The most important place for me to be is where I am right now. Now is the only thing that matters. This day, this moment in time, is all that exists. The rest of my life is smoke and mirrors, shadows and dust, a mirage of dreams and memories zipping and zapping along the synapses of my brain. I’m nothing more than a hologram in a vast and unfathomable kaleidoscope of electrical impulses known as human existence. Yet here I am. I’m here in the world, on the planet earth, breathing, thinking, taking in as many wonders and mysteries of life as I can. Life is mine, for now. I must make of it what I can.
I have no idea what to make of mankind. The acts and beliefs of my fellow men dismay and astound me to no end. The bewildering absurdities and hypocrisies of the human race, as pathetic and misguided as they may be, are almost too much for my poetic heart to bear. Some of the things people think and do are completely insane. At the top of the list are the world’s religious fanatics, who stand alone as the most incomprehensible of Homo sapiens. They live in a deranged and desperate state of madness, force feeding their religions down the throats of others, ranting and preaching about their supreme beings of choice and believing they can talk to God. They cling to their false hopes about faith and salvation and life ever after. What a crock of shit! Their lies and superstitions are like piles of stinking shit in outhouses of soapbox assumptions.
Next are the warmongers. The human race has always had its GI Joes and commanders, who send soldiers to their deaths in the name of this or that, all for next-to-nothing, save for the vanities and fortunes of those in power. The world has forever been ruled by wars and the insanity of religious men who wage them. It’s not right; it’s just the way it is. One day it will change, the truth will come to light and all human beings will know and understand the brass tacks of the big game. Rule number 1: God is a myth. Rule number 2: Death is a mystery. Rule number 3: Science is the only reality. It will take a long time, perhaps a million years, but things will change. The world has got to change. For the sake of all humankind the world must change for the better.
I’m not a perfect man. My life is a track record of chemical malfunctions, the end result in a chain reaction of misfires and miscalculations. It’s not easy having my brain. It’s like a dangerous experiment gone awry. It likes to trick and deceive me; show me a bit of miss direction and then wham! Knock me on my ass, throw me for a loop, spin me round and round until I’m dizzy with demoralization. It’s a tough road to tow. But all is not lost. I’m a middle-aged man. I’ve still got my health and my mind and my wits about me. I’ll always have my obsessions and compulsions, my pesky addictions, to keep me company, but they can be controlled. The game isn’t over. Not yet. Not until I’m dead.
In the grand scheme of things, I’m right where I should be, right where my thoughts and actions and beliefs have put me at this moment in time. I’m neither a leader nor a follower, but simply a man, who happens to be an American, living my life and accepting my good and bad fortunes along the way. I’ve made lots of mistakes, had many regrets, but from now on I’m going to leave them all behind. I’ve felt plenty of heartache, seen more than my share of trouble, but from now on none of it matters. The only thing that matters is right now. I’m going to move on and find out the truth about my life, the heart and soul of my existence, while I still can. Time is running out. I’m going to forget about the past and move forward one moment, one step, one day at a time. And it all begins with a girl from Thailand.
I’m 43 years old and visiting Thailand for the first time when I meet her. She’s working as a waitress at an Indian restaurant in Patong, the biggest beach town on the western side of the island of Phuket, down in the southern part of the Kingdom. It’s a wild place. Mostly Europeans go there, but a few Americans make up the usual mix of tourists, backpackers, and middle-aged horn dogs on holiday. Thailand is infamous for its sex industry. Old men flock there by the dirty dozen to get their belly full of cheap booze and whores. They call them sex-pats, and I’m one of them. I’m on the prowl, seeking pleasures of the flesh like a wild beast fully charged on testosterone.
It’s my first night on the island and I’m checking into the Expat Hotel. It’s a nice little place tucked away at the end of one of many bar-filled alleys leading off the main roadway through town. Patong is a small town and I can walk from my hotel to the beach in 10 minutes. The girl at the check-in desk is petite and sexy. She has a pretty face with thin lips and beautiful bronze skin. I want to flirt with her but I’m too shy. I take the cheapest rate I can get and haul my bags down to a small lower room at the end of a long two-story building, one of two on the property. On the way I see a tropical pool area with covered tables and lounge chairs and a great-looking rectangular-shaped pool. The water looks clean and refreshing so I decide to take a swim right away.
My standard room is basic and hot. It’s a fan room, no air. I immediately regret my choice and start thinking about an upgrade. I’ve got plenty of money. I saved a lot teaching English in South Korea and I’m not worried about spending it on better accommodations. I’m here to party and have a good time. My room is stifling and I start to sweat. Better head to the pool and cool off. I pull a cold Singha beer from the mini fridge and guzzle half of it in several gulps. The beer is strong and has a bitter malt aftertaste. I swig the last half of the can, change into my swim suit, and head for the door.
The pool is worth the price of admission, and then some. Wearing goggles, I swim for about 15 minutes, stretching my limbs in the cool water as I do my crawls and breaststrokes. I’m alone in the pool. I’m alive and free in the kingdom of Thailand, the Land of Smiles, and it feels good. There is so much Thai pussy in the air I can almost smell it. I can’t wait to hit the town and take my first test drive, so I pass on a fleeting notion to relax in one of the loungers and go back to my room. I pop open another beer and get into the shower. The night is young, but I’m in a hurry. I’m always in a hurry. My brain, which is like an infected computer without antivirus protection running an OCD microchip at top speed, propels me along the space time continuum like an astronaut spinning through a time warp. I can’t stop it, I don’t know how yet. All I can do is enjoy the ride and hope for the best.
Soon I’m out in the street surrounded by the nightlife of Patong. It’s like an X-rated carnival, with pubs and discos and neon signs and bar girls and nightclub promotion models in every direction. Sellers and tuk-tuk drivers hang out ad nauseam on the curbs and sidewalks of walking streets and alleys flooded with westerners, called farang, out shopping and strolling and looking for places to eat and drink in waves of blissful determination. The night is filled with the sweet and spicy smell of fried food – noodles and omelets and grilled meat and chicken and corn and sweet potatoes – along with the faintest odors of cheap cologne, body sweat and stale beer, all mixed together with the fresh saltwater air from the nearby Andaman Sea. The place is hot, humid, dusty, and dirty, yet nearly everyone looks happy and excited to be here. There are families dressed in the latest fashions with children who look nervous and out of place in the sexually charged atmosphere; there are scraggly backpackers with Rasta hair, clothes, and sandals who look like hippies straight out of the 60s; and there are plenty of single men, loads of guys and dudes and blokes and lads in all shapes and sizes cruising the town in search of bars and girls and sex. It’s a feeding frenzy of lust, a 24/7 free-for-all of seduction, and I’m right in the middle of it, lapping it up as fast as I can. A hot rush of adrenalin jumpstarts my loins as I enter a walking street lined with boxing pubs and sexy girls sitting on bar stools waving at me to join them.
“Hey, how you?” asks a sexy black-haired girl wearing blue jeans and a red tank top. She smiles. Her sugary sweet voice is heavily accented. “What you name, dah-ling?”
“My name’s Mel,” I say, adjusting my butt on the tall seat of the stool.
“Where you from?” she coos, still grinning. The girl puts her hand on my shoulder. Her dark brown eyes are lovely and they sparkle with a genuine interest that surprises me. The scent of her intoxicating perfume fills my nose. My first date in Thailand is fetching and flirtatious, a drop-dead seductress, and she’s got me right where she wants me.
