his sunglasses and we went back downstairs. He took his book with him too, and got Sofia E-mail as well. His book was filled with people he had met, the page I was on was nearly full and so were the other pages.

Fay showed up a few minute after we came down from Sam's dorm. Sofia, Fay and I then walk over to a soccer field where we spent an hour or so doing yoga then meditating. The yoga part was fun, I was into it but meditation was not my thing. My mind would not clear. It seem that like the Universe my mind does not like a void and something always came to mind. So I gave up and day dreamed for the time they spent meditating. I had to hide my erection when we finished meditating.

After the yoga and meditation Sofia and I went back to our hostel and Fay to her hostel. We were met by Miles at the hostel, "Mate, I was wondering if you have at tent I could use?"

I answered, "I'm not sure if we got one. We've only use the one but there is a ton of stuff we have not looked through. Let's go check out what we got." The amount of stuff that came with the car was astounding. Aside from the tent, foamies, propane cooker, ax, and kitchen supplies we had used there was second tent, four wool blanket, three tarps, hundreds of tent pegs, various pieces and length of rope, a shovel, a couple wrenches and screw drivers and a first aid kit. We could survive in the wilds for a long time with all that gear. Miles would have a tent to use.

Having gone through all the stuff, provisioning came to mind as John and Bruce had said the there is no supermarket on North Stradbroke. Being a chief, Miles did the filling of the shopping cart while Sofia and I pushed it. Shopping carts or buggies in Australia are different from those in the Northern Hemisphere and for us who live in lands with ice and snow this novelty instantly turns us into children. All four wheels can turn through 360 degrees on buggies in Australia rather then just the two front wheels on Canadian cart. The reason for the Canadian cart have the two back wheels non traversable is obvious to those who live with snow, it is hard enough trying to get a cart across a frozen parking lot with two wheel acting like two year olds, let alone four. The cart could go strait sideway if it was pushed that way and Sofia and I would take turns pushing it while the other rode on it. Of course the grocers did not like or antics but nothing was knocked over or broken so what could they do?

Once groceries were gotten the more serious business of getting booze was embarked on. And although there was a bottle shop on the island we bought the booze as if there was not.

Upon leaving the bottle shop we saw an inspirational sight. A blue and white VW combi (micro-bus) was parked out front. It was moving because on the sliding door was a perfect recreation of the cover of Jimi Hendrix Experience album. I had to get a picture of this van. I told Sofia and Miles to wait there and keep the owner occupied if necessary while I ran to get my camera. What started as a run quickly turned into a jog then fast walk but I did get my camera and a picture of the van before the owner returned. During my absence Sofia and Miles decided it would be fun to paint a car and since they did not have one mine was chosen.

We bought some water based paint and panted Deloris. I put the obligatory maple leaf on the hood with a lake and some trees. On the tailgate I put the Grateful Dead electric skull and 'WHY?' Miles had a thing for multi colored dots, stars, flowers and swirls. Sofia was the most talented among us she painted a wave and beach on one side of the car and a marlin and seascape on the other.

Bruce and John got back from meeting there guy in Mullumbimby and were shock at what we had done to my car. They wonder what we had been smoke and we said the same thing they were. In fact most of the comment about our artistic endeavor were backhanded compliment and each one strengthened my resolve to not wash it off. The sun baked the paint so no rainstorm could wash it off. And though the majority found the paint job somewhat garish, its jew-jew was powerful. With its ward surrounding Delores the police could not even see her or they could but knew stopping us would be too much trouble. The magic worked, I was never stopped.

Those of us saying at the Koala hostel were up and moving at the time we had agreed upon. However, the force needed to get someone out of bed is different from the force needed to pry them away from the many new friendship formed while traveling. Long after we all had checked out and the bags had gone in the cars we were still jotting down the particulars of someone from, Milan, Santiago, Rio, Paris, Amsterdam, Vancouver, Ipswich, Bristol, Haifa, Auckland or somewhere else. And when we wrote the addresses down we were sure in a couple of year we be sleeping on a pullout bed or floor at one of these addresses after an epic night on the town.

Chapter 29

Our convoy left at half-eleven. It was a convoy because the Bruce and John were the only ones who knew where we were going, so we had to follow the combi at its astounding top speed of eighty-two or three kilometer an hour – of course that is the top speed on flat ground, climbing hills was a challenge. But the time did not drag all sorts of conversation were going on while joint went round the other way. I did not smoke because most of the driving was on busy semi-highways. We pasted by Surfers Paradise and I thought I was driving through Florida because there were exits for Palm Beach, Miami, and Sea World. We got to the ferry dock at Cleveland before two, in time to catch the ferry with a short wait.

The ferry looked like an old land ship tank from WWII. The journey across the water was a placid one. The watesr of Moreton Bay are sheltered by Moreton Island and North Stradbroke Island. Both Islands are made almost entirely of sand, and mining of sand is the main industry on North Stradbroke. Fraser Island further north is the same kind of sand island and is frequented by more foreign tourist. The turquoise and lighter coloured water and aid for navigations suggested that the bottom of Moreton Bay was sandy and shallow in spot. Apparently those are the conditions that the Moreton Bay bug, a kind of praying mantis looking lobster, likes. As many ugly animals are the Moreton Bay bug is a delicacy.

We disembarked at Dunwich and stopped for a few minutes to get some food. Sofia was not hungry and walked over to the industrial sand terminal where a guy was fishing. She walked up to me a few minutes later and said, "That fisherman told me that this can be good fishing when they get a spring tide that coincides with nightfall and the light of terminal lights are on. And tonight is such a night."

I said, "Did you find out what he is using?"

"He said pilchard or squid."

"Well lets gets some and be back here for sunset." This minor coincidence added to my ever growing faith in the destiny I knew was happening.

Our convoy was of again but this time the journey was only to the other side of the island, twenty minutes away. John turned into a camp site next to a dive shop and store. We followed stopping at the house of the ground keeper who told use to camp where ever as the place was vacant except for two tents by the beach. The spot we chose was a few hundred feet from the beach in an alcove of grass surrounded by trees with a slight grade going down to the sea.

In the hour or so it took to make camp, two groups of people were formed, rural and urban with Rob in the middle. The Australians, Canadians and Norwegian were in rural group and the Brits and Dutch were in the urban group. The rural people quickly put their tent up, knew not to put them where a puddle may collect, knew how to use an ax to split wood, how to start a fire, and all the other seeming little thing that urban people do not know. Of course being nice people from the country we helped the others once our work was done. Out of the tarp we had we built a shelter after boring some poles from the care taker.

In the world the two divisions between people that really matter are rural and urban. The rural people are slowly declining as urban people proliferate. Canada for example is fast becoming one of the most urbanized countries in the world yet has the second largest land mass of any country. Now, probably because I am Canadian I am going to say that though we are quickly becoming a nation of cities many of those cities have real wild not far away and we still retain our rural root. However, I have half the skills needed to live in the wild than my father does although we did much the same work in the wood after high school. And that skill is nothing compared to a Native that with only an ax can make everything need to survive in relative comfort. This knowledge may never be needed again if progress progresses as it has, but it is not just knowledge that is lost. Being lost is a perspective with humanity as a part of nature. We may never loose it totally, there will always be native proud of their heritage and mountain men, but the affect it has on society's world will be inconsequential. Oh well, I guess humanity has got places to go and does not need nomads anymore... I am happy it does not want us.

As soon as camp was up Sofia was on her way fishing, with me in tow. Fay and Miles wanted to go which annoyed Sofia. Sofia was sure we would miss sunset. Sensing how serious Sofia was I did my best to hurry everyone up and made sure to have the car running while Sofia ran into the store to get some pilchards and squid.

We got to the ferry terminal and began to rig the rods. I gave Sofia the heavy spinning rod with the Shimano Bait runner reel I had not used yet. I let Fay and Miles share the light spinning rod which was not heavy enough for the large fish the Sofia had been told were there. I had to setup the rod for Miles and Fay, though they both knew what they were doing. So by the time I was rigged and ready Sofia was already fishing.

Sofia and I used a simple rig. Two 5/0 hook attached to a three foot leader of 30lb test and then a triple swivel with an ounce of weight hanging on a foot of 6lb test so if the weight fouled on something it would brake and the whole rig would not be lost. A whole squid or pilchard was used as bait.

On Fay and Miles rod I put a half ounce sinker with three feet of leader ending with a small hook. The hook was small enough for bream – a sea preach.

When I reached the point of the rock brake water I said, "Get anything." To the guy Sofia had talked to earlier.

The guy replies, "Nothing yet. It has not hit the top of the tide and usually that is when they bit."

I cast my line out as far as I could but that was only seventy or so feet. The reel I had was a center pine reel not meant for casting. I had to strip line off the reel like when fly fishing then cast. The mooching rod was also too whippy to. A casting rod need to be stiff or fast in the butt end so that power is not lost in the cast. My mooching rod, though, extremely sensitive and able to be bent almost into a circle did not have a stiff butt end so could only cast a third as far as Sofia rod.

In the twilight after the sun sunk under the horizon we began to see streaks in the water. "What are those? Fish?" Sofia asked.

The guy answered, "Squid," a minute or so after something hit his line. His rod doubled over but popped back to strait with in a second. He reel his slack line in. The line had snapped above his weight. Sofia asked, "What do you think it was?"

"Could be anything," the guy said.

Shortly after that I was called over by Fay, she got something. I went over knowing already that it was bottom. "I think you got the biggest fish in the world." I said.

Fay said happily, "What kind do you think it is?"

"A bottom fish," I answered. Miles, who was standing next to Fay, snickered at the joke. "Give me the rod Fay," she did, and I tried to get it free from the snag.

"Are we going to be able to get it in?" Fay said still thinking it was a fish.

"No, it the bottom," I said. I wrapped my hand in my shirt before wrapping the line around it and breaking the line. "I go re-rig it."

We walked up the rocks and Miles asked, "Mate, can we catch the squid?"

"I don't have a squid jig... squid is bait anyhow," I answered.

The other guy fishing said, "I got a squid jig if you want to try it."

Miles went over to get it as he said, "Sure... calamari tonight. Thanks mate."

"My names Fred."

Sofia who was watching my rod and hers had something bit her rod. It doubled it over and line began to screech out. I got to my rod to make sure it would not tangle with her. Fred reeled his in as the fish went toward his line, he said, "You got a good one... moves like a trevelly."

The fish was not being stopped by the drag and went where it pleased. You can tell by the way a fish move what it is. Even with no experience with Australian fish I knew it was no shark, it move to quickly and the tail beats were frantic not slow like a shark.

Sofia started to put more drag on to slow the fish while we tried to see what it was with flashlights we brought but the fish was way to far away. Her reel was running out of line. She started to get some line in but the fish go a second wind and the drag was set too hard when it turned to go. The line snapped.

I looked at Sofia and said, "Shit!"

Sofia was shaking when she said, "I could not stop it... it was going to spool me. How heavy is the line?"

"20lb. test." I said, "There was nothing you could do, it was not stopping."

Fred said, "Probably a GT... giant trevally. Strongest in the ocean. Smart too, it'll wrap you round rock if you give it a chance. And there are thick so when they get side ways the hold the in the water well."

We all franticly got the tackle back in the water but only Fay and Miles caught anything. They caught a few squid and Mile was pacing about telling us all how go they were going to taste. I would reply, "I don't eat bait."

Something took mine bait. It was a big weight and move along the bottom slowly. The rod pumped in time with each slow tail beat and I was almost cretin it was a shark but hoped it was something else that did not know it was hooked. I gain a lot of line as it swam parallel with the shore. I walk with it along the shore and into the lights from the terminal. After a few minutes I could see my weight just under the surface. I got the couple of feet in so I could see the fish. It was a four foot bottom dwelling shark. Either a leopard shark or woebegone but that was all we would see of it. I trip on a stone. Sofia grabbed the rod but the fish had already turned breaking the line. I said, "Oh well, I was not going to keep it anyhow."

Shark have no bladder so the uric acid is basically sweated out through their skin. This mean that they have to be soaked in lemon juice or something to get out the foul tasting piss. So I do not keep sharks, even if British people love to have dogfish fish and chips.

We caught no more fish or squid after that. We decided to pack it in. Before we left Sofia said, "We should come back tomorrow."

Fred replied, "It probably won't be worth it. The high tide will come to long after sun set. The fish here, aside from the sharks, bit only on the top of the tide at sunset. That why we hook two with in a few minutes then none."

Sofia asked, "Any other good places to fish?"

"Lots, right now everyone goes for whiting. They good tucker. Most of the beaches have them. Maybe some tailor around too... its still early for them," Fred said.

We left and tales of the fish we failed to catch took up rest of the ride to the camp sight.

Miles got started making his calamari a soon as we arrived. Sofia and I took all of the gear over to a tap and washed it off in fresh water. The salt water that get on the reel from the wet line is enough to rust the metal on the reel in days. While we were doing this some people from a group that arrive after we did came to see if we had caught any fish. The man who approached us was older perhaps fifty, Australian and dressed like a golfer. "You were out fishing?" he said.

Sofia replied first, "Yes, we went fishing off the break water for the industrial ferry terminal. We lost two fish. One was woebegone and the other fish that nearly spooled me. Have you been out fishing?"

"No, not today. But this weekend is the annual church fishing derby for whiting. A few of us may go out night fishing on the beach tonight. Where are you from?"

Sofia said, "I'm Sofia from Norway and this is Hugo from Canada. It is a fine country you have. How do you catch whiting? What do they look like?"

"Why don't you come over to our camp I got some magazines and I show you gear we use. Oh, my name is Craig," Craig extended his hand to us as he said this.

I said, "We're almost done, give us a minute and we'll come with you." We walk down to the camp put away the rod and offered Craig a beer he decline while we got ourselves one. Craig seemed a little ill at ease with the music play on the combi's stereo – the Cure is not for everyone –, the number of beers being consumed, and the amount of laughter. But he was not one to judge or that is what his book said.

Before we left, Miles yelled, "Anyone for calamari."

I was not for it but Sofia said, "Miles is a chief in England, we should at least try it," I shook my head. Sofia look to Craig, "We caught these squid today... do you want to try some?"

Craig was a good sport and had some of the calamari Miles had fried up. All that ate it said it was good and the fact none was left suggested they were not lying or were high. Craig was not high and he had second.

The fishing camp the Christians set up was fit for a king when compared with our austere abodes and their attitudes were austere when compared with ours. There was no beer being drunk which seemed unnatural at a fishing camp. Everyone smiles a lots but did not seem really happy. And they all looked at the beer in our hand and our unkempt hair with a non expressed judgment.

Craig showed us the magazines and gear they were going to use. Sofia was interested, asking many questions. I felt differently, I could not see how people could take catching a fish that only grows to 18" long or so seriously enough to have an organized tournament for them. Ok, I concede I love to trout fish and they only grow to about that size but there is a lot of tradition and style to fly fishing for trout and really there is nothing better to catch in most places with trout. Here, in Australia there are seriously big fish to catch even from shore. Then to use hard tackle - not fly fishing - for these fish is style less even if the fish taste like butter.

In Australia the majority that fish are fishing for food. Australian love there fish, white fish especially. You will see people fishing for fish that eat seaweed off dangerous rocks. In fact rock fishing in Australia is the most dangerous sport in the land – large swell are impossible to judge when on a rock with a 50' drop off at the water edge and many get swept off and drown every year – and the fish they are fishing for are not marlin, tuna or trevelly. Rather they are fish for snapper, a good eating fish. The people at this camp were fishing to fill their freezer and not for the style of fishing.

Sofia and I pursed the tackle, spinning rods set up for using bait. The bait was normally shrimp they would collect using a siphon (a pipe about 4" wide sealed at the top but for a hole that you plug after shoving into the mud were a shrimp hole is, then it is pulled then hole on the siphon is unsealed and the contents mud and shrimp come out) and sand worm collect use dead fish in a bag dragged along the sand. Sofia borrow one of the magazines with an article about fly fishing for whiting and we made an excuse to leave.

Once out of earshot Sofia said, "Some stag fishing camp... they didn't have any booze. Weird people."

"You noticed that too."

For the rest of the night we drank around the fire and went to bed rather early but later than the Christians.

Chapter 30

We woke when the sun came up and made breakfast before going surfing. It was sunny with no wind. Rob and Francisca walked down to the beach to check for swell. The day was looking perfect. All of us, except for Sofia, squeezed into the combi and falcon to go surfing at Frenchman's Beach. Sofia woke up earlier to go fishing.

Before leaving I took halved hit of acid (1906 ½) to make the day a little more interesting.

Frenchman's Beach was a California kind of beach. We had to walk down about a hundred meters of stairs to a beach with sand stone cliffs surrounding it. No one was surfing at the beach when we got there. Once at the bottom of the stairs there is a rock cliff to the right that extends out in to the sea where the wave start to break as they rolling into the beach. A few rocks or bombies dotted the beach break to further to the left. But the break is mostly over sand. The swell was about four to five feet on the face when breaking and was quite sucky or fast.

The girls put down some towels preparing for the hard day of sun tanning. Miles brought the light spinning rod and wander down the beach. The rest of us did the mad dash for the water with surfboards in hand. We did not have to watch the water today it was a good day, not too big, not too small, warm but not hot with little wind. If skiing term were used to describe the day it would a Monday morning with no lift lines, 15 cm of minus 8 powder over a hard packed but not an icy base.

This was the best day of surfing yet. The acid made me aggressive enough to go all out, bold enough to fall, and giddy enough to laugh at it all. It was also the most fun day for the other too. It was like game of shinny after a couple beers. Really it was more like a fifties era surf flick. After an hour I paddled in to get my underwater camera and we took turns trying to get picture from water leave of us surfing. I tried to walk up and down the board with no success. Then Bruce borrow my long board and easily hung five toes off the nose. John borrowed it next and bettered Bruce by hanging ten before falling. Bruce then did the same.

The swell started to pick up but so did the wind and we went in tried and hunger and happy. The girls on the beach got a tan and Miles caught two small bream. The silver sea perch were mostly likely to small to keep but Miles proudly showed them off to anyone he could. Miles' two silver sea perch marked the first and second fish he had ever caught and no conservation officer could confiscate a first fish.

We stopped at in the touristy area by the main beach and got fish and chip or meat pies before going back to camp.

At camp I retired to my tent saying I needed a weed nap which was a lie. I was still mildly high on acid, though, I did not let the secret out. In my tent I pondered things I temporally did not have. I thought first of Sofia telling me what to do, then doing them with Fay and as prologue I thought of how Jodie would have been. A sound closer than expected made me wonder if the sun was low enough to throw a silhouette of my thoughts on the tent wall. A quick look back at the tent as I walk over to camp kitchen assured no shadow was seen.

Miles, Fay, Helen and Clare were lazing around trying to think of something to do when I approached. Fay said as I sat down on the grass, "Can you teach us to surf?"

I said, "No," but revised my answer, "not really, I guess I could on some little wave. Where are the other surfers? They would be better to ask."

Fay answer, "Bruce and John took off to check out some other beach. Francisca and Rob went to check their e-mails at the dive shop."

"Well, if you want I'll go see if he wants to teach you how," I said.

They all said they would like that and Fay came with me to talk with Rob. Rob was using the kiosk when we got there. Francisca was chatting with person from the dive shop. "Hey Rob, the others want to learn how to surf. You wanna show them how?" I asked.

"We would love to try it." Fay added.

Rob look over to Francisca, who said, "I still have to check my e-mail."

Rob said, "Sure mate... but we need your board too. Let's check down at the beach in front of the campsite, there was little wave there this morning."

Francisca playfully said, "Good now I get to use the computer."

It took a few minute to get everyone ready. In that time I took another hit of acid and a half (1906 ½ and 1905) and smoke a joint with Rob. A little something to keep world a little more wavy. We walked to the beach down a path under trees past the two other camps with their tent in a sandy tree cover hollow on to a beach with a rock out crop and very small steam to the right and miles of sand to the left. Out across about 50 yards of waist high water a small wave breaking on a sand bar. Before get in the water Rob had his students lay prone on the sand pretending to paddle then stand at his command. He said, "The first couple of times just catch the wave, don't try to stand. Once you can do that catch a wave count to three... one, two, three, push your torso up with your hand on the rail and," Rob leap up in a fluid motion none of us could duplicate. "Now try that a few times." After the class did that a few times Rob said, "We only have the two long boards so we can either all get in the water and take turn or form two groups"

Helen said, "We got two boogie board in the car," and unknowingly volunteered to get them.

Rob and I carried the boards, into the shallow water with the fare breeze buffeting them. Once in the trough before the sand bar I steadied the board so Fay could be pushed while floating on it. It took a few tries and still she fell off half way. At the bar there was knee deep water for fifty feet then a sloped to about waist high were we would push them into the waves. The waves were small, two foot, sometimes three. It was great fun. Because the boards were long and the wave we small everyone stood, if only to fall off right away. Again I had the idea of getting my camera and ran off to get it. What better souvenir for your trip to Australia then picture of you surfing. We continued to play in the afternoon's hot sun, with Rob and me taking the odd turn.

Chapter 31

Down the beach someone was fishing. I wondered where Sofia was. My question was answered as I caught a wave that took me close enough to see the fisher was using a fly rod. I was almost certain it was Sofia. I walk the board back to the next rider then watched transfixed. She would stand looking for fish and when she saw a shadow from what might be a fish she would stalk it.

Non-fisher would say stalking fish why, 'fish cannot see things out of the water.' But fish can see the shape and shadow of us and are spooked by the movement, as trout fishers know. And the fish in these shallow are preyed upon by bird from above as much as fish below.

Once a fish or school was seen the stalk commenced, Sofia would move toward the fish or school, keeping out the fishes sight line. When in range she would start the cast. And how could she cast... I was in awe of the tight loop she put in the fly line as she punched out the line.

Cast a fly is art. Rhythm is needed but also the breaks in rhythm. The first casts of the fly are to get the line in the air. As the length of the line gets longer the time the rod stays at ten and two increases because to effectively put power into the line it must be as far back and forward as possible. Only when at full extension will the whole length line the maximum momentum. The tighter the loop of line at the front and back end of the cast the more power in the cast. Finally, on the last cast the line is let totally free and, hopefully, all the line striped out is taken with cast landing in a strait line from the end of the rod to the fly and not in lumps. Again, this is an art.

I was watching an artist. Sofia did three dry casts to get the line in the air the punches out the rest she has stripped out. The loop was tight and her cast was about half a cast further than I could cast. It landed flat the only wobbles were where it hits wave tops. And I knew by her intent look it had landed feet in front of the fish with out spooking them. From the distance I was a could not see her slowly pulling the line in making the fly look like a shrimp, worm, fish, crab or what ever she was trying to mimic.

The littlest things effect the presentation. Fish will sometime only be fool if the fly presented is going in the right direction. Match the hatch is the mantra of the fly fisher and all good fishers.

Sofia matched the hatch and the line went taught as she lifted the tip of the rod to set the hook. The small amount of fly line she had stripped in was pulled out by the fish. She continued to fight the fish with the reel. She fought the little fish for a short time before putting the rod under her arm and releasing the fish which at my distance was a shaking silver speck.

Then Sofia looked for some more fish. Seeing the fish was hard because of the chop on the water from the wind. But she found more and was casting again. With each cast I put her on a new and higher plateau. This cast was a smooth as the first but with the added challenge of casting into the wind. The wind tends to blow the line down when casting into it, taking the momentum out of the line causing it to drop in a pile before reaching full its extension. She use a sidearm cast to keep the line close to the water where the wind strength is least. I am astounded when her line lays straight and flat even casting into a brisk breeze.

I had the urge to go over and cast for a few time but in my head a voice was telling me not to. I would only show how inept I was if I went over there. Sofia the great at everything, much better then me. I swallowed my pride and accepted that she was too big for me. But I could learn from this giant. Before I walk over to see her I snapped a picture of her casting.

The picture is the sexiest shot I have of Sofia. Truly, there are many others that would earn me more than hundred bucks Hustler's Beaver Hunt would give me but what is sexy is not always porno. It not sexy because of her skimpy swim suit or her delight fully wind blown hair. Rather it is her intensity the makes it sexy. Not only intensity of the face but of the whole body working for the one goal of punching the fly line out far enough to catch the fish. If I had taken series of picture the focus would flow right through all of them, until she enviably caught a fish when it would be released. Most people would only look at process and see beauty in its order as they would in music. But the beauty was not its rhythm or order rather it lay in the nuance, the things that happened differently to achieve the same effect. Seeing the whole in action is to see an ugly process: see fish, stalk fish, cast to fish, present bait to fish, fight fish, keep or let fish go with a post coital glow and nostalgia, repeat the build up... that is the illusion.

Fish are individuals - the acid must have finally got me now, there can be no connection here... fish as individuals and an illusion of order. Fish do choose to bit or not to bite... that is not in question. I can put a piece of fish in front of trout and the trout will not eat it 80% of the time. I can troll a large cut plug herring around all day only to catch one salmon and the assumption is that only one salmon saw my herring. Yet the boat next to mine catches ten salmon with small anchovies. Ten salmon must have seen the anchovies. This is false because just as Sofia casts too many more fish than hit her fly, many more salmon looked at the herring and said no, I am not eating it. To say the decision was made because the fish was not hungry is not always true. What is true is that some fish will bit and some will not. The decision whether to bit or not comes down to subduing the will of the fish. A fishes will, is the same as our will and is consciousness – the knowledge of oneself as different than another. Nature or soul is it opposite, the pull to be like other of the same type, and it is to this that the fisher plays. Sofia is trying to force the fly to be too appealing to fish's nature. This happen to us in the market places of the world, impulse buying. So Sofia uses a general method to get her chance at catching the fish to the highest probability possible and if a casting machine were use with this method or process the probability would remain the same. Some fish would fall for this because the fish's instinct or nature would overcome the conscious decisions, the will. Of course some fish consciously decide to take a swipe things outside of the normal, like a shark eating a surfer - they are the edge of their species, like the general finches that became many specialized finches on the Galapagos. Sofia then uses her consciousness to tailor the process of casting into an individual to push her probability of catching a fish up. Sofia acts of will are subtle: a change in retrieve speed, a change in the fly, a change in the angle the fly is presented to the fish. Each cast an individual for a fish that is too. And it works, Sofia make an offer the fishes nature cannot pass on. Sofia's will subdues the fish's will and it is caught.

This is where the illusion of order comes in. People tend to see only the order such as process of casting because order is tied to our nature and all nature. But – and this is an overriding but – this tie is only as tight as the consciousness is weak. The bait fishing Christian who I would find out were less successful than Sofia went to there traditional spots, used same bait as last year, and assume a fish is an automaton that bites any crap put in front of it. This caught them some fish but it was Sofia's reliance on conscious thought that let her change, sometime rightly, other times wrongly, but always learning from the change thus getting better. Sofia's fishing when compared with the Christians would Hendrix to a cover of him. The tune maybe the same but it was the nuances, passion of Hendrix that made him better. Or the difference between a live show and a recording, the technical quality maybe be better in the studio but it is the feeling of the crowd that spills into the band that makes an individual out of a song play thousand of time by the band. It's the illusion of order, in reality the song maybe the same but the passion or will or consciousness behind it makes it better or worse. Sofia's intensity of will allows her to brake the order of mechanical casting in small ways, enough to make a good process or song into a greatness, a work of art. Sofia goes outside of the lines but not too far, saving the tradition. Its this that make virtuoso, it is this that make things get better, the ability to break the order without destroying the song because nothing stay the same.

The picture of Sofia sexiness was created by her virtuoso fly fishing ability combined with my love of the act. Its the same feeling a music Nazi gets when listing to a favorite. But the feeling is relative to the tastes of the individual or should I say the purpose of the individual. A person, such as myself, that finds a well fish line erotic makes that connection because it is demonstration of what I strive for. It is a demonstration of my purposes, to fish – the others being surfing, fucking and philosophizing and general good timing. An investment bank would get a similar tingle from things that would put me to sleep or cause me mild distress. Purpose is also the creator of hated. Things that oppose a person purpose are hated by that person. I do not like the style of the fishing Christians and have an unfounded animosity to them. This truism is only broken if there is no purpose. And purpose is both in our control and out of our control. Some purposes we strive for out conscious wanting and other are more visceral and atavistic, throwback to other times when certain system of thought were needed but may not be needed now. These old purposes can subdue our will just like lure can catch fishes, and cause us to embark on a train ride when a plane is the way to go. It is for us to decide which to follow: the will which may lead to destruction or the system which may lead to destruction. Or have fishing as my purpose and be happy to die in pursuit of it.

The consciousness or will or passion is the change in the universe and is synonymous with chaos and the infinite. It is the nature or soul or process or tradition that are synonymous with order and the finite. And chaos wins when infinite and finite fight... chaos wins when they work together as well.

I did wade over to Sofia, "Did you catch anything?"

Sofia smiled an ear to ear smile, "Lots, I made the Christians' sinners... they are envious of my skill. We have enough whiting all of us to eat tonight."

"That's good... it was going to be hard to split up Miles' two little bream. Let's see them."

Sofia point to the camp, "I caught all the whiting in the morning. There in the cooler at camp."

"What was the fish you caught here?" I asked.

"A think it was a darter... not worth keeping."

"You're pretty good, eh. I wonder if I should ever try with an expert like you around... I will look like a fool."

Sofia handed me the rod, "You are a fool." We walked up the beach looking for fish to cast too. Sofia spotted the first and pointed to it. Once in range I cast for it but the wind blew the line down and it land in a heap in front of the fish. The fish took off. The second cast was better but the fish show little interest in the fly. We walk for another hundred or so yard down and back up the beach alternating who cast. Sofia caught a small bream and darter fish. I caught a small bream. But the sun was starting to get to Sofia and I was tired too so we went back to camp.

Sofia and I talk fishing while drinking beer. I took some pictures of her catch, eleven healthy looking whiting. Then Sofia went for a nap. I went over to the dive shop to you the internet.

Chapter 32

With a lump in my throat I opened my E-mail to see if Jodie had accepted my olive branch and lie. Again I would like to have the E-mail to cut and paste it on to this page – if only to save on typing – but I can't. And I am not willing to try to make up what Jodie wrote, it was better than anything I could write for her, in style I cannot copy or fake so here is the gist of it.

Jodie's letter was your average three parter with the first being salutation, a bit of news and such. The second was the meat it got straight to the point, she said she was broken up by the way I left and thought she had done something to cause it, and the fact I did not return her calls solidified her belief. Then after those ten lines, which made me tear eyed, she changed tone. She got on to the forgiveness bit, which made me feel bad because I did not want to be forgiven. The third stanza was the one where she talked about the future. How she will probably be going traveling, most likely to South East Asia, after her graduation in summer. In the same paragraph she asked if I would meet up with her somewhere along the line. There was the Love, Jodie sign off and a postscript with this joke: What did the Buddhist order at the hotdog stand? One with everything.

To me the observer on acid it seem right to submit detailed synopsis of what had transgress... and I did. I was only wrested from my story telling by Sofia who came by to tell me that dinner was on.

"What are you writing?" Sofia asked.

"I was writing to Jodie a friend of mine... I have not talked with her in a while."

"Can I read?"

"Only if you proof read it." I said.

"Ok."

Sofia read the text as I fidgeted. Trust me I know I cannot write but to have a person so great proofing my text, it was all I could do but die or kill someone or four. Sofia stopped and looked at me a few times during the proof reading but said nothing – obviously I am not a good writer. Then she stopped for a time that I knew was long enough to get up the gumption and say, 'You suck... never have I read such tripe." But what she said was completely different, "Can I see the e-mail she sent you?"

"Sure, just save the message." I said.

Sofia saved it and read the original message. Then she looked at me and said, "Are you high?"

"Mildly." I replied.

"This is the girl you left with out reason, the one you talked about when you were wasted?"

"Yes."

"And you are going to send this to her?"

"Yes... why?"

Sofia looked and sounded serious when she told me this, "This is a gloat... this is kicking sand in her face... this is saying you won."

"But this is what happened."

"True it is but this is the second e-mail you've sent since you left?"

"Yes."

"You need at least one more you are my friend, I love you messages before you start to talk about how things are so good here," Sofia said with as much conviction as I have ever seen.

"I don't think so... I think it is the best thing I have ever written," and I sent it.

"Why did you do that?"

"Because it took me two hours to write."

Sofia turned to look me in the eye, "What ever you do, even if you are high, don't get too drunk tonight. Tomorrow we are going diving and you will love it."

"Don't worry Sofia I won't get too drunk tonight. I'm almost sleepy now."

"Don't let me get too drunk either."

We walked back to the camp where preparations for the feast were in full swing. Sofia thought that dinner was on was a bit optimistic. Miles still needed to get a few things from the store. John had come upon the idea of getting some prawn. White wine was also needed as we were having fish – as sophisticated and cultured as having the right wine for the dish sounds, it must be remembered the wine was from a box. Helen was certain we needed to have desert and was put in charge of acquiring it. Sherry for after dinner was talked about but a 40 of JD was substituted. Fay, thought, we needed more vegetables and again a volunteer was found. So Miles, John, Helen and Fay took Delores to get the essentials.

Clare and Bruce where missing as was the combi.

Rob and I noticed that we could not have a real dinner with out places to sit. There was only one picnic table and that was for food preparation. We took a walk around to find couple more. Most were being use by the Christian fishermen so we had to go a long way to find two. But we knew as we laboured to move them to the camp that the work would make the dinner better and us more hungry.

Sofia and Francisca were busy cleaning the fish by the tap. Sofia did most of the cleaning, Francisca washed the fillet off. Inevitably fishermen from the Christian camp came over to find out who had caught the fish, how the fish were caught, where the fish were caught. When the where and how question were asked Sofia would answer with a hook and in the mouth before give the real details. Sofia was glowing as they asked her their questions because every fisher love to show off. I felt proud Sofia had shown the Christian bait fishermen up... yes the girl caught more than them.

Clare and Bruce arrived back at camp before the other party did. We could think of nothing else to be prepared so a cannon was rolled and an answer to idol time was found. I was still speedy and restless from the tinges of acid and I occupied myself by splitting wood. Clare cringed with every swing as I was not wearing shoe and was stoned and on LSD. But Clare did not understand I am Canadian, with a lumber jack's heart, the Log Driver Waltz in my head, and this was as natural to me as Scotts liking haggis, lager, football and bag pipes. I explained my position in song, singing a few line of the Log Driver Waltz, "The log driver's waltz pleases girls completely."

My rendition moved Clare into her tent to get her disc-man. The others were moved in a similar way. The universe was moved too, but it did something about my singing and my right big toe along with a bit of the one next to it came off. While that was what you were waiting for... right? But it did not happen the universe was not so cruel. Miles, Fay, and Helen drove up and our purpose was renewed.

We all wanted to pitch in but most of us helped by refreshing drinks and rolling joints. It was not long before Miles had all three propane cookers going while asking for this, telling someone to do that and demanding his wine glass be freshened. Someone even set the tables.

When the food was done, the toasting began. If not already tipsy by the time the fisher, the cook, the moon the sky and all the stars had been toasted we were. The meal was great. The fish was done simply but perfectly. Prawns are always good. And vegetables are vegetable. A joint was smoke between dinner and desert. Helen got two apple pies and vanilla ice cream for desert which was eaten around the fire. We all drank wine but a group made up of John, Helen, Bruce, Clare and Miles were hard core, determined to drink the Whiskey as well. The dishes we left in a heap so the flies could have their feast.

I was lying reclined, digesting, dreaming of nothing in particular watching the fire, waiting to be drawn into a discussion Fay, Sofia, Francisca and Rob were having. Though, in reality it was not a discussion. Fay and Sofia would be asked question by Francisca and Rob then some consensus would be reached with no debate.

I was getting drawn into political, moral, ethical, or theological arguments by Sofia against Fay as the devil's advocate too often to be coincidence. Sofia seemed to sense when I had something to say completely contrary to the accepted view on the topic. Then Sofia would say something to get me involved. Most of the time the topics conversation Sofia would drag me into were contentious. Topics I would rather not engage in an argument with Fay about - at least not when others were participating in the discussion. Of course I would not bring controversial topics up in casual conversation with Fay or at least I would spin it. So I wait conscious that Sofia would spit out a line that would appeal to my nature and I would bite. I worried too.

I worried because I was not playing the devil's advocate, I believe in the view I put forth, even if I would not act to further them - I have higher ideals... fishing and surfing and fucking to be precise. I was the devil at least when set against Fay's purpose. A more accurate description of the devil I am is that if I did run with in society I would use these beliefs to justify my going with the flow because they are true. At the same time these beliefs I would use to justify myself would not be apparent to me had I chosen to go with society. But, I am not on the path toward society so I can see these stark truths. The truths are that society's direction is right and it will not fall to environmental degradation or the loss of the human soul to immorality; it will dodge most bullets, it will change to avert calamity, while perpetually finding a new disaster. And that is where people like me the devil's advocate come in, we force those sure of their ways to question, though, we have no answer ourselves. Our questions and answers are always posed with a passion that suggest belief but our beliefs lay else ware. We are the tribe of the coyote, people of doubt and chaos, tricksters. We are by nature flip-floppers, some days red is our colour, others it is blue and the right direction is dependent on the goal.

So I lay reclined, digesting the dialog, dreaming of a particular nothing while watching the fire and waiting for a line to be cast. The discussion was about logging, tree farming and the loss of real wilderness. Most of the traditional points had been brought up about the evils of clear cut logging (soil erosion, habitat loss, unsustainable and ugly), the loss of old growth forest and biodiversity, the loss of wild life corridors, and the fakeness of tree farms. Sofia was finishing the group lament for the forest when she blatantly tried to pull me in, "Hugo your strangely quiet... didn't you work looking for fish stream in the forest?" She continued before I could answer, "Yes, I remember, you worked as a fisheries surveyor. You must have an opinion on this."

I took a moment to answer, "Yes, I worked as a fisheries technician survey streams for fish for logging companies. They needed us to check streams for fish so the right buffer zone around the stream can be prescribed." The acid added, "Counted fish with an elector-shocker I did... one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish" I hoped they would ask what an elector-shocker was and not my opinion.

"So what is your opinion?" Sofia asked again. I said nothing then Sofia said, "Were you listening?"

I saw an opportunity to break Sofia's line. I answered, "Yes, I was... and I think there is something fundamentally wrong with your idea of nature. We are nature and our doings are natural. But I can not convey this concept easily to a group of people who have been told and reared in a culture that for millennia has told us we are in God image. Thus we are greater than beasts and bush when our consciousness and perceived right is not greater than an ant's. The universal urge is our too... and that is only to continue. I can't tell you, or show you this, or argue this because I just know it." And I looked up at the cosmos as I thought a yogi would.

Sofia blurted out, "What bullshit! Tell us, what do you think about logging."

I stared a dialog I did not want to engage in, "Well, I don't think its that bad if done in the right places the right way. And I must first qualify all of my statements by saying: the rightness or wrongness of logging and any issue is dependant on the goals of the society. What was right ten years ago is not right now and what is right now may not be right in ten years."

I paused to reacquaint myself with my wine, "The place that is right is the boreal forest. It matures at about sixty years compared with hundreds for the coastal rainforest of North Western North America – those forests I am not commenting on. Its natural regenerators are fire and bug kills both are not unlike clear cutting in effect. But the biggest reason relates to its nature. There is lots of boreal forest and it is simpler than most other forests. The boreal forest warps clean around the globe in the temperate latitudes, from Western North America through Northern Europe and across Siberia to the Bering Sea, a stone throw from Alaska forest. It could easily be called the boring forest rather than the boreal because so much of it is the same the world round. I worked with a Polish immigrant, who lit a fire ever time we stopped and pick mushrooms – not magic ones." I lost my train of thought, the drugs I took denied responsibility for the derailment, "That is beside the point, this knowledge of plants and animals of the Polish boreal forest was about 45% interchangeable with the Canadian forest. So even a hemisphere away the species very much like one and other. If tropical rain forests in Africa and in South America are compared, virtually no species are closely related. The boreal is simple compared to the tropical forests. There aren't as many things to be lost in the boreal forest when compared to other fiber producing ecosystems. The relative simplicity of the boreal helps forester and biologist manage the forest so that it is sustainable and still a viable wildlife habitat."

I take another sip and look reflective, "Really, it's the management that creates a farm or preserves a forest. When I worked surveying steams it was easy to see where good logging had occurred and where bad had. Many of the older cut block were logged to the banks of small creeks that at the time were not seen as important, roads were put through bogs and marshes because it was the flattest ground, and machines were allowed to drive over what ever damaging streams and drainages. But when walking through the woods you must see it in it's time scale. The old scares will not be erased in years but rather in tens of year. I'm sure that if I took you to a second growth forest – a forest logged once – forty five years after only the proximity of the road would tip you off that it was logged. As new management approaches are implemented the forest ten, twenty, and thirty years down the line will benefit. The forest does not live in our time scale. In my opinion the best ways of managing is to save the valuable habitats, the streams, the wetland or riparian zones – edges between habitats – and other more rare areas with wild life corridors to connect them. With knowledge ways to minimize harm and maximize areas beneficial to whole ecosystem can be found and used, creating a vibrant forest can be maintained. If the goal of maintaining a heath ecosystem is wanted it can be accomplished but the goal dictates how it is managed. And every year more pressure is put on industry to do that. At least that has been the case in British Columbia so far."

"Hey, can you pass me the wine." I said. Sofia reached for it and Fay was about to speak up but I cut her off as I accepted the wine, "I have to admit a lot of what I have said is an echo of things I have learned in natural resources management classes and from working in the industry and is therefore bias toward those who make a living off the forest. However, those people in the industry know they make a living off the land and a good one. If our developed country were not exporting lumber to places like Japan or make paper more efficiently than less developed countries the demand for the product would not die but the place the product is coming from would. Workers, like the ones I worked with in Northern BC, who get good wages for dangerous jobs would be replaced by say... Indonesians clear cutting hard wood rain forests with no environmental conservation laws and no workers compensation board for dollars a day to sell as framing wood that is tossed out when the job is done. We sacrifice to save the places that are truly vulnerable," I paused for dramatic effect, "There is a fire burning do we save the big boreal that is use to fire or the rainforest such as those in Borneo with orangutans – the old man of the forest – pythons long enough to eat ya, and head hunters?"

Fay angry, said, "But what of your precious salmon, doesn't silt caused by clear cut logging pollute their spawning beds?"

My answer surprised her, "Yes," I stop pouring the wine for the full answer, "But my salmon are resilient. My salmon have lived through five ice ages and come back. My salmon are not the salmon you think they are and neither is logging the animal you think it is logging. When an area is logged it does cause much more erosion but again time has to be taken into account. When I surveyed stream there was one idea that governed if a stream could or could not be considered fish habitat: is the barrier insurmountable in time and space. Space being anything a fish can't travel passed a grade too steep for fish to climb, a badly placed culvert, or a water fall. Time being forever so even though a beaver dam blocks a stream allowing no fish to go above it, the beaver dam could wash out so that was not a barrier. Logging silts up streams, but for how long... forever? No, more like years... though the steam maybe less productive after tens of years after. But above that is salmon's adaptability. Most think salmon are robot, homing in on the exact stretch of stream they where hatch from... that is not true. Most get to a place close to where they were born. But some explore. I have seen salmon spawn under Ferries in a lake only in use for ten years and they do this viable year after year – the ferry provide current to oxygenate the eggs. I saw a tyee – a 30lb+ Chinook salmon - try to go up a storm drain in False Creek... a creek had not been there in at least seventy years more then ten salmon generations. There are Jack springs, three year old Chinook salmon that go up stream to spawn with mature salmon, and the only reason we can surmise is to mingle the genes. Some Chinook salmon live six year instead of five, but why? To overlap generations, possibly. Salmon will survive the temporal stretches forestry forces them to endure. The thing my fish will not endure is suburban sprawl. The endless march east of the Canada dream has brought the lower mainland – Vancouver Greater – salmon streams from two hundred streams to ten. The resident Coho of Georgia Strait are all but gone because they are to easy to catch and spawn on prime reality... housing developments don't leave in five years."

No one questioned me this time. And I felt I had to say something though I could not think of anything up beat, so I said this, "The environment is something nations will only consider when it has reach the point of Environmental Brinkmanship... if we as a whole are not threatened we will not change... so far we have changed. To save the world it must first be in peril." And I drank wine as the conversation shifted.

The five of us were still in the same position but we did not form a pentagon rather they formed a square and I was on my own both geometrically and philosophically. I handed the box of wine back to Sofia when she asked and took my fifth wheel to the table where John, Helen, Bruce, Clare, and Miles were figuring out how many drinks it takes to get to the bottom of a 40 of JD while still drinking white wine.

We were getting drunk when Fay came up to me. "Hugo, I have to say I don't agree with you... not totally."

"That is ok, I was," then Fay cut me off.

"Just listen to me drunk," I would do what ever Fay said, "You may not be right but you made me think... you challenge me and I like that. I had never heard that argument before."

There was an awkward pause and I filled it, "Sometime the LSD, it come over me and I say stuff. I don't always know if I really believe it but it is interesting."

"You took LSD today... I had no idea. How could act so normal? You ate food?"

"Yeah, I kind of took a hit or two in the morning and one before we went surfing. I had not eaten all day so I was hungry when supper came round. Really, I can barely feel it now."

"Come over here," I listened to Fay and came closer to a lantern, "Your eyes are so big."

"I'm on acid."

"You amaze me, how can you be on acid and not act like? How can you argue rationally while on a drug that promote the irrational?"

Fay's questions were meant to be rhetorical but I answered them or at least one, "I'm not acting and I know the Universe is infinite thus irrational so it is the rational that is irrational."

"That is a circular argument."

I tried to make a joke, "Yes, and so is Copernicus's Sun centered solar system."

"What?"

I tried to save my joke, "Copernicus creator of the theory that the planets orbit the Sun... circular argument." I could not save it.

"I get it your on acid. So you must be excited about going diving tomorrow, hey?"

"I'm actually a little terrified. I got this phobia about the bends."

"Sofia told me that this morning, she thinks your nuts. I'm sure you'll have a great time you're like a fish in water. I've never been diving either. I get pretty scare if I'm in the water alone, even in pools. Surfing was fun today but I don't know how you can swim so far out. I get freaked out if I can see the bottom."

I sympathized with a half truth, "The first second that I jump in the water I am always terrified something is going to eat me and franticly look around for my devourer before I feel at ease." Really it's the cold of the water that shocks me and the not fear of monster that leave me breathless and confused.

"Well, I'm going to bed... all that sun, surf, food and drink has tucker me out." Fay looked at me expectantly. I was not at all sure what she was expecting but knew most of my thoughts were too lustful to test. Fay finally said, "A hug before bed?" We hugged and I was sure that there was something more there. Of course I felt as if there was some spark there, my stomach filled with butterflies every time I talked with her but the something I felt like was coming from her too. Yes, I was sure the electricity was alternating between us and not flowing directly from me to her.

The hug linger until it almost became awkward but before it did I said, "Have a good night," ending it.

"If I don't see you in the morning have a good day diving... don't drink too much tonight," Fay waved as she turn to go to her tent.

I was under orders not only from Sofia but Fay too I would not get too drunk. Even though I did not feel more then buzzed I was sure this was a trick of the LSD and went to get some water. I got some for Sofia too. She was still chatting with Rob and Francisca. As our party was dieing out the others was getting livelier. However, it was not long before they found out how much whiskey was in a bottle and decided to go to the local pub. Shortly there after we fell asleep.

Chapter 33

We did not sleep long. The crew that had gone to the bar arrived back in a rock and roll mood. To be exact the mood was Lead Zeppelin, Four and it could be heard a mile away. I tried to sleep through the noise but Sofia said, "Hugo... Hugo, are you awake?" I pretended to sleep until she poked me.

"Yes, I am now."

"Wanna smoke a joint?"

"Not really," I assumed this would not stop her Sofia's need for weed and said, "I don't think we have any in the tent."

"We don't, go get some... please." Sofia did not have to beg as I needed the washroom and wanted some weed too.

I took a piss before getting the weed. I did not want to break up the air guitar jam Bruce and John were having. They were rocking out when I finished. I tried to find the weed with out their help. Finally I had to stop them because the Miles, Helen and Clare were unable to find the weed. "Hey!" I had to yell to Bruce, "I need some weed."

"Turn it down, mate this is the best part!" Bruce yell back.

"No... Weed!" I used my fingers to make the international gesture for rolling.

I could not hear his reply but he went searching for it with a torch. "Here it is," Bruce handed it to me and went back to the music looking as if he was running on auto pilot.

I went back in to the tent. Sofia was not there. I started to roll and she came back as I finished. Sofia said, "They are so hammered... I don't think I've seen them this drunk."

I said, "Oh, we have probable got drunker but we never been able to see ourselves. I think the night we drank sangria we were that drunk. Did you see them playing air guitar?" I lit the joint taking the first few pulls of it.

"Is that what they were doing?" Sofia tried to take the joint but it slipped and I had to grab it before it burnt a hole in the tent.

I handed it to her a second time and said, "Thumb to thumb that is the way it's done."

We smoked the joint laying on our backs. Each pass was a delicate process. When the joint changed to a roach, Sofia started to talk about how much fun we were going to have diving. She went on for quite a long time before she stopped abruptly. "Why do you like her so much?"

"Who... Fay. It just kind of happened the first time I saw her. I guess it's like in the movies, she walked across the street in Byron Bay and into my head," My mind caught up with my words and the censor battled with the weed for control of the truth. "Why, are you jealous?" As I asked my question as Stairway to Heaven began to play.

Sofia turned so she was on her side propped up by her elbow and kissed me before saying, "No, I'm not jealous... do you want me to be?" This was defiantly a rhetorical question as her tough was down my throat. She stopped, "This song makes me so horny, but I am going to pretend you are me." And she slipped her hand into my shorts. "So how did you fall so in love with her?"

I tried to dissuade Sofia's questions, but all I could manage to say was, "Really, why do want to know?"

"I, like everyone, likes a love story. And if you don't ask about how it happens, how will you know it happens. I've never fallen in love with someone at first sight and I'm curious. Now, you will do as I say: What made you fall in love with her? How did you know?"

Sofia's way of loosening my lips worked. She stroked, I spoke, "It was when I decided not to go to the psychic. I went to the bar to talk with her. To many things we coinciding: me seeing her cross the street, her hitching, her knowing my reference to Even Cow Girls get the Blues – my favorite book and the favorite author of another girl I fell in love with. I had to go check and when I did every thing she said made me melt. Her hippieness, love of psychedelics, style, it all got me... then when wanted to trade mushrooms for LSD it sealed the deal... all I could think of was her."

Sofia was almost laughing when she said, "You won't go to a psychic but set of coincidences caused you to fall in love... let me tell you that psychic said... well I can't tell you but you will find out." Her rhythm continued throughout and she gave me another kiss before getting back to the point, "Have you ever fallen in love at first sight before?"

"Not on first sight but on first meeting."

"She was the one who like the same author as you?" I nodded to answerer her. Then she asked, "Why was it you fell in love with either of them?"

"I don't know I just fell... I can't say that is why or this is why but for each why there much more and I don't know how to say it all. Have you ever fallen in love with somebody?"

"Yes, but I am the one asking the question. It time to play the game... so inyour tent thinking of Fay with you in hand," she stopped for a moment to untie my shorts. "You have to take you short off for this game," I took off my shorts, "Good, what are you doing with Fay today?"

"I don't know... I don't want to think of her with you here that is weird," I said, my dick disagreed.

"Ok, you walk into the wrong toilets one drunken night and what do you see?"

"What?'

"You see Fay and me. I am lying on a bench and she is eating me. Neither of us see you. You are angry at first but can't look away. I see you and motion for you to come over. Your hand has already slipped into your pants. I sit up and with one hand I keep Fay's head in my pussy and the other helps get you dick in my mouth," while Sofia was saying that I moved my hand to breast, then to her stomach and up on to her thy. Before I got to my destination, Sofia said, "No... you are a sick, sick, man." I put my hand back on a breast. Sofia continued the story, with her hot breath in my ear adding to the effect of her whispered words, "So Fay looks up. She is not shocked. She is too horny to be shy and she joins me as we suck you... pausing to make out."

I stopped the story with a flurry of kisses then said, "I know how the fantasy ends... you and Fay are in a sixty nine. You are trying to lap Fay hairy bush but are having a hard time as waves of pleasure roll over from me fucking you and Fay rubbing and when ever she can sucking and lick you clit." Sofia made the story end that way and we smoke another joint before falling asleep.

Chapter 34

I woke before Sofia and went to find what breakfast I could. The morning was sunny and though it was cool at this time the sun would defiantly be felt in the afternoon. It was early but I found Rob cooking some grill cheese sandwiches. Rob said as I approached, "Mate, you're up early. Excited about going diving?"

"Yeah."

"Taking you diving was all Sofia could talk about yesterday."

"Yeah... do you think you could grill one up for me Rob?"

"Only if Francisca and I can use your car today. Bruce and Johno will not be up for surfing today."

"They were piss yesterday. Did the Zeppelin wake you too?"

"If we were dead it would have woke us... we found away to pass the time." Rob winked when he said that. He flipped the sandwich and was more serious, "Remember when I took you surfing the first time. Do you remember what we talked about?"

"I think it was the ocean."

"Yeah mate, the ocean. Between waves we told tall tales of the sea." Rob paused to squish the sandwich down, "You told me about watching killer whales eat seals in British Columbia and I told you about seeing a picture of killer whaler surfing in New Zealand. For me it was that conversation that made our friendship because of our passion for the sea. I've talked with Sofia the same way... Bruce and John too. That is why we are here on this beach when Arlie Beach and Cairns have better weather, more birds and cheaper beer. Our trip is to the beach." Rob was beginning to preach but it was a sermon I wanted to hear, "If we could be sure the weather and wave would always be good we would never get blind drunk. You know why I fancied Francisca? The night of gigolo party she said she didn't want to get too drunk because she was going surfing in the morning. Then we went on and on about the ocean. Everyday there is that same moment when we fall in love with the ocean together... we always got that." Rob just drifted off after that.

Instead of questioning Rob's manhood, I said, "That a great thing to have."

"I never really thought I would say this on a beach in Australia about a girl I've known her for a week but she might be the one. You and Sofia seem to have the same thing, seeing you two fish is like when we surf... what of you guys?"

"Sofia's leaving in like three days. I don't see much with her after that. She'll be in Norway and I will be... somewhere," I drifted off this time.

"Mate, I think you should remember the ocean between you is the one you are in together."

This time I could not help ridiculing the foppish word, "Is that the kind of gay crap love makes you say?"

"Just think about it mate."

We made some more grill cheese sandwiches and cut some fruit. Francisca came back from the can. The conversation at the breakfast table was about surfing.

It was not long before Francisca and Rob were off surfing. A few minutes after Sofia awoke to the alarm she had set for eight. Sofia came out already smiling and excited about taking me diving. I had my second breakfast with Sofia and yet again we had sausages with bread and tomato sauce. Fay woke half way through our breakfast and did not take the sausages offered to her.

Just before nine Fay and Sofia went to the beach for there morning yoga session. At nine I walked over to the dive shop for the in pool practice dive.

There were three others taking a resort dive. A resort dive is a dive where you are in the company of a qualified diver that attends to all the important things such as not dieing from the bend or running out of air. Of course in the pool portion the fundamentals of diving are taught: how to let air in and out of your air bladder, how to use your regulator, how to read your depth and air gauges, how to find your regulator if it fall out of your mouth, how to buddy breath using the secondary regulator on your buddies tank and other things. We were told you could puck throw your regulator and that it would attract fish. Most importantly we were told to continually breathe, because if you did not and moved up the water column your lungs would explode. You could go down as fast as you could equalize your ears but the ascent should be won foot every two seconds. And when your air get to a bold mark on the gauge it was time to go up. Different diver used different amount of air so the time down would be different for each person. Generally small fit people use less air.

Then we got in the pool. Even in the pool the fact that I was breathing under water was wild. Though, I was trying to focus on all the things I had to do I was giddy as kid on Christmas.

Sometime in the afternoon but not long after it had past we were on a R.I.B. on the way to the dive spot. On the water there are two ways to travel on a R.I.B. and in discomfort. That is not quite true the rid on the R.I.B. is not comfortable but it is exciting. If you have ever ridden on one you know the human body is what stops it and not the weather. Today the swell was a long, 1.5 meters high, with no chop on top and the boat was short enough to ride up and over with out any smashing or crashing. Only a gentle bounce was felt when it went over and more pronounced one when it decelerated hitting the next one. It was only tens of minutes until we were at the reef we would dive at.

Sofia had arranged it so she would be my buddy during the dive. So we suited up together. Soon I was rolling off the tubes of the R.I.B. holding my mask as I was taught. We left the dive boat at intervals. Sofia had said to me to go down the anchor line as fast as I could equalize my ears. I did as she said and as I would if free diving. The Hendrix song, Moon, Turn The Tides... Gently Gently Away, play in my head.  
"So down and down and down and down  
And down and down we go  
Hurry my darling we mustn't be late  
For the show  
Neptune champion games to an aqua  
World is so very dear  
Right this way smiles a mermaid  
I can hear and man is full of cheer.

That man is full of cheer  
I could hear that man is full of cheer  
Lord thank you"

I was on the bottom well before Sofia but if it was minutes or seconds I could not tell. Time was lost to me as I put the regulator in my mouth. Was it comparable to the LSD I gave Sofia? To me it was a world so new as to be on the edge of terror. Beautiful to the point of abstraction because nothing real can be so poetic, so unreal, so where we came for but not us, so true but unknown. Gerry Garcia said in an interview that if they had SCUBA diving equipment readily available in the sixties drugs would not be needed. I agree. I had free dived many times and it is great but your time down is in the second. Intense second. Enough time for magic but too little for understanding. Diving is to have the time to be mesmerized. It remind me of LSD, the world you are on is not this one even though it is.

Sofia had to follow me. I was frantic. Everything I saw was the most interesting thing I had ever seen. I stopped for a stone fish... it ate a smaller that fish I did not know the name of. I turned to look for Sofia pointing at the little thing. I yelled through the regulator. She gave me the OK sign to ask if I was... I flashed it back smiling behind the regulator. She could not see it and my shriek was probable unheard or just a high noise then the explosions of bubbles. The noise pollution of a regulator was not to my liking but the trade-off had to be made. My pointing hand led the way as we traversed the reef. And the stone fish is the only real detail I can remember. Everything else lacks definition... 'What do you mean? Definition?' I can remember fish but each memory is as much an archived National Geographic as what I saw. It was not real, though I went on about it for days.

Fish filled my mind with wonder I can not describe, so I will not try. Go diving.

All too soon the ecstasy of the deep was gone. After sometime Sofia caught up to me and looked at my air gauge. She saw empty and we were on our way up at.

Once on the boat I was manic. My mouth would not stop, on and on I went. Until I got on to the idea of snorkeling. Many of the divers had not come up yet and I was not ready to leave heaven. So I donned a snorkel and dove back in Sofia followed. And for the next thirty minutes I spent twelve under the water. They let us use weight belts and we would rocket to the 30' bottom and stay for fifteen second. Fifteen second a small fraction of the total dive time. But once I was under I could hardly come back. With every dive I would get to the point where the CO2 in my lung would build, my chest would ach to breath and I would start taking air into my mouth from the lung then breath down again to fool the lungs. Half the breath was let out to ease some the pain. But as always I would have to give a few kicks to go back up again. And on the way up my vision would tunnel as I closed on the light at the end of it. Then at the surface I would hyper ventilate and try to say a few word to Sofia, who was doing the same.

Dolphins do not have the thing that causes pain when CO2 builds up in the lungs. Surely they know when death from asphyxiation is approaching but it is not physically painful or that is what scientist say. Flipper did not die of a lung infection that was only a symptom not the cause. Flipper committed suicide.

Again reality beckoned as we heard the people on the boat call us back. "We were just about to leave you here," one of the dive operators said to me while pulling me aboard.

I replied, "To bad you didn't." I said that with the knowledge that it would be my grave... but what a grave.

The diving had got me horny but since sex was not an option I exchanged appetite for appetite. We went for dinner at the best spot on the Island. I do not remember the dinner because my memory was still burning and re-hashing the events of the dive. But I am sure the dinner was good... and so were the drinks.

Chapter 35

Back at the camp we had more drinks and I excused myself from the conversation with Sofia and Fay to go for a shower.

I came back after the refreshing shower to find Sofia and Fay fighting, while not literally a cat fight, they were at each others throats. I was not sure what the dispute was about and was not in the mood to join it but my glass of wine was over there so I sat down next to them.

"Would you like to see your daughter grow to see herself as only a sex object!" when Fay invoked the 'think about the children' rhetoric I saw the argument had reached the place where reason and belief collide. From this point on Sofia could put forward all the reason in the world and still Fay would not sway from her position.

"Of course not, but every child grows up. And every person is a sexual person so why hide from it like is bad," Sofia was trying to be calm but her voice had an edge to it.

"Everyone is sexual but there is a difference between normal sexuality, with mutual feelings, and the sexuality shown in pornography," Fay stopped for a moment and look at Sofia directly, "Porno is prostitution... the people in it are paid for sex and that is what is wrong with it. Smut peddlers try to pawn it off as art but what's artistic about a taking a shot in the face, nothing. The whole sex industry from Play Boy to massage parlors causes the objectification of women."

Sofia continued to fight, "And how about Tropic of Cancer is it smut or is that line drawn at Lolita or Daniel Steele's books. All the people in them are presumed to gorgeous, physically sexy. Since the fictional characters are assumed to be attractive even these books are promoting a sexuality based on objectification of women... and men of course. And so is any publication glorifying the human form," Sofia turned up the patronization in voice, "So providing a fantasy, a tease is wrong... if it is all of fun the parts of sex are too. People have the right to think freely and do as they feel so why is it wrong for them to have a set of values different from yours?"

Fay snapped back, "When teenage girls wear shirts that says 'porn star' and want breast implants its wrong. They want these things because men dominate society and it is the body that men want to sleep with. Porn serves to validate that women are still property and even seemingly harmless magazines help to shape how men treat women."

I disagreed of course, Hustler has not made me a misogynist. In fact just as in one of Hustler's famous cartoons I too have a shrine to worship pussy at. Hustler is my portable temple, however, I keep my religion and politics separate. I made a mental note to toss (sick Brits thinking I used its other form... mind out of the gutter please we are talk about porn) out my temples, January, March and September, so that Fay does not force me to recant my belief. I did not voice my opinion.

"Many women don't agree with you, Fay. Many aren't lucky enough to have your intelligence or education and can't see the world you live in. Some see their looks as an asset, just as others see their intelligence as one. Some even like to be seen as objects... it can be most empowering to have a man by the ball so to speak."

Fay cut Sofia off, "But it a false power, gone the second he cums. Those who can live with being an object are ruining it for all the young girl who want something different and better. Looks only last so long."

I could see Sofia was getting frustrated by Fay's unequivocal stance. The corners of Sofia's mouth turn up slightly but she hid her smile with a glass of wine. Then Sofia put down the half empty glass started on a different topic, "You know Hugo was telling me that he was on mushrooms once and figured out that all things have consciousness. Consciousness is basically the knowledge of oneself. That knowledge is not something unique to us, everything has it. It is represented best as the desire to be something different: a person wanting to be coupled, an atom wanting more elections to be stable, a fish wanting food. It is this desire that is the consciousness and the consciousness causes us and all things to invest ourselves with some quality of the divine, a soul. We all have them even if they are no more than construct of consciousness or finger print left by divinity. Hugo, isn't that what you talking about on the way to Byron Bay?"

"Pretty much... I think I said everything needs to have knowledge of itself and the drive or desire to have consciousness. And consciousness is the soul if you don't believe in the divine and the soul is consciousness if you believe in the divine."

Sofia addressed Fay this time, "What do you think?"

Fay answered, "I think that is true... maybe not all the way to the atom but I have felt that connection to everything and that it is like me at the essential level."

Sofia looked with forces as she sprung the trap, "If everything has consciousness or a soul is it a thing? No, it is an entity on par with us even if it does not have all of our attributes... but at the same time we do not have the ability to see its slice of reality. Therefore even if I objectify someone by seeing only their physical beauty I am not degrading them because all things are equally endowed with a soul or consciousness and are as much objects as they are people." (Sofia's dog has Buddha nature... so does her pet rock) Sofia did not care to hear anything more. She picks up her wine glass and our box of wine and left.

I was not sure what to do. I looked at my wine glass for advice but it only had wine to offer. I took a drink and thought if I should break the silence. I did liked Sofia's drunken logic but I was not going to tell Fay.

"What's her problem?" Fay said not wanting an answer, "Like you think you know someone... you think, 'hey, she is cool, progressive, liberated' and then you see she is another woman tied to the old idea of men on top. Come on it almost the twenty first century."

Fay was completely wrong Sofia loves to be on top.

I sat and listen too much of the same. I did not say anything right away. I was deciding what to say. It would be easy to say, 'Sofia was a stripper,' but that would not tell the whole story. It would not show Fay Sofia's perspective or give an idea of her reasons or show how she felt when dancing. But if I tried to get Sofia's side across it would only be seen a defending her pulling me into an argument I was doomed to lose no matter how hard I beat against Fay belief. Finally the rant got too venomous. I decided to tell her Sofia's secret. I did it not to defend Sofia but to guilt Fay. Even with my love of Fay, her rant demanded she be brushed back, put in her place. "Hey Fay," I paused waiting for her attention, "I know that you disagree with Sofia's views but did it occur to you that she was defending herself?" I knew when I said this that that was not the case but Sofia true story would not elicit the right effect.

"What do you mean?" Fay said head cocked like a dog hearing a strange noise.

I leant closer as a conspirator would, "Fay, do not tell Sofia this... Sofia was a stripper in Sydney. She isn't proud of it."

Fay gasped, "I didn't know... I'd better go apologize, I had no idea."

"Don't do that, it will make it worse."

"If I had known I would never talk about it. I feel so bad... she is so angry."

"Yeah, she is pretty pissed." I said seriously, "I think you could make it better if you tell her you were drunk and aren't as angry about it as you come across. But don't do it tonight, both of you would probably get in another argument."

"I guess your right."

"Well, I'd better go see Sofia."

Fay moved closer, "Here give this to Sofia." Fay gave me a big hug and a second. "And one for you."

We said good night. I got up went to the bushes then went into our tent. Sofia was inside the dark tent. I said, "Can I have some wine?" Though it was dark I could feel her look. But she was not angry enough to deny me wine and tapped on the box. I did not want to spill the wine and asked for a light. She flicked her lighter and I poured wine for the both of us by its flame. After a pull of my wine I lay on my back staring at the tent wishing it was a starry sky. Sofia was on one elbow looking at me and again I could feel her gaze. I had to say something so I said, "Wanna smoke a jay?"

A curt, "Yes," was the answer I got. I turned on a flash light and started to roll a joint as Sofia intensely looked at me and drank. I was having a hard time rolling with her medusa gaze. I was not done rolling when she put her glass in front of me, "More wine," the voice was a rich woman to a despised butler. I stopped to get the wine, and then finished putting a filter in the joint.

The tent was dark but for the glow of the cherry. It was a lighter dark than the heavy one before, though, still silent. Soon the silence was broken by a dry giggle and I said, "What?"

"Nothing... you will find out," Sofia got more serious, "Why didn't you argue with her?"

"I knew it was a lost cause."

"I did too. I will just have to show her." Her words were strained though an unseen smile, "More wine." I did as she said. A few minutes passed. "Sit up... look at me." I did and she sat up as well. Why she wanted to look at me in the dark tent puzzled me, all I could see of her was a silhouette with varying shades of dark gray highlights on her face and I doubt she could see more of me. "Fay is not like us. I know you don't want to hear this but please listen. She is a normal person... normal in that she has set ideas about the world that will not change. Her ideals maybe more open than a Christians but still they are in stone. If she breaks them it will be because of an outside force, the booze, the drugs, the police, the Man. It will not be her choice that makes her stray from her ideals." I thought it was funny I told Fay to blame it on the beer. "We know that it was us that bought the bottle even if our action were not in our control after that bottle."

Sofia took a drink I did too. Then she resumed my lecture, "Fay also has a set path for her life. It is not like our path. Our path is happiness. Her path is to something at which time she will be happy. She wants to find a man. A man to be the traditional male thing... a man to be a man and she will be the traditional woman. He will be gentle and loving but still he will be the man of the house. They will work to save money so they can fulfill their shared dream of a hostel which will turn into a bed and breakfast as they get old and wiser. They will smoke pot and drink wine and be the cool parents. They will be activist and care deeply about how the world is turning to shit. She is not like us."

"I am listening but I don't understand... is this some prediction, is this what the seer told you and Rob?"

"Just listen even if you don't understand. We are not the new people. We are the old."

I tried to cut through solemnity, "I always thought I was new man homolesurey or the islandist."

"No, we are the echoes of the Neanderthals. We die out but there is some of us in them. Ours' was a people of pleasure. Our tools we good enough and bodies strong enough to grant us mastery over most everything but our culture was not strong enough to beat the weaker new men. Our culture was open, free, full of fucking... woman made up the groups as they do in primates today. Male Neanderthals roamed from group to group as gigolos and figurehead leaders. We loved to fuck and who needs language when you never have to talk a chick into it. Our beliefs were harmonious with our environment or we were too busy fucking to work hard. Man on the other hand knew he was the second in strength and equal in intelligence to his rival. He saw himself as second but first was where he wanted to be. He made reasons why he was first and united the men and hid the woman while they when to war. Our quarrels were never wars. Killing rarely happened but man killed and killed well because the god of war is organization and they had the language. So our groups of women were slowly killed while the men's women hid in caves. We were all but whipped out. However, some of our males found those cave and fucked the men's women good. Man's women always like the strong, silent, big dick type. Our culture and patterns of thought endured and have thrived in pocket at times: the pagans of Europe with there great feminine God of fertility and matriarchal societies such as those in Central America."

I am told to fill the wine again and I do. We drink before Sofia's conclusion, "We are the descendent of the Neanderthals our actions prove it: we live for the pleasure, we work for times of leisure, we fuck like monkeys, and I am who you listen too and not the other way round. Fay is the child of man, she is waiting for the bright light at the end of the tunnel... we see a little light everyday."

I did not know what to make of Sofia's words. They seemed almost comical, like something I would say on LSD but if they were like what I say when on LSD they were most serious if shrouded in a cloud of dope. The words were transcribed into my memory word for word but they were left as the great Douglas Adams would say, "in a box marked urgent," and never ponder upon – never say never. I again tried to lighten the mood, "I thought my roots were Jewish?"

Sofia lightened, "Most Jewish boys are mommas boys aren't they. Here I have proof of my roots." Sofia took my hand and rubbed my thumb over her eye brow, "Feel the ridge."

"Yes, a definite brow ridge."

"And look at this," Sofia turned so that her head was back lit and the silhouette was all that could be seen. She made a face and the silhouette was a prefect Neanderthal, "That is my grandma." I laughed. "And this is my great grandma," and the silhouette change to an ape's. I laughed harder then kissed her. She latched on to me. Then pushed me to the ground and pinned me there before rolling off and tell me to roll another joint.

We lay on our backs and smoked. Half way through the joint I asked, "If you don't like Fay, why do you hang around her so much?"

"It is not that I don't like her. Her person, her heart, who she is good but it's the shell she has put up around her. She is not a bad person but not like us. And she knows yoga. The disciplined breathing yoga teaches is great for diving. To learn how to breathe calmly, deeply with out getting your metabolism, your heart rate up, makes your air last longer." Sofia took a drag and started to cough, during the coughing she said, "I uhuh, don't uhuhuuhu, really see what you see, uhuhhuuhuhuhuh, in her." She took some wine to quell the cough and another sip and got the hiccups. I opened the tent flap to let some air in. Her hiccups finish or at least died enough to get out sentences with out interruption and she said, "But I see how you are affected by her."

Nothing was said after that... presumably because of how drunk and stoned we were.

We woke to rain... or I woke it was raining and Sofia was not there. I got out of our tent and found my sandals out beyond the cover of the fly. I walked to the bushes and when I turned back I saw Fay and Sofia sitting under the lean to we had made doing the morning yoga. I went back to bed to do some exercises myself - I had but a few days left with my portable temples.

I fell back to sleep and had a dream that the world had been given a sex drug by terrorists or hippies. It was a good dream until I was eating some chick's pussy and her clit started to pulse. I though, 'damn this girl is really liking it.' But it did not stop throbbing in time with her pulse and it continued to swell. Soon it was as big as my thumb... latter is was not a clit at all but a cock. I woke up after that. I was completely discussed. Then I remembered that really the difference between a clit and a dick is one Y.

### Part 7: Release

Chapter 36

Woke for a second time and the rain was still coming down. However, our spirits had not been dampened. Laugher and loud talk were coming from the lean too. I squished my way barefoot through the sodden grass and was immediately called to by John, "It's the late riser... you've got to catch up mate," a beer and a bottle of JD were forced upon me, "take a pull."

"What is the occasion?" I asked taking a swig, and winced.

"It's Sofia going away party. We were going to wait till tonight but its raining, so we will go all day." John told me.

I addressed the group, "So you're at a party and you got there late like me. Everyone is at this level and you are down here," I made gestures with my hand to indicate levels, "I need a knife." I was handed a knife. "You make a whole at the bottom of the can. Make sure the edges of the hole are smooth so you don't cut your lips. See that is the kind of whole you want, around an inch in diameter. Now you put your lips to the hole and do this." I put my lips around the hole and then stood straight up so the can was vertical and cracked the it open. The beer shot down my throat at 9.8 meters per second squared. Some foam was left and I had a hearty belch following the drink. I said, "That is how you shotgun a beer. It's a utilitarian version of the beer bong. Who is up for one?"

All the guys had to try and did Francisca too.

I felt proud of myself for introducing a new way of dinking to these foreigners and I wanted to show them more so I set about making a gravity bong, the most efficient way to smoke pot. I found out that the Australians all ready knew what a gravity bong was but their name was not as cool, they called it a bucket. We quickly found a two liter bottle, bole from a bong (the part of a pipe the weed goes in), and a bucket. It was not long before we had a new toy to try out.

For those who have no idea what I am talking about, you are too young to smoke pot. But if you are in college and the bag of weed is short but you have got ten people to smoke up make a bucket. Take the bole from your bong, cut a whole in the top of the cap to a two liter bottle so the bole fit snugly in it. Cut the bottom off the two liter bottle. Get a bucket or jug big enough to put the two liter bottle in so that only the top few inches of the bottle will be out of the water when submerged. Put the bottle top with the bole on the bottle and submerge it in the bucket. Put a small amount of weed in the bole light the weed up while slowly pull the bottle out of the water. The bottle will fill with smoke. When the bottle is just about out of the water stop pulling up. Take the top off and put your mouth over the bottle top. Let the bottle sink blowing the smoke into your lungs. Be ready there are very few ways to smoke that are more intense than the gravity bong. You will cough. You will get stoned. You will save weed.

We all took turn taking pulls from the gravity bong. We all got very stoned on less than a joints worth of weed.

After a few more beers and shots I was getting drunk. I walked up to the washrooms to take a leak and was quickly caught up by Sofia. "Wait up," Sofia called to me when she had caught up, "Hugo, tonight we are doing something special. I have some ecstasy but not enough for all of us or I would if you and I weren't going to do some tomorrow."

Soulfully I said, "I hate ecstasy," which is kind of true but when in Rome.

"What do you mean you hate ecstasy? How can anyone hate ecstasy? Why am I even asking you were afraid of diving too. Anyhow, I think we will all pass out soon. I know Bruce, John, Helen, Clare, Miles are going to go out to dinner later. We are going to stay hear and do the ecstasy with Rob, Francisca and Fay. And when Rob and Francisca go off on their own the three of us will be all on ecstasy. Can you think of what might happen with all of us feeling so good?"

"Of course I can... but are you still," I was stopped with a coy smile and a shaking head. Sofia led me into the men's washrooms where I took a leak then took Sofia.

It was a short tryst but I thought it was the beginning of a long days debauch... there would be debauchery but I would not be debauchee.

We went back to the camp and again we were accosted by drinks. We could have said no but the plan involved them. We drank and it rained. The drink began to catch up with us. Our number steadily decreased until Sofia and I were the only ones left. We were staggering drunk by this time but still not sleepy. Sofia and I decided to take one last drink go to the toilets and meet back at the tent. But this is when the plan started to go a rye.

I got back to the shelter, to see the smoldering fire being stocked by Fay. "What is up Fay?" I asked.

"My fucking tent is leaking... everything of mine is soaked."

"Well, I think you need a drink," I went to find a beer or some wine or whatever. I found a beer and gave it to her. Her anger did not subsided as she hung up her wet cloths and gulped the beer. Soon all Fay's stuff was hung to dry and we sat drinking I ranted on about some extremely important thing while Fay continually caught herself before passing out.

"Oh, Fay you are up." Sofia said when she arrived.

Fay answered, "A fucking whole in my tent soaked all my stuff."

Sofia said, "Pass out in our tent, there is room."

"Ok," was the only word Fay said as she left to pass out.

"One more bucket," I said to Sofia. We had the bucket and found ourselves unable to walk well so we too found our way to our tent. Before passing out Fay had to be moved to one side of the tent since she was sprawled in the middle of the tent.

The unconsciousness lasted for a few hour then we began to wake intermittently for water and to pass water. I could not get to sleep after the unconsciousness. Once I realized Fay was sleeping in the same tent as me, I lay mind racing with the possibility and probabilities. It was the worst giddiness I had experienced. I was sure that at any moment either the worst or the best event of my life was going to happen. I know a person such as I should not say something like this lightly because I have said so many heavy things about the infinite. But truly my feeling for Fay and the uncertainty of the day caused me to create an infinite amount of scenarios about the possibilities of the night. It was the creation of everything out of nothing fueled by love. Sure my mind is not a tangible thing and the thought there in are not real until expressed in writing or action but the seed of creation is not either. Fay's presence caused me to step closer to the unreality. I did not have a hangover either.

Chapter 37

At some point both Fay and Sofia left as I lay creating the universe. Their presence seems to be necessary to keep my mind alight so I went to find them. By this time it was dark and the rain had not let up. I found Fay, Sofia, Francisca and Rob under the shelter cooking some sausages.

"It's about time you woke up," Sofia said to me as I approached, "I was about to come and wake you. Want some dinner?"

"Sure," I answered, "Where are the others?"

Rob replied, "They've gone out for dinner."

We ate the small meal. Sofia then went to get the drugs. We stood in a circle as Sofia drop our poison from her palm into ours. I was the last to get a pill. It was not like any pill of ecstasy I had seen before. It was a thin blue rectangle or diamond with rounded edges. It's alien appearance did not faze me, after all ecstasy in Australia is bound to be different from E in Canada. I downed it with a swig of cordial.

We backed Deloris up so that the trunk could be opened to let out the music from it stereo. I was not sure of what the music was. It was some sort of house that Sofia had gotten from some DJ that was famous in those circles. Fay rolled a cannon as we waited for the drug to move us. Not long after the joint was out we started to feel the effects. Fay had to touch everyone when she talked with them, Sofia and Francisca started to move to the beat, and Rob smiled stupidly. I was not feeling that way, my effect we different, not ecstasy like at all. I began to get tired. As Rob got up to dance I dropped my head and stared at the floor trying to stay awake. It was a struggle to get my words out, "Hey, Sofia I feel really tired... I think I am going to pass out."

"What do you mean you feel tired?" Sofia asked.

"I am going to fall a sleep." I answered.

"But how can you, you took ecstasy?" Sofia stated. She stopped to think for a minute, and then asked, "What did the pill you took look like?"

I answered drunkenly, "A blue rectangle, round edges... I think... blue... definitely blue."

Sofia came up to me and hugged me saying in my ear, "Oh no, I gave you the wrong pill. I keep all my pills in the same bottle. Ecstasy, Ephedrine, Tylenol, Valium... they are all in the same bottle I must have given you the wrong one. I am sooo sorry... maybe if I give you some more E it will counter the Valium?"

"I am going to sleep." I got to my feet with difficulty but Sofia steadied me.

Sofia walked me to the tent helped me get my sandals off, the door to the tent open and me inside. She came in too. She then said, "Stay awake just a little more... remember what I say." I focused as much as I could. I did not want to let the potential of the night slip away, "I am so sorry. Please forgive me." As she apologized and she kissed me, "I did not mean to do this... I am sorry. If you can fight it." She rummaged through her stuff for a minute, "Here take one of these... it may wake you." She handed a bottle of water to me and stuck a pill in my mouth. I swallowed it.

I fell into the Valium just like the guy in Train Spotting fell into the carpet. None existence is so nice.

I was wrenched from none existence into delirium by Sofia squeezing my shoulders and saying my name in my ear. "Wake up Hugo... wake up... come on Hugo wake up for me." Her voice was the ecstasy voice everyone has, smooth, slow, sexy with a sigh after every phrase. I opened my eyes and she kisses my forehead and said, "Listen to me Hugo... I am sorry I gave you the valium but I am sure she," she was Fay, "would never have played with both of us. She has never been with a girl before... soon she will. I feel bad that I gave you the valium," her warm hand told me Sofia could not be feeling bad – ecstasy it's like that. "I have a treat for you... if you can stay awake. I am going to fuck her right here, in front of you. You mustn't let her know you are awake so when I try to wake you do not move, pretend to sleep." I nodded to Sofia and she lent down to kiss me before saying, "Pay attention to this lesson student. Your teacher is a master of seduction so watch and learn." Even with the excitement this development brought me my eyes fluttered shut. Sofia kissed my closed eye, "Stay awake." Sofia left. I positioned myself so I had the best view and I fought the drug.

The fight did not go well. I found myself slipping in and out of consciousness. The only way I could tell I was doing this was that the song playing in the back ground would change. The valium and ephedrine we not combining well. The ephedrine would wake me at the slightest change in the music or unusual sound but seconds later the valium would close my eyes and pull me back down.

The music changed from the trance house to the Cure. The others must have got back. Not long after I was roused by the sound of Sofia unzipping the tent flap. Sofia and Fay giggled as they entered. Once inside Sofia immediately said, "Poor Hugo... I can't believe I gave him valium. I'm so sorry Hugo. He is a great guy... he has the biggest crush on you," Sofia addressed Fay with the last two sentences.

Fay said in the ecstasy tone, "He is but don't you find it weird that he only cares about fishing and surfing? He is so smart but a side from arguing doesn't want to do anything with it. There is more to life then surfing and fishing... there are lots of good things that need to be done."

Sofia answer with no criticism or judgment, "Is there really anything higher then fishing, surfing and diving? I don't think so."

A hooting came from outside and both of them began to giggle again and talk about how drunk the others were. I drifted off. I awoke to Sofia's voice, "Hugo wake up... wake up Hugo," She poked me hard a few times. I remembered to not move. "See he is not going to wake up. Take it off... I can't give you a good massage with your shirt on."

My eye stayed shut as my minds eye saw Sofia slowly pulling up Fay's shirt and suck on her hard nipples. Minutes pass and the sound of Fay moaning made me open my eye fully expecting scene from a porno. I was let down. I saw the outline of Sofia sitting over a prone Fay rubbing her back. The massage continued awhile. Even with the potential for girl on girl action my eyelids had to be willed open. And still I was not sure if this was a dream.

Sofia massage progressed down to Fay legs where she made sure to rub up and down that erogenous zone on the back of the thigh. Then Sofia spanked Fay and said, "It's my turn." Fay got up on to her knees and turn to face Sofia who was taking her shirt off. They were perfectly silhouetted by the light filtering in from fire and lantern by the shelter. Sofia looks straight at Fay, "Oh, you look so beautiful."

"So do you." An awkward silence followed that was broken when Sofia planted a kiss on Fay's lips. Fay pushed Sofia back and said, "No... I've never done it with a girl."

"There is a first time for everything," and kissed Fay again. Fay was pretending to be a pillow and did not reciprocate. Sofia was pushed away again. "Didn't you like that?"

"Yes... but," Fay was stopped by Sofia's tough going down her throat. It seemed to me that Fay was enjoying even participating in the kiss this time but I was not sure – and was not about to ask. Sofia stopped and kneeling shuffled toward Fay so that there nipple touched when they inhaled. I could not see the details or the expression on either face but their postures told the story. Sofia made sure to she was not at eye level with Fay but just a little above. Sofia demeanor was a cop's with it's air of confidence and control. Sofia body language let it be known, no, was not an acceptable answer. Fay was a deer caught in headlights, too stunned to effectively protest. Fay tuned slightly toward me and said, "But he is right there." Even though it was probably to dark for Fay to see them I shut my eyes when Fay moved.

"He is passed out on valium. He is not here," Sofia then raised her voice, "Hugo are you awake?" She follows her question with some hard pokes. So hard I almost let out a whimper. A few second of silence followed. "He is not waking up." I heard the smack of puckered lips and opened my eyes to see Sofia holding Fay's arms by the wrist. Sofia laid Fay on her back and they make out like that. Fay was not resisting rather she was assisting. Sofia then moved her lips to Fay's nipple and split Fay's legs with a knee that then rubbed Fay's cloth covered crotch. I heard Sofia whisper to Fay what I thought to be, "Ooo, you must like this... you are so wet." The music from outside cover the sexiest sound ever, the squishy pussy sound but my imagination added it.

The reader may get the impression that by this point I was awake and aware but I was in a semi-stuporous state. My mind was awake enough and so were parts of my body, however, if no new, exciting stimulus was applied I would drift into a shallow sleep lasting until the next whimper, moan, or movement got my attention.

Sofia got down to business and went south on Fay. Sofia got to Fay's shorts and said, "These have got to go." Sofia took them off then kissed her way back up. Fay let out a squeak when Sofia finally hit Fay's button after a minute of teasing. The action became slow. With only outline of Sofia head burred in Fay's pussy and a bit of heavy breathing coming from Fay to entertain me, I closed my eyes.

A noise like a grunt mixed with a squeal opened my eye. Fay was now breathing even more heavily and propped up on her elbows look toward Sofia the diver. Fay must have been just about there. Every so often Fay would let another yip or yelp or yowl and throw her head back. The more the feeling grew the more Fay tries to keep it pent up. Fay did not seem to want to let it go. But inevitable Fay had to let go, giving into absolute pleasure. Fay went over the plateau rather quietly, one of her yelps turn into a moaning exhalation, her back arched, her legs shook and she brought an arm up to muffle a convulsion moans as she came. Then Fay sat up grabbing Sofia's head and pulled Sofia up her. Fay lay back as Sofia kissed her way to Fay lips. When Sofia got to Fay's neck, Fay said, "That was incredible." They cuddled and I fell somewhere beneath consciousness.

Sofia voice woke me, she was instructing Fay, "Use your whole tough and lap it... ohh that is it." I opened my eyes but I could only see the outline of their highest point against the lighter tent. There was no light coming in from the camp shelter or fire and the music was not on. The rain had stopped too. In the quiet I could hear every word, slurp, squish, and breath. I could hear all the order Sofia gave Fay and there were many. Sofia knows what she likes. After every command Sofia's breathing would deepen and her moans would get a little louder. At any second I was sure that Sofia was going to come. I was so sure I started a ten second countdown in my head: ten, niner, eight, seven, six, fiver, four, and Sofia started to giggle for no reason. The giggle changes to a laugh that broke Fay's concentration.

Fay, "What is it?"

"Nothing, you hit my F-spot."  
"What do you mean?"

"Nothing... I had a funny thought but I forgot it." Sofia stopped laughing and said seriously, "Back to work. Fuck me with two fingers and nibble and suck my clit." Did Sofia's laugh originate from the absurdity of the situation? I did not know but like a good reporter I made the facts up. I thought about the situation and kept myself from laughing. The scene I saw was Fay looking up from between Sofia's leg to see her laughing. Then Sofia lent forward to tell Fay it was nothing and give her a kiss on the head before giving Fay her orders. Sofia pushed Fay back down with both hand, positioning her correctly in the process.

Sofia build up was quick. Sofia had no reservation when she came. Sofia road the wave like a surfer would, staying with it, using all of it. If Sofia was a surfer then Fay was a drowning person. Fay was over come by her cum only able to let it crash over. And like a drowning person Fay was happy to tread water in the wake of the wave. Sofia paddled out for the next one.

The sound of there of the post coital cooing and make out session interested me little and I felt asleep for the final time that night.

I woke as dawn broke. My mind was slow but soon I put together the pieces of a great dream or strange night. I was not at all cretin that the event of the evening had actually happened. If they had happened as I remember them there was no way I wanted to be around when the two love bird wake in an ecstasy funk. Really, there was only one solution, go fishing.

I watched the sun rise through the broken cloud and marveled at Sofia's laughter when about to cum. The songs of the morning birds were sublime. One in particular stood out as more beautiful then all the other, it sound exactly like Fay's yips. I caught three fish, two darters and one whiting. I let all of them go because the sound they made when they slid into the water was the same as Fay's fingers and tough made when working on Sofia's swollen cunt. On this morning I did not take fishing seriously, I was just playing around with my pole.

Chapter 38

The slowness of the valium hangover did not effect time; it marched on at the same rate. I was surprised when Rob came jogging down the beach calling my name. I walked toward him and he started to walk too. Rob was panting a bit when he said, "Mate... its time to get back to camp... its half nine... Sofia said you wanted to be on the half ten ferry."

There was little time for awkward moments between Fay and Sofia since they had woken up a short time before. Sofia was packing her stuff and making sure none of it had been left behind. At the same time the others were passing around a Sofia's E-mail address and putting theirs in her book. I went into our tent to pack some stuff since I was going to stay a night in Surfers Paradise with Sofia before she left the next day. Sofia smile at me in the tent, "Was it a good show."

"Spectacular." I said softly. Then we both finished packing.

Bruce called for of us to come and get a group picture taken. Bruce had gotten the caretaker to take our picture. We all gathered by the shelter and took three or so picture with different cameras. With not much time final good byes were said and Sofia and I were off to the ferry.

Once we turned onto the road to the ferry Sofia broke out laughing. Her laughter was uncontrollable and she did not try to control it.

"What is so funny?" I asked wanting to catch this wave.

"Hiccup... hiccup... you don't think... hiccup... last night was funny?"

"I guess it was a pretty absurd situation but funny enough for that laughter... giggles yes but not guffaws." Sofia did not answer me. After a few seconds I said, "What is it?" I paused, and then looked at her, "Come on what is so funny?"

Sofia pointed at her cheeks puffed up like a shocked blowfish and I realized she was trying to stop her hiccups. More then a minute passed then Sofia answered, "I will let you in on a secret. You cannot, hiccup, shit, tell a soul. Hiccup. Fay did not do any ecstasy, neither did I." Sofia's manic laughter returned.

I rolled this over in my head while have ambivalent feeling. One part of me thought it was a bad thing for reasons unknown and the other thought it was really funny while a third thought Sofia was putting me on. "So none of us took ecstasy?"

"Francisca and Rob did but Fay and I only took ephedrine. Hiccup. Fay's symptoms were placebo effect and I pretended to be on it." Again Sofia held her breath to get rid of the hiccups.

I thought about it for a second more. This time I found it only funny and laughed with Sofia. "So you did give me valium on purpose?"

Sofia was less light when she answered but not apologetic, "I did give you the valium on purpose. It was the only way to show you something. And Fay needed to lighten up."

I said sardonically, "So you turned her into a lesbian, great."

Sofia smiling screeched, "No I didn't! Anyway no lesbian would want her. She sucks at giving head. She doesn't listen and has no talent... I don't even think she masturbates. You eat pussy better then she does... at least you do what I say. And that hairy cunt, I still have hair stuck in my teeth. I'm sure I will cough up a hair ball anytime. Its not only a massive bush but she doesn't even shave around her lips either. Then she cums like a girl on Japanese porn, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. If I fucked her with a strap-on she would lay there and do nothing, going ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. Its not all bad her nipples are big, perky and sensitive. She needs to fuck more."

While Sofia was saying that a movie flashed into my mind, Emmanuelle. It a French soft porn where the main character, Emmanuelle, is a woman who goes with her sexual desires. "That is good Emmanuelle."

"What?"

"That is your new name, Emmanuelle, like the French movie from the seventies."

Sofia thought for a minute, "Is it an almost porn about some woman in Bangkok fucking who ever she pleases?"

"Yes."

"Ok, you can call me Emmanuelle." Sofia changed subjects, "Tonight I have some ecstasy for us. I want to go out shopping when we get there but then we will go to disco. Where should we stay?"

"Emmanuelle disserves to be in the swankiest hotel we find."

We made the ten thirty ferry and were in Surfers Paradise before two. We drove down the strip and found the best looking hotel and check in with a few disapproving stairs. I could not blame them we were a bit out of place, still sandy and disheveled from live in a tent for weeks. Australians would have called us ferial.

Our first instinct upon entering the suit was to use all the amenities. I was on the line to room service ordering lunch while Sofia filled the Jacuzzi bath. I opened two of the mini bars single glass bottles of champagne and joined Sofia in the bath. The food came quicker than we did. Sofia had to jump out of the bath to let the bellman in, grabbing a towel along the way. I waited trying to stay focused. The bellman asked Sofia to sign the bill. Sofia told him hang on while she looked for a tip. I heard Sofia say, "I could only find two dollar coin but maybe this could make up for it... look but do not touch." Many thoughts went through my mind all of them lascivious. During the half minute that pasted before the bellman thanked Sofia profusely, my focus was returned to the task at hand. Sofia walked back in naked.

"So what did you give him for a tip, Emmanuelle?"

"Oh, I'll show you... you can touch." Sofia put on another towel, and then let it drop to the floor. She turned around to pick it with her leg wide but stopped to play with her pussy. I joined in. I ate quickly as our food was getting cold.

As we ate our burgers Sofia said, "You should have seen the bellboys face. He looks like he was a teenager. You could see his hard on from a mile away when he left. I hope I get to tease him again."

"If I see him I gonna give him one of these," I glared at Sofia and gave the slit throat sign with my hand.

Sofia laughed, "He will probably faint."

"Or I could wink at him like this and blow him a kiss."

"That would be better... then we could lure him into our room and do what we please with him. I wonder if they would charge us for his time." Sofia stopped and gave a serious look, "No, tonight is for us. Who knows if we will see each other again?"

"Let's plan one going fishing sometime... Costa Rica sometime in the future."

"We will go fishing sometime. I had better get going it's almost four and I don't know when the shops close." Sofia took two more bites, then got up and put on some cloths. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Like any man in a hotel room I found the honor bar and the porno channel before having a nap.

Sofia jumped on the bed to wake me. I awoke with the TV still on, playing the porno I had ordered. "I can guess what you have been doing... I've been doing the bellboy," my expression must have been intense because Sofia quickly said, "I am only joking! Here look what I've got." She pulled out a tiny pink T-shirt with surfer Barbie on it, a white pleated mini skirt, a lime green belt, and small lime green purse. "Do you like?"

"Yes."

"I got something for you to," Sofia said. For a moment I thought it was going to be a Ken out fit, but I could not imagine what it would look like. "Look it's got everything you like on it: hula girls, hibiscus flower, surf boards... if only it had fish on it too. Here put it on." I put on the Hawaiian shirt and modeled it for Sofia. It was a quality shirt not to loud, made of silk and the hula girl had the look of velveteen girls on the black shirt. "I've go to get ready to go out. We are going to have the best time out tonight. Ecstasy and dancing, I can't wait!" Sofia went into the washroom.

"I don't dance."

"You will tonight!"

No long after go into the bathroom Sofia came out and said, "I forgot something. I'm going out to get it."

"Hey, do we need to get anything from the bottle shop?"

"Yeah... tonight we should have Champagne."

We left together. On the elevator we saw the bellboy who had brought lunch. Sofia smiled at him. He did not look at me. We all got off at the lobby. Sofia pinched the bellboy ass on the out of the elevator. I winked when he turn. He walked off face as red as his suit. I went to the concierge to ask where a bottle shop was. I got three bottle of decent Champagne or at least the clerk said they were good bottle, I had no idea if they were.

I got back before Sofia and went to have a shit, shower and shave since I knew I would not be able to when she got back.

Sofia came in angry. I asked, "What is up?"

"Nothing... I don't want to go out anymore."

"What, that is all you talked about today. You bought all this stuff to go out in. Why are you so angry?"

"I bumped into this guy I went out with in Sydney... he's a total asshole. I really don't what to see him," Sofia's tone was loathsome.

"Chances are we won't see him... if we do we can always go somewhere else. This place is full of clubs. But I am fine with staying in. I didn't want to go dancing." I knew if I said I did not want to go dancing, Sofia would force me to go.

Sofia thought for a minute, "Fuck him... you are going dancing and you will like it. I am going to get ready; you had better be ready to dance."

I flicked through the TV channels as Barbie got ready. I wondered if I should wear shoes and long pant, neither of which had been put on in a long time. I knew I was going to wear the shirt.

After the better part of an hour Barbie came out. Her hair in was in pigtails. She had green eye-shadow to match her belt buckle, rosy cheek with freckles, lushes glossy red lips and the obligatory sparkles all people of E have (some sparkles were put on me when I was not looking). The top barely contained her. The picture of Barbie on the shirt was completely distorted by stretching. Her midriff was totally exposed. Her mini skirt had to be pulled down regularly or the white thong would show if looked at from the front. Her smell was what really put it all together; she was wearing little girl strawberry perfume. She did a twirl in front of me. "So what do you think? The shoes don't really match... they are white with black, no green. But who going to look at shoes with all of this," she made a hand jester to show off the rest of her. I stood there speechless with only my new shirt on. My body spoke for me. "I see you like it... I would help you with that but my lip gloss is not dry yet," she winked when she said that. Sofia always helpful gave me a hand.

I decided to wear the khakis and shoe – who knows when I would wear them again.

Sofia stopped me at the bathroom door with the pills and a bottle of orange juice from the honor bar. "Here take your medicine... and drink the whole juice and some water." I did as she said.

We were out the door when I remembered something. I quickly ducked back into the room to get a couple hits of LSD. I did not take it right away and was not sure if I would but I a not a huge fan of the quite mind the content of ecstasy causes.

As we walked through the lobby Sofia looked for the bellboy but did not see him. We walked around looking for a place to go. It was relatively early, eight thirty or so and none of the clubs were open or worth going to yet. We found our way into a bar that specialized in margaritas. There were about fifty slurpy machines with different mixes of margaritas. The waiter asked us what we would like.

Sofia answered in a girly voice, "Strawberry margaritas of course." She batted her eyes when she said that while having knees held together tightly and her feet with heals wide apart and toes pointed inwards. Her play at being an innocent teen was as believable as an Oscar winning actor. She was asked for ID for the first since I had been with her. She relished playing the part. Everything she did was done specifically to flirt and tease, from the high ditsy voice to the way she made sure adjust her bottom or top while smiling at some guy.

I got up to go to the toilets and on my way there I notice a virtual big game fishing game with fighting chair and rod and reel. I had to show Sofia. I took her in tow to see the game. She took the first turn at the game. Basically you sat there and video of a fish striking a lure was shown and it told you to set the hook. Then you fought the fish. If you did not reel fast enough, set the drag right, bow to the fish if it jumped or fought it too hard the fish would get off. The sounds of line peeling off of reel, splashing fish and video of the fish would give you the cues to back off or tighten the drag or reel like mad or slowly pump the fish up from the depths. Its novelty soon wore off and we move to the pinball game next to it. Sofia kicked my ass at both.

By now we were feeling the ecstasy. I could not keep my hands off Sofia as we played one last game of pinball. I ended up ending the game when grabbed her waist and grinded my crotch against her ass. I whisper in Sofia's ear, "Since the first time I saw you I wanted to fuck while you played pinball."

Sofia turned to face me. The ball was lost. "But the game would tilt."

"So," and I kissed her.

"Let's blow this pop stand," Sofia took my hand and led me out into the street.

We walk up the street as MDMA took over. The feeling was wicked, as pure MDMA is, you feel good as good as you have ever felt. It's a one way feeling, there is no sideways, no slide back down, for now at least. MDMA was originally used as drug to brake down barriers married couple had build as the marriage fell apart (of course the US government did test it as a weapon, it was as effective as the slinky bomb and pink feather boa camouflage). The ecstasy would allow the couple to feel good about being in the same room as each other. The good feeling is so powerful that the couple could talk about things that normally sent them into a violent rage. MDMA has also been used as an effective way of dealing with post traumatic stress disorder for the same reason, it allow a person to go over events that evoke debilitating feeling with out the debilitating feeling overwhelming them. This is a powerful and useful quality but it is not in the psychologist's arsenal anymore or at least most psychologists, it's another victim of the war on drugs. The evocation of such a strong feeling of well being made for a drug almost anyone can love.

I love to do ecstasy on occasion, like this occasion but XTC has a problem or at least for me. Ecstasy's overwhelming good feeling drowns out your other feelings. These other feelings are so deadened that you cannot act on them with the intensity you would like to. So your other decides to brake up with you and you are on E, you take the news pretty well because it is impossible to show your real feelings. Possibly if the real feeling were shown the out come would be different but the MDMA allows you to accept their decision and walk on. For me this effect is not only for the bad but the good too. How can you trust a love expressed toward someone specifically when all is love? On ecstasy you lack the ability for any other meaningful feelings, feelings that could move you from the love of all. Other drugs like LSD, mushroom, weed (I am intentionally leaving out the soul stealing ones, coke, heroin, crystal meth), do alter your state but that state is flexible, it can be big good or big bad and your emotions govern which it is. The inability to feel anything but good that is the evil of E and why so many see it as good.

On ecstasy you are there and there is no were else to go.

And that is why I stopped for a moment outside of the bar to get the acid out of my wallet and into my mouth (1904 and 1903, candy flip). Sofia turn back to take my hand again leading to where... I knew not. Down Orchid Ave. we walked feeling the good vibe emanating from the other parties in this fun city. Sofia turn into the first video arcade she saw walked around stopping for a minute at the pinball machines then turned to leave with me in tow. We walked to the next one and again Sofia walked around with a purpose unknown to me. I was happy to be in tow. She found the pinball machines tucked away in the back out of direct sight for any other place in the arcade. She looked at me, "I am going to play. You are going to fuck me." Without stopping she worked her skirt up so she could take her thong down. I looked stunned. "You know what to do." She gave me the balled up panties and put a fifty sent coin in the machine.

"But I don't have condom."

"Fuck me."

Their are those who say that ecstasy makes you impotent, well not tonight. Sofia was pulling the plunger on the first ball when I put her panties in my pocket and undid my pants. The ball was barely through bumpers when my balls slapped against her clit. Sofia brought her A game but as the first ball fell to a tilted table, the second and third did too. No more coins were put in the machine. A teenager walked past and took a double take. He walked on when we glanced at him. Getting caught only made us more excited. We fucked there for what seemed to be a long time but must have only been a few minutes. Sofia was cumming in no time and I was not far behind. I pulled out. "Oh god, I'm cumming," the atheist said.

Sofia turns around squatting down. She said, "Cum in my mouth," before sucking me dry. She came up for a kiss lip glistening with jizz or lip gloss. I did not care and we made out glowing with the superb feeling of XTC, post sex, and adrenaline. Slowly the realization that we should leave washed over us. I swagger out of the arcade holding Sofia's hand so she would not float away. Sofia stopped to get the attention of the teen that had seen us before we left. She blew him a kiss, he lost a life.

We found ourselves in line for a The Shooter bar. The line was not long and we were content. When we got to the door Sofia was ID again. I reached into my pocket to pull out money for cover. I pulled out a wade of what I thought was cash. Instead I found that I was holding Sofia's thong, not a ten dollar bill. Trying to pay a bounce with a sweaty thong is the kind of thing that could elicit some amount of embarrassment but we were higher than that. Sofia took control of the situation, "So that is where those when... give those back to me you dirty boy." I smiled and paid the bouncer as Sofia put her panties in her purse.

The bar was done up as a Wild West Saloon. It was packed and we had to meander our way through the crowd to get drink. Along the way Sofia was getting second looks from everyone and cat calls from a few. We could not get to the bar but did find two stools to sit at while waiting for the waitress. The guy next to Sofia started to talk with her I could not hear what was said but it ended with him buy us drinks. We thanked him then when to dance. The cycle of drink and dance was repeated many times. To us all the music was the greatest work of art produced until the next song. In reality the music was two years out of date top-forty dance music and had we not be high it would have been mocked by both of us.

Every time I turned around someone was hitting on Sofia. I did not mine in fact it was a turn on because she would invariably say something like, "if you want to dance with me you have to ask him," though, I was smiling and friendly the guy would be intimidated by my size and free drinks would follow. This happened at least four times.

The song Sofia got dressed up for came on, "I'm a Barbie Girl," by Aqua. I was pulled from my seat and usher on to the dance floor. The dance floor was not good enough. Sofia got up on to a speaker, I joined her. Everyone was watching us as we dance on the speaker. The feeling... everyone was watching us pushed us higher. At end of the song I had to stop and kiss Sofia. What was meant to be only a peck turn into a grope and grind with Sofia rubbing up and down my leg as we made out. The DJ came over the PA, "Oi, Ken and Barbie get a room." Sporting wood I helped Sofia of the speaker then hop off myself feeling to good to feel embarrass, though, my mind was told I should.

On the dance floor Sofia yelled, "Follow me." We wade through the dancers. She went straight for the door of the club stopping only when we were outside. "Oh, it was so hot in there... let cool off for a minute then I want to go down stairs. I am sure you will like it downstairs."

"What is downstairs?"

Sofia smiled, "Let get some water." We found a place to buy some water and drank it greedily. We went to the club downstairs from the one were at. It was a strip club. We found our way to a free table. It was away from the stage but we could see well enough and there were many girl soliciting lap dances.

"Which one should we take home?" Sofia the hunter asked.

I was beginning to feel pangs of giddiness from the LSD. These moments of acid high had been there for awhile. Until now they were completely wrapped up in the XTC and atmosphere of the disco, however, the absurdity of the situation was causing the acid peak to ripple ecstasy's still waters of content. I question Sofia's question, "What do you mean take one home?"

"Which dancer would you like to take back to the hotel and fuck?" The LSD forced me to start laughing hysterically. "What is so funny?" I could not stop my laughter on a dime and I continued until a waitress came to take our order. Sofia order, "Two screw drivers in tall glasses." With the waitress gone Sofia said again, "What is so funny?"

"This whole scene... man it is too much. What dancer do I want to take home? It's too much... too strange. It's like yesterday when you broke out laughing with Fay lapping your pussy. Which one do I want to take home? And you are serious... aren't you? Completely fucking absurd... I love it."

Sofia giggled when I mentioned the happening of yesterday. "Which stripper do you want to take to the hotel?"

"That one," I said pointing at Sofia.

Sofia turns looking to see if one of the girls was behind her, then she caught on. "Ok, I can arrange that but I want to get a lap dance first. I have two more pills we should take them." She fumbled around in her purse to find the little pill bottle. Once found she dropped the pills in her hand. She dropped one in her mouth and put the other in my mouth for me. We toast something then swigged the pills back. This was all done as if it was a normal occurrence which is better then trying to be clandestine. Secrecy always arouses suspicion.

We sat drinking feeling divine and talking about which girls looked best. The best looking physically was a blond haired girl. Her body was the perfect proportions. The only flaw was her fake tits. Sofia did not agree that fake tit were a flaw, she liked how symmetrical they were and their size. We did agree that the sexiest girl was not the best looking one. The sexiest girl was a short dark haired girl with a gothic look, complete with corset, fish net stocking, and six inch heals. Her attitude was what made her the sexiest. She did everything for effect. If she had to bend over to talk to a guy she made sure to point her ass so it interrupted the sight line of her next potential client. She made sure to breathe all the details in the person ear, arousing interest. Then there was the stereo typical Asian girl in a bikini with cute smile and giggle to answer ever question. Sofia wondered aloud, "I've always wondered if real Asian girls sound like Asian girls in porn when fucked... I would love to fuck her with a strap-on."

None of the strippers were paying attention to us. Sofia was getting fidgety. She desperately wanted to get a lap dance as she had never gotten one before. To me the problem was obvious; she was a she who was sitting with me. So I took matters into my own hands.

I got up to go to the washroom. On the way out I bump into the gothic looking girl who had suddenly bent over in front of me to initiate contact. She let out a, "Ooo," when I brushed her backside.

Ever the Canadian I said, "Oh, I sorry."

She looked up at me took a step into my personal space and purred before saying, "If you liked bumping into me then you will love grinding with me... I'm Page."

"Well Page, not that I would not like to grind with you but I know my friend would like to grind with you much more."

"Who is your friend?"

"Can you see the girl over there that looks like Barbie," we could both see Sofia staring transfixed at the dancer on stage, "She has been desperately waiting for some attention from you girls but has got none. I'm going to get this dance for her so how much do I owe?"

Page named an amount that I forgot and I handed over the money. She gave me a peck on the cheek and said, "Why do you smell like strawberries?"

"It's off of Sofia."

"Such a gentleman letting the lady go first." She turned to go, then shot me a glare, "I will be back for you."

I turned to get drinks while keeping an eye on Sofia who sat stoned by the ecstasy and the entertainment. From where I was I could see Page purr in Sofia's ear. When Sofia felt the breathe she turn to kiss the person who she must have thought was me. The two separated instantly, then it looked as if they were laughing. The guy beside me was watching as well said, "Isn't she such a minx, mate?"

I was slow on the up take, "What? Which one?"

"The one in the pink."

"Yeah, she is," I replied before turning to pay for the drinks I order. With drink in hand I walked back over to the table as Sofia was lead off by Page. Once at the table I was as enthralled as Sofia at the dancer on stage. Mostly it was her choice of music. The base from Portishead's song Glory Box was so powerful that my heart had no choice but to beat with its rhythm. The song went, "Give me a reason... a reason to love you... give me a reason to be a woman," with the sultry slow beat behind it. Truly one of the great songs from my generation, one that will last and that will get slaughtered by a P. Diddy remix.

I did not notice when the guy who was beside me at the bar sat on the stool next to me. "Eh mate, do you mind if I sit here?" the Australian asked me.

The place was now packed and the chair was an extra. "No, but the other is taken," I did not take my eyes off the dancer who was as good as the music even though I have no memory of what she looked like.

"What a piece," commented the Australian.

"She is interesting but its the music that gets me. Portishead is the best fuck music around."

"I meant the girl in the pink, Sofia. Is she a dancer here?"

My dander would have been up but the ecstasy would not let it. Instead I was magnanimous, thinking that if this was the guy Sofia did not want to see I would tell him to leave politely when Sofia got back. Until then I would be cool but courteous. I looked him in the eye, "No. I'm with her... Hugo is the name." I wanted to project an underlying sense of menace; however, again thwarted by the goodness I was feeling.

"I'm Fred," he extended his hand to shake mine. I gave him the firmest hand shake I could. "What do you mean you're with her?"

"We're traveling together."

"Are you fucking her?"

Had I been drunk, high on acid alone, or sober at this point I would have aggressively rebuked him. Instead I looked at him disapprovingly, then became very interested in the dancer. Fred did not say anything for a few minutes. The waitress came around. Fred said, "Hugo we got off on the wrong foot, I would like to get you and Sofia a drink. What are you having?"

"Screwdrivers in a tall glass," I said with out a ounce of malice. The ecstasy was trying to be friends with everyone. A guy who buys you drinks cannot be all bad.

A new striper came on stage. "Oh, she so horny... I love the Asians. You ever been to Thailand mate?"

"No," I answered.

"You can get anything you want there for next to nothing." We sat watching the girl dance. I was drifting somewhere next to paradise, Fred could not fuck with the feeling.

The waitress came with the drinks. "Let have a toast to Sofia," Fred said after paying for the drink, "Mate, your eyes are like saucers... let me guess that strumpet gave you some ecstasy? She always buy's tall vodka and OJ when she doing E. She thinks it will keep her from getting dehydrated." I did not have to answer it was obvious I was high. "So you and me we are on the same page, right?" I did not acknowledge him. I hoped that by ignoring him he would go away. "What is the deal, what are you giving her to fuck you?"

I only half caught Fred's words, "What?"

"You know it and I know it Sofia is a call girl."

I heard Fred this time but the initial anger was quenched by the E, "I don't know what you are saying and I don't want to hear it."

"Come on is there any other reason a girl as fit as Sofia would go with you if she wasn't getting something... take a look at yourself. You don't have to play the fool, I've done the same."

Again I was nice because the MDMA was telling me to be, "Listen Fred, I don't want talk with you. Either shut up or go somewhere else." The LSD was telling the E this was XTC last chance, then it would be the acids turn.

Fred looked me in the eye, "What the fuck are you going to do? You're in happy land. I'm not a guy to fuck with." The smile I gave Fred was not the comfortable grin of the XTC but the sly smirk of LSD. "That's better mate, there is no reason for animosity." There was a pause while we both watched the stripper and drank. Fred broke the silence, "Is Sofia in Surfer's long?" I did not answer the question. "Mate you've go to lighten up we both know she is a whore. You're fucking her for money. I fucked her for money and drugs. I want to give her some more business."

The line was now crossed. "Fred, get the fuck away from me and her."

"Or what?"

My anger exaggerated by the LSD overwhelmed the ecstasy hit my adrenal glands, "Smack!" I hit him square in the nose with a jab. Fred fell off his stool. I was stunned that I actually hit him and immediately the empathy of the E made me bend down to help him up. Fred was hiding his nose as if it were broken. From the pain in my hand I was sure I had broken it. "I sorry Fred... you disrespected her. Man, I warned you. Hold the bottom of the nose lean forward."

I was tapped on the shoulder. I thought I was under arrest. "Hugo lets go!" Sofia said agitated, "Come on the bouncers are coming!" I listened to Sofia. I looked toward the door, the two door men were converging on us. Page ran interference, stopping the bounces to tell them what happened. Page's words worked. The bouncer that was my size said to me with Sofia between us, "You can leave the easy way or the hard way." My look told him I would rather walk out than be tossed.

Fred was now more alert. He was yelling about who he was and that he wanted a piece of me. He tried get to me, the other bounce restrained him.

The bouncer let us out a side door. Sofia made sure to thank the bounce monetarily. Sofia took my hand and we were off walking fast toward the hotel without talking. Once out the door we were absorbed into the crowd. In minutes we were in the hotel elevator, where I was attacked.

The elevator door shut and Sofia jumped me. She pushed me against the wall and shoved her tongue down my throat. Her attack subsided when the elevator go to our floor. I tried to ask her about what had just happened but was rebuffed by a sexy look and a hand in my pants. I knew she would not tell me anything until her appetite had been quenched so we found our way to the bed.

I was surprised to find Sofia not only smelled like strawberries but tasted like them too.

"Get me a cigarette and Champagne," Sofia demanded while lying in a position that made demands hard to follow, "Not yours... there is a pack in my purse."

I got up to get them, "What happened in the bar? I know what I did but where were you and why was I not tossed bodily from the bar?"

"You're bigger then the bounce. Page and I were right behind you about to touch you inappropriate when I notice Fred. We heard what he said. Then you hit him. That was perfect, he is a fucking asshole... I can't believe you hit him on ecstasy."

I interjected, "Probably broke his nose."

"Come here, I have to kiss you," I finished pouring before listening to Sofia, "Give that hand... I love that swollen hand. I love the man attached to that hand too." At this point it must be remembered that a love on ecstasy is a love with little meaning as all is love on E. "So both Page and I heard what he said and I guess Page told the bounce and the bounce seeing you weren't going after him let us go... I gave him some money. I thought we were fucked. I had no idea how to get out without the bounce throwing you out. I've known too may bouncer and I was sure he was going to beat you then toss you."

There was a pause during which my mind argued with whether I should ask if Fred's allegation was true. To stop my thoughts I rambled on about how could not believe I hit him and that hard.

Sofia stopped me, "You know what would feel so good my love?" I could think of a thousand things and my face showed it, "A bath." Sofia got up to draw the bath. When the bath was full I got up to get the bottle of champagne and glasses taking them into the washroom. The smell of strawberries wafted from the bath too. "What is it with you and strawberries today?" I asked as I got in the bubble bath.

"You will get it one day." Sofia changed the topic, "I guess I am going to have to tell you. I can see you want to ask but you won't." Sofia paused reaching for the pack of cigarettes and a light, "Yes I did... it is not what you think," Sofia sucked in a drag and blew smoke rings for a minute. "I met Fred at the strip club and we started talking about fantasies. I always fantasized about being a call girl. I told him and we were off to his place. I would have fucked him without the money but he gave me the money. The first few time with him it was a fantasy. Then money was too good. Then there were too many drugs. Then I could not do it anymore. Then I met you... I love you."

Sofia dipped cigarette tip in the water putting it out well before it had been smoked, "I am not ashamed I did it, you have to try everything. I was not really a hooker; I didn't stand on a corner and the men were rich and clean - mostly associates of Fred's. It was more of a sugar daddy situation because I love to fuck. My libido always gets me in trouble. It's broken every relationship I've had. I can't be with one person. Before I slept with Fay our relationship was the longest monogamist relationship I've ever had. I always end up fucking around. I can't change it... I don't see why I should... its only fucking."

I was under the loves influence too, "That's why I love my Emmanuelle. She is a freak," I hugged her.

We had another glass of champagne and moved the love back to the bed where we fucked and started to get drunk. At some point during the early morning the knob of pleasure and serotonin content started to slip. I would say we were at 9.26 having sunk form 12.99 out of 10 when Sofia abruptly broke our embrace and knelt on the bed. "Ok... it is time." She got up from and bed went to get her bag. I propped myself up with my elbows wondering what it was time for. Sofia pulled out her infamous pill.

"More pills... it is almost morning and I got to get you to a plane."

"No, that is not what you are going to do," I had the strange feeling that I had unknowingly entered a suicide pact, but, hey, I felt good about it, 9.14 good. "I hate good byes, so we are going to say good bye tonight well we still feel divine. And I will slip away on a bus to the airport before you wake. Here drink up and take this." I took the pill with a long swig of Champagne and Sofia filled my glass. "It is for the best... good byes are always sad when really they should be a celebration of what was had. Where did I put my presents?"

'Sofia was right as she seems always to be... she is the best... too big for me.'

My mind thought that last line for a good ten second before feeling a discontent. I had not bought anything for Sofia. Stuff is stuff. But my mind reveled at the feeling of discontent, it was a real feeling. The answer came to mind, "Hey Sofia, I've got to run to Deloris and get my presents." I through on a shirt and shorts and walked barefoot to my car where I took out my light three pieces spinning rod and my Hustlers.

"Time for presents," I said upon entering the room, "First I have these magazines. I noticed you looked through them a few times and I am sure I don't want Fay finding them."

Sofia blurted out, "Don't mention Fay," before thanking me for the thought full gift and we looked through them together for a minute or two. "My turn, I got you some surf board wax."

I thanked Sofia thinking that I would have rather got a red rider BB gun or a pony. "For the best fisher I know, who caught a marlin, generally out fishing me making me jealous of the best girl in the world, I've got a fishing rod... maybe she isn't as good as all that she never brought any fishing gear with her." I got hugs and kisses for that.

We both had toasted with fresh glasses, then Sofia reached into her bag again, "I got a book for you... it is special to me, my farmor gave it to me the first year I stayed the summer in Canada. You must promise me that you will read it, even if you have read it."

Sofia handed an old dog eared copy of The Old Man and The Sea, "I have not read it... only seen the movie. I listened to The Sun Also Rises and For Whom the Bell Tolls."

"I was reading one of your fishing magazines, Blue Water, in it was an article on marlin biology. It said the all big marlin (big being 150 kg) are female. That means that marlin in the book is female. Hemingway may have made it out to be male because of [male] chauvinism. But there is no way he was unaware that his big fish was female, he caught many big marlin. He could have intentionally made it male too make it a brother and not a love. Santiago did love his fish. A female marlin is a lover. Santiago's fight to keep his love destroys it. He should have let it go." Sofia changed the subject, "Enough literary speculation. Roll me a joint," Sofia wish was my command. "Remember to read the book... remember the fish is female. We have to keep in touch. Where is your address book?" I told her and she wrote her stuff in it before I dictated mine to her.

Sofia cradled my head in her lap as the valium she gave me took effect. For the twenty or so minute before I left consciousness we exchanged ideas on were we should meet up and go fishing. At the tail end of each proposed place a remark about how passionate we were for each other was put forth and we cooed and kissed.

### Part 8: With out self

Chapter 39

The phone rang. I woke to answer the phone. "Good morning room 1808, this is your ten o'clock wake up call." In a dazes I looked around the room half expecting Sofia to be there. She was not. I felt like shit. It was a four pronged assault of bad feelings. There was the mild hangover that would not have fazed me any other day. The valium haze was the next complaint, moving was an effort and so was thinking. Sofia leaving was not helping me feel up to snuff today but it was not the big psychological downer. The big physiological downer was the fact the even if I tried I could not feel good today, my stock of serotonin was blown last night, and now I faced a day of forced unhappiness.

I took a quick shower and drank all the juice left in the plundered honor bar. I did a once over of the room to see if Sofia or I had forgotten anything. I paid the bill not making any effort to minimize the rape of the honor bar. I did not even take a towel. I felt too bad. Nothing could take me away from this depression except time.

My whole being was telling me as a rolled down the road that it was only the E that had made me sink this low. I began to think in slow lines of thought. Lines that were exempt from the normal burst of serotonin brought on by nostalgic thoughts. So as I reflected on the time I had with Sofia it had no glow, only facts and figures. My sore hand brought to my attention memories that were look upon with logic alone and they were seen in a different light.

In the absence of nostalgia I saw our relationship as one of connivance for Sofia. She was not above being with me because I able to give her a lot more than the other boys, meeting Fred showed me that. Would she have gone with me if she had to pay for the trip fishing? In the light of logic the answer was no. I could see only that I had been her benefactor and though she paid sometimes I was the go to guy. The guy she could say jump to and I would say how high.

I tried to quash these thoughts. None of them truly represented the fact but there was no dope to keep my brain from the gutter. Soon I was sad that I could not see the good that Sofia and I had. I was angry at myself. Angry at all the things I had done badly, all the people I had let down and at the center was that I could not see the good in someone as good a Sofia.

I had gone down the mental road before but the one I was driving on was not one I was familiar with. I was now lost in Australia. I wanted to be home. I did not even know how to get to the few people I knew here. That was the road I was should have gone down. I did a quick right turn to get back to the road I thought I should go down. I turned into the wrong lane and had to avoid a collision. Then I just drove unable to sink lower wanting only to be at home. A smell from home cut the sickly sweet blossoming trees that lined the road. The smell was the eleven secret herbs and spice of KFC. I craned my neck around to find this link to home. It was a block down the road.

A fast food place, the closest thing to home a home sick traveler can find. The food is always the same from continent to continent. Sure some of the fare is different but the institution of the franchise keeps its specialties the same.

I immediately order a bucket of original recipe and ended up with some sort of value meal. I sat eating in the familiar setting. Instantly I felt better. I saw the error of my thinking and blamed it on aftermath of the ecstasy. It was the drug that took away my good feelings allowing me to see the worst in a situation that had may other facets. Sofia took only what I gave her and was always respectfully. She made me go diving. She let my freak out. She made me think. She let me chase Fay. She made me act like me around Fay. The big Sofia was not the one to fault she did it all for the best, it was I who saw the act without the context. I took a last bite of chicken and said to myself, 'I am happy to feel bad that such a good person is gone and I will drink and eat chicken to Sofia the great... too great for me.'

I put the bucket of chicken in the car and went to the bottle shop conveniently across the street to pick up a 40oz. of Bundaberg rum. I stopped at pay phone outside to call home even though it would be bad time to call. Then I turn where I should have the first time and drove to the ferry taking pride in feeling so bad for a person so good.

It was about three in the afternoon when I reached camp. The sun had been out all day but a stiff breeze had kept it from being hot on the ferry over. There was no wind at camp. As I pulled in Francisca and Rob stopped playing Frisbee. The Combi was not there. Rob walked up to the car and said, "Mate I got a cure for that long face, lets go surfing." We put the boards on the roof and were off.

We drove to Cylinders where there was a small but very clean and hollow wave. It was about four feet on the face without a ripple of chop on top. Rob said while anxiously putting on his shorty wet suit, "We caught this at the perfect time. It was blown out this morning. The swell was bigger then but how can you complain with waves as clean as that. The wind was changing to offshore as the other left to go see tortoises at Crystal Lake. Can you believe they missed this for some stupid tortoises!"

We paddled out from a beach next to the camp site, a kilometer up from ours. This was not the classic Cylinders spot, the wave where not big enough for it work. The spot was on the North East side of the bluff where you can watch Cylinders from. We paddled pass the tip of the bluff where normally the ride would end on a big day. There were a few others out but only a few and we did not want for waves. Again it was the best day surfing yet. I was doing bottom turns with every good wave caught. The dark that I had been under in the morning was gone as paddled to catch the next wave.

The sun was getting near the horizon and two of the others had gone in when Rob said, "Lets make this the last wave."

"There still some sun, let ride it out," I suggested.

Francisca paddled up to me and sat up on her board. As a waves shoulder picked us up she said while pointing, "You see those buoys our there... they have baited hook on them to catch shark before they get to the beach. Last night the guy who checks those buoys caught a 2 meter bronze whaler... it was inside a 6 meter white pointer."

With the next swell I saw the line of buoys going down the beach. A shiver when down my spine as I tried to tell myself that the story was tale locals tell to frighten tourist. But when Francisca and Rob caught successive waves in, I felt my probability of being dinner fall to one out of two. I caught the next wave in.

"Hugo, you were tarring it up our there. We've never seen you surf so well and stay out to the end. Francisca said that maybe you wanted to be shark food with Sofia gone," Rob said as I approached the car.

"I got a bottle in the car to forget her with," I grabbed a towel to dry off. It was a chilly without the direct Sun light. Before changing I found two cups, the third remained missing, and poured two strong rum and Pepsis. We toasted Sofia. I had to take two drinks so I could clink glasses with both Rob and Francisca.

Francisca said, "Sofia certainly had a style about her. You two got on so well, are you going to see her again?"

"Most likely we will hook up to go fishing or something but she is too much for me. We had a great time... there was always an end because of that I never felt threatened by her flirtations or sexuality. Really, Sofia is one of the best people I've met... it would never work, Sofia is a better fisher than me. And ever since I saw Fay I've been smitten... hippie have always turn my crank."

I got a dirty look from Francisca, "Are you high or stupid? You and Sofia are perfect together."

I said nothing. Francisca did not know enough to judge, nor could she feel what I feel. I finished the drink and poured another.

Rob broke the silence, "Mate, the others were talking about leaving in a few days. Helen and Clare have to get back to Sydney to fly home in a few weeks. Bruce and John need to get more money and don't want to go north of Noosa – there is no surfing past there. Miles doesn't care but he too needs to get a job soon. Fay will stay here while we do then she is going north to pick fruit. And we want to go surfing. What about you?"

"I'm not sure... I will have to think about it," I said knowing it was where ever Fay was going... if she would have me.

Rob said, "If you want to go surfing you are welcome to travel with us. Francisca and I are not sure if we're going to stick with Bruce and John. We were thinking of going to the West Coast... possibly New Zealand or Bali. We are going to go somewhere. If you come with us and we stay in Australia we will have more money which is time because you got the Falcon. How long can we avoid real life?"

Francisca said in a sickly cheerful voice, "If we go to Bali you can see Sofia."

"Oh Bali it is! Too bad by the time we get there she will be gone." I said sarcastically. Then in my normal tone, "I will figure it out tonight."

The Sun was so close to being down that it would be a crime to not watch it so we had another drink. Silent but for the waves we sat watching the sunset. Rob and Francisca got up before I did. Silhouetted by the orange pink glow were their near prefect forms. A flash of my ugly outline went through my mind with the knowledge that I could never be the model of surfing perfection. My size would always leave me at a disadvantage when surfing... no matter how hard I tried I could never reach where they could.

Dusk was over when we got back to camp and no one was there. Rob and Francisca when to get shower, they wanted to take the car and get some good food. I instinctively started a fire and poured a drink. The darkness had brought back my gloom. The depression brought with it desperation. I was being pulled two ways. One was the love of Fay and the other was the potential of surfing and seeing Sofia again. Up and leaving with Rob and Francisca tickled my fancy, it was the joker, wild as always. I was sure Sofia would stay if we came. But more moving was the feeling that now I could be with Fay, if destiny turns out to be destine.

The boys in my brain were having a fight. The mind was diametrically apposed to the body. The mind wanted Fay. The body wanted Sofia. The soul was down in the dump and did not know what he wanted. "Sofia's a harlot, if it weren't for the sex you would not give a damn. The soul and I know Fay is for us," the mind fired at the body.

The body retorted, "Sofia says, Fay's a lousy lay." The body brought back memories of Sofia to sway the soul.

The soul did not care he was in despair there was no up and only the down Sofia left. The body did touch the soul with the memory it stirred. It was the night on the beach before the mind gave up control. "Stop the fighting," the soul looking like a Jesus haired hippies between a Hells Angel and a scientist, "We have no good choices. We can't walk out on destiny. And to believe Sofia to be as base as the mind says it to miss what he can't understand. Remember what Sofia said... do everything for the best. So let talk with Fay see what she thinks. And destine will be fulfilled." The soul was listened too.

I took a drink to solidify my resolve. I would go for it, take the drop, and not belly out. No more acting cool or putting on a good face. I stopped drinking knowing I should stay sober until I speak with Fay. I poked the fire resigned to my fate.

Shortly after Rob and Francisca left to get dinner Fay walked up. "Hey, how you doing?" Fay asked.

"I've bin better. You want a drink?"

"Me too, I've been in a funk all day. Home sick you know. My family had a surprise party for my dad today. I called home to wish him the best and have been in funk since. Going to the lake did not help. Then smart me, decides to go and check my E-mail instead going to dinner."

"Well, I got this bottle and you're welcome to it. I've been so home sick that I had to buy a bucket of KFC... you can have that too."

"Is it cold?" I nodded my head. "Wicked... you want some?" She got up to get it.

"Please."

"I know I should not eat fast food or meat... especially KFC, they treat the chickens brutally but I'm hooked. Cold KFC is the best. It reminds me of being a kid and mum is away. My dad would buy chicken or pizza. I always wanted KFC my brother and sister wanted pizza."

"Yeah," I said as Fay set the feed out in front of us, "I bought it as a comfort." We then dug in. We warmed the biscuits by the fire and ate the coleslaw and fries cold. The bones went into the fire and the drinks were filled regularly. After the food we started to talk again. "Mmmm, that was good. More rum please," Fay changed to a sympathetic tone, "You must be pretty down with Sofia gone. Did you have a good last night?"

"Yeah, we had a great time, its hard not to on ecstasy," I looked into the fire. "But it was kind of tainted."

"That was good E," I chuckled when Fay said that. "What is so funny?" I said nothing and Fay did not enquire further, "So you did ecstasy what else?"

"Well we went to the best hotel we could find, spent a whole bunch of money, and when out dancing." I stopped talking and chucked a stick in the fire, "We had a great time but," again I stopped for a minute think if I should tell about the night. It was none of Fay business but I felt I had to tell someone so I did, "It was a great time but I found something out about Sofia I did not want to. We were at a strip club. Sofia went for a lap dance," I got Fay's attention when I said that. She was ready to deny everything. "A guy came up to me and started asking me how much I was paying Sofia to be with me. I took offence and finally hit him."

Fay cut in, "As you should have, what an asshole!"

"That is not the end of the story. We got thrown out the bar and went back to the hotel. I was not going to ask anymore about it, the guy was a dick. But Sofia then tells me that she did go out with him for money. She said it was a fantasy like being tied up or something," I stopped gulping down my drink and refilling it. "Now I have this feeling that she was with me only because of the stuff I paid for... I know that is not true... still its there when ever I think of her." I paused and waited for Fay to say something. She didn't so I continued. "I wish I was not E. It fucks things up. You feel content and nothing else. You can never trust what you feel on ecstasy. I didn't see Sofia in the morning she left before I woke. She wanted it that way. Good byes 'should be a celebration of what was had because everything is temporary,' she said. But I wanted to talk with her when not on E so I could see how she really felt. But... whatever."

After a few seconds of silence Fay hugged me, "Poor Sofia... Poor Hugo... I can see how that would weigh on you. You must feel horrible and Sofia too. I can tell you that she was not with because of the things she got from you." Fay stopped hugging me and looked me in the eye, "Sofia truly dug you."

"Yeah, I know that. It just that I have a doubters mind. Hearing that from you make me feel better, cause I dig you," I chided my for saying the last sentence, it was not time for that.

Then the unexpected, "I like hang out with you too. You've always got something interesting to say."

I was taken aback but something inside me said run with it and I did, "Well hey, I would hate to miss out on a good thing and there is every possibility that in a few days I won't see you again so why don't we travel together for awhile?"

"I would love too, but I have to make some money. I'm going to go further north and pick fruit, then... I don't know."

"I'm in need of some cash too," this was a true statement I tapped most of my cash for the week and would not get more for five whole days.

"I thought you had a lot of money?"

"I did but I've been spending too much lately... last night with Sofia was expensive, as well I haven't really kept to the budget I made." That was a lie, I never made a budget. "It is all a matter of how long I can stay if I am careful a very long time. If I spend like last night everyday weeks. And I want to have some money for when I get back so I can maybe put a down payment on a boat and take people fishing... you know like charters for salmon." The money I had was no business of Fay's so I was not telling lies. As well it was better this way, if she love me as average Joe what would it hurt when she found out I was set for life.

"That is a change. I thought you we going to bum around as long as possible."

"I'm going to bum around for a long time. Bumming around is great but can it last forever? Someday I will want some stability... on days like today it's easy to see. Well, if I can't bum around forever, I don't want to fall into do some stupid job I do to keep me from my vices for most of the day. I want something different. A life on the good edge of society and I think being a fishing guide would be an option that would fulfill that goal." My line of talk was rhetoric, the closest to a charter boat captain I had contemplated was possible buying a boat and getting a crew of travelers to cruise the world with for gas money but I knew Fay would not like it.

Fay replied, "I know what you are saying. I don't want to end up living to work. That is why I want to start a hostel or some ecotourism business. Sure its work but good work... showing people different things. I don't know where to start though... or even where to build or buy or finance a hostel. A thousand places come to mind in BC (British Columbia) alone. Lately I've bin think of the West Coast, maybe on some island with no way to get there but boat and have it a stop on kayaking tours. I like to kayak and canoe... surfing, like you guys do, on big wave far out, scares me to death... canoeing on a lake or sea kayaking on calm water with no shark is cool. My favorite saying ever is by, 'a Canadian is someone who can make love in a canoe,' Pierre Burton"

"You get an island off the grid and I can get some guys to come by and make it very profitable. We could hide the profit with the tour company," the dreaming continued along that line until we had an empire Hilton would be proud of and Trump would run into the ground, but our dream was not in the lease about the money rather it was about the lifestyle. Style is everything. We smoked some joints the dreams got more real. Not long after the joint we drank milk and ate the chocolate cake that came with the value meal, then went to bed.

I was disappointed to find Fay had fixed her tent. That was the only disappointment I felt. The day had turn out for the best in this world that was seeming to be the best possible. The beat of the eternal dub of destiny thumped along with my heart as I tried to sleep. But there was too much success today to let go of the events easily. Tonight, I was higher then yesterday, and this was a real high, not an artificial good feeling. My mind was sharp and thinking, even if narrow in view. There was only one end to this story. Each time my mind went from beginning to end it would find its way back assured that there was only one end from this begin even if there were many paths. That end was happily ever after with Fay, with special thank to Sofia the muse, catalyst, facilitator, teacher, and the big fish.

At some point I did fall asleep but the days thoughts and the nights dream were the same.

Chapter 40

The goodness of last night over took the hangover and I felt great when I woke. Fay was awake when I went searching for some food. She did have a hangover but that was not stopping her from doing yoga. She invited me to join her. I did and was invigorated, feeling even better then before. After we had a light breakfast of fruit, toast, and lots of water she went back to bed. I walked down to the beach where I found a pretty good wave. I had to surf it. I got my surf board, leaving a note on the car telling Rob and Francisca to get me before go surfing at one of the better beaches. With the 4 foot clean wave here the other spot on the island must be going off. The note said, 'Wicked day for surfing get me before leave. I'm at the beach out front.'

I was the soul person on the beach, until Francisca walked out from the tree line. Upon seeing her I caught the next wave in. As soon as she saw I was coming she walked back up the trail.

The camp was in a frenzy of activity. Rob, Francisca, Bruce and John were all moving quickly to get food and water in them. John was the first done and hustled the rest of them to hurry up. Shortly all of the surfers were ready to go but their entourage was not. We left the others they could catch up in the girl's car if they wanted. The exception was Miles who was ready and wanted to take some picture of big surf.

Bruce drove the combi like a race car and I tried to keep up. We parked at the look out. The day was great. The day was epic. The waves were big, hollow and clean, exactly like the name of the beach Cylinders. We all had goose bump as we watched the waves.

"Sick," Bruce said in awe. He pointed at a guy catching a wave. The figure was dot from this distance, "That twice over head."

"It looks like Indo today," John said.

I was dumb struck by the spectacle. These were the copies of the wave from the start of Hawaii Five-O. This wave was not for the inexperienced. I paced not wanting to make the decision I knew was right. But with each prefect wave a shiver went down my spine. I wanted to go out there just as ever hockey player wants to be on the ice when there is one minute left and the goalie is pulled. The perfection of the wave with the glassy water, a sick barrel big enough to stand in, and ride that was a good four hundred meter was countered by the danger. Getting caught inside was no laughing matter. The paddle out was long. Then there was the rock face that had a wicked current running across it. Today was too much for me.

Rob said to me with a grin, "Feeling suicidal mate?" I did not answer. "You need a short board so you can duck dive it. All you'll do on a long board today is get hurt."

I agreed with Rob. My long board is great for small to medium days and for learning. Being bigger I can take it out on larger days than most; however, on a day like to day it would be a futile effort. Turning the board over and holding down while the wave brakes over is what you have to do with a long board. On a short board you do a duck dive or a pushup on the board so it is sinks and the wave pulls you under it as it rolls over you. Usually, you come out on the other side of the wave ready to resume paddle, unlike on a long board where you have to get back on it. One day I will have to get short board made for a guy as big as me.

Francisca was unsure if she should go out. She is much better than me at surfing but this wave was too powerful for her liking. She wavered from definitely not going out to definitely going out and getting her first barrel. In the end she decided to go out after the others reassured her of her ability.

Miles and I sat on the top of the look out watching as the others walk down the hill to the right and up the beach a few hundred meters. The wave would start to break about two or so hundred meters out from where they entered the water. As the wave pushed down the gradually reseeding point the water it pushed with it formed into a wicked current that flowed at rate too strong to paddle against pass the rock bluff on top of which was the look out. Getting caught in the current meant having to go with it into the bay to the left where we surfed yesterday hoping to not get smashed on the rocks. The inside was to be avoided. With the naked eye the surfer were not much more than dots. Bruce and John were indistinguishable as they both had black full length wet suit. Rob was in a shorty suit. Francisca had a shorty suit as well, her size and the red on the suit made her stick out. Rob got the first wave. Miles with a telephoto lens and small monopod took pictures. Bruce caught the next getting a tube. Then Francisca did the same with Miles snapping away.

The other girls got there and we all made ooos and awes as they got a good ride or wiped out. One of the most spectacular spills was when Francisca caught a wave then sectioned, breaking in front of and on top of her. Francisca came in shortly after that with Bruce not far behind.

Francisca was glowing as she came up the hill to the cars, "That was wicked. Did you see me get a tube?"

Miles answered, "I got pictures." Francisca put down her board and gave Miles a hug soaking him. "I also got pictures of you wiping out." He got another hug.

Francisca than rambled on at length about the best day of surfing ever. Though, she said was exhausted her frenetic chattering did not suggest it. John and Bruce where the next out saying that the wave was beginning to section too much, it could be seen from our vantage point, the once perfectly strait crest of the wave was no get small ridges make sections break before where the wave was peeling off. Both jaded Australians Bruce and John had seen better but were most happy that Miles got some pictures of them. Rob the last out was as ecstatic as Francisca. There was no way to get a word in edge wise between Francisca's and Rob's recounting of the session.

Everyone was for going and getting lunch then going for another session but the weather did not cooperate. The wind swung around to a North Easter turning the swell turned into a choppy mess. So we played foot ball at the beach in front of the camp site.

John who had gone to check his E-mail instead of playing on the beach walked up to address us. He had been checking the weather report and it was not good. Rain was going to set in for a week starting some time tomorrow. The weather solidified the feeling it was time to move on. Then we continued to play soccer.

Light clouds made into wisps by the wind made of a spectacular sun set. We all stayed on the beach to watch it. It was then that where to go question came up. We were not fettered by the drama a change in direction might cause for individuals in a group. The decisions were arrived at easily. Fay and I had already decided to go fruit picking. Bruce and John were going to get some more weed and possibly find some legitimate work for a time – if it did not cut into their surfing too much. Rob and Francisca were going to go surfing. Rob and Francisca made an arrangement with Helen and Clare to buy the Sigma, so the four of them would travel to Sydney. Then Rob and Francisca would head west. Miles was going to catch a ride with Bruce and John to Surfer Paradise to look for a job as a chief.

With the break up of our party in the morning a party was in order. Rob and I went to get some booze. The feeling of the evening was not wild abandon rather it was four in the morning with six beers left in the fridge. We were partied out. This night would be a subdued gathering around a fire, reflective but not somber. And so we drank around a fire.

In my head there was a gathering too. The mind, body, and soul were celebrating the progression of destiny. All three had bought into the idea of destiny and this single belief had brought them together. The mind toasted, "Too the body, for knowing that standing up for a friend like Sofia would unify our resolve to act."

The body then toast, "Really, it is not me we should thank but the soul. The soul stopped us from fighting amongst ourselves and used that energy to go after the best choice. Too the soul."

It was the souls turn, "I can't take that much of the credit we all played vital parts but my thank goes out to the mind. The mind identified the pattern of destiny and held onto it, now the only end is in sight. It is to his tenacity and talent that we should drink because the pattern is a path to Fay and soon we will be with her."

The toasts stopped and they eat their dinner chatting about how they had never felt so right or so similarly about the world. They were aligned so each had control of what they had aptitude in. And this new situation was the result of believing in the end or the happily ever after with Fay.

There was another watching at this dinner. She was not a guest and those at the table did not associate with her. She was the clean up lady. She made sure that the consciousness kept itself adjust correctly – it is a hard job with me fuck with it all the time. She had no affect on the activity of the consciousness. Her work was done during sleep. Occasionally the boarder between consciousness and the unconscious when she could affect the consciousness directly. She was privy to everything that makes a being but unable to control any of it directly. Subtly was her area of expertise. She is the artist, starving of course. And she watched.

After the dinners finished the meal they discussed their thoughts on how to reach destiny. It was an orderly discussion. Each party respected the views of the other and understood they all were working for the same goal. And the snifters brandy spoke of the genteel manner they associated with each other in during this brain storming and strategy session.

"In my observations," the mind started, "Fay is a girl of nature... and not only her arm pit," the mind quipped but really he was not funny. "She is very different from us in that respect. Our journey has been one away from nature. Sofia was very good for us but she is an aberration and all we know about this game is what we learned from her." The pomposity of the mind voice rose to a level befitting a minor duke, "My research has shed enough light on the nature of Fay to get this far. We must test the pattern but carefully. It should be a campaign that is undertaken with the preparation of a general like Montgomery rather than the brash manner Patton conducted a campaign. I suggest from what we know now that we take a cautious path. Any push close to her should be thought out and tested at times of greatest inhibition and least person responsibility... when she is drunk." The others agreed... the artist did not agree she laughed but she was not one of the others.

The soul looked from the body to the mind before putting in his two cents, "Mind I agree Fay is a girl of nature. She is a step toward something we did not want. Have we changed?" The soul was dramatic in an ethereal kind of way, "Yes and no. Sometimes to get to the place you want you have to go past it. Yes, we have gone past the place we want to be but going back is easier than going forward... we have already been there. We set out searching and now we have found there is no reason to go further. But I must disagree with the mind." The mind shifted in his seat, "Disagree is to strong. We must remember at all times why we love Fay. Why do we love Fay?" A long pause was taken the mind looked thoughtful but was silent and the body looked puzzled but honest. The soul was placid. "Because she is Fay, who she is, is why we lover her." Paused for preacher's effect, "Again we cannot forget Sofia's last revelation: the fish in the Old Man and the Sea was not male but female... a lover, not a brother. Santiago loved the fish but his love for the fish destroyed the fish. Santiago broke the fishes will taking what he loved about it from it. We must always keep in mind that it is Fay that we love. To subdue her, to force her, to make her do what she does not want to or to lead her to us by subterfuge or boastfulness is to lose what we love." The soul looks directly at the mind, "Mind this is where we have to be careful. Your tactics are fine if followed in an ethical manor but if used improperly not only do we risk losing Fay but worse we risk destroying what we love."

The mind did something hard for him, "Soul I see your point and request that you supersede me when you feel I am going too far. A toast to Fay... and another to Sofia." They drank to that as the artist smoked a joint to keep from feeling queasy. The artist could not stand the cheese. She loved Sofia but she saw many things many times over, things the others would only see once and again in memory. She dusted off the memories every night seeing them as they should be with out emotion or with the emotion they evoked in the consciousness but untainted by the pull of nature. She saw the world better than all of them but she has never seen the light of day.

The body felt it was his turn. He was going to try something new to him intellectualism, a more apt name would be pseudo-intellectualism. "This morning the Who were on the radio, specifically the Bargain. It is a song about 'the best I ever had.' If Fay is the best it's lyrics are the way to win her. Listen for a second," the body got out the notes he had taken, "'I'd gladly lose me to find you... I'd gladly give up all I had... to find you I'd suffer anything and be glad.' To get Fay we have take the drop. Put everything into the act, showing her there is no bottom to the depth of our love. Reason is not worth very much in love. Although I believe there is much to be gained by the Mind's approach, there is a time to put it all on the line and take the drop. You can see the truth in these lines with out logic, 'I know I'm worth nothing without you... And like one and one don't make two... One and one make one... And I'm looking for that free ride to me... I'm looking for you.' What I'm saying is that at sometime we will have to give it all over to her. Our will, will be surrendered to her and it will be in her hands. The problem is finding out when to give it all away. We've done it once so far and will have to do it again. We must get the time right. I think we should all watch for this time and when it comes we must work unanimously." The others and the artist were impressed. The others would not acknowledge how impressed because after all this was the body. The artist saw pink ripples in the body's tank.

The mind replied, "What you are saying is true. Timing is very important. As important is that we all jump-in fully when the time comes. When the crisis time comes we must vote all in-favor of giving our-self over to her. Too destiny." They raised their glasses once again.

The artist chuckled the laugh was dark, 'Such fools believing in what does not exist and stumbling around to create it... they have not clue how too.' She was seeing herself in the third person, 'if they are fools I am doubly the fool, I have to help them... but first I must feed my head.' She lit up another joint and hummed Smoke Two Joint before she got started on the nights work. She did no work on the boys' project that night she was to busy think about one and two and how they are more like the Universe than one and zero. Things are always going from one to two and once the one turns into two the desire is fulfilled and two wants to be one again.

Chapter 41

Rob woke me from a dream about mitosis. No biology test was lurking around the corner so why was I dreaming about cellular division? I knew why Rob was waking me. We had decided last night to go for one last session together no matter what ever the conditions were. The ground was wet as I set foot out side and the sky was dark but it was only dew. The sun still had to rise. Rob Francisca and I make some sausages and grill cheese sandwiches while waiting for Bruce and John to wake. The empty bottles said they would not wake but we held on to the hope until breakfast was done. Then we left.

We chose to go to Frenchman's and were greeted by a good wave pushing five feet but braking on top because of the onshore breeze. We hurry to get down the steps and into the water as the light onshore breeze ( a thermal ) was sure to strengthen as the land heated. We were the only ones out than again it was just after dawn. Before we got the first wave Francisca saw a shape in the water. She was sure it was a shark. Rob and I felt as she did but would not admit it. We were too busy look for sharks underneath us to notice the bigger set of waves coming in. We saw the first one to late to catch it but early enough to paddle out so it didn't brake on us. As we went down the backside something exploded out of the wave in front of us. I nearly shit myself, I am sure the other felt the same too. My heart had not started when we saw the other dolphin in the wave. We burst out laughing. Rob positioned himself to catch the next wave while Francisca and I watched the dolphins.

We surf for an hour or so and it was the best time ever. However, there was a dark lining to this day. Going with Fay meant giving up surfing for awhile. So in two days I said good bye to two lovers to follow a passion stronger than the pull of the ocean or sex. Truly this was love.

Slowly we made our way back to camp hoping the others would do most of the work before we got there. Sadly it was not so, we were still the only one up and functioning when we arrived. The de-camping was slow as it felt a lot like work, a thing none of us had done in awhile. I made sure to buy all the pot I could from Bruce and John, I did not want look for it. We finished before noon and smoked a last joint while exchanging E-mail addresses. Miles got the park caretaker to take a group picture of us. Then we left.

Chapter 42

We got the half noon ferry and said a final goodbye as we got off the boat. Fay and I headed up the coast to Noosa Head for the night. The predicted travel time did not match the actual travel time, a common occurrence. We hit rush hour in Brisbane. Got slightly lost and had to stop for lunch with a side of direction. Fay was amazed I asked for directions. We arrived in Noosa around six and easily found a hostel.

The day was long when compared to the previous days on North Strady. All we did that night was eat diner, taste the wine and talk with other travelers. The other traveler went on about the beautiful park with its koalas and beaches. The koalas extended our stay to two nights, Fay had to see one.

The hostels did not feel like the kind of place where smoking joints was kosher so we took a walk. Noosa is an enclave for the rich. As Surfers Paradise felt like Florida so did Noosa. The Noosa River and Weyba River collide then spill in to the ocean. The islands of the estuary created by the merging of waters are doted with condominiums and houses with docks. At the bridges and where there is public access to the estuary people fish. Every so often there was a tree that blooms were sickly sweet, like molasses and mung. We went as far as the main strip of Noosa Heads and did some window shopping at boutiques.

When we got back to the hostel the rack of pamphlets caught Fay's eye. She picked up one for ocean kayaking. "This looks like fun," she said. I picked one up to flipping through it trying to look interested, "Fifty bucks for four hours... that is a bit steep."

"Do you want to go?" I asked.

"Yeah, but not at that price. It looks like they paddle around the water we just walked by. I would rather spend my money somewhere more wild. I'd bet we see as much walking in the park," Fay put the pamphlet back. We shot the shit with other travelers before going to bed.

At dawn a cacophony of white noise awoke me. There were so many birds an individual call could not be discerned. Most likely everyone in the hostel was woken up too. I lay in bed trying to sleep for some time but as soon as I was asleep a new flock of bird would wake me. I gave up and went for breakfast which I found was provided to us by the hostel, cereal and fruit. Fay was up soon after.

In the late morning we left to look for koalas. As we approach the funky trees' the noisy birds were heard in tree. Fay said, "Look... don't they look like little parrots. I think they are lorikeets." Those were the first of many birds we watch. On every stretch of water pelicans were paddling or fishing. Upon entering the park the familiar cackle of the kookaburra was heard. And some ugly black wild turkey looking bird wander through the scrub under the eucalypts trees. The park was quite busy and we were not alone on most of the paths. Every so often a surfer would walk by with board in hand.

Fay's eyes were glued to the trees trying to spot a koala. She was so focused on the trees she nearly fell over and had to hold on to my arm as we slowly walked. "I see one," I said.

"Where!" Fay looked around franticly.

I pointed at the crowd under a tree fifty meter ahead, "It is in the tree with the people under it."

Fay's excitement was damped by the crowd. We gathered around the tree craning our neck to get a view of the koala. Pictures were taken, though, finding the speck that was the koala on pictures from an automatic 35mm camera took time and wine. Two other trees had crowds to mark their koala. We stopped at each.

Each point in the park has good surf spot at it, Tea Tree being the best. However, today there was little swell and the wave was barely ride-able. Still the spots pedigree meant a crowd was in the water too.

The park was smaller and more crowded then we had expected. We decided to look for a place to have a snack and smoke a joint. A spot was found but we found out it was occupied by a gregarious kookaburra begging for a meal. The kookaburra hung out with us for two joints laughing along with us.

After walking through the park we looked around the shops and galleries we had looked through the windows last night. There was a good book store but everything else was to rich for us. We got some ice cream for the walk to the hostel. Then we had siesta in preparation for a night out.

It was dark when we walked to the high street behind Noosa beach to have some dinner. I had said that I would get dinner if we went to the Noosa Surf Club and Fay was all for that. However, when we got there I was not allowed in. It turns out that surfers in Noosa have to have shoe and pants to dine at their club. My sandal and board shorts barred me from entry. It pissed me off. I could see a yacht club having a dress code but not a surf club. Unnatural was what I said to Fay as we eat at the food court. Surfing had become something sacred to me and though I was not the surf those inside the club probably were I was offended at the pretentious airs they had put on. Maybe it was me, had I idealized surfing? Or was it like fishing: full of commercialism and people catching bass – I cringe at the thought that I could be the surfing equivalent of a bass fisher.

My dad said something to me about fishing once... not exactly about fishing shows on TV. You see I would sit at home on a rainy Sunday and watch every fishing show on. Some were America, others were Canadian. And my dad said, "Is it me or do Canadians laugh and seem to have more fun then Americans on their fishing shows." Being a Canadian I am bias but it is true. Then again the guys doing the Canadian shows have less reason to be serious they are not in it for the money or the money is less and the fishing is better.

Dessert was ice cream and a joint then we looked for a club to go to. Again Noosa's nature undermined our plans. My Jesus boots and short were against dress code at the places we went. The door man was nice enough to say that if I when and got acceptable garments I would be let in. This was not an option. We could not accept that in a near to tropical place short and sandal were against dress code. It was wrong and we went back to the hostel to drink our wine from a box.

The bird woke me the next morning. I got back to bed minutes before Fay woke me for the complimentary cereal breakfast. We eat and were off to Bundaberg, the first place we would try to get jobs fruit picking. I was hoping to go on a tour of the Rum distillery; I had grown fond of Bundaberg Rum.

The drive was uneventful. I was content to dote upon the situation. The girl I loved was next to me and destiny was in control. My mind was way to shallow for the deep thought I usually have while driving. I can not recall the countryside we drove through either.

Chapter 43

What is remembered was stepping out of the car in Bundaberg and realizing how hot it was. North Strady was hot upon occasion. Noose midday made you want some ice cream. Bundaberg at four o'clock in late autumn was as hot as Sydney during the summer. But we were too close to the tropic of Capricorn for there to be the seasons people from temperate climes are familiar with. We were on the approaches to the land of wet and dry.

Bundaberg is small and we found a hostel to stay at easily. We figured that a hostel would be the best bet to begin with since we did not know where to find work and the people at the hostel did. Both of us were happy to pay the money for the amenities the hostel offered as we were sure the work would be hard and dirty. We took two beds in a six bed dorm. As a part of the room the hostel management places traveler with jobs. We found ourselves employed as soon as five nights rent was paid. The rest of the day we lazed around as we would have to be on the bus to the field for five. It was the first night in a longtime that we did not have wine with diner.

We woke with the rest of the fruit pickers and did the same zombie dance they did: go to the toilets, get dressed for the day, eat breakfast and get on the bus. There was little talking just doing. The hour was not an hour travelers liked, unless it was a carry over from the night before or in my case a time to fish or surf.

The only thing I ever remember from the bus rides were the sunrises, brilliant as always.

Our first day we worked in a passion fruit orchard or was it a field, I was never sure. Until then I had never seen what a passion fruit looks like or the plant it comes from and after that day I would never want to see one again. Fay and I worked next to each other with a row of plants between us. The passion fruit would fall from the vine like plant that stood about five feet high held up like tomatoes plates would be. We would pick them up from the ground and occasionally ripe ones from the vine as well.

At the start of the day it was cool. Cool enough you wanted to work to get warm. That blissful cool last for about thirty minutes, then the day got hot. By the second hour my arm were soar and I was deathly afraid that a branch on the ground could be a snake. A worker in the patch up from us had seen a tie-pan - all snakes were the dreaded tie-pan one of the deadliest in the world. By three hour in I would have quite if I did not have Fay to watch.

There was no reason why I was picking fruit but Fay. Every second my mind was assaulted by the fact I could be in the best hotel here and drunk for months with the money I had. But she was my all. I was showing her the man I was, willing to do anything for her. Even if I die from heat stroke in a field I have no reason to be in. It was the only thing and everything too me and I continued at a pace I would never have kept up if it were not for a chance to see Fay as we finished a row. And then to have a few words with her as we got new bucket from the truck and gulped down water.

I have had hard job before, surveying streams is not easy but it was never as monotonous, uninteresting, or as hot as this work. I must have drunk more than five liters of water, eat the melon we brought for lunch and several passion fruit and did not have to piss all day. I was not cut out for this work; hot weather was not for me, I was too tall for all the bending, too heavy to be quick, and too fair for the sun. But I continued.

Sometime long after I had resigned myself to a death from heat stroke the day was done. All the pickers went back to the farm to receive the days pay. Fay and I were the only new pickers that day and the farmer asked if we were going to come tomorrow. There was a moment when I hoped Fay would say no, she look no better than I. That was not to be, she answered yes and I nodded in agreement. Then we got on the bus back to the hostel picking up others along the way. As Fay and I shared the last water we had the guy in front of us said, "At least you got through the first day. You get use to it. Passion fruit is the worst... you gotta pick it up off the ground. It sucks." He sounded Canadian.

I said, "Only three days to the week end."

He said, "If you take the weekend off... hey, the names George from Calgary."

I introduced Fay and myself then said, "I sure got respect for Caesar Chaves and the fruit pickers in California. At least we get a decent check." We ended up talking with George everyday. He was and interesting guy, a die hard socialist but a Flames fan.

The first thing Fay wanted to do after a shower was put her check for $71.50 in the bank. I am a fisher at heart, my first thought was to cash the check and get too drunk to go back to work the next day. But Fay had a hold of me and I went with her to deposit the check. Then we stocked up on cheap food and cordial that was full of electrolytes – water is no good if it can not be absorbed. I made an extra stop at the chemist to get some cough syrup with codeine for my throbbing head. I needed the syrup to quell the dehydration headache I had had for most of the day. In the chemist I found a walkman that I bought, it made the day go by faster.

Then we sat around reading or watching the TV in the common room until we felt hunger. I read as that was what Fay did but never did I read the Old Man and the Sea. We smoked a joint before dinner and one after we had eaten dinner and made the next days lunch.

Each day played out much the same as the first day with minor changes. The second was more physically demanding as the muscles that I had not used ached from the exertion but metal I was ready for the day. By the third day the demands of the job had become routine. However, each day would have a moment of terror when something that looked like it slithered was spotted.

The only major change came on the fourth day, Friday. I was already for another day stooped over picking passion fruit but we got lucky. We picked tomatoes that day. It was a much easier day because the tomatoes were on the plant so no bending over to pick them off the ground. Picking tomatoes meant I did not have to worry that the stick next to the passion fruit I picked might be the infamous tie-pan that was still an enigma to Fay and I.

On Friday I thought of how much closer I was to Fay than the week before. I had learned much about her and her about me. We had inside jokes and isms for each other behavior. We were growing very close indeed. Each day we got closer by halfway but if you go halfway each day you still have the other half to go the next day. I was listening to Turn on Your Love Light by the Dead while picking when I resolved to go all the way this weekend. The time would be right this weekend. Certainly we would end up getting good and drunk and possible high, sometime during our binge the time would be right. I play out a myriad of scenarios of the right time to make the day go by quicker.

All the pickers had smiles as the day came to an end. We pick up our check from the farmer then he asked if any of us wanted to work on the Saturday. Fay could see from my look I did not want to. "Hugo we should work tomorrow. The more days we work the less days we have to stay here... right. There is nothing to do here. I don't want to work Sunday... we need a day to rest. What do you say?" Fay asked.

"Sure," I answered, then I added a demand, "But on Sunday we hang out on a beach and eat mushrooms."

"Ok."

Saturday went by quickly because I had the potential of Sunday at the beach to dwell upon. My plan for Sunday was simple, go to the closest beach, eat mushrooms, play around in the sun and drink beer until the moment comes to kiss the girl. Though the plan was simple I play it out in my head like a skier visualizing a race before it is run. To be honest the part I visualized most was the eventual kiss and what comes after because I knew it was the end to destiny.

Chapter 44

It was late Sunday morning when we left to find a beach. I assumed it would be easy so I did not ask for directions when stopped at a gas station to buy the chocolate we ate with the mushrooms. We ate the mushrooms and chocolate bars while pulling out of the gas station as the chocolate would melt in the heat. And we drove to the beach.

Everything was beginning to get strange as we felt our way to the ocean. We meandered along the road with field of who know what on either side. After about thirty minute, as the mushrooms began hitting, we emerged on a road that went along the beach. There were a few motels and a bar. We continued to drive and found our way to the end of the road were a boat ramp dipped into the water and mangrove grew out of the water. It looked like a good spot and we stop.

The first stages of mushrooms poisoning are marked by yawning, lethargy and up set stomach. We acclimated to these symptoms by finding a spot close to the car to lay our blanket down and drink cold beer to calm our rumbling tummies. Our first beer when down quietly. When I passed Fay a second she said, "The work in the fields is hard but I feel good doing it. It seems very right. I think one day I want to be a farmer."

"I tried to grow weed once but failed miserable. I watered them to much and fungus killed the roots."

"That is not really farming. I guess you get the same kind of gratification when harvest comes. Don't you think it is a good way to make a living?"

"Yeah... but I have always thought that if I was a harvest I would be a harvester of the sea. A fisherman, like Paul and John... Primus has a bunch of song about fishing."

"But fishing is not like farming. When you fish you only take. It is kind of stealing from nature. Farming seems more natural to me... at least when done organically. How can growing plants be wrong?"

I was too stoned to hear what she was saying and even if I did I would not have commented on the unnaturalness of fishing. Instead I continued my side of the conversation as she did hers until we came together. Our tune merged into one when I said, "I always wanted to be a commercial fisherman but it seems to be an industry you are born into."

"I think farming is the same way... but there must be room from more organic farmers. Maybe I will grow mushrooms instead."

"Me too."

We drank two more beers as the tide went down and by the third beer the mud flats beneath the mangroves were exposed. Fay saw something strange on the flats and peered intently at it. I looked at the flats too but my eyes were not as sharp as hers. She got up and walked in that very relaxed beer in hand saunter so common to those on mushrooms towards the flats. After picking up a couple beers I followed. She stopped, "See those white things on the mud?"

"Yeah."

"I wonder what they are."

"I think we should investigate. We will need full beers to investigate," I handed her a new beer. She dropped the old one before cracking the new one and resumed the same gate.

The mud was warm and gooey. Every step was a controlled slide with our feet picking up every minuet change in texture. Sometime a poky or hard thing would cause graceless slide away from it.

"Look their moving away from us," Fay observed. Her observation was right the strands of white with blue mud foam was moving away from us, presumably blown by the cross-shore breeze as it cousin sea foam would be. But as we closed from ten to five meters the meter wide strand of cloud or foam on the mud turned into many thousands of individual crabs with white and light blue carapaces, about two centimeters long. This film of crabs moved like a school of fish reacting as one. Fay walk up to a group five meters long and a half meter wide and it split into two as she approached. It was at this time that we broke out manic laugher. We chased the sheet of crabs around in slow motion while making noises akin to Godzilla.

Our day of terrorizing god fearing crabs was ended when Fay slipped falling in the mud. She then felt that if she had fallen in the mud I must also get muddy and she began chasing me with handfuls of mud. On the first evasive turn I slipped, ending up muddy from head to toe on one side. The mud felt good and I rolled in it like a pig in shit. I only got word out between the hiccups, "Hiccup... the mud must... hiccup... be... hiccup... good for your skin just like a mud pack... hiccup."

Fay lay down in the mud, "Hey, come over here and bury me." I did as Fay said and using my hands I began piling mud over top her. She was about half covered when she jumped up from brushing the mud her off shirking. "Something moved in the mud!" and she ran to wash off in the deeper water by the boat ramp. I followed her. We swam for awhile not heeding the thirty minutes between eating and drinking then swimming rule. We are risk takers.

Beer called us back to the beach. We drank beer and dried as the towels slowly moved from the sun to the shade as the day went on. Then we play do you know what would be the best right now. Fay started, "Do you know what would be the best right now?"

"What?"

Fay gave the answer, "Another beer."

I got Fay and myself a beer. We tasted them until half empty, then I went, "Do you know what would be the best right now?" Fay looked at me, "A fatty."

Fay got the weed then rolled a fatty which we smoked. After the joint she went, "Do you know what would be the best right now?" I shrugged in reply, "Some cloths not caked in mud and salt." Fay told me where to get them and I go her cloths. She undressed in front of me with out hesitation. That was the best thing I could think of at that moment. Seconds after I thought that a blanket to cover my bulging crotch was the best thing I could think of.

I rolled over on my stomach and more casually then I thought possible said, "Do you know the best thing I can think of right now?"

"What?"

"A back rub." I did not have time to scold myself for pushing too far but Fay knelt down and started to give me a massage. I was in a place higher than nirvana. Too soon the message was over. I was unsure what to do next. I had not thought that far ahead. So I laid there.

Fay said in a tone that was trying to be testy, "It is my turn," and lay on her stomach on the shady side of the towels. I was ecstatic, destiny was coming. I gave a massage that would make Sofia proud but I finished at Fay's shoulders and neck. Fay sat up after the massage so that she was face to face with me in my personal space, "That was sooo good."

I went more than half way, kissing Fay on the lips as she sat cross legged on the towel. To my surprise her mouth open slightly and some tough was exchanged. But then she pushed me away. I was stunned. I moved away looking apologetic. Her look was one that did not register, not right away at least. It came to me as I slunk back from the esky with an apologetic beer for Fay and one for my loss. The look was the look one would give a person that is not playing the game by the rules. I did not play my role. I passed, instead of shooting for the goal. It was my chance to be the man but I was not. I did not want to play the old game of subjection of will. Fay was not a fish to me and I would not treat her as such even if tradition was against me. She was the best and that meant her will was equal if not greater then mine.

Everyone in my head was trying to hit the reset button but there is no reset in an infinite universe. No two instances are ever the same. And though every moment had at least two smaller segments where I said, "You know the game play it." The other segments in the moment would say this was no game... or at least not one I wanted to play.

If we had been drinking casually before the unmentioned kiss we drank seriously after it. I actually had to finish my beer each time Fay asked for another. We were defiantly feeling it when the sun punched its clock and when home. I suggested we head back as the air was beginning to feel chill even if our moods had warmed. Fay demanded we smoke another joint and drink the final beer. My protest was as effective as ones against war. In time it did work but only because the beer was gone.

Fay was severely inebriated. I was inebriated too but was by now I was acclimatized to it. So I folded the towel and pick up any empties that had gone astray – empties have minds of their own. Fay rummaged through the car for more liquor. "Yes, a beer!" I heard the distinctive sound of a beer opening. I knew what was going to happen next but it would probable help her. "Uhh, gross warm beer!" My stomach turn and mouth water in sympathy with her retching. The techno colour yawn did not dampen Fay's lust for booze. After a bottle of water her search continued and she found a quarter full bottle of Southern Comfort – my secret stash. I thought it was a bad idea to get into that at this stage.

"Hey Fay, I know were some wine is... just wait a second and I'll get it for you."

"Always leaving me waiting and wanting," it may have occurred to me that that was double-entendre but I did not think Fay was capable of that at this time. I found the box of wine with out the box. It was now a silver bag. She took it from me tossing her head back and filling her mouth with the stream until wine dripped from the edges of her mouth. I asked for some she said, "No, you're diving."

"Driving"

"That is why you're diving." I drove as Fay tried to sing along with every song the Triple J DJ put on even the ones she had never heard. I smiled and tried not to weave too much. In the brakes between song Fay would gulp the wine back and to my amazement it all got in her mouth. Four times she gave me the bag to drink from. Once we went slightly off the road.

Fay demanded that we get food upon arriving in town. I agreed with her but parked the car at the hostel rather then drive through town cut on beer and mushrooms. Yes, the mushrooms were still with us. They like a good drunk. When I opened the door and look a Fay with the glow of the interior light I saw her glazed donut eyes. They were as empty as Homer's head when saying, 'mmm donuts.' And I knew that Fay's night would be remembered as much as Homer's night would after a bender at Moe's... little if at all.

Then I found Fay's lip planted on mine. Only after a minute did I realize this situation was not a desirable one. I broke it off.

Fay held on to me as if I was a stanchion on a boat in a gale. We were on that heaving boat in the gale while we walked to the pie shop. But that is what pie shops are for; drunks needing a cheap and easy meal – no wonder there are so many in Australia. Fay ate three pies to my one. At least one of those three ended up on the floor and table.

Fay wanted to smoke a joint before bed and we left the pie shop for a discrete park bench with sports drinks in hand. Rolling a joint was a chore as Fay continued to hold onto my arm and lean her head on my shoulder as I rolled. We smoked the joint. Again Fay began making out with me. I had no say in the matter and it was all I could do to keep from having her put my hand down her shorts and hers down mine. I could not keep myself from making out with her but that was as far as I would go. I would have something to think about in the washroom in the morning.

The situation was a bad one. I would be a gentleman and not take advantage of it. Some may think it was an opportunity because right now I had no doubt Fay wanted to fuck. But this was not really her. If I did not care for her, she would not be sitting on my knee in the park but riding reverse cowgirl, because I am just a man, a weak man. In the morning I would be like, 'Hey you were all over me... would you have woken-up in my bed if you weren't... if you don't remember we can do it again.' But I give a shit and will get nothing for it. In the morning there will be some memory and sometime there will be the inevitable question, "Ah Hugo what happen last night? I remember drinking in the car... I think I kissed you... I was so drunk, did we?" And I would answer looking at best uncertain and at worst deceptive, "Nothing... we did nothing. Well, we went to the pie shop and smoke a jay but that was it. You were so drunk." A long silence would ensue during which evil thoughts would multiply.

But I was not of one mind; the body had a different view on the matter. It was of the opinion that Fay knew what she was doing even if she would not remember. This drunk was a good way to start down a new road. Having sex with someone for the first time is always an awkward proposition. The feeling of self-consciousness only increases the more you care for the person. So why not get blind drunk have some bad drunken sex that may not be worth the memory. And in the morning have some good, easy sex for breakfast - mmm morning sex - because the bridge between not have sex and have sex had been crossed. It matters not how it was crossed only that it was. The body was not listened to. The mind and the soul had only insults to rebuke the body's argument. It was ridiculous to think Fay or any woman would think in such a way and obvious the body was thinking with it head... dick that is.

The body knew he had lost but he had a parting blow, "What if Fay is not as drunk as she looks? What if she is throwing herself at us now to make up for our mistake? What will she think of us in the morning when we pretend nothing happened? Will she think our actions or should I say inaction are noble or not worthy of the name man? A man is what she is look for, Sofia who opinion can be trusted more than ours told us that."

The decision was made for me along time ago and had nothing to do with conscious thought, however, much the voices in my head talked. I lead Fay back to the hostel. I help Fay into her bed where she passed out. I laid in my bunk mind buzzing as if it were on acid and drank water. I did not try to sleep, I could not.

Chapter 45

The next morning started as the rest did. Physically I felt pretty good. Mentally I was still troubled by last night. Fay was not in good shape at all. Despite her condition she continued through the morning routine. As usual we talked little as got ready for the day.

We were on the bus to the field when Fay asked the inevitable question, "We got pretty fuck up yesterday. The sun, the mushrooms and the beer really got to me. I forgot how much I like to drink on shrooms. I remember puking after that warm beer," Fay shivered with the memory of the warm beer. "Then driving and that is it... nothing after that. Did I do anything stupid?"

"Does drinking a liter of wine on the car ride home count?"

"Today it does."

I tried to be serious but knew I sounded defensive, "No... not really. You kissed me a few time but that was it."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry, I felt pretty good about it?"

Fay looked down at her water bottle, "It just that... I like you a lot but only a week ago you were with Sofia. Doesn't that seem weird?" She pause but I did not answer, I feared she would not understand it and half of me wanted to say she was with Sofia too, "Slow is a good thing. All good things are worth waiting for. I am sorry I lead you on. It not that it didn't mean anything it just seems... not the way I wanted it to be. I was so drunk... you know. I had great time yesterday... what I can remember of it."

I was stuck in orbit for thinking ambivalent though about what Fay said. She could see my confusion and said, "Buck up kid, a kiss is just a kiss," then gave me a peck on the cheek. And again I was confused, in orbit with half way still to go. Things always fall out of orbit, right?

The confusion grew as the day went on. I was questioning everything from who I was to why I was here. There were no answers. I began wondering why I am not out fishing when that is what I came to do. Why did I not sweep Fay off her feet with good time and easy living, I had the means? But still I questioned that contrived end, the riding off into the sunset with my trophy who I loved and loved me... supposedly? Was Fay a thing to be won? Can there be winner and losers in place with no end? And isn't that what love is a permanence? Nothing is permanent.

The focus of my mind on things unable to perceive dulled all the other desires I had and I did not eat all day, nor did I have enough water to drink. Soon my thoughts were on one thing finding that tie-pan to bit me ending the misery of picking passion fruit. The day ended with no snake. It must not have been fate.

A good conversation with Fay could have quieted my raging mind, however, she seemed even more off than me today. Her symptoms were more physical than mine. At each break she would gulp water, eat food and power nap or at least lay quietly in the shade. If I was as hungover as her, I probably would have thrown in the towel. Every time I suggested she go home she said she had to continue because she got so drunk yesterday. She finished the day but moment after sitting down on the bus and drinking a bottle of water she fell asleep with he head against the glass. Fay slept all the way back to the hostel and only woke to walk her way to bed.

George saw me in the common room about to read Old Man and the Sea, "Hey, I'm going to check my e-mail and get a beer wanna come?"

"Sounds good. Let me run and get my check, I want to put it in the bank." I put my book back in my bag and caught up with George. The internet café had no computers available and we ended up a pub.

George and I talked politics which is second only to philosophy as the best way to keep your mind off of women. I assume there is an equivalent for women; a more dopamine rather than serotonin based conversation that obscures the troubles they have with men but what it is I do not know. Of course there was an impasse and we had to find common ground women. "So you and Fay must have had good time last night? What is with you guys?" I shrugged in answer, "You fucking?"

I downed my beer, "I'm not sure."

"Not sure you are fucking?"

I looked for the bar tender, "She drives me crazy... like right up the wall but I don't know. I want her but I want her to feel the same as me." I caught the eye of the bar tender, "Two schooners and two shot of Southern Comfort." I looked to George, "Don't worry I got it... but enough about women."

With women off the agenda we had nothing to talk about. Once our drinks were finished we went over to the internet café. A chill hit me as we opened the door, air conditioning is the best thing on the almost tropical Earth, the cool made me feel good. Both of us got computer and began to surf – I really want to smack the person who coined the term, surfing the internet... if you know whom it is send me the address.

There were more then a few new messages, most from family, one from Sofia and the one I wanted to open, Jodie's. The subject should have sparked some concern but I was way too ready for some good new to look at the title, 'Who are you?' Again I am sorry that I do not have the original. This e-mail is the reason why. The letter was as the subject read. It was one paragraph of five sentences. The first three were about how I did not sound like the Hugo she knows. The third and forth said that even if I was the Hugo she knew she certainly did not want to hear from me because I had changed too much. The fifth line was fuck off do not write me again ever but nicely so that if I was not really me so I would not be insulted. That got to me, if it was only angry I would know she was not as serious because she did not believe at all it was someone else. But a nice fuck off meant she truly thought I could be someone else. It was the idea that she truly may believe I was a stranger coupled with my day of questioning what I was doing here that hurt most. Was she seeing what I was beginning to see today or did she know me well enough to know what hurts most?

I knew I could have tested it by seeing if Jodie blocked my address. If she did most likely she knew it was me and wanted to hurt me. If not she probable thought it was someone else.

That was when I erased all the e-mail had gotten from Jodie. I considered preemptively blocking her but felt too lost and thirsty to do anymore. I went on a bender.

The bar around the corner was a good enough place for me to drink and I drank with purpose. Drinking with a reason is the worse kind of drunk. The reason is almost never lost by drinking. Until you lose your ability to reason you will not lose the reason you are drinking. Thus you keep drinking until your money is gone or you are not welcome at the bar.

I am a good drunk and I had lots of money so I was not tossed out. At some point I did decide to go back to the hostel, though, I do not understand why. When I got there Fay was making dinner. I wanted to tell her why I had gotten drunk but started from the beginning, the big bang, and got lost somewhere before the problems that drove me to drink. She sympathized with my condition and forced me to sit and eat dinner with her. I protested saying I wanted more beer but she did not relent and I ended up eating the food. It was a good meal, what ever it was. Then she helped me into bed after a water drinking contest.

The words of what I had wanted to say to Fay upon returning from the bar were now apparent to me as I lay in my bunk spinning. I wanted to tell her about Jodie but now getting out of bed was impossible for me. I wanted to tell how much I loved her. I wanted to tell well everything.

On revolution 826 I passed out.

Chapter 46

My mouth was dry and my pillow was wet when I woke with the mother of all hangovers. I looked at the alarm clock hoping that I had already missed work. I had not. I had the two forty-five blues. I got out of bed to get some water. I made sure to be ultra quiet as any noise made my head flash with yellow orange pain. I drank some water and ate some food. I decided to have some cough syrup to ease my head, and then went back to bed.

The pain that woke me was light to dark green in colour but more persistent than the bright yellow pain of earlier. It was a ball inside my frontal lobe. Again I checked the clock, thirty minutes till the alarm went off. I downed the bottle of water by my bed. The water did not help, I knew the type of head ach I had. It was not only a dehydration head ach but a migraine too. Being a holistic medicine kind of guy I used a little know remedy. In fact I was so influenced by the cough syrup that I had little knowledge of the remedy I had taken and I fell asleep before it occurred to me.

What ever does not kill you only make you stronger... right?

I woke to my alarm groggy but did not have the option of staying in bed as the lights were now on. My head ach was gone but I was parched. And I went on with the morning zombie dance.

"I can't believe you are going to work this morning," Fay said, "I can still smell fresh booze on you. You didn't drink more this morning?"

"No," I replied, "I feel pretty good. Why shouldn't I go?"

"Cause you're still drunk!" Fay's annoyance made me only more determined to finish the day. My competitive spirit was engaged and I made sure to set a pace Fay would find hard to follow.

When first brake was called Fay was nearly two rows behind. I was feeling great, laughing at everything, and cracking jokes. I was not hunger or tired. I could not concentrate worth a shit but that made the day go by.

The next two hours went quickly as well. I kept the pace up and sang to my walkman. At lunch I was good after only a few bits of sandwich and a bottle of cordial. Fay asked me at lunch, "What is with you today?"

"I don't know. I should be like totally hung over and bummed out but I feel wicked"

"Why should you be bummed out?"

I took a minute to think. Until now I had not thought about the e-mail from Jodie, only focused on little things like the next passion fruit and the one after that. I had focused wholly on the moment. Fay's question brought back a world bigger than now, "Jodie this friend or ex-friend or I don't know. She is... was the person I knew best in the world. I love her but never really show her," I paused and thought, feelings assaulted me, "I remember being at her house, her brother called I answer and had an hour long conversation with him about my life... I'd never met him and he knew more from her about me than but a few. That is how we were," I put on my sun glasses to cover the tear that might come. "Then I was a complete dick. I tried to make up but again I ended up a dick... if only I listened to Sofia. I got an e-mail yesterday from Jodie saying she did not think I was the Hugo she knew and not to write again."

"It sounds like a joke," Fay consoled me.

"No, it is not a joke."

My mood soured. My thoughts revolved around all my regrets and I worked out of spite. 'If only I can work myself to death,' I thought.

I saw it ten steps away, a snake. It was big, big enough that I questioned it for a branch as I did not think poisons snakes were that big. 'Surely it was a large crooked stick,' I thought. As I approached to with in a meter of it, it slithered off. "Tie-pan! Tie-pan! Tie-pan! Tie-pan!" I went running the other direction.

At the ended of the orchard I met Fay, who had run when I yelled there was a snake. The farmer who worked on the truck we put our full buckets on came up, "Have you been bitten?"

"No... I just saw a big snake up there!"

"Have you been bitten?"

"No."

"No worries," he pats me on the back, "Back at it the snake is long gone."

Fay was laughing, "What is up with you today... yelling like a little girl from a snake. Some tough surfer you are."

"I don't know," then we went back to picking passion fruit.

My pace slowed as I was filled with trepidation. The snake had to be around here. Terror filled me. If a twig moved I would jump only to make many more move too. With each unknown movement the fear grew and my mind narrow. Everything long and thin morphed into a serpent. Now I knew something was wrong with me and not reality. There was no way that many snakes were in one passion fruit patch. So I made friends with them. I waved hi to them as they slithered off toward other rows. I offered them passion fruit, they politely declined. I even made up a song but of course it is long forgotten.

The day was at its end with only a couple rows to go when I stopped seeing snakes. I had grown accustom to their presence and wondered why they abandoned me as I walked though the garden. The reality chip in my brain knew they were none existent but if it adds some excitement why not?

I thought, 'oh, there's one I will ask it where the others are.' I approach a carbon copy the first snake I saw with a smile making the kind of cooing noise we think animals are calmed by. "You're a big snake... yes you are. Would you like a passion fruit?" I got a prime specimen out of my bucket, "Where did all your buddies go? Here you go," with an arm out stretched I offered the snake a passion fruit. "AHHHH, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" The snake bit me, I dropped the passion fruit. I told myself to stay calm as the more agitated I was the more venom would spread through my veins. "Hey, Fay... Ah, Fay," I called loudly as my hand became a throbbing symbol of pain.

"What?" I heard faintly.

"Could you come over here?"

Fay exasperated said, "This better be good!"

I stood there looking at the two puncture marks in my thumb. My thumb was both painful and numb at the same time. My mind was spinning, shooting out as many thoughts as it could know, knowing this was it.

I did not want to sit down as I knew I would have to fight the venom off and sitting was an act of submission. Though, I was standing my look of malaise was easily visible and Fay saw this with tens of meters between us. Her anger slid into horror and concern. "What happened?" she shrieked.

"I, ahhh... got bitten by a snake. A big black one. A tie-pan I think."

"Your shitting me," Fay said panic starting to take hold. I held out my thumb obviously swollen. "Oh my God... I will get the truck." She ran off down the row and I walk slowly in that direction knowing the truck could not come down the row.

The pain only grew but some how my mind pulled out some optimism. I thought how cool it is to be one of the few people to get bitten by a snake. Then I thought of a guy who milk snakes for a living and had been bitten over seventy times by the most venomous snake in the world. Listening to this guy talk about his experiences of poisoning by snake venom made one think maybe he liked it. Beyond the pain there was paradise, the neurotoxins that cause a high. As I reached the end of the row I wished I was a good enough chemist to extract the good neurotoxins and test them.

The truck pulled up and to my amazement I was caring the two buck of passion fruit which I put on the back of the truck. The farm hand said, "Mate don't worry about that," then help me into the truck. Everyone but me was very worried, fate had already caught up with me and there was now nothing I could do. I took this turn in stride. Sure I was going to die but we all have to. I tried to lighten the mood, "You ever heard of the big laughing mushroom Fay?"

Fay who's face would be wet from tears but for the wind the truck made said meekly, "No."

"All I have heard of it is that this girl who was being rushed to the hospital after laughing continuously for hours and was about to die from hyperventilation said only one intelligible thing while in the ambulance," I waited for a what but it did not come, "She said, 'if this is mushroom poisoning bring it on.'" Fay mouth twitched with a smile, "I can't say the same for being bitten by a snake... sure there is something behind the pain but I am not sure if it is worth it. It is defiantly better than having your heart broken."

My joke was not funny Fay began balling her eyes out and leaned her head one my arm while holding onto it for dear life. "But I love you and now you are..." Fay's last words were lost in her tears. The reality of the situation set in. Her world was my world and mine world was hers and I was going to be taken from it.

I kissed Fay's forehead to get her attention, "Fay I love you too. And I am not going to die." After that there was white glow presumable from the hospital lights.

I must have got out of the hospital because I was now walking from the dark to bright mid-day light with Fay laughing away at something I was not sure of. I was unsure of everything, except that my thumb hurt, my muscles were sluggish and tired, and had a dull head ach choking the front of my skull. My head and thumb throbbed. 'Why would it hurt if I had gotten out of the hospital? And where were the memories of frantic doctors pumping me full of anti-venom? Or of the many sponge baths by a sexy Australian nurse? Surely even in rural Australia hospital have a paved drive way and not a dirt track... right?'

Chapter 47

"Come on Hugo, say something in that funny accent," I knew not the accent Fay was talking about but she continued to beg me. "Do that Scottish accent again it was hilarious. Pleasssseee."

Something was not right that truck or in Australia sport-ut – the true North America translation is El'Comino – was the same farm truck I was taken to the hospital in. And it was parked next to the tractor at the passion fruit plantation. Was I snake bitten? Or hallucinating? I looked at my thumb. The nail was blue black from a subungalhematoma but there were not puncture or cuts on it at all.

With out wanting to I spat out with the worst Scotch accent ever, "Ack woman what joost happened, I have narry a clue?" Fay renewed her laughter. I said in my normal voice, "Fay, I am serious what just happened? I have no memory of coming from the field to here. Or I do but it makes no sense."

"You tripped in one of the rows and fell. I came over and saw you laughing and moaning on the ground holding your thumb... you caught it between the handle and the bucket. What do you think happened to you."

"I thought I was bitten by a snake and was sure I was being rushed to the hospital."

Fay gave me a, what the fuck look, "You're joking? Do you remember entertaining everyone in the truck with that bad accent?"

"All I can remember is being bitten by a snake."

We did not talk anymore on the ride to the hostel.

In the time it took to get to the hostel my muscles tensed up and every movement was a world of pain. At the same time my mind started to access what had happened. It did not know. It believed that I had gotten heat exhaustion verging on heat stroke and that caused hallucination. But the real question was could I go on doing what I was doing?

I could not doubt that the hallucination was a sign, the symbol were to bold; to destroy myself was the only way to get her. If the hallucination was not a sign its cause was. The cause was attached to the place as much as me. How could I go on killing my self for money I do not need? With every bad day a night like yesterdays would result in a day like today.

I had thought that I was on a path toward destiny but there is no such thing as destiny. What there is is an illusion based on our predilection for making up order, like connecting stars to make pictures in the sky that affect our lives. Destiny is a completely absurd notion.

I would have to change to keep the illusion of order intact but the only change I could make was to go by nature path and loss myself in a game that everyone plays.

I needed to go fishing.

What was I going to tell Fay?

I nearly fell as one of my thigh muscle seized on the last step off the bus. "Hey Fay, lets get a drink," I said as I tried to keep up with her. My walk was stiff and I was on my heels as every step sent a shot of pain through my quads.

"A drink but not four," Fay remarked. I hobbled with her into the closest bar. I ordered a couple of schooners, "So what is on your mind?"

I tapped my fingers for a moment and looked skittish as if I was going to bolt at any second which I was. "I needed to go fishing."

"We can go fishing on the weekend."

"No, that is not what I mean. I came to Australia to go fishing and I can't work here when I knowing I could be fishing. I'm working here because of you. Yes, I am saving some money, extending my say," I lied then I told the truth, "but I would not be here if it weren't for you. I think the world of you but I can't keep working here. Today when I fell - and I don't know why I fell - I hallucinated that I was bitten by a snake... I know it sound crazy and it is. I can only assume I had heat stroke. And certainly its cause is my fault but at the same time I'm not cut out for this. I'm too big and can't take the heat. If it was minus twenty I'd be the best worker. There is no way I can work tomorrow, I can hardly walk."

"So what are you going to do?"

I drank considered telling Fay to come with me because I am rich but did not. "I'm thinking that I will go up the coast a little ways find a spot to fish. I'll hook-up with you when you finish working or come back when I get better."

It was Fay's turn to drink beer and think about what to say. After finishing the beer and giving me a few frustrated looks she said, "I understand... I thought about it on the bus, you were acting pretty weird in the field when I saw you. I kind of knew something was wrong and feel guilt that I may have shrugged it off. Its... well I found you laying in the row and it was the last few minutes of work... when I got to you, you started to laugh. I didn't think anything was wrong... I thought you were pulling my leg."

"Whatever, I'm ok. I think we need another beer," Fay nodded and I signaled the bar tender who brought the beer quickly as only two others were in the bar.

We acquainted ourselves with the beer before we both tried to talk at the same time. The floor was given to Fay, "Listen, I do like you a lot but right now I am not ready to get into a relationship that most likely will be something. I haven't totally put the last relationship behind me. You are only days away from Sofia - she told me how you see me. And truthfully," Fay paused took a drink then looked me in the eye, "truthfully I see so many reason why I like you but your still searching."

My mind was blown, "What... I'm searching?" I wanted to add, 'Of course I am and I will be until I am with you.'

"You're just searching... I can't tell you what for, if I did you would lie about finding it. I went on the same search too, I was younger but it was the same search."

"I always was a late bloomer," I said sarcastically then there was a long pause and drink. "You don't have a problem getting up the coast or anything, eh?

Fay stuck out her thumb and we both smiled, "Hugo, if this is the last night, we see each other for a while let's get cleaned up get some good food and drink."

We had showers. I went to the front desk to see if I could get back the rest of the weeks rent. I could not but I had them give the days I would not use to Fay. I glanced at the message board before walking to my room. "Looking for a ride to Arily Beach before Thursday... see Jordan or Jeff in dorm seven." With no destination in mind Airie Beach seemed fine. It is the jumping off point for people taking sailing trip around the Whitsunday Island and must have good fishing close to it.

I went up to the dorm room knocked on the door before asking if any of them were Jeff or Jordan. "Yeah, I'm Jordan."

"I saw your sign, I'm heading North tomorrow wanna come?"

"Sure." And we arranged to leave as soon as we woke up. Jeff and Jordan were stoked on getting to Airlie Beach so they could get a good drunk on before they set sail.

I met up with Fay and we went to find some food and drink. We had a very good time. There was none of the tension I normally felt. Was the freedom caused by the knowledge of the immediate future?

Again we found ourselves drunk on a park bench inconspicuously smoke in a joint. Fay and I were sitting dangerously close to each other when I said, "Do you remember that last time we were on this bench?"

"Sort of... did it go like this?" Fay gave me a kiss.

"Yes," was as much of my answer as I could get out as Fay's tough wanted in. We made out on the bench for a long time.

Fay stopped, "Hey, we had better get going."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Fay paused thinking. She gave me another kiss, "Don't worry this was real, I'm not drunk at all, unlike you." She got up with my hand in hers.

"So give me a hint, what am I still looking for?"

"I can't tell you but you will know when you find it."

"But I know what it is, it is you."

I am certain Fay blushed though it was to dark to see, "No, not exactly. It is like King Arthur; he found Queniviver but had to find the Holy Grail to get her."

"I don't think that is how it goes."

"While this is how I goes," Fay skipped off in toward the hostel. I hobbled after.

Just before turning in Fay came up to my bunk, "Ok, I know this is kind of a strange situation but I know you like strange," she looked me in the eye, "Truly I do want to see you and I will be heading up to Airlie Beach and Cairn but probable not for at least three weeks. So here is my e-mail incase you lost it and all my other info." I put the note in the spine of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy with my acid and dictated my info to her. "We probably won't see each other in the morning so check your e-mail... take it easy." She kissed me on the forehead then I try to go to sleep.

Chapter 48

I did not see Fay in the morning but I was not down. I was invigorated by the idea of a search for the unknown while fishing of course. And I was off to the tropical paradise so many travelers talked about, Airlie Beach and the Whitsunday Islands.

Jeff, Jordan and I set off at about eight in the morning and the drive took all day. However, for three Canadian the drive was not a long one as a distance of 800 kilometer was a normal day drive. If I had two people from Europe, most likely, this drive would be the longest they had ever driven. We shot the shit the whole way to Airlia Beach with only two stops, one for gas and one for beer – this was a road trip and what is a road trip without beer.

We drove down the strip in Airlie Beach at happy hour and checked into the Magnum's Whitsunday Village. The price of the hostel was cheaper than any other place and the accommodation was a wannabe grass hut on stilts. We got a whole one nearly to ourselves. Then we started drinking as that seemed to be the main attraction. I thought 'if it was going to be a night of drinking, why not eat some mushrooms,' so I did. I offered some to the Jeff and Jordan but they declined.

Soon we found our way to a bar with cheap beer and drinking competitions. We were fully into them, national pride was at stake. The boat race needed five people in the team so we found two other Canadian volunteers and brought our A game. The country would have been proud we won. Being winners we had to drink more. Sometime later the bar closes and we were looking for fast food and easy women. While they looked for easy women, I began the search.

The night ended with the smoking of a joint on the porch of the hut. Jeff and Jordan passed-out a moment after the joint but I stayed up drinking water to be ready for a days fishing.

Chapter 49

I woke at dawn hung over but determined to go fishing. I drove down the only road in town to the marina where there were some people fishing. I set up my rods and remembered I had no bait. I bought a few pilchards from one of the other fishers.

It was not long before I had hooked a spunky fish. It took line tried to wrap its way around the pier and was a great fight. I was not sure what type of fish it was. It looked like a jack or cravally or trevelly of some kind – they are all in the same family. Another fisher told me that it was a blue tervelly.

Not long after a person caught a shovel-nosed shark that pushed five feet. Many others caught numerous types of reef fish and we all had fun. But this was not what I was looking for. I decided to start the search today. So I got back in Delores after an hour fishing to get fuck up on LSD and wander around.

I greedily took the acid out from the spine of the Guide and noticed that there were five hits missing. 'Five hits... who would take five hits,' (1902 to 1897) I thought, 'someone stealing from me take it all? Yes, they would and the book too. Fay wouldn't need five hit and Sofia would have asked - not that she would want any.' Then vague memories joined with unexplained actions and a head ach that was not a simple dehydration head ache. It all came clear, I had taken the acid to get rid of the head ache and a day of tripping in the garden occurred with out my knowledge – ergotamine a chemical use for migraines, LSD comes from ergot.

I should have seen the prints of lady acid the destroyer of order. The search was now a search received from the divine. As such it took on a significant greater than sitting on a beach waiting for a girl. This was the search for the Holy Grail; the search for the thing to get the girl to fulfill my order. A quest with such magnitude had to be made epic. I took a couple of hits of LSD (1896, 1895) and headed to the news agent – magazine shop – to find a destination.

The magazines had no local spots featured in them. I went to plan B, driving up and down the coast looking for paradise. I got my stuff from the hostel and set off.

Not far up the road out of town a guy was pointing at the road. I was well past him when the point to morph into a thumb. I swung a quick u-turn avoiding going into the ditch totally. Two wheels made it off the track. The second u-turn that put me in front of the hitchhiker was more subdued but I was sure he would not accept the ride. The hitcher walked up to the door eagerly. I asked, "Where are you headed?"

"Darwin."

My geography right now was about as good as USAer, I was not sure where Darwin was, "Is there good fishing there?"

"There's good barra fishing in the top end."

Sounding crazed I said, "Get in man, we are wasting valuable time!"

With out hesitation he got in but did say, "Mate Darwin is half way across the continent and I have to get there in four days to get there. As far as you are going is good."

A map of Australia popped up in my head with big star saying you are here and Darwin is there but this was exactly the trip that would bring an end to the search. I said, "The name is Hugo... I am on my way to where ever you are."

"Seriously mate?"

"I am looking for an out of the way place with good fishing. Darwin sounds like that place," I had not started moving yet and I gave my guest a glassy eyed glare and tried to speak in the vain of HST, "But to go with me you must have true grit... be ready to encounter the unexpected, the unreal, and take what ever is given. Cool?"

"Cool," he looked through his bag for something. I let the clutch out, spinning the wheel as much as I could. He came away from his bag with two beers. He cracked one and handed it to me, "You're a life saver Hugo," he cracked his beer, "Cheers... I got get up or I miss my boat. Me mate is sailing to Bali... I'm not go for the boat ride but for the girl on the boat... she is it." We both gazed off starry eyed, sighed and took a sip of beer.

"Hey, co-pilot which way do we go? How far do we have to go? Keep and eye on the road I can really feel the LSD."

"I'm not your co-pilot, God is. I'm Ned, originally from Perth... I'm happy I met a fellow traveler, a person of the world. Take a right at the main road. And left at Townsville," Ned put his beer between his legs and started to spin up a joint. Ned offered me the joint but I was high enough. Then he pawed thought the guide book and maps figuring out distances and times as I fell out of both.

Sometime in the future Ned came up from his research, "Three thousand kilometers to Darwin. We can get there easily in four days. I don't like to be early... have you been to Uluru?"

"Where?"

"Ayers Rock," my blank look said I had not, "I like a challenge, and certainly good fortune has already blessed me, but it seems this trip need a point greater then A to B. It needs C. Seeing Uluru would give it that point and add fifteen hundred more kilometers making a long drive into an adventure. I feel my will... the will pulling me... I've never been there either."

"Can we make it?"

"It is about five thousand kilometers (4576km) and we have today, tomorrow, then next day, and the day after that... no problem. We will be in Darwin with time to get pissed." Ned went back into his bag for more beer, "We'll easily get to Uluru with no worries... stay there for what is left of the night and into the early afternoon. It is the two thousand kilometers in twenty for hours to get to Darwin for happy hour that will be the hard part." Ned chucked out the two empties, then toasted with the freshly cracked beers.

Our journey may have been epic but most of the minutes were mundane with only the odd police induced panic attack, rest stop with dunny (outhouse) to foul to piss in, and roadside oddity to make to break the monotony. And we still had not turned left at Townsville.

At the outskirts of Townsville we changed drivers. I was in no shape to drive through traffic, however, light. We also got beer, food and used the amenities before driving by a mountain I thought was in Cape Town. Ned assured me that it was not Table Top Mountain but Castle Hill. There was a very large cow too.

A joint was smoked as the sun went down. We stopped again at Hughenden for gas and pies and to piss. I switch with Ned and we drove into the darkness.

The outback at night is seriously dark. It is so dark and clear that you will be driving along and see a car approaching you. You think, 'I had better turn off my high beams, I don't want to blind a fellow motorist.' You turn your brights off and two song on the radio pass before the other driver does. Now, many may say, 'but you have been on acid all day, smoking joint, slowly getting drunk, how can we trust your judgment?' You cannot but trust me this does happen just as being on a boat in dense fog can cause a log to be an island or laying on your back until the cloud are inches from your finger tips.

The illusion brought by the dark are off setting but interesting, however, they mostly come out at night... mostly. Piles of kangaroos bounce around all night long at the edge of the head lights glow waiting for the right moment to jump in front of a speeding car. We had yet to see a live kangaroo so far this road trip. We had seen hundreds of carcasses blotting in the sun, picked on by wedge tailed eagles, and being nurseries flies. Most of the bodies were head less, I asked Ned why? "Mate it is hilarious to see... when a road train hits them the roo head snaps clean off from the whiplash," Ned started laughing, "and the head keeps rolling sometime for fifty meters." There was a dead kangaroos about ever kilometer. The size of a population can be determined by how many animals are found dead on the side of the road. To my knowledge this is used only of small mammals like mice and vole but to think that every kilometer or so claims a kangaroo is staggering. Then to factor in the scant number of cars that drive these sleepy roads and you have one hell of a population of kangaroos. The idea of being involved in making one of these statistics worried me but, mostly because I had no roo bar – a bumper especially made to deflect kangaroo, preventing damage – and I did not want to bang-up the bonnet or smash the windscreen. What scared me were cows.

In Australia there are no songs about walking twenty four miles of barbed wire because they have no fences to fence in there cattle. This is changing as modernity creeps in but it moves south to north and we are in the top-end. So the cows in Australia roam free, grazing where they can; never going too far from the ranchers' water and on cool night sleeping on the road still warm from the sun's heat. A cow will crumple a car and that worried me. We slowed and followed a truck.

At some point the CD player ran out of batteries and the radio was all we had. Somehow I found a familiar voice on the dial. Art Bell was come in five by five with tales of aliens, the occult, conspiracies, secret societies, and the occasionally the truth. Tonight was not one of the rare moments when a real scientist or expert was on. No, it was open line night focusing on UFO sightings. We listen enthralled by stories so wild as to be believable, at least when driving down a desert highway somewhat drunk and totally stoned. In the world of Art Bell there is no such thing as coincidence and all stories are possible and plausible.

Art Bell was the prefect fix for a night sleeping under the stars in a desert. We pulled into a vacant rest area built a small fire to drink around before spreading out blanket and sleeping bags.

"It is amazing... I have never seen so many stars. It is like milk spilt across the sky," I said to the sky above.

"How can you look up at that and not see that is something more to it. Think about it... there must be some grand design, a will behind it," Ned said in hushed reverent tone.

I said in the same spiritual voice, "No man, it is like art, a meaningless expression of infinite will."

"Mate you got the expression of infinite will right but meaningless. How can all this be meaningless? There is a definite direction and purpose, the individual may not see it but it is there."

The night was too grand to be hurt by philosophy, "Ask me about it tomorrow Ned. I'm trying to count the stars but there is always one more."

"Ooo, did you see that?" I could hardly miss the star or meteor streaking across the sky.

"Yeah."

I lay one my back looking at the stars until I fell asleep. I had a dream that talked with Jodie but cannot remember what it was about only that something was resolve or never had to be. I would like to find out what I say to other people when I am in their dream. Is it arrogant to think that if you have someone visit you in a dream that you drop into to their dreams. I know they are who they are in my dreams and not constructions of my mind because they never do what I want them to.

I woke on my back to the sound of flock of gahal. Gahal are beautiful pink cockatoo looking bird that are not as beautiful when you are woken by them. However, it was good that they woke us at dawn we had many miles to put behind us if we were to keep to our schedule. We packed up quietly and were off with in minutes of our wake up call.

In the cool of the morning we drive to Mount Isa. I drove as Ned neared the end of the book he was reading. We arrived at Mount Isa with the gas station the only thing open. After filling up, using the toilets and getting pies for breakfast, we're off again. Outside of Mount Isa the road became a dirt track and Ned finished his book. Ned asked if I had anything to read. I offered the two books I had The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy – the hard cover trilogy in four parts – and Sofia's copy of the Old Man and the Sea. Ned chooses the Old Man and the Sea as he was off to Bali on a boat.

Through a one bar town we went. Shortly after we crossed into the Northern Territory passing a sign warning of car eating cows or the sign looked like a cow eating a car. The land was flat for a person who grew up in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains before crossing into the Northern Territory but now it was pancake flat. I had to ask Ned what the strange circle with line through it sign was. Turns out it was the drive as fast as you can sign so we sailed across this sea at top speed.

The speed I was driving was all that my mind could contemplate. My mind was in a haze from the aftermath of the LSD. I wanted to keep the search for my Holy Grail going but I could not.

"It is beer o'clock," Ned proclaimed and twisted around to get one out of the cooler. "There are only two for each of us... we need to stop for beer at the first opportunity! God we need strength of will to make these last to the next stop."

This was another time when a secret stash is an essential, "Under the back seat on your side are a bottle of Southern Comfort, mostly full and an almost empty bag of wine."

"That is a relief but beer is better for driving," Ned opened my beer then his, "Cheers!"

The roadhouse with the most expensive gas in Australia was two beers, a few swigs of wine and two joints away. The fuel was topped off, esky filled with ice, and toilets used, then we grabbed an early lunch. I turned the wheel over to Ned, cracked beer for us and rolled a joint.

When driving in the out back it is obligatory to wave to every motorist that passes. It is one of those unwritten rule.

The car weaved wildly, "Hey Ned, eyes on the road!"

"Sorry mate, I had an itch I had to scratch."

"I think it is time that we do something to keep the beer from getting on top of us," I reached around for my small back pack.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Sandwiches and a piss... pull over." There were many large termite hills as large as a person. We pissed on two of them. I got a picture in front of one and Ned kicked another to pieces as it was evil while I made the PBJMs, peanut butter, butter, jam, and mushroom sandwiches. I made the sandwiches with ample amount of jam and peanut butter to cover the mushrooms that I crunched up and put on the sandwich. I did not put enough on to truly fuck us up rather I put enough to keep the beer at bay. Between a half and a gram was put on. "Lets go the sandwiches are done." Ned stomped on the termite hill once more and ran over, "Here... make sure to eat the whole sandwich for full effect."

"What is in it?"

"Mushrooms."

A half hour later we were flying, laughing at everything and driving more or less between the lines on the road. Every so often I would have to ask, "Ned, why are we going fifty, there is no speed limit here?"

"I don't know," Ned would answer speeding up and laughing. Every twenty minute or so the same thing happened. The forth time it happened I took over for Ned.

About fifty kilometers from Three Ways, the place where we would turn left to Alice Springs we encountered a cyclist peddling in the midday heat. The biker was so out of place that the two of us had to reassure ourselves that he was not a mirage or hallucination. "What a poor bastard, peddling in this bloody heat," Ned commented.

"You saw him too?"

Ned stuck his head out the window looking back and came back in, "Yup... he's got to be dieing for a beer."

"I thinking we should give him one," the cogs in my mind spun, "You ever see a bike race like the Tour de France?" The question was rhetorical, "The racers got people to given water and encouragement."

Catching on, Ned said, "We could make like a little kiosk with beer for him."

"Good idea." We drove far enough a head of the cyclist that we could take a piss before he arrived. We held out beers in both hands, cheering him on as he closed on us.

"Eh good on ya mate!" Ned yelled, "you're number one!" I whistled and hooted.

It was the cyclist turn to wonder if we were a mirage or hallucination. He stopped peddling and coasted to a stop. The disbelief kept the tired Japanese guy from saying anything.

Ned offered him a beer extending it to him and saying, "Gonitchiwa."

The cyclist took the beer and in broken but passable English, said, "Thank you... cheers." And we all took long pulls on our beer.

Ned introduced us, "I am Ned from Australia and this is Hugo from Canada. We thought you mite want a beer."

"I am Takumi from Tokyo."

"How far have you come?" I asked.

"From Sydney... today from Barkly Homestead," Takumi asked.

"Fair dinkum," Ned said as he raised his beer for a toast. We all finished our beers with that drink... it was that hot. "One for the road." Ned gave another beer to Takumi, then got himself one. And we lent against the car dinking the beer.

Takumi said, "Thank you for the beer Ned and Hugo... I have to go... thank you." He bowed politely.

Ned replied for us, "The pleasure is ours." And took a bow. Ned hit me to make me do the same. We all laughed as Takumi got on his bike and wobble his way to a stopped inches from hitting the Falcon. The second try worked and Takumi was off. Ned saluted Takumi with a beer as we left him in the dust.

We turned left at Three Ways. Then stopped at Tenant Creek for gas, where a slight paranoia overtook us as we pull in to the petrol station only to find a police car beside us. A beer can drop out of the car as I opened my door but the cop did not notice or did not care to notice. The tank was filled and we were off again.

Another uninteresting long distance passed with Ned reading until the sun when down. Shortly after Ned started yawning and not from the mushrooms there were long gone, "Aahhh, if I'm tired you must be too. No worries I got something for that." Ned got beers and some pills from his bag, "Here take one of these."

"What are they?"

"Nothing to worry about... a little pick me up," Ned answered. We both took our pills. In thirty minutes I was feeling smashing, invigorated, ready for anything and driving at speed knowing I was fast enough to veer out of the way of any kangaroo or cow. Ned was talking about nothing but doing it very seriously. Again I question Ned as to what we had taken but the story was always diet pills from Thailand and I was never sure if that was ephedrine or amphetamine.

Again we enter the next town, Alice Spring, needing gas, beer, food and toilets. While we were not hungry but we would need food later that the night. We stopped at a grocery and found many things we needed with at least one being practical, a jerry can, which we would need for the long night driving to Darwin. No petrol station would be open during the overnight portion of our run.

We were listening to the Orb and smoking a joint when Ned said, "So you can't see the divine in all of this?"

"I would not say it isn't divine... yes I would say that it isn't divine if divine means leading directly to or from god or as the result of god or created by god. God does not exist," I said know an argument would ensue.

"God does not exist, eh... prove it."

I started to give my proof knowing fully that it would not be believed, "The one thing that god is in the western world is the expression of order in the universe. God's will forces the universe into order, it gives direction and a right for us to follow. But if god does have a plan then there should be some sign off it. Most people see that design in the complexity of nature and the way everything seems to be working like clock work pretty much in harmony.

"Now I have to say the idea of god has always been an idea I don't agree with. Especially when flipping through books on philosophy only to find almost all of them have a predisposition toward order and a divinely imposed good. Our good and bad have everything to do with our purpose or goal. The goal and purpose is much easier to believe in when a book tells you that god has given you the job as a right hand man... all you have to do is follow the order. I know our purpose changes as time does but the dogma in the book does not, why? Because it is a reference point for the lie that we are important, that our destiny is a divine one, that our progress is toward a good end, an assent toward god – the ultimate end."

"Enough rhetoric," Ned said.

"Oh, this is not rhetoric or maybe it is since there is no absolute truth." I took a gulp of beer, "Aquinas has an argument that all things lead toward one end, god. But what if there is no end? What if there is no order? That is what god give us. Einstein, he tried to find that order and died an unfulfilled man, angry at the uncertainty of quantum physics. The truth is something that even the sharpest of our minds do not want to see because to see it is to see that there is no order thus no importance to their actions or being. In essences to kill oneself because it is the importance that god gives his people - a self, a reason, an ultimate end. This order is what people like Einstein are looking for when they try to find the universal truths, equations that show the grand design but most get blinded by the search for order. They mistake generalities for absolutes and use them in earth shattering equation – E=MC2 – but light speed is not constant and mass is not truly understood as we don't know what gives mass gravity. What we do know is that all though we can't pin down the constants the variations when relating to the physic of our time are statistically irrelevant. So the model of the universe made by our math works for our circumstance, our time. What is true in math is true in the real world. There are things in the world that can't be describe by math – the three, five, seven triangle does not follow Pythagoras's equation – but anything true is in math is true in reality. About four years ago there was an amazing mathematical proof discovered, pi is a non repeating infinite number. Anything that does not repeat it self has no order to it. The fact that a number can be proven to be a non repeating infinite number means that things in the universe can be and will be infinite and disordered. If even one thing in the universe is random it all is.

"The universe is as far as we know infinite, with know end and a point we believe to be a beginning. If the universe is ordered it will cycle through a consistent pattern but there is no evidence for this, though, physicists such as Steven Hawkins have put forward the idea that universe will collapse in on its self finally resulting in another big bang. Humans always search for order but in truth a disorder things like a none repeating infinite number has much order in it. The order can easily be in lengths that go well past the life span of a human or humanity. And the fact the things like humans, dinosaurs and other animals die out is another sign of the disorder. No perfect thing is created only transitory things. All of the facts point to chaos but all of our instinct or our nature tells us to look at the patterns and we get blinded to the truth. Quantum physics is chaos incarnate, you can't know where something with out effecting where it will go, changing it. Probability in quantum physics is the closest you can come to truth, which is exactly where we are when we try to order the universe - in a realm of uncertainty that we try to make predictable. Our belief in order, our want of orders makes us deceive ourselves and we make set things that have to be constant, unchanging when everything is always changing. Our belief in order is our belief in god but in a universe that is infinite there is no order."

I was ranting more than normal, was it from the pill? I took a drink to slow me down, "If I see a deer come down to a stream for a drink every day at night fall I call it a pattern and get dinner the next night. But really the deer doesn't come down for a drink at the exact same time and place. This is the error in the pattern and it is analogues to the statistical error found in science. For our purpose the error doesn't matter because we are looking at a higher level, a level where the action of a single thing is not relevant. These are not true patterns and defiantly not the very structured order something that repeating and infinitely would have like infinitely repeating decimal or a fractal. Structured order is the true order that god should give us if indeed god is a part of the universe and not our imagination. Instead we get books that deflect the questioning of god's existence by saying that if proof were given then no one would have faith... or would they have more faith?"

Ned, who had been quiet for longer than I expected said, "I will agree that the Bible is completely miss interrupted. And I think you might agree with me when I tell you how... but go on."

"Well, I don't have to much more to say, god is order and we live in a universe that is chaotic," I take a pull on my beer in triumph. Then my mind has more to talk about, "Except think about this... the idea of the Big Bang being the genius of the universe is generally except as the best scientific way for the start of the universe. The Big Bang causes a problem because the universe seems to be uniform in temperature and back ground radiation and is something like 30 billion light year wide in sizes and 15 billion years old. Scientist say there is no way for the energy in the universe to have evened out as it has. No way until you start fucking with the constants like the speed of light, or the perception of time. Strange, when relativity suggest that time and space are connected... in essence the faster something travels the less time passes relative to something standing still. Distance equals speed times time in Newtonian physics. Wouldn't the universe itself have to deal with this same thing depending on the size of it? A total distance or size of the universe affect the speed of light – the maximum speed - and measure of time. A long time ago when the universe was smaller, wouldn't this difference in the amount of space the affect said constants? Scientist have a theory called inflation that could solve the anomaly but that would question the constants of light speed doubting the work of peerless peer like Einstein. In time someone will doubt him as he did his predecessors, like Newton... hopefully sooner then later.

"There is a strange logical mind fuck about the Big Bang that nobody seems to have notice. It is very much like a Zen Buddhist saying... you know like what is the sound of one hand clapping. So the basic Big Bang concept is that at one time the universe was a dense point... dare I say a singularity. And for an unknown reason the thing starts to expand into the impossible void with nothing in it, not even space. But the funny thing is... if it is a single thing and there are no other things with matter or energy in the void the universe is expanding into then it is the densest thing no matter how much expansion happens because there is never anything to measure how dense it is compared to something else... the only other thing being true nothing."

"I don't get it," Ned said.

"Ok, think of it like this the universe is a point before the Big Bang. The Big Bang happens and from that void we watch the expansion. Well from outside of the universe – I know I am talking about the impossible – the universe does not get any less dense because there is only void and universe from a perspective outside of the universe. The expansion of the universe as seen from the inside does not matter because everything inside the universe is a thing of matter and energy in nothing when the scale slides up. So either the Big Bang has never happened or it is at every moment. Whether or not it is expanding is a mute point. It stays singularity of matter and energy in a void that is impossible."

"I kind of get what you are saying but it is defiantly hard to think about... defiantly like if a tree falls the forest and there is no one to hear does it make a sound?" Ned gestured for my beer can now empty and gave me another, "I like your ideas but your proof is not a proof." He paused for a retort. I knew he believed but not in the truth, "Most of it is good and a strong argument... mate you don't proof that the universe is infinite. Without a proof you cannot prove that it is chaotic and suggest that there is no God."

"Yeah, I have to work more on proving the universe is infinite... it might take a long time... a very long time... possible an infinite amount of time. Ned I think is time we smoke a joint and take a piss."

Sometime latter, the clock said it was the time for the Art Bell show to start. I pressed the search button on the stereo and it stopped at the only station, it had the Art Bell show playing. "This is a re-broad cast of the 1997 January 30th show, do not try to call in the lines are closed."

Don't Fear the Reaper, played as the intro to the show. Then Art Bell's deep voice came on, "Tonight we have a real treat for you. We have Major Ed Dames renowned remote viewer, on for the whole five hours. From the comet Hale-Bopp to assassination of President Kennedy, Major Ed Dames will share with us what he has remote viewed about them." Art Bell then when on to tell about the strange and interesting from the days news.

"Here, take this," Ned said holding a toke in. He let it out, "What is remote viewing?"

I took a toke before answering, "Remote viewing is where a person is given a picture or drawing of a place and then leaves they're body to see what is in that place."

"And this cat is in the military?"

I answer having heard of the Major, "Apparently the U.S. did not want to have a psychic gap with the Soviets and commissioned a study of remote viewing. According to Major Ed Dames it works but with the power comes great responsibility and Ed decided use his powers for good."

The interview came on and we drove on in the prefect state for Art Bell, taking it in with minds opened by booze, drugs, insomnia, and the open road. We had closed to with in twenty kilometer of the village/tourist trap just outside of Uluru. Somewhere close by was Connellan Airport, where Boeing 767 can bring you in from every large city in the country to this UNESCO World Heritage site. We started to look for places to sleep as a campsite in the visitors village would be fifteen dollar for the site and five buck for ever person more then one. We had the money to pay the steep price but principal would not let us use it. Surely at this time in the early hours of the morning no caretaker would be up to care for us.

Rolling down the road at about sixty we found many pack dirt tracks off the road. We picked a well used one as we did not want to get the car bogged in loose sand. Behind a tree, out of sight of the road we built a small fire, laid out our bed rolls, and cooked sausages all the while drinking beer. When the sausages were done we switched to Southern Comfort. It was needed as the pill was still making me feel as if I had a coffee too many.

"Mate, you think any of what the guy on the radio said is true?" Ned asked.

In this place, so near to hollowed ground for the Anangu, and planetary grid point or nexus to a crossing of ley-lines, at an hour normally reserved for dream anything heard on the Art Bell show could be truth. But I did not need the ineffable pressure of the supernatural to give me sympathy toward Ed Dames' baby. "Dude, I've had it happen to me... not in exactly the same way but I think it may be possible," I was handed the talk stick and took a pull. "Of course I didn't use meditation, I used drugs. The cough syrup in Canada doesn't have codeine in it but DXM... it has the same molecules but put together backward, so it would not be addictive. Turns out it is a wicked disassociative hallucinogen. You can leave your body on that shit and I have many times. Once I fell through my bed and found a bag of weed I had lost. Another time I came out of my body and went out of my room, into the street where I saw a clock on a bank tower... 7:22 PM it said. And I immediately awoke, flipped on my TV and the time was 7:23 PM. I got to my date on time but still it went badly."

"I want to try that," Ned said.

"If you do take only a small amount... enough to get to sleep. When you wake up take double or triple the normal dose."

The drink caught up to us and sleep came with us looking up at the stars still no closer to counting them.

Chapter 50

" _If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite." William Blake_

The dew fell before dawn and the dampness gave Ned a chill waking him. My sleeping bag was rated to minus fifteen and I did not wake.

"Wake up Hugo!" Ned yelled and a foot was put in my ribs. "The sun is come up... you can see the rock from over there." I moved around a bit, Ned yelled while walking away, "Hurry up mate, you will miss it!"

Ned had already turn to jog to a high dune to watch the Sun rise on Uluru. This was when I remember I had traveled so far and would not miss something the guide book had raved about. I started bar foot toward Ned, then turned back to put on my Jesus boots – I did not want to trod on any scorpions or snakes. I ran to catch Ned up uncaring of the scratches and pokes received from the clumps of hard spinifex, a plant with silvery green, waxy, arrow like leave that come to a point and are no fun to run through. Still they were not as bad as devil club or stinging nettle.

At the top of the dune we could see the Rock some distance away with the fist glints of the Sun. And the Sun, it came up as usual making the Rock turn from gray to orange with some red in the middle. It was good but breakfast and warmth were better and we cut the viewing short. I walked through as little spinifex as possible.

Breakfast was done and I knew it was time, "Ned have you done LSD before?"

"Sure mate... more than a few times."

"Well, it is time that we take some... I'm taking two to start with (1894, 1893). You are free to do as you will but I feel you should start with one. LSD is not to be taken lightly." Ned took my advice (1892).

As we drove to the park the amount of beer cans on the side of the road increase exponentially. "Ned what is with all the can's?"

"The park and everything west is Aboriginal land and it is dry... no grog allowed."

"Reminds me of Northern Canada."

At the resort village we bought four expensive bottles of Gatorade. We drank two right away with a bottle of water as the climb up Uluru was go to be a hot one.

As we came up on the park rangers tollbooth a paranoia came over me. We had a half a bag of wine, fourteen beers, and a quarter bottle of SoCo and I did not want to deal with a car search and subsequent fines with the LSD creeping up my spine. But at the booth no mention of booze was made and we paid the toll.

The closer we got to the Rock the higher we got so that by the time we were at the bottom of it we were peaking. But Ned and I were on a mission. To have gone this far and then stop because of problems with reality was not a option. We walked on eager to join the ants on their way up the pebble. With in meters of the bottom of the trail to the top another obstacle was encounter.

"Hey Ned, the sign says they don't want us to climb up there," I pointed a sign the Anangu people had put up tell about how sacred this place was and that if we had respect we would choose not to climb Uluru. "I don't want to be disrespectful, maybe we should not climb it... eh Ned?"

"They do not want those drungos' climbing up... we are different, we are on a quest. Not only that but we know we are of them, not like the rest of these tourist," Ned almost spat when saying tourist. "They would send a young aboriginal to climb up as a right of passage... are we not on a right of passage? We certainly are. Our journey is sacred and done with reverence. Not an ego trip like the drungos' we walk with. We just don't have the time to talk with an elder and show him we are not tourist but people on his path." Ned words were more coherent than most people when peaking on acid I had met. Ned looked back and said, "Who knows we could be the first to do this on LSD... it's the dream we walk in." and with long strides started up Uluru.

I knew the truth and started up too. My answer could lay up there. And if it was a first, I wanted to be the.

The climb was tiring and we stopped many times for short breathers. There were a few vistas that made the hair on you neck stand on end but going up was not to bad, definitely worth the view.

A little before the summit there was a stretch where people had inscribed there names or initial and the date. One made me break out with laughter, '__ + __ Ayer's Rock on LSD 78.' I showed Ned he laughed too.

We turned to look from whence we came. The ants were still climbing up and down the basket. Some pictures were taken then we walk into a skate park with no skate boarders. The red rock was almost smooth enough to skate on and the strange curves made by the wind and rain or in the dreaming would make a sick skate park. Some of the ridges were nearly vertical making it hard to traverse them.

Ned suggested we find a good place to smoke a joint, somewhere out of the strong wind. We found a spot on the western edge with a view of the Kata Tjuta or the Olga's. We took some pictures on the edge of the rock and I narrowly avoided vertigo when looking over the side.

The orange-red with the contrasting blue sky was sublime.

We smoked the joint and drank a beer before going back down. The joint was a bad idea. Terror engulfed me as we got to the 85 degree slope in the skate park. I fell down it scraping elbows and knees, thankful my skull had not smashed on the rock. I got to the path down with no problem but once on the 45 degree slope down I fell into a panic attack, hyperventilating and sure that the next step would be my last. The 45 degree slope you walk up and down is bad but worse is that in this section there is only ten feet either side of the chain hand hold before its grad become 85 degrees. I could see that the next step would be the one in which I slip an roll down the 85 degree slope for two hundred meter to my death. I kept two hand on the chain go step by step. Ned double my pace and so did children and old people. But I was almost petrified by that sheer slopes of that rock and my terror would not leave even as regulars jogged down. More than once I had to stop to catch my breath and tell myself to not panic. Finally a kid who was just as scared as I caught up to me and I descended behind him and father. I used the calming word of his father to calm me and made it down.

Instinctively I knelt to kiss the ground but realized that two hundred or so people were around and tightened up my sandals instead.

Ned found me, "What took you mate?"

"I'm afraid of rolling down steep hill," I said, "give me skies and snow and I would ski down no problem. But if I can roll all the way down with no snow then I get the fear."

We walked around the information center for a while then drove around the Rock taking pictures before going to the Kata Tjuta. Oh, some more LSD was taken too (1891 to 1889).

Kata Tjuta is a whole bunch of natural stone monoliths. From afar they look like stones there piled by gods to make cairn made for a comrade. The main rock is big enough to be a legitimate mountain. Mount Olga is fifteen hundred feet high and the home of a giant snake, Wanambi, who's breath creates the wind in valleys of the thirty or so lesser stones.

With a play ground like this two trippers like us should have found a place to fall out of reality and into something closer to the dreaming. However, this park was infested with tourist all of whom were in a state of intense awe, wonder and reverence for the grandeur and spirituality. We did share the feeling of grandeur and spirituality for the place but could not express ourselves in the manner we wanted to. You see our awe was, "Awe man get a load of this! That is fucking awesome!" Our wonder was I wonder if I could climb up that or wonder what is over there with over there behind the sign saying not to go there. Our expressions of reverence would be seen as irreverence to those who saw us as adults and not children. Really, we were children but with out the bodies and in this crowed adults acting like children would send them looking for a park warden – warder, like jail eh. So we held on to reality and walked quickly around the Valley of the Wind path.

By the time we had finished the walk it was approaching three o'clock and we had to be back on the road to get to Darwin in time for a night out. We snapped a few more pictures while leaving the park. We hit the gas station for some petrol once out of the park and began the marathon. Two thousand kilometer to Darwin and twenty four hours to do it so we could go out on the town.

I drove as Ned was still sketchy from the acid. We hoped to get to Alice Spring before the beer store closed. And we were doing well with our time and the beer until the sun when down. In the dark the reverberation of LSD cause us to slow and to drink more beer. Ned's reading by the interior light did not help either. "Hey Ned, I can't drive with that light on."

"Sorry mate... how we doing?"

"I can't drive that fast in the dark... constantly seeing kangaroos in the corner of my eye, and UFOs. We did one-forty kms for a couple hours with two piss breaks so about one-thirty kms averaged but in the hour since only eighty. I can't focus."

"We need a pill mate but if we have one we must get to the store for beer before it closes." Ned started to looking for his pills. He found the pills and we tossed them back with swigs of beer.

In a half hour we were flying in both the literal and figurative sense. The beer store in Alice Springs was now a reality. When we got to Alice we did our usual pit stop with the efficiency of a Indy pit crew. Ned drove this leg.

On the dark road outside of Alice, Ned yelled out, "Thank God for free will," and drank the bottom of his beer before throwing the can out the window. "This is it mate... we are acting on God's Good Urge, moving where our will takes us. Get me a beer." I did as he asked.

"You got me thinking the other night, questioning but the questions lead to the same answer: to act freely, guide by your will alone is to act in the direction of God. This is not new, freedom of will is central to the Bible, old and new. But the Bible isn't interpreted as it should be. The individual is who the Bible is for is for.

"It was the passage with God talking to Moses about the plagues that will befall pharaoh that showed me that free will is God's will. God says something like, 'Moses will go to pharaoh and tell him I will bring down a plague of frog and a plague of frog will fall on Egypt. But I – God - will harden pharaoh's heart and he will not free the Jews.' God says the same thing for all the plague, 'I will harden the heart of pharaoh' until the last one. It seems that God is being contradictory helping Moses and pharaoh but really it is pharaoh and Moses expressing their free will.

"The Bible is all about freedom. Freeing the slave from pharaoh to freeing the individual from the group." Ned stopped and laid his foot on the accelerator to catch his train of thought, "God always hides Himself from man, why is that?"

I had to answer his rhetorical question, "Because he does not exist."

"Exactly... NO! No, that is not what I mean. God in the form we give Him does not exist. Most see God as an old man on a cloud or a grand consciousness a step up from man but God is not. God is the expression of the will each of us, which we can use to go toward the good end, Heaven on Earth. The direction of the will is not that same for each person, it varies greatly. That is why God is unknown in the book by Him because the goal maybe the same but the direction each takes toward it is different. And though we have no description of Him, we must follow His direction... how do you follow an unknowable master? You listen to yourself. Giving yourself over to an unknowable master is to free yourself from all masters... all you can follow is your heart. Free will.

"But why wouldn't God let us in on the truth? You and I seem to have got it even if we found it in a different way," Ned held up his can to toast, I obliged him. "We [humanity] are a work in progress and most don't understand the true nature of man. Others have for too long been under someone's thumb. God had to give those that need a hierarchical view a way to have a master higher than their master... an equalizers so that when something is completely against your will the God you know is on your side.

"In a sense God's will can be Evil because a person like Hitler or Stalin was acting on their will. But their Evil will would have been drown out had it not been for the followers that followed blindly in numbers to large to stop. Far to few of us really use the will to guide themselves through life, it is easier to fall through life getting pushed from place to place. To follow will is to go the hard way, to take responsibility for your action, to look at the world with a critical eyes, to buck the trend, and brake the cycle... if that is where will your takes you. Jesus is the ultimate symbol of where following free will, God's will, or your conviction, will take you... and most people are not up to the challenge. To follow should be a decision not made out of ease or ignorance or tradition but only when your will come together with another's."

"Ned I share your belief in freedom but not in the god you believe is expressed by it."

"Hugo, yesterday you said that the universe is infinite but that is not quite true, it is God's will that is infinite. And yes when only some of the people in the universe use free will the universe will remain a chaotic place. But when all the intelligences in the universe understand that going your own way is to go God's way than there will be order and bliss in the universe... Heaven, Paradise, the good end. Till then it all we can do is live the way and hope others pick it up. And they will."

Ned continued on at a frenetic pace but added nothing new to his argument only more example. I was content to listen with out interrupting him. Then Ned reached for the stereo and ejected the disk man conversion tape. "That crazy show is on," Ned pressed seek on the stereo.

The show came crackling through the speaker in the middle of a brake. I rolled a joint in the intermission and we smoked it before Art came back on, "Welcome back to Coast to Coast AM. For those who just tuned into the show we have a real treat, theoretical physicist Dr. Michio Kaku has been talking about his book Hyperspace and the possibility of a multiverse. Right before the end of brake I asked Dr. Kaku about a new devolvement in cosmology, Dark Energy. He said the answer would take longer then 30 second but it would be an interesting topic. Before we get back to your book, Dr. Kaku what is Dark Energy?"

"In short Dark Energy is the name for a phenomenon not completely understood yet. It suggest that the universe is expanding at an ever increasing rate. If true the universe will never stop expanding. Which causes many problems for current cosmological theories. If it proves to be true many fundamentals of physics will have to be rethought.

"The article that came out this week gives more evidence that Dark Energy does in fact exist. The idea arose with observation of type Ia supernovae suggesting that the rate of expansion of the universe is speeding up rather then slowing down. Previously it was thought that the universe was expanding but at a rate that has slowed down since the Big Bang."

Art stops the Dr, "Sorry to cut you off Dr. Kaku but how can the speed of the universe's expansion be measured?"

The doctor pauses thoughtful before saying, "To measure the expansion of the universe: first objects with a known distances from Earth are needed, standard candles. The standard candle in this case is the type Ia supernovae. This type of supernova is created by white dwarf star when critical mass is reached causing a fission explosion, a thermonuclear explosion. The Ia supernovae occurs only when the density of the white dwarf reaches a certain point because of that astronomers know how bright it will be. All Ia supernoae have a very similar luminosity because of this, their apparent magnitude can be used to find distance. Once the distance to the supernova is known astronomers then measure the redshift. Redshift discovered by Edwin Hubble and Milton Hamason can best be described as the Doppler effect for light, things moving away from us will have longer wave length of light or the light is more red, shifted into the red spectrum... redshift. When the redshift has been measured the relationship between the redshift and the known distance tells us how much the supernova has moved away from us since the explosion. And that is how much the universe has expanded since the supernova.

"Measuring only one supernova would only give the amount of expansion since it happen and would not show that the universal expansion was accelerating. So many Ia supernovae had to be observed. Each supernova happened at different time - the distance, in light years, to the supernova is amount of time that has elapsed since the supernova happened. By using the differences in the rate of expansion and acceleration or deceleration can be found. The results from the study shows that the universe is expanding at an increasing rate."

Art said, "That is fascinating, the universe is expanding at an ever increasing rate. How does that affect us?"

Dr. Kaku acting like a scientist, "This study does not prove that universe is expanding at an ever increasing rate rather at this point the study strongly suggest that dark energy exists. More studies have to be done. This paper has already sparked interest in cosmic back ground radiation because it is another way of find if dark energy exists or not. Some scientists seeing it as vindication of Einstein's Cosmic Constant. However, to our daily lives the implications of dark energy are negligible. But to cosmology this – if corroborated by other studies – will rock the boat. Up until this time most astronomers assumed that the universe was slowing... possible causing a Big Crunch where the universe collapse onto it self end in a new Big Bang. Now the future is not so clear."

Art's voice could be heard but was not listened too as my mind basked in the 'I am right zone', a place this mind never stays long. As always my smugness was short lived. Ned said something and the music began to play on the stereo again. I turn to him and said, "Did you hear that?"

"I heard a Dr. going on about boring shit," Ned answered.

"Man, you totally missed it. That was proof that the universe will not end. That entropy rules. That chaos is queen. That I need a drink," I turned around and reached under the seat for the Southern Comfort.

"Mate, how is that proof the universe is infinite?"

"The sturdy showed that the universe is not slowing down but expanding at an ever increasing rate." I took a belt and after making alcohol induced face finished, "If the universe is expanding at an increasing race it will not stop expanding or changing thus it is infinite. And an infinite thing is either ever repeating or truly chaotic. No Big Crunch means no repetition... a chaotic universe means no god."

"You say that like it is a good thing. But God is there even if the universe is not doing what you say it must for God existence. The professor did say this was not yet 100% proven, more tests need to be made. God is not something that can be taken from us."

I lied knowing I had seen reality, "I guess you are right." Then I started a conversation with the bottle. 'You know SoCo... can I call you that? Ok. SoCo why can't we see the truth? Even Dr. Kaku didn't want to rock the boat. And the Dr. did not see the real significance of the discovery... that the universe is infinite. Why celebrate a great discovery when no one realizes the reason why it is great? I know why SoCo, people do not want to know the truth. They do not want to submit to the reality of universe. What reality? The reality that we are not guided by anything and favored by nothing. But SoCo that is the heart, to see reality is to submit to it and we will not do that. Ned will never give up the dominate position his beliefs give him... nor will the rest of the world. Did you say how is it submission SoCo? Yes. It is submission because you have to give yourself or what makes you... your predispositions up before a broader view maybe seen. To see the universe without your purpose is to submit to reality. But you and I now that is too lofty a goal. I just wish people would not fear it so much. A new thing is found that disrupts the established order and they give it a sinister name, DARK ENERGY. SoCo you're right that goes too far. But why can't the lie be reveled? Why can't we understand that we need a belief in the ineffable and see it as a blank we can't at this time fill and not make it into a scared cow, a godhead to big to touch or look at? I don't know but I am not afraid to find out. My world maybe shattered by the search but in the refection from the pieces will be a new one,' I took a last pull from SoCo lent out the window and hurled it into the night.

"Why did you do that!?"

"Because I can. No worries it was the reserve... the other bottle is still there."

Ned gave me a strange look, then smiled, "Free will!"

"I need to listen to my music," I yelled to night.

"I need a beer," Ned yelled to the night. Then Ned continued a renewed rant on how free will is God's will.

I got Ned a beer and my music. The randomizer on the CD player read my mind or did it sense the irony in the air and Terrible Lie was the song on Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails' it started to play.

The album ended and I looked for a new one to put in. Ned spoke up, "I don't know how much longer I can drive, are you up to driving?"

"No, I'm too drunk."

"Keep an eye out for a rest stop or side road. I think we have gone far enough for tonight... mate get out the bottle of JD." I did as Ned said. The JD was passed between us a few times before a place to sleep was found. The place we found was no more then a pull out but it would do. We took the time to make a few sausages, smoke a joint and have a few more drinks before taking the three hour nap. Again we fell asleep counting the stars.

The sound of the travel alarm clock was out of place in the rock strewn desert that could have been Mars. And though we were still asleep the jerry can was emptied into the tank and water was drank before we set off. Unknowingly I drove in the wrong lane for nearly fifty kilometers. Then a sign reminded me of the side I should drive on. The sign marked a spot call Devil's Marbles. We pulled in and took a couple pictures of the ten or more meter round boulders laying around after a god was called to dinner during a game of marbles.

Our time was good so we stopped at Three Ways at seven forty for bacon eggs and gas. We left at eight thirty knowing the nine hundred or so kilometer to Darwin would be done before our deadline if no miss fortune befell us. In the day we could average 130 km/h, with pit stops, giving us enough time for a couple of beers and meat pies a road house for lunch. The side of the roads began to be dotted with sign telling of the muster areas for troops to defend against a feared Japanese invasion. The invasion never came but Darwin was bombed. We drove past every sign. We drove right by the spectacular Katherine's Gorge and Kakadu National park \- another UNESCO sight and where Crocodile Dundee was filmed – and into the relative traffic of Darwin.

The traffic was negotiated with easy. The first backpackers we found was Globetrotters and we checked in. The humid heat in Darwin was hotter than the desert and sapped our strength. Our counter to the heat was beer. For a half hour we sat drink to our accomplishment outside of the dorm room. Again this hostel was a converted motel with rooms opening to the parking lot.

### Part 9: Station Riparian

Chapter 51

"Eh mate, you know where a internet café is?" Ned asked a passing traveler.

A German accent answered, "Yaw, there are computers in the office."

Ned said to me, "I got to check my mail to see where I meet my boat and my girl."

"It is too bloody hot here all I can do is drink beer and we're almost out of beer," I waited hopping Ned would volunteer, "I am going to hit the bottle shop."

I walked with Ned to the office, asked direction to the bottle shop and got lost. I found a fishing shop.

I had to go in the fishing store to research where I should set up camp and fish for the answer. After looking around a bit and talking with the guy working there I was beginning to see that although there was good fishing in these part it was fishing in mangrove, estuaries, and river, that was not the fishing I wanted to do. I wanted blue water and big fish. As I looked my way down the wall of amazing catches I found what I was looking for. Under the caption Broom Time were pictures of tuna, Spanish mackerel, giant trevally and many other kinds of trevally, mangrove jacks, milk fish, a fish I would learn were queen fish and most amazing of all sailfish, all caught from the shore. There were two different sets of pictures of sailfish. "Hey mate, where were these fish caught?" I pointed to the sailfish.

The shop keeper answered, "Just outside Broome."

"Are they caught regularly there?"

"Broome is one of the best places in the world for sailfish... off shore that is. It has got to be a pretty special day to catch them form the shore."

"But it does happen. How about the tuna? And where exactly is it?"

The shop keep laughed, "Mate its two thousand kilometers away. The tuna show up most days on the high tide. The place is a bit of magic. Its an old coral reef that juts out a few hundred meter and in the bay there are mangrove."

"Sounds like paradise... how do I get there?" The shop keeper wrote down some direction that I still have, however, I am not about to give out a path to paradise to just anyone. I will tell you that there is a beer can hanging on a tree to mark the right track. The track closer to the water is sand and impassable by regular cars.

With a place to go fishing I felt I should have a beer to celebrate. I found a strip club with no strippers and had a beer. Finally, I found a bottle shop attached to Woolworth's and made my way back.

Ned was sitting with a beer in one hand and book in the other, "What took you? The shop is around the corner." Ned pointed with his thumb through the buildings wall. "I finished a book in the time you were gone. Quick get us a beer this one is done. Here take your book back." I got us beers and took the book and beer into the room putting the beer in the fridge and book in my bag. "It's a good book. Some girl gave it too you, eh?"

"Yeah Sofia, she is a freak."

"Where is she?"

"Bali I think, why?"

"No reason... wondering that all. You haven't read the book?"

"No."

"You should especially the ending," Ned took a sip of beer, "I got an E-mail from my mate... turns out he is not leaving for a couple days." More beer was drunk, "Mate, you've sailed before?" It was too hot to speak so I nodded. "Another person could come with us... it takes a week or two... there good surf and that girl too."

"Sounds good but I not really after her... she probably not there. And I've got a new destination in mind, Broome."

Ned held his beer up for a toast, "Ever on the move... Broome is another two thousand k's away. Why Broome?"

"I stopped at a fishing store and I saw a bunch of picture of big fish caught off the shore there, tuna, trevally, and even sailfish."

"Sailfish mate... fair dinkem."

I looked Ned in the eye, "I shit you not... not often but it has happened. And I think any place with its own time is a good place... Broome Time."

"See, you go with free will and you get where you want." Ned and I sat drinking beer until the sun was not so high then we found our way to a restaurant. After dinner we took some of Ned's pills in preparation for the night. Ned's friends were going to be at the Victoria Hotel and we were to meet them there.

The pills and beer had us on the perfect level as we got to the bar but we were turned away by the door man. Ned's thongs and my sandals were not up the dress code. We were undeterred and wander back to the hostel with stop at the night market. Ned had a hard time finding shoes since he did not own any but a room mate had the same size feet and Ned promised the absent owner he would get them back.

By the time we got to the bar it was choker block, sardines had more room and everyone was in a party mood. The Victoria is more of a beer hall than a club with heavy wooden table perfect for dancing on and many of the patrons were. The DJ would announce prizes for the stupidest human tricks, loudest party, or call for a social drink and everyone drank. You got the sense that as long as you did not hurt someone or endanger yourself or others it was ok to do. After a few trips around the place with stops at the bar, Ned met up with his crew. Ned's girl was not there she was in Bali already or something but that mattered little. The night continued beyond where my memories ended.

Chapter 52

A terrible hang over woke me but I had the will to fight it and organize my things before leaving. I was only two days away from Broome and could not let a hangover slow me. I felt I should at least say good bye to Ned before leaving but I did not want to wake him so I went for a bacon and egg breakfast.

On my way back just outside, of the room I heard the voices of two of our room mate. A thick English accent said, "Oui where are my shoes!"

"Its half nine, hurry or we will be late," another Englishman said.

"Some one nicked my shoes... who would nick a smelly pair of trainers," the first voice said. I realized the shoe must be on Ned's feet, just as they did, "He's wearing them. Wake up mate! Wake up!" The attempt to revive Ned did not work.

"Just take them off," the second voice said, "Here, I will get em."

I sat on the seat out side laughing to myself.

The two brits left with there rucksacks on the way to some adventure tour through Kadadu with the memory of a shoe stealing weirdo. I did not try to wake Ned and left a note and I was of again.

The drive was nothing special or I did not care to make it special. More towns that reminded me of northern Canada with out the snow. One town had a quota on the amount of liquor that could be sold and I arrive after the beer quota had been reached. There were some strange trees that looked like giant grey pop bottles or kettles with branches growing out of them. I learned the boab trees are refuges from Africa having floated across the Indian Ocean and that the larger ones were hollowed out to make holding cells for aboriginal prisoners. For a few hundred kilometer I thought I was in New Mexico because of all the mesas.

I slept on a picnic table in deserted park for the night and was awakened at dawn by the meows of feral cat. Shards of a dream were still cutting through my brain when I got in my car to leave. The mangy cats meows got to me and I open a tin of tuna for it.

The dream was on my mind for the rest of the drive to Broome. The only part of the dream I could remember was being in bed with Fay. A traditional wardrobe was at the foot of the bed. The room was cool but the colour of the cement or masonry wall suggested it would be hot so did the thin sheet covering the tattoos she now had. Those were the pieces I had and there were to many too brush them off as nothing and to few too find a solution.

Around three o'clock I arrived in Broome and drove around looking for a fishing store. I found one that was half a dive shop. The person working was more into diving then fishing and like he would for every tourist in Broome guided me to the town pier. He told me I should use a trace what ever I do.

The day was getting late and I did not feel confidant that I could get to the beach in the dark. So I took a trip to the pier. The pier was about two kilometer long with people fishing every twenty meters or so. I did not bring a rod with me as this was a research expedition. Most of the fishers were tourist giving it a go. At the end of the wharf were some hard core fisher's going for the biggest thing they could get. They used live bait caught from the pier. A fish called a yellow tail was the best because it stayed alive longest and the fish liked it most. One person hooked a Spanish mackerel while I was there. You could see the line moving from the yellow tail trying to get away from the Spaniard for ten or so second before the Spaniard caught it. The fisherman let the fish turn on the bait before hooking it. The Spaniard was about 10 lb. That was the only catch of note but I was not there at the top of the tide when it is best.

It may have been the only sizable catch while I was there but this place was extremely fishy. White streak of foam marked where tuna crashed through schools of bait not a hundred yards from furthest distance the fishers could cast. Schools of garfish could be seen. Fussy milk fish tantalized fisher by hovering close enough to cast to but not taking anything. A group of tourist spotted a sea turtle and a cultural conflict occurred.

An aboriginal man heard that a turtle had been spotted. He sent his son to keep an eye on it, he was busy putting new tackle on his line. His son yelled, "Hurry it going to drift by. Hurry!" He did not hurry until the rig was ready, then he ran down the pier to where his son was. The turtle passed under the pier. When it came out the man cast the huge treble hook towards the turtle.

A tourist from Europe, Germany most likely, wear a Green Peace shirt screamed in broken English, "What are you doing!" Another cast and she was sure what he was doing, "No! No!"

The aboriginal man took two more cast ignoring the tourist. On the third cast the line went over the turtle and he impaled in with the hook. His son cheer him on as the tourist sent a friend to get someone in charge. The tourist continued to berate the man but he and his son were oblivious, their focus was on getting the turtle onto the pier. They got it on the pier and the boy cheered saying how good it will taste while the turtle squirmed, bled and gasped.

There were now two group of tourist voicing their opinion on the matter, saying that turtles are endangered and it was wrong and illegal. The aboriginal man said, "It my land... and my right."

An Australian man weighed in, "Aboriginals have the right to catch what they would traditionally catch. Sea turtle is a traditional food." Another Australian backed up what the first said.

The tourist back off still outraged. The girl in the Green Peace shirt said almost in tears, "Don't let it suffer," then yelled something in her native tongue. The aboriginal did not listen, just continued to tie the turtle flipper up with twine happy with the catch.

I walked back to my car as the sun set, then drove into town to find a bed for the night. I found the last bed in town at Broome's Last Resort. Not long after checking in I was nearly thrown out for drinking in my room, they confiscated my wine too. I was forced to drink beer in their bar, which was their plan all along.

The next morning I was off as soon as the supermarket opened. I had to get some supplies: canned corn beef, canned corn, lots of water, cordial, ice, wine, bread, canned and fresh fruit, hooks, swivels, a few lures, bucket for bait, and a sun hat. The spot was not very far away but I did not want to come back.

I followed the directions slowly and cautiously. I found the beer can and turn. The road past over a creek dry creek bed and after another kilometer or so I gazed up on paradise. I parked my car a respectful distance for the one other car on a patch of hard sand. There was an area that look like a good spot to camp with some trees for shade. To the west was the ocean but it could not be seen as a long dead coral reef blocked it. The ancient reef point down to the south and what I would fish off it. The reef extended about five hundred meter and was thirty or so meters wide. On one side was the Indian Ocean and the other was a cresset bay that has mangrove growing in the bit of the bay where the creek would flow in the wet. The Bay was about a kilometer wide. Parallel to the end of the mangroves on the reef side was start tens of miles of beach.

It was easy to see why fish like this place. The creek would bring in nutrients, the mangroves shelter juvenile fish, the extinct reef was the only rock for miles. The ocean around Broome is dominated by a sand continental shelf that extends in some place three hundred miles out with water that does not get deeper then a few hundred feet and here was something different... many riparian edges. My knees knocked as I surveyed the seen. I need to get a hold of myself as the potential of the spot had me going in every direction. I knew I need document my days on this beach. I knew I need to see this place through true eyes.

Chapter 53

Day 1: Sunny and if not for the ocean breeze hot.

One car here people fishing but only two. One hit of red hieroglyphic (1888).

Events of the day: My brain was scattered by the place. Had to mediate while I waited for the hit to take effect. Organized my gear. Brought the fly rod to get bait and the heavy spinning rod to fish the bait. Said, 'Hi' to the other fishers and walked on by. Got transfixed by the power of the fish I caught for bait: garfish and yellow tail on fly are great fun, like 16" rainbow but half the weight. I missed high tide but saw hundred of garfish leaping from the water lit up eclectic blue. The wave of fish moved almost on to the reef, some landed only inches from it. Big fish caused all this mayhem... had to get rod in water but hands would not work, knots would not tie. The predators were gone when my line got wet. One garfish and one yellow tail and no big fish yet. Had very good bite early after noon in the day but line went slack. Checked line for frays and nicks, none. Must be the knot. Re-rigged the line and had a second good bite then slack. NO nicks in the line... again a bad knot. Went back to set up camp. Put up the tent made a shelter from the sun. In the late after noon as the sun went down I went for a quick fish. Caught a garfish. Used it for bait but not live. Caught a small golden trevally it made for a good dinner. A fire would be nice but did not collect any wood.

State of the Search: No progress.

Chapter 54

Day 2: Sunny but bearable because of the breeze.

Alone on the beach. Two hit of LSD taken in the morning and one later (1887 to 1884).

Events of the day: Up early today... never really slept, counted star till dawn with wine and weed. Lost count on my bed roll in the sand next to camp. Gathered wood before breakfast. Eat breakfast and acid. Spent two hours catching bait. Only kept yellow tail this time. I caught three of them. An hour before went I thought high tide would be I was at the end of the reef fishing. I fished with two ounce sliding weight, with three foot leader 30lb and live yellow tail. I hoped the livey couldn't swim with the weight off the bottom but more than the three feet leader would pull through the weight. Thirty minute later a bit followed by slack line. Again no frays or nick on the line... bad knot. The next hour was taken up fishing with out any bait as the yellow tail came off when I cast it out. During that time the height of the tide came and tuna could be seen crashing into schools of gar fish 100 meters away. I stood on the rock trying to will them closer. Before the third yellow tail was on the bottom a fish took it and went for a tremendous run. It went at least 50 meters and did it again. It jumped a few times. I got it in close enough for a look but it took me to long to get from my perch on the rock to a spot to land it. The fish was unknown to me and looked like a cross between a GT and Spanish mackerel with a big mouth (later I leaned it was a queenfish). I spent a long time finding good ways to get down to the water from the top of the reef. I had too much sun for one day and stopped fishing. I drove over to the beach on the other side and went for a swim. Bully Beef and canned corn tonight. Found out a certain type of Australian wood burns with an odor most foul.

State of the search: Thought I about the problem but the foul smelling of the wood I burnt drove me to drink.

Chapter 55

Day 3: Sunny with a pleasant ocean breeze.

No one around. Maybe the world ended... but it didn't as my head still ached. Water and joint, helped. The six hits kept me from missing the tide (1883 to 1877).

The Events of the Day: Slept in, had to rush to get bait. I think I got to spot before the top of the tide. The garfish was only in the water ten minute before bite happened... yet again the same symptoms that pointed to the cause, a bad knot. Or was something fishy happening. My polarized glasses caught the back of fish shooting thought the water feet in front of me. I had no time to re-rig a livey, so I put a silver diamond jig and cast it out. After it settled in the bottom I retrieved it at the frantic jerking retrieve I saw those on the pier do for mackerel. Bang, I was on to something. It took a few short runs and jumped. I got down from my perch and had my answer to the cut line. The foot and half long spotted mackerel had scissor like teeth. The teeth would easily cut through mono. I let the fish go. Too many of the fish have scissors for teeth, I need wire trace or leader. I took stock for a few minute then realized I was not at all prepared. I need, wire trace, tide tables, a reel that could cast for the mooching rod, a parasol, a boom box, more weed, and wine. I drove into town and got the stuff I would need.

  1. Single strand wire for trace – twist five or so time to pull tight instead of knot. Check

  2. Tide tables. Check

  3. An Alvey reel... sure it was right handed but I can do it with both baby. Check.

  4. Fish Identification book. Check.

  5. Glove to handle fish with sharp tail scutes. Check

  6. Small boom box with CD player. Check

  7. Parasol to block the sun. Check.

  8. Weed. The best weed I had gotten in Australia close to BC quality. Check Check (the weed would have been hard to get if it were not for the advice Bruce gave me about the local TAB [government gambling place, horses, keno, ect.] a few beer and smiles... no problem)

  9. Wine, Southern Comfort and beer. Check

  10. Ice. Check

State of the search: I smoked a bunch good pot from a bong I made. It narrowed down the search. I figured that the search for oneself is an endless search since the only directions you can look are away from you. In short to search for yourself is to loss yourself. So this Holy Grail must be an achievement or realization or ideal taken on by the self.

Chapter 56

Day four 4: A light breeze and sun.

People: a few of them it is Saturday. Took no acid today, too many people.

The days events: The peak of the high tide is at half noon so, I spent the morning getting organized: put line on the new reel, made ten wire traces for live bait, five for casting lure, made a bucket to float the live bait in water while I fished, and found away to carry all my shit to end of the reef. I caught two yellow tail and four garfish for bait. This time I cast the livey's out with a balloon as a float. The bait could swim about ten feet down on the leader and hopefully the balloon would float further out than I can cast. The mooching rod with the livey on a balloon was wedged between to rock as I cast with the spinning rod. Just after I got my rod in the water two other fisho's arrived Tony and Ray. Unlike the other fishers here they were after big fish and not dinner. I gave them some garfish. Not long after they arrive I hooked a Spaniard. I could see the balloon shiver and jerk as the livey was chased. It hit it and dropped it and hit again this time I hooked it. Then it took a long run, thought my hand would burn from the spinning reel. I got a picture of it with the help of my new buddies before releasing it and help them with one they got. We all shook as a school of tuna chased a school of garfish with in ten meters of our balloons. Tony's line when off in an amazing run. Unfortunately the tuna when under my line and I had to pull and it up. Ray had to pull his line up too. The tuna got closer. Ray rigged his rod with a jig and cast for them. As Tony broke his fish off Ray hooked another. I cast out too but my only hit did not stick. Ray had his fish up to the rock wall and Tony grabbed it. It was a northern bluefin about 25lb maybe more. They bled it right away. The action tale off after that. At the end of the day I got one last fish. It took a good run. I was able to stop it and get line back. The fishes tone took a turn from frantic like a small mackerel to slow, big, powerful, shark like. Line went out with each big tall beat. Turning this big fish was impossible. I put drag on until the knot broke, I got most of my line back. On the walk back in Ray said he saw a big school of bait on the ocean side of the reef. The polarized glasses Tony and I had cut the glare to reveal the big tiger, bigger than ten feet..

State of the search: Got drunk with the fishos. No great mysteries solved. Although I learned that the big tide on Tuesday was the day to be here and that tiger of that size are common in these parts.

Chapter 57

Day 5: Sunny and hot with no breeze.

About the same number of people as Saturday. A quad was taken (1886 to 1882).

Events of the day: We, the serious fishers struck out at half ten two hours before the high tide. We passed the other people fishing for food quietly. Tony and Ray broke out the beer to quell their hangovers – hair of the dog works every time. We caught some bait. Both Tony and Ray tried to fly fishing but soon they were too frustrated to continue. On one of my cast with jig I picked up a golden travelly that was released. There was no action on the surface lines until just before the top of the tide. When the action came it was fast. Shoals of garfish flew out of the water with white streaks in the water from the tuna that pursued them. The angle the tuna came in from mean they did not see our baits immediately. When the tuna did see our bait Ray and I hooked up immediately. As is typical of these fish they tore off in a run that would either win or loss the fight. Both of our fish were on their way to Africa. My knees were shaking as I put on as much drag as I dare. At about halfway through Ray's spool his fish slowed and began to swim parallel to him in large arcs. My fish did not stop, it continued at a constant pace. I had to alternate hands when palming the reel (using the palm of you hand as drag for the real). Ray was getting line in slowly. I was still losing line and there was very little line left on the reel. Finally I had to put on drag until the line broke. I had only ten or so wrap of line on the spool when I broke it off. The line snapped near the trace and I laugh as I reeled the five hundred yard of line in. I laughed as Ray got his in. And I could not fish seriously for the rest of the day because of intermittent bouts of manic laugher brought on by the craziness of having a fish take five hundred yard of line in one run. The only other fishing excitement we had was when I saw something strange on the glassy water. Tony and Ray saw it and went week in the knees. It was the fins of a pod of sailfish close enough to see but too far to cast too. We all tried to cast to them. I hardly made it half the distance. I still cast even though I would land the lure a hundred and fifty feet short. Tony and Ray both experienced surf fishers, with their big surf fishing rods built for distance casting, took running starts before launching there lures out with two handed over head cast that drop thirty feet from the sails. That was not close enough. The sails cruised well out of range. And though Ray was carrying a thirty plus pound tuna to feed his cat with all we talked about was the finning sails just feet out of reach. We shared a drink of SoCo and a couple beer before my new friends left. Tony gave me some 30lb line when he found out I was using 20lb and I took what ice they had left.

State of the search: During the night I had a dream. I could not remember it but it seemed as if I had had it many times before. No fragments or splinters or residue remained. I was sure that echoes of the dream bounced of the walls of my mind. If I could reduce the storm going on in my head I could listen to the echo. Though I smoked some pot and drank some water to ease the pressure the hangover tendons were exerting on my mind I could not quiet it. I even tried to meditate as dawn broke but it did not work. Frustrated I decided to go with it. If the mind was going to be noisy I was going to bang the pots and pans too. I took quads and had breakfast.

Not long after I found myself wandering towards the water. The tide was out, way out. I had not seen it like this. A memory bank in my mind devote to fish dredged up a memory of a fish that walks, skips would be more accurate. Anything that spent it's days playing in the mud under the tropical sun would skip rather than walk or run. I walked bare foot into mangrove mud flats searching for the missing link. A few times I was nearly sucked in by the swamp.

'Was that a crocodile,' I worried but the fear was eaten by a tiger shark. My mind could not keep from the question, 'do salt water crocs ever get eaten by tiger sharks?' I heard a wet flip, flop, skip, splash and knew I was in their territory.

The God of the gobies brought me to the ground. Prostrate I laid waiting for the ultimate beach goer. The kings and queens did not come out immediately. I lay there for sometime before the first one made an appearance.

'This fish doesn't know it is a fish,' I thought. 'But gobies they are known for there oddities. Most fish find shrimp a feed but some gobies live with them. Then there is this one with pectoral fin more effective for movement on land than the coelacanths prized pectorals. Hey, fish why would you take to the land after it bin done? Surely you are not the first to slip and slide your way across terrafirma or terragooy?'

Much to my surprise the King answered, "Style." The King turned to defend his kingdom from a rival. He flashed his gang signs, dorsal fin, and gawked open mouthed at the other. The King retained the crown.

The King turned to me and with big gulps, like a fish out of water, "Isn't that why you do what you do?" I was too stunned to answer, "Fishing, surfing, and not caring about the things others do... that is you. Station Riparian, between the water and the sand, that is your land. On the edge of a society impossible to escape, going against a nature impossible to debate, wanting a girl impossible but for fate. To be landed or not, which is your lot? To continue without being caught."

Stationary I lay as I worked up the gumption to question the great King, "Oh fishy lord, how do you know what you know?"

"Really you thought it was a fish speaking to you? No, the voices they are in your head... I am your inner monologue," the fish said before skipping off.

At the realization of the hallucination I broke out in laughter at the walking, talking fish... or was it a coyote?

Chapter 58

Day 6: Sunny but cooled by the light breeze.

One car load of people meat fishing. No acid taken no need to a dream showed me the way and one too many walking, talking fish yesterday.

Events of the day: Today is the perfect day. The Holy Grail was found. In two days I will sprint back to Fay. But today and tomorrow I fish. I decided to go for a walk early this morning. From the reef I could see what I thought was a surf-able wave on the other side of the bay. I walked over there to find a three foot wave on the face, braking for fifty meters. By the time I got back to the car and drove back to the beach the wave had petered out. The wave was there as the tide fell to its bottom, and gone when the tide started to go up.

With three hours before the top of the high tide I made my way to the end of the reef and get ready to fish. I had the feeling today would be the day I got my big fish. I floated the balloon out. I broke off one fish, I was not sure what type it was. A small spotted mackerel smashed my gar fish as I saw the school of tuna moving in with the tide. I landed it quickly and cast out a yellow tail on a balloon. The line was twisted from too many cast without straightening it, a birds nest was the result. The tuna moved closer as I quickly and nervously pulled a free loop through the tangle to undo the knot. I had the one tangle free when the balloon began to shiver, then I noticed the a loop of line around the main line on the reel so that no line would come out. I pulled loops of line from the sides of the reel, revealing a small knot that was easily untangled. My attention, turned to the balloon still quivering from the movements of the terrified livey. The quarter inflated balloon was pulled under the water as I raised the rod tip up setting the hook and the tuna pealed line off. Again I was nervous but I knew I would stop this fish. And after a very long run, about three hundred yards, I turned the fish. Now it started to arc, swimming parallel to me. I would get it two steps in then it would take a step out. It's runs and arcs got smaller and smaller, until I could see it. I took some pictures in the water but was not sure if they would come out. Finally, I had it up to the reef and tired enough to land. Like a monkey I got down to the waters edge. It took two tries but I was able to get my gloved hand around it's tail. I pulled it from the water with out notice its 30 pound weight. I killed it with blows to the head. I finished the roll of film taking pictures of it. I bled the fish. Though, I was walking on air on my way to camp the weight of the fish weighed on my mind. I stopped to show it to the Australia's who were impressed. I could not eat all of it. I offered the Australians some but they did not want any. The weight of the fish was not enough to bring me down and I cut it up while drinking wine. If it were not for the effects of the wine none of the tuna would have been eaten. I ate as much as I could but I have never really liked tuna and my gag reflex was linked to my guilt center. I could have easily let the fish go. Instead I kill it because I could... because I wanted too... because I needed it... because that is what fishers do... because of tradition. The fish would not be wasted. I rolled a fat joint and took my sacrifice to the reefs edge with only moonlight to guide me. I smoked the joint and cut the fish up in to pieces, tossing them into the sea. With each piece the sound of swirling, splashing, of fish was heard. A cloud drifted in obscuring the almost full moon (the moon would be full tomorrow) enough to see the phosphorescence trail left by the churning caldron of fish. I went to bed knowing I would not keep any fish to big for me.

I drank this new conviction home.

State of the search: Over. The answer came to me in a dream. I was sleeping in my dream, when I was awakened by the sound of a yelling Australian. It was cooling in the room but the beige or tan masonry with window open to a dusty square soon to be hot. A traditional wardrobe was at the foot of the bed. The smell of a hot, arid place drifted in through the open window. Beside me was Fay a her body covered with tattoos she did not have before. I watched Fay sleeping for a moment knowing she was mine, then the Australian or Briton yelled out again. Fay stirred. I went to the window and yelled, "EH, ASSHOLE SHUT UP!" My yell only spurned him on and Fay rolled over, waking this time.

"What is the yelling about?" Fay asked, still groggy.

"Nothing baby," I got back into bed, "just some over eager Brit."

"Is it time to get up?"

"No, we're hours away from the running."

"I can't believe we're is Spain... Pamplona," she turned so her head was on my chest and a leg wrap over mine. "How was I so lucky to get you?"

I kissed her forehead, "It was not luck but destiny. When I was on the beach I realized the only thing that mattered was me... and the thing that mattered most to me was you. I just had to show you how much I needed you."

"And my knight drove across the Australian outback to take me away from the fields of passion fruit to a romantic spot on the beach," she held me tight.

My mind flipped to the moment of realization. I was watching the tuna from the end of the reef. The thing I had searched for was to big to be seen by looking at me. The tuna came with the tide in a order that has lasted for a time I perceived as ever. The order of nature was so obvious, it was the thing that caught me fish. Following it's order created my importance by helping the continuance. And by following nature's order it was easy to get what I needed, all I had to do was take it. By playing to Fay's nature, as she had unconsciously done to mine, I would have her as she had me. The memory faded. I looked down at Fay and said, "You were always mine... when I figured it out it was as easy as killing fish."

"I knew if I sent you searching you would find your... self," she said this softly as if to herself but loud enough to be overheard. In a normal volume, "Traveling sure has bin nice but I can't wait to go back home and start the hostel. I know it's a long way off... but to be working for something like that is good. It is so close, a couple years of school and we have the money."

"I can't wait to go fishing in my boat. Sofia will have to come fishing sometime."

"First comes the school, then the hostel... and then the boat."

"My boat comes when I want it. I need something to do while you go to school," I told her.

"Ok, but you have to help with my home work," she conceded.

I changed the subject, "I can't wait for breakfast, I wonder if they have bacon and eggs?"

"If you have bacon and eggs you can't have any other meat today. Your trying to quite eating meat right... red meat at least," Fay nagged.

"I know, I said I would. But I never said when," and I rolled so I was on top of Fay pinning her arms. The yelling Aussie or Brit had to compete with Fay's Japanese porn-starlet's, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.

The dream was the answer, to go with the flow, follow the order of nature. The day after the big tide I would do that. Tomorrow night, I would go into town E-mail Fay get a nights sleep and be off in the morning. In five days or so I would be across the desert and on my way to a beach side bungalow with Fay. And there was no way to lose if I followed the order of nature.

I found what Fay was looking for, the right direction.

### Part 10: Surfer, Fisher, Lover

Chapter 59

Day 7: Sunny with a puff of off shore breeze, hardly enough to ripple water.

No one but me.

I woke with yesterdays glow still strong though my nose was stuffed and head had a dull ach. Quickly I ate some breakfast with interruptions to get my surfing stuff, the last of the mushrooms were eaten too. I unzipped my board bag and pulled the surf board out to find the wax had melted off. With the settling of my breakfast the head ach left but my nose was still stuffed as I wax my board with the wax Sofia had gotten me. Rather than drive over to the other beach I walked to the end of the reef, jumped in, and paddled across water I knew had big tigers. The mushrooms hit as I started to paddle and my nose cleared. The overwhelming smell of little girls strawberry perfume hit me.

Instinctively, I stopped sat up and looked to see if Sofia was around. She was not. I was immediately aroused as vivid memories of days and nights with Emmanuel challenged reality. When I found the smell was coming from the board I laid back down with my head on the board paddling with my eyes only half open.

The brake was starting to work as the tide fell to it bottom. I sat on my board laughing and breathing in the smell from Mr. Zogs Strawberry scented Sex Wax. The waves were really good, a three or four foot face making a barrel only the smallest grommet or monkey could get in, and they broke for a good sixty meters. However, I was in Sofia's grip, so moved by the smell that I was thinking of beating it right there. I knew the wave would be gone in an hour or so. I yelled to Sofia a thousand miles away, "I get the strawberry! Now watch this."

I made up a reality where Sofia was sitting on the beach and the strawberry scent was blown by the light off shore breeze. It was like riding a bike, I paddle into the first prefect little wave like I was Joel Tudor. I walked up and down the board, even hanging five for my girl on the beach. I did not need to show off to gain her affection but I did anyway. With every inch the tide fell the wave got better, a little bigger, a little longer, a little steeper. It was the best small day at the Pass or Little Watagos with only me to grace its majesty. I did my best to surf it well... to show respect.

Today, it was the best wave in Australia, no the world and who knows when the next time will be when the tide is lower enough, the swell is there, the wind is right, and there is person to ride it. And only an imagined Sofia was there to cheer each ride and laughing at each spill.

I would not have minded a surfer to share the wave with but was happy I did not as Sofia's scheme left me quite aroused.

The wave stayed until low slack then it quickly became un-ride-able. I paddled back to the reef giggling more from the session and Sofia's plan than from the mushrooms.

The strawberry scent did not lose effect once out of the water, I could not get memories of Sofia out of my head even after a couple hours of smoking pot in my tent and forcing myself to think of Fay. I was even drawn to my bag to search for the Hawaiian shirt I had worn in surfers. I had not worn or washed since then for fear of damaging the quality shirt, it still had the sent of strawberries and Sofia.

To give reason to why I felt so giddy I took a couple hits of LSD (1871, 1870).

I carried my fishing gear down the reef for the last time. I fly fished for bait, thinking all the while about how great Sofia was with a fly rod and how much she would like to catch these spunky little bait fish. On one of my cast I hooked up a small golden trevally but it was too much for my 4X leader. Sofia would have caught it.

With all the bait I would need, I put the Dead on the mini boom box, cast out my livey, and sipped beer under the parasol. I was fishing but not with the intensity of the other days. I did not bother to cast out with a jig, I was pretty content I had got the fish I needed yesterday. The offshore breeze blew my balloon out further than it had been before. The tuna came but there track was inside of my balloon now about a hundred yards out.

I thought I saw the dorsal and tail fin of a sizable shark but it was to far to tell.

I drank my beer and concentrated on the coming weeks of wooing Fay. I was not going to have a problem getting her but I felt I should go over who how I should be. Unfortunately, I was distracted everytime a waft of strawberries would cut through the smell of sun screen.

The tide just hit high slack when I saw an explosion of bait fish tens of meters from my balloon. I picked up my rod and watched as fins and bills came out of the glassy water and bait scrambled to get away. I stood up for a moment but the sight rendered me legless. Now sitting I saw two of the sail break from the pod, their sails tacking toward my balloon. Without knowing it I said, "Wholly fuck... Sofia if you could see this." The balloon moved. Instinct told me to take up line and set the hook. I listened. The line tightened. The rod doubled over, then bounced back up. "Shit! Fuck, Fucking shit! Fuck!" I paused hopping it would come back. It did not. Singing a song solely composed of the word fuck, I pulled the line in as fast as I could. I was looking at the sky when I felt a tap. A sails bill was poking at the balloon. "My god... it's following the balloon like a teaser." I continued to reel as fast as possible but the sail stopped following twenty meter from the shore. "Should I toss the jig out? No, if catch a sail I will catch it with style... right Sofia?" Style was the single action Alvey. Another yellow tail was put on the line and flung out. "Hey fish, look another yellow tail come take a look... you haven't gone have you?" My question was answered by a moving balloon and shadow in the water near it.

My mind was so alight it would only hear itself if I talk to myself other wise instinct would take over which would be bad, "Ok, remember the article in Marlin Magazine about teasing sailfish? Yeah, let it take line and turn before setting the hook, it make for a better chance of hooking it and less chance of a gut hooking it. There it goes," the line went tot and began going out. "Let it go... one steamboat... two steamboat... three steamboat... four steamboat... and five!" I palmed the reel so no line would go out and set the hook hard. The sail took off half out of the water for 20 meter, under it for another fifty meter run and jumped. "Oh fuck... stay calm, keep steady tension on," telling myself to keep calm was ineffective I was shaking uncontrollable. It went parallel to the shore taking a little more line. Then it sulked and I gained some line. It stopped and swam towards me, "Shit... Fuck... reel... reel... reel like a mother fucker!" Coming toward me was the worst thing, worse than jumping with no tension on the hook it will fall out. Reeling as fast as I could was the all I could do, "If I had a boat I could move back." I could barely keep up when I got the idea to run along the reef and reel. This worked. The fish stopped and I reel in while move back toward it gaining line. "Look at it all lit up," purple spots on a deep blue dorsal fin made for the prettiest if freakish fish in the sea. Slowly it went deeper and out of sight. The line clicked out slowly, than faster, "It is going to run... I can feel it." It ran coming up to the surface and jumping. I got some line in. Again, it came out of the water but did not come off. It was a hundred meter out again but I was gaining line. "Come on fish... I am going to let you go."

The fight in the fish had diminished greatly. It sulked swimming in small circles. I was gaining line with each pump. Ever few pumps I would plead with the fish, "Fish, you don't understand I am going to let you go stop fighting. Don't turn and run." With half of the line back in the fish started an arching run. "Stop fish! Don't run!" I changed my tact, something in me believed the fish was listening, "Fish you and me are the same. Look, you are a fish of the deep and me a man from the cold meeting here on the edge of the world," three more pumps, ten feet closer and turned finally or was it. The line clicked slowly out, I anticipated a run. "Don't go fish, I will let you go... you are to great too take. Again we are the same, we both push the boundaries. You came close to shore why? I walked away from my nature... society and its values, why? Because we could, this is the essence. If you come with me you can take with you a glimpse of the unknown... I will get some of that too. You're not scared are you?" Clicks from the drag alluded to run but the run did not come. "Good fish, come to me and see what you have never. Plato or was it Socrates... said the only good is knowledge. The knowledge I give you by catching you is good." Line began to come in again, "I love you fish... even though I have kill many," the fish did not like that. It took a short run and tried to jump but the fish could only get its head out of the water shaking it. The hair on my back stood up and a tingle ran through me. I thought the game was up. "Fish I love you... yes I have kill many fish and so have you, but never have I killed a sail, like you."

That was the last flash now the line came in again. I took a glance around for my camera and glove for landing between pumping in line. A shape was caught in the corner of my eye. I looked straight toward it, a triangular wave top... a branch... a shark... no, a wave top. Another ten feet of line in, "There you are... beautiful, let me get my camera. Smile for the camera. Soon, you will be free." I did not want to tell the fish it's colour was not good. I looked down the reef hoping to see someone who could help me. This time I was sure of what I saw.

"A shark... Fuck... Fuck! Its far away. Fish I have to get you in and the hook out. No, I will brake the line. Fish can you get away? No, you are to tired, look at your colour." The fish was close enough to land. I had to talk to keep thinking, "How can I stop a shark? Don't Come any close shark! Yelling will not work, I can throw stuff at the shark and distract it and as a last resort hit it with parasol." I move all I had close to me so I could throw it, then got down to the rock ledge that was a foot under water because of the spring tide, a good thing. I grabbed the line and got to the trace with easy the fish was cooperating or was it worse then I thought. The fishes gills still pumped. The shark looked far enough away for me to think I had time to take one last picture. I got my camera clicked a picture of the fish now an ugly brown back of mirror in colour. I grabbed the bill with my gloved hand, it buck with my touch, then settled. The hook came out easily. I zoned out looking at the five foot probable fifty pound fish with sail extended and slender – 3" wide – body but I was taken away by the bad colour. I moved the fish back and forth to get water over it gills. I expected the fish to come to life in a burst, the fish did not. The shark was meandering slowly towards us, almost in throwing range. With a broken voice and the sickness that comes with tears I cried, "Come on fish fight, live... A shark is coming," the fish answered with a wiggle. The shark was closed enough to throw things at it.

The small waves inspired me, "Fish I am going to turn you around. The wave will push water though your gill and I will fend the shark off." First, I threw the bait the shark did not care. "Two fucking small rocks... what else can I throw... the radio," I throw a rock the splash just in front of the shark turned the shark, "The BATTERIES!" The other rock was thrown. I did not watch it land, I was taking the batteries out of the radio. I threw a battery, it landed long and wide of it but the shark turn toward the splash. "Why did you turn shark? Was there some other reason? And now you are coming back?" A eureka moment happened and I yelled with out pronouncing it right, "Ampullae of Loringgwinny, sharks' electromagnetic sense!" I threw the second of the four D batteries I had and turned the shark again. Quickly, I moved the fish through the water, "Come on fish!" The fish bucked weakly but promisingly, "Hurry fish the shark is only 50 feet away." I threw another battery and went back to reviving the fish. This time the fish swam away. "Good fish! Go fish!" I shot out the last battery to cover the fish's dash.

The fish did not bolt it hovered. "Go Fish! Run the shark is coming! I have nothing to stop it with!" But the fish swam away at a snails pace and the shark definitely saw the fish now. "I can't help fish I have no batteries! The camera I can throw it." The fish moved further out but too slowly. "The cameras batteries!" I held the camera upside down, realizing that to take the batteries out of the camera was to make this a fantasy, a story and not reality, "Fish only for you will I destroy any proof of you." I opened the back of the camera exposing the film and removed the batteries. "You better go fish." I chucked a battery causing the shark to circle back with 30 feet to go. I looked back at the fish now swimming with some colour in it. I tossed the battery at the shark then the camera toward the fish. The fish took off and the shark continued along the wall of the reef. I sat down laughing and trying to roll a joint.

"FUCKIN' EH! What a day," I lit the joint and opened a can of warm beer, laughing. The moment of my life just past and I was left with nothing to mark it, no way to prove it. All I had was a fishers tale, too big to be believed. A true story told by person from a people known for their lies.

I had something else. Something powerful. Something only clear to me now. Something nature tries to shelter us from, consciousness. I was aware of the pull of nature and how that was the only force pulling me toward Fay. And it would be natures pull that would my take consciousness away.

I thought as I sat on the rock, 'Strange that a day ago was going back to Queen's Land for my queen that I saw in a dream. That has changed. There was a reason to go back to Fay she is in my nature but nature is something we all have, a commonality, a trait defining the group but not something to set one apart. My reasons for Fay are seated deep in the fabric of my lineage, heritage, and tradition... in order.'

I exhaled a long drag and whipped my forehead with my shirt. The smell of strawberry and Sofia cut through the pot. I continued to think, 'Order is easy to play to, Sofia showed me that. She has showed me a lot or she wanted me to see. Only a fisher like her could have presented a pattern like that. Strawberry Sex wax on a surf board, is there a lure more obvious or effective? She opened my eyes to the tricks of nature, anything can copy a pattern and make itself the object of desire you need to have. She knew smell is the oldest sense linked to the brain at the most basic level. She knew that for the same reason I knew about Ampullae of Lorenzine, we are conscious of the order.'

I began to put the tackle away and a giggle slowed me as I thought about Sofia trick, 'She could have caught me at anytime, set the hook and had me dead and dressed with me happy to be caught, but she did not. Is she looking for the same thing I am? Did she throw me back because my want, my will mattered and she would not break it in order to have her want? I will have to ask her.'

'Sofia would have understood today. She would see the greatness of a sailfish caught from the shore – she probably would have caught it. I so want her to be here to see this. She will believe me when I tell the story.' And I finished putting a way my gear.

'Break the order, don't fall for that need that Fay causes for your nature,' I walked down the ancient reef. 'I will destroy the who I am if I get Fay and be the man that every man is on this Earth. Sofia is big like the ocean, too big for me, that is what I want to swim in her ride her waves but that matters little its, what Sofia wants that matters. I will do anything Sofia says... and she knows that.' The battery less radio started to played Sugar Magnolia and I had to sing. "She don't come and I don't follow."

I packed up my camp. It was too close to sunset to let the sun go down with out an audience so I rolled a jay, grabbed the reserve bottle of SoCo and sat on he reef saying farewell to Station Riparian knowing I would be back soon. The drink made me speak allowed, "I know only one thing that we will lose but I am gonna have a good time doing it." I stashed the bottle there. A secret reserve with some weed and LSD as I knew someday I would be back, hopeful Sofia will want to come.

I drove into town found a place to stay at the hostel I was at before then sat at the bar telling fishers tale to whom ever would listen as I waited for the computer. I had four letters to write. The first was to Rob asking where he was. I knew he was at a beach but not which one.

The second was to Jodie on my old E-mail:

Subject: It's not me, it a guy on acid who stole my identity.

Hey Jodie,

What is up? I'm sorry I was a dick. Sofia said I shouldn't have sent that last letter but it took so long to write and you how I hate to write.

People change, I have.

So I will most likely be in Thailand sometime soon and would like to meet up with you if you want too?

Have fun, Hugo

The third was to Sofia, she had sent me two E-mails telling of her adventures and how I would love the surf and diving in Indo and were signed, love Sofia:

Subject: I get it!

Dear Emanuel,

you are a devious girl... strawberry wax, good thing the wave I surfed was empty. You should be proud, teacher, I caught your wave with out reading a book... that a good thing, I don't fall for girls because of the books they read anymore... only if fish, do I fall for them. And do I have a fish tale for you.

I hear there is good fishing in Thailand – where else would Emanuel be but the Pad Pong market – I am going to check it out and need someone to share the boat? Are you up for it? Get back to me ASAP as I am head for Darwin and will catch the first plain once I know where to go.

I can't wait to see you. I've got a whole bunch to tell you, mostly, I love you Sofia.

Love, Hugo

The fourth was to Fay:

Subject: The Holy Grail

Hey Fay,

I kind of found what you wanted me to find but it is not what I want. Sorry for the inconvenience. Keep in touch I want to check out that trippy hippie hotel when you get it done.

Take it easy, Hugo

P.S. Nature can be so wrong.

Other Titles by Jan Tailor

Stag-nation \- In one sentence, this book is about why you should not date a stripper. It is a Romance Noir from the gutter of the Vancouver's East End to the Westside yacht club, visiting all the bars and best spots to smoke pot along the way. It follows the plight of an alcoholic security guard whose personal insecurities are the source of his own decline.

Just another prepper is a fast paced short story about selling assault rifles to survivalist or preppers.

Not a victim \- Convenience store clerk is one of the five jobs likely to experience violent crime in North America. Not a victim, is a short story tells of a clerk determined not to be victimized.

Buy in or rat out \- Buy in or rat out is a short story that follows a single mother trying to find a way out of working low paying dangerous security/loss prevention jobs so her son can live a better life.

The Mountain's Money \- Every winters day, snowboarders and skiers spend hundreds of dollars on lift tickets, food, booze, and rentals at the mountain. The mountain's staff is made up of under paid dreamers happy to have a free ski pass. This is the story of the mountain's security guard Brando, whose dream is to live on a beach.

Something in the Coffee \- When you work more than 100 hours in a week how would you stay away during your fifth night of graveyard shifts?
