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Myagi was thinking to himself while walking down Las Ramblas in Barcelona, dubbed by great artists as being the most beautiful street in the world, Man, I love these American women, they are such beautiful creatures, what fantastic stock. Two extremely cute young ladies from Oregon, USA were also walking down Las Ramblas. They enjoyed the fact that they were not at home, but somewhere they'd never been, and a cool place at that, a very cool place. It's a place where the air carries energy and twists of just about everything that's possible. Events ranging from clowns entertaining little children to grifters trying to weasel money out of people by claiming to need coins to call their terminally ill mothers in Italy or claiming allegations of being deaf and needing money for an Association for the hearing impaired, very funny, yet pathetic. The cute girls then spot Myagi and begin to approach him. As they start talking, Myagi deems, What karma, am I a visionary? "Hey, we've like, seen you around man, you seem pretty cool, we heard you singing in the shower, you have an awesome voice. We're kind of like, together, and we don't usually like guys, but you're too cool, we love your accent and you have great hair man. How would you like to, join us in our place?" Myagi was thinking profusely, as great thinkers do, I want to do this, but I can't do it to Roxella. She just wouldn't understand. Roxella is his wife to be. Oh is she a good lover, perhaps the best any man could have. But she is back home and I am here. He was in Barcelona looking for work, this is where he hoped to bring his future wife. But they weren't married yet, and he could have the chance to live the dream of a healthy, sane male. Ménàge à trios. But he always took so much pride in playing the role of a true being. He was true, yet it was still a role. And he could deviate from that role at least once, he wouldn't have to tell her, therefore it wouldn't be a lie. She trusted him, as he did her. And these Americans were hot, just like American music. Myagi then heard a song playing in his head, [I like American music, do ya like American music?]. He then switched the words in his head to something of a sexual connotation. By this time of his pause with the girls, he started to acquire tingling sensations throughout his rugged soul, amongst other locations. No holds barred, this is it! Life is made for living, anyone who doesn't realize this possesses a mutatious soul. Myagi then replied, "You Americans, where did you come from? God, you are all so beautiful, I've never realized that human beings could have so much pizazz. Meeting you two is cause for celebration." On the way back to the hostel they were all staying at, Myagi purchased wine from a Pakistani, hence they spoke Ordu. Myagi spoke Ordu fluently. He'd grown up in a Pakistani neighborhood. The girls were impressed. Myagi then stopped on the street and purchased hashish, (cho-ko-la-tae). He spoke Spanish to the street peddler. The girls were blown away by the fact that this man was an eccentric polyglot, a social genius, a master musician, a linguist, a street educated philosopher and psychologist, and a martial arts daredevil. While in his phase of prepubescence, he studied martial arts at every available waking hour. If he didn't, then he'd get the living daylights kicked out of him by English people who were taught by an archaic principle that people of other descents and skin shades were demons. Hence, when people inflict xenophobic violence towards him, they go down, sometimes never to get back up. The girls were mind frazzled by the Blonde Moroccan complimenting Myagi's awesome libidinal drive. They wanted to make him a permanent part of their lives, a love triangle. The two sexy lovecats from Oregon truly loved Myagi, as any open minded female would. One of them exclaimed, Man Myagi, you fuck with soul, truth and tender loving feeling. We're gonna miss you man. We'll never meet anyone like you again. We'll pray for you always man." He kissed them both with a very passionate vibe. As he was leaving and walking downstairs into the main lobby of the great big decadent hostel, he felt euphoric, but perhaps not the euphoric feeling I get from Roxella, it's a different kind of euphoria. Two gorgeous creatures doing it with him and each other together, a triad of heavenly lust. But he left shortly thereafter so not to be tempted to leave his beautiful fiancé. Myagi then realized that he had a drum audition. This was immediately after he was woken up by a drunken-aftermathed chorus of snorers in his hostel room that slept 12. Thank goodness these people are sleeping like drunken babies, protruding a healthy resonance of noise pollution or I sure as fuck would not be making it to my ass-kicking drum trial. He thought this while getting dressed as quickly as possible. He was already late, but barely, the closer to being punctual, the better .......... this episode came after a meager tease of two hours of sleep. This didn't bother Myagi though. - The two Oregonians were on his mind. Wow, I am a true fucking man. I have lived my dream. Two women and one man, together in unison. Most men will not experience a Ménàge à trios. in their entire life times. But Myagi had, he'd conquered his dream. - Myagi had a soul that was made of iron and raw courage. As he entered the beautiful ranch style, Catalan house of the band, he thought, Wow, these boys are well off. He wasn't used to this as he was much more accustomed to being relatively poverty stricken during his adult life. This was simply due to the fact that he refused to work for the machine. He played music, he was a master musician. Myagi didn't think this, he knew it. This is how he would earn his living, no matter who liked it. Three extremely polite young men walked up to greet him, Myagi exclaims, "Hi, my name is Myagi, among many things, I am a master musician, and I'm here to fucking rock, hard" The boys were utterly pleased when they saw Myagi's well groomed, ultra-long, curly, jet black hair. He claimed to be a master musician while looking the part. And he looked as good as any Rock & Roll stallion ever had. Next was the audition. As the boys looked on, they deemed their mentor to be putting on more of a text book demonstration than an audition. Myagi had a voice that transcended lucidity. They read his poetry, he was also a lyrical genius. This guy is reeking of talent, a master musician he did appear. The boys then performed for Myagi, with two electric guitars and a bass. Myagi was impressed, These guys are fresh and raw, I just need to mold and shape them. They crank, and surprisingly enough it's close to my style.. The Catalan youngsters carried themselves as those who have the propensity to reach plateaus. Myagi was in a band. One audition equaled one position. This was the only way it had ever been for Myagi. But this could amount to a real band. Perhaps I've struck fucking gold! The band was lacking a name, so Myagi coined it, BURNING SOUL. BURNING SOUL would be a band. Myagi was set, BURNING SOUL would be a kick ass fucking rock band, no weak fucks need be fans! He knew talent when he saw it, These guys are fucking naturals. Now he just had to teach them about ruggedness and guts, a 'no holds barred' philosophy. This was cause for celebration. His first agenda was to call Roxella. "Hi honey, guess what, I've got a job in Barcelona, we'll be all set, God, I love you, I miss you beyond belief. I'll be back in four days. .......... I love you with all my heart. The second cause for celebration was to purchase a bottle of RIOJA wine and cho-ko-la-te. Myagi enjoyed his drink, especially when it was wine from Spain, sheer quality virtually free of charge, which is especially great for a person of limited financial overhead such as Myagi. He also liked his hashish, Myagi believed that it was put on the earth as a form of medicine, for headaches, muscle pain, depression and post break up boredom. It sure as fuck beats aspirin, and it's for thinkers. Myagi knew he would smoke until the day he dies. Myagi's third cause for celebration would be to find a young American beauty to pass some time with. God I love spending time with such gorgeous, stunning creatures. "Hi, my name is Myagi, I'm a linguist, a poet, a master musician and a charmer of beautiful ladies. I must say that you are beyond the classification of beautiful, you define the word with your mere presence." Before long they were having sex on a charming beach which warmly embraced the sub-tropical Mediterranean night. Later that evening, Myagi decided that it was time to take a great big chunk out of the city of Barcelona. This isn't like home, people here live for the purity and festivities that life has to offer them, opposed to back home where people are just caught up in the mundane calamities of other people's lives. Myagi wanted no part of this, he believed that life was too short. Spain, here I come, to take a piece of you. Myagi then walked into a bar that may have been dubbed as a heavy metal hangout. He wasn't avid of traditional metal, but that's what it was, and he looked the part, and fit the scene, for the first time in his life. I may never have to use my martial arts skills again, what a fucking impossible dream. I'll never have to worry about people looking at me funny due to their dwelling in insecurity. He was poking fun at society. His mind body and soul were working in unison. This was because his spirit wouldn't settle for less. It was time to rip out a piece of the earth, his universe, he was a citizen of the world, like Socrates. One doesn't necessarily need an education to think like this, After all, what is an education? It is life. Myagi believed this as much as anyone. What else is there to live for? Mediocrity? Myagi would rather proclaim himself a social martyr, than live in a banal world. In between sets, there was a lot of attention geared toward Myagi, not because he was anything special for what he did, it was the karma of something the people couldn't resist. Myagi believed that there were some sort of karmic fumes progressing from his presence. He felt good, as if he were spreading some good medicine of the spirit. Before long it appeared as if Myagi's drumsticks were moving somewhere around the speed of light. The applause resonated into the streets and through the poverty stricken neighborhood of Welfareville. Myagi fared well. Myagi finally had enough around 3 a.m. Bollocks, the night is young. It was then time for a stroll into the idyllic Mediterranean night, a perfect, temporal climate. While strolling through dark, medieval alleys of Barcelona, featuring children smoking hash, drinking beer, and some having sex, prostitutes proceeded to schmooze him. Before he knew it, the sun was shining over Barcelona, while he'd been sharing good conversation, wine, and cho-ko-la-te with them. They'd turned down tricks in lieu of his conversation. This was a first. While on his way to try and catch up on some sleep, he thought, What would the geezers back home think of the types that I just passed the entire morning with? Bollocks to them! Hell, it wouldn't make any difference to me whether I passed time with prostitutes or presidents. It was 11 a.m. Myagi was fast asleep when Asheem, the Moroccan alcoholic who spoke seven languages, was cleaning Myagi's room. Asheem took the blankets off of the bed, folded them neatly, and placed them back on the bed. He wiped the sheets with his dirty hands, unless the sheets contained human waste or sperm on them, then he'd just flip the mattress over. The man had no work ethic, he'd been working there for two years. Since then, he'd possessed a hangover every morning, while witnessing the fluctuation of international transients. These travelers would stroll in for the day, place their belongings in a locker, sleep for two hours, get up, shower, defecate, and do whatever else was needed in order to project a cool image. Then they'd proceed to try and see virtually every tourist site in Barcelona, in order to bore everyone at home with pictures. Asheem then noticed Myagi's stone like figure sleeping, appearing glued to the bed, and exclaimed, "Hey you fuckin' geezah, go and pay for another night so that I can bring you out to meet some friends later." Myagi wasn't sure he wanted to pass time with the Moroccan, he didn't trust him. There is something far too pseudo in his manner. Besides, now Myagi had two days left in Barcelona. He didn't want to waste any of that precious time with those he didn't trust. So he got up, then exclaimed, "Asheem, I'd love to. That's very kind of you. But you see, I've already made plans with a wonderful lady." This was a lie but it was the appropriate thing to say, no feelings were offended. Myagi then motivated and ventured out to the seediest part of town. Things that happened there were real, and nobody denied it. Unlike at home, where the royal family just breeds incestuous, royal mutants, and make their PR people deny it. While walking down the street and glancing merrily into sex shops and at prostitutes, and listening to Heroin pushers offer him the evil soul extracting, endorphin killer, Myagi was approached by the Police. They clearly didn't like the way he looked, or the location he was in for that matter. ¿Que paso señor, de donde eres?" "Soy de Gran Britaña señor." Apparently, this left the officers puzzled, for Myagi wasn't white like an Englishman, and he spoke virtually fluent Spanish. This was extremely rare for people of Great Britain. They didn't know why, but they proceeded to handcuff Myagi. While en route to the station, or wherever the post-communists were taking him, he thought, I'm stoned, what a fucking buzz kill. Shit, this is Spain, they are part of the European Union, I didn't commit a crime, so they can't really do anything. . Myagi overheard the strange policemen talking, they were wondering what to do with him, because they didn't seem to be clear as to why they picked him up. Perhaps it's because my hair is of an extraordinary length, even if I were a female, but for a male, wow, I must be perceived as a hoodlum, or maybe even a transvestite. After not so long, they pulled the car over on a dirt road, Myagi thought, Fuck, these guys have revolvers, what the fuck is going on? Alright, reality check, calm the nerves, act polite and as if you're not being bothered in the least. The two egotistical, power hungry policemen then escorted Myagi out of the vehicle, and uncuffed him. Myagi thought, Stupid motherfuckers, I could kill you both within a matter of seconds. "Su pasaporte señor". After witnessing his E.U. passport and utterly polite, dumfounding charm, they dropped him off on Las Ramblas. Myagi had exemplified the trait of a great roll player. While walking along the festival like street that portrayed a jamboree due to it's cluster of tourists, busquers, grifters, solicitors, proprietors and female curvatures that resembled a lustful fairy tale, Myagi thought, I really do live in the twilight zone, and the twilight zone is made for Rock & Roll. But that would be for a later date, right now the time would be spent relaxing his kind soul by returning to his hostel for some smoke, drink, and good old fashioned conversation. Warn and mesmerized by his twisted experience, Myagi pranced into his dorm room. The odor in there was enough to get a man stoned, therefore, it would probably have been enough to knock out a cat. "Hello, my name is Myagi and I'm a master musician, how do you do?" The Australian was very polite and exclaimed, "It's an honor to meet a master musician, I'm David mate (m-a-e-i-t-e)." The other man, an American throwback hippie from some farm town in Nebraska, who possessed about 40 years, then retorted a smidgen of jargon. "Hey, how you doing man, do you smoke?" "Do I smoke, well, hell, is a man that can't look another man in the eye fearing weakness? Come on bloke, I have a love for life. "Cool man, here you go." Myagi then smoked his heart out. After his run in with the law, he needed it. It was his medicine, the only drug he used, besides alcohol. Myagi then slept for a few hours, awakening to a healthy party. It featured 'Hippie Chicks' from Arizona, Aussies claiming that Australia is so much more relaxed than America, English women with their sweetly lubricated smiles, and Italians of all sorts, from Casanovas on the hunt for foreign women, to young girls out for action, of any variety. The impromptu Fiesta characterized Swedes, intoxicating themselves beyond comprehension, Colombians, possessing hints of Rastafarian qualities, Israelis, loving the non Arab international flavor, and women upon more women, girls, this was the first thing that Myagi noticed as he was in the process of awakening from a rejuvenating, spiritual trance. He rose from the soft mildewed mattress. Hey everyone, my name is Myagi, thanks for waking me up because this is what I call a fucking party." He was offered drugs of many classes, wine, space cakes, and massages from strikingly beautiful young girls. He was offered everything, whatever Myagi had ever wanted was right there in the extremely shoddy and huge hostel room that he temporarily called his home. After some time, different people started congregating around Myagi. He said that he would be the next thing to erupt in rock, out of Barcelona, but his band would go worldwide. He sure looked the part. A pair of Venezuelan girls who appeared fantastically exotic, offered themselves to him, or at least gave him that impression, ..... he'd be leaving in less than two days, he'd had his fun, the company of the girls would have to be enough. "I'll never penetrate another woman, except for Roxella. She's the only one for me, I've had my fun." The two Venezuelan goddess like creatures were a treat, even without sex. They weren't preoccupied with anorexia like many American and European women that he'd met. This made them voluptuous. Who the fuck needs skin and bones that feels acute when pressed up against you? Skin with a faint of fat is so much better, and it looks more desirable, and it makes the mind/body duality far healthier. He then pondered upon many American women that he'd met, some of them had a passion for being famished models. American society has practically predisposed them to believe this way. He'd then remembered a statistic he'd read. It stated that when women between the ages of 16 and 30 move to the United States, after one year, they are much more concerned about body fat compared to when they'd arrived. This pertains mostly to women from Latin and European descent, as opposed to Orientals, because the majority of them appeared inherently thinner anyway. The party rocked well toward midnight, when the consensus agreed upon venturing to La Oveja Negra (The Black Sheep). Everyone was quite inebriated, hence, nobody cared to disagree with the crowd. Basically, these individuals were in a mode of drifting, nothing mattered, they were going through a phase of decadence while trekking around the world. La Oveja Negra is a trendy tourist bar set out in a quaint alleyway behind Las Ramblas. Most members of this newly acquired group promenaded through the medieval breezeway of sorts, in an array of poly drug abused, altered states of consciousness. For most, they wouldn't have fared as well at home, they'd be in bed by now, this is due to the fact that home is boring and mundane. Abroad everything is fresh and exciting, a sense of awe and wonder exists. Hence, one could consume three times as much alcohol and drugs and still appear aware of the situation at hand. The bar was vast, the high, circular ceiling, combined with solid stones meshing together. A huge picnic table began dispersing as the anonymous crowd walked in, they filled it immediately. A copious display marked pitchers of beer and Sangria along the 40 foot table. As Myagi was discoursing with a young vixen from Malaysia, and her telling him that he had to catch the bus to Madrid the next night, it suddenly dawned on him that he had to do the same. They both had to fly out of Madrid the morning after, him to the UK, and her to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She was an intellect, who lived for fun, but she was responsible, so she could maximize her fun. She believed in a theoretical ratio, the harder one works, the more propensity one has to enjoy life. Myagi loved this philosophy, after all, he lived it. Yet he'd never thought of it in words, just senses and intuition, he was mesmerized by her presence. The two left the smoky, alcohol infested establishment and ventured out into the balmy Mediterranean night. They ended up under a big palm tree near the ocean, sipping wine and getting semi-romantic. Semi is where it would stop. Myagi was pondering, If I were a king, I'd have the greatest, biggest harem ever, with quality women opposed to no minds. But he didn't want that, he wasn't in search of power. He simply wanted to live a happy, jovial life with Roxella. The next day would be for sipping wine, seeing a few of the eccentricities that Barcelona had to offer, and getting to know Kadrona of Malaysia. They took the bus to Madrid, sipped more wine, and comforted each other. The plane ride back was fast, he couldn't wait to greet Roxella, and live a happy, monogamous life with her. And so end the frolicsome endeavors of Myagi in Barcelona