New Mexico

Andreas took a look at the Love Note. He said it was just a stream of consciousness. He hadn’t read anything that came before. He didn’t know the story. Just a guy thinking, he said. No. If he wants a stream of consciousness, I guess I’ll show him this.

I heard from Alia. It wasn’t pleasant. Only e-mail. No phone. Could be a chatbot pretending to be Alia. Everything has to be superficial. I have to approve of everything. I have to say how great everything is. I might have cancer.

This is supposed to be about Greece. The Love Note ended in Greece. In Patras. College town. Beautiful girls everywhere.

Patras was not so loaded with such beauty last time.

Is this a dream? Do I want to replace Alia? Would I ever let that happen? There are three dudes and seven hot chicks in this picture.

If I don’t make it to Israel, would this be better than Spain or Germany?

Every other person is a hot chick! Am I dreaming? Neo’s Matrix? Is this the work of Elon Musk? Real?

The vibrance of the nightlife is incredible. So inviting.

I’m not going to talk to anyone, though, am I…got to get to Israel. Must pass everything by. Don’t want my heart broken anymore. The closer I get, the more they destroy. Venice Beach cannot happen again.

Graffiti everywhere. Too much.

Mopeds on motorways mention memories of Mexico.

Will I ever be part of a crowd? When I get to Israel, maybe.

What on earth does believing my choice have to do with sewing? Top star? Messiah?

I basically rode most of this in 2022. Only last time I cut down to Sparta to see what Zack Snyder’s movie 300 was about.

The food is amazing everywhere. I could be dying. I just got an e-mail from Alia. I’m an abusive father or something. Could be cancer. Everybody else’s father is abusive. I must be too.

Greece is starting to remind me of Mexico. If I don’t wind up in Israel, I don’t want to do Mexico all over again. Alia will e-mail me, but she will not call me.

I’m lonely. If I don’t make it to Israel, I can just learn Greek. I can’t hear anymore. New languages are hard. I could die of cancer. How insane is it to be willing to e-mail your dad, but not call him? She needs to be coached. She is not writing what she thinks. It’s what everybody else thinks. Is she even writing the e-mails? If I have cancer, will I be able to get a visa?

Greece is beautiful. So is Mexico. I can’t do Mexico again. Already lived too many lives. I’m hungry. I’ll text my cousin Dominic. He is asking me if I would go back to Mexico. I tell him that Mexico is pretty dangerous for cycling and some other things, but really, I couldn’t find meaning for my life there. Great place to do nothing.

Ooh! A garden to eat in!

I tell Dominic why I wouldn’t go back to Mexico.

There is a huge Corona sign in this Greek beer garden on the arcadian Peloponnese , JUST as I am talking with Dom about Mexico. What would Carl Jung think?

The Peloponnesian Corona beer garden is splendid.

I wish I could enjoy this with somebody. I need to meet a girl who likes bikes. But girls always win. Dangerous. Alia hates me. You block people you hate. Everything I say to her has to be positive and praising. If I let her know she hurt me, I’ll never hear from her. I could have cancer.

No kidding. This ride is for the blue waves and the calm. This would be a totally different ride if I weren’t alone.

I have this fear that starting a new life in Greece would be just another version of starting a new life in Mexico. I’m talking to my cousin Dom about it. And there is Spanish all over. Tortuga is Spanish for “turtle.”

Greece doesn’t have swans everywhere, but I happen to run into a swan resort. What would Carl Jung think?

This whole trip has felt like delivering Sauron’s ring of power to Mount Doom in Mordor. Ever since that meth bender in 2019. And here I see I am riding past the Saronic Islands with a volcano named after meth. I gotta spend shabbat there.

A hell of a ride. Got lost on dirt again.

Gorgeous view coming into town. My daughter hates me. I’m an abusive father, she says.

Looks like I am not going to make it in until late.

I love this little town.

Here I am, in paradise all by myself. Can’t stay. Got to get to Israel. I haven’t seen any swans in Greece except the swan resort, but I did see a flock of geese in the street.

Close enough to call it a synchronistic event? Not sure. I am sure I am not going to prove the deterministic nature of the universe and divine sovereignty of all things with videos of geese and pictures of swan resorts.

There is absolutely nothing in this town except a restaurant and a dock…and this monument to bicycles…they must have known I was coming. This must be a dream.

I have to play the part of a penitent abusive father and tell my daughter how perfect and wonderful she is and how proud of her I am or she will stop sending me e-mails. I don’t even know if it’s her sending me e-mails. Could be a chatbot agent of the forces of evil trying to drive me insane. Alia can never know what she did to me. She can never know how she hurt me. She can never know how she cost me my sanity. If she ever gets any idea about any of this, she will stop sending me e-mails. Or the chatbot pretending to be her will stop sending me e-mails. Only chatbots and Nigerian scammers insist on texting you and e-mailing you but refuse to talk to you. Those guys and 300-lb truckers named Mike pretending to be 90-lb Asian massage therapists who give great happy endings. And, of course…my daughter. I’m not too evil to send e-mails to…only too evil to talk to…

This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming. Having a nightmare.

Time to head to Piraeus. By boat this time.

Not exactly a nightmare scene. Anybody could have fun here. Anybody. Except me. What is inhabiting the soul of my daughter?

Piraues is cool, but just another city. One of thousands. So much beauty everywhere. But I have to get to Israel.

The cities are all running together. Piraues reminds me of Los Angeles.

Or maybe Cairo.

It all runs together. I’ve got to get to Israel. My daughter hates me. All I need now is to fall into paranoia.

Apparently, if I think about something, I see it somewhere. Swans…geese…paranoia, bicycle monuments, Spanish everywhere.

Got to get to Israel.

At least it was Gazi college. Not Gaza college. Got to get to Israel. I could have cancer.

I just rode past a volcano named mount meth. Now I’m riding past a weed store named volcano.

Is weed legal in Greece? Or these new derivatives? I googled, and Greece made HHC illegal. Oh. I see. Hemp is legal here. So, no smoking weed or derivatives, but you can eat all the brownies you want if you bake them in hemp. Clever. Haven’t been stoned since Texas in June. That was a bad gig. Wasted time. Depressed me. Helped a ton with stress, but only temprarily. How can the politicians be so stupid that they decide THC is illegal, but THCP, THC+, HHC, CBG, and hemp are legal? This is like the designer drug phenomenon in the 80s. Should I get stoned? I need to. But I’m on the bike. Alone. Going crazy. Swans…geese…Spanish and Mexico everywhere. If I get stoned, I’ll get run over by a stampede of unicorns, no doubt. Hawkman will lose respect for me.

I’m following the Lady’s friend Rotem Sela on Instagram. She got famous for playing a character named Noah Hollander. I wonder if she ever heard of Noah van Ouwerkerk…the Electrochemical Girl. Got to get to Israel. “She’ll be there for me…”

After everything the Army women did to me…after everything Karina did to me…after everything the Venice Beach OnlyFans girls and fat swinger blob chicks did to me…I’m going to LESBOS! The original home of the lesbians!

Again, the food is amazing.

Again, the chair across from me is empty.

I could write a book about all the cities where I have taken pictures of empty chairs across from me.

Lesbos. Another town. An Island. Can’t stay. Got to get to Israel. Satan took my daughter. No pictures of beautiful women in Lesbos. You have to go to Patras for that, apparently. I guess lesbians aren’t beautiful. I might have cancer.

Time to go to Turkey. Got to get to Israel. My daughter hates me. Need to get some more pictures of some more empty chairs.

I’ll end this stream of consciousness with the ferry to Izmir. Thanks for reading.