I feel alone and on the run, as always on the run, no friends and , maybe even more important, no women, just me and my Kross bicycle, all the crap that during the day is precariously tied to the bike's luggage rack and at night strewn around chaotically inside my tent, that tent hidden among the trees of some forest in the Spain interior...
Me in front of it, in front of my campfire, drawing women, loads of them, faces and nudes...if I wouldn't do this, insanity would set in, and going crazy in a foreign country tends to become much more complicated as going nutty as a fruitcake back home. A madman far awy from native soil has no anchors to hold on to, there are no helpfull Amigos or free - though totally tasteless - food at the Tweede Mijl, back home the police doesn't want to arrest you while you are off your mind, no Banditos intrested in the empty linings of your blue jeans's pockets...
But here in the Spain interior faces tend to follow me when I pass through small farmer villages, the lingo maybe not unfamiliar though that of the unpredictable Gods might be, still going out of one's head is a bad idea, running away from the demons at night even worse...
So I hold them at bay, madness and crazy mental tribulations, drawing female faces and Hot Momma nudes!!!
A story I wrote in front of my tent last autumn in the Spain interior...late at night, facing absolute boredom and physicall desperation, mental lonliness and sexual frustration, on the brink of .....fill it in for yourself.
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