Amoros Perdidos

Failure at love is on thing that I seem to succeed at. I am so miserable – my heart is so cold - no, not cold, nothing. I feel nothing. How can I? My emotions have been severed so long ago I have forgotten to feel. I believe that I have become an automaton. Emotionally.
Last week, I had invited Brian Wynn to Juarez for breakfast and to spend the day with him. The plan was quite simple – breakfast, a tour of the Old Mercado, museums, and to while the afternoon away at my flat watching DVD’s. Very simple. Anticipated all week – during so, Brian worked me up flirting at work, so you can imaging I was running on high by time the day rolled around.
The night before – cleaned the trap – got a hair cut – prepared everything and the time arrived. Was to meet him Mexican side of the International Bridge at eight a.m. for breakfast. Stood there chain smoking, cause I was nervous – face it, I hate waiting and I am horrible at dating…especially if I like the guy. I turn to mush.
Brian is an hour late. He crosses the wrong bridge, which is understandable. Now, Brian is agreeable to the eyes but somewhat dingy and he was acting extra wacky this morning as we walked down Juarez Avenue to Avenida 16th de Septembre to Café Central for breakfast. And when we reached said restaurant it went all to shit – it was like one of those blind date shows on television that goes bad and you feel sorry for the guys except it’s happening to you. Everything I seemed to say, Brian had a snotty remark to say or he flew off into his dementia and began making no sense. He then stated that he had to be back in the states by eleven in the morning for some interview at a convenience store – which I thought, was bullshit. I left work at four in the afternoon yesterday, he was sleeping in his bunk and he never mentioned it – the conversations at the table deteriorated more and more into snappy remarks until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I told him I am ending this circus now, paid the bill and walked him to the bridge.
As we strode back to the International Bridge, Bryan kept babbling away esoterically how he kept his part of the bargain coming down to Juarez – like that placated his actions at the café – I know a flake when I see it. And I decided to lop this loser off. Halfway there of coarse he tried to turn things and say perhaps we can still work things out. No way, it ends at the bridge. I handed Brian the three pesos and bid him goodbye.
I have come to the conclusion that I am damned to walk this world alone.
So, I slunk back to my trap – Angry…angry at the world – Lazo somehow pops up behind me on the corner from my house filthy and furtive and I snap that he best stay his distance and the worst thing for him to do is to ask me for money – which he does at my door which is slammed in his face.
The afternoon spent in grumpy depression. Watch a couple of DVD’s. Slept – it is so hellishly hot that even the spankin’ new fan that I had purchased can’t – won’t – help. Lay there on my queen size thinking of him and all the others – Why? Am I that much of a shmuck? Am I that far out? Or do I have the unnerving habit of just picking the retards…
Well, sun goes down as any vampire should I get ready for a night out on the town. I first hit my Café Internet and bang out a few letters and then cruise over to the Plaza las Armas where some Rebels are having a ho-down. I think that ski masks and rifles are quite hot on the right people. Little Lolo arrives first and we sit and shoot the shit. I get hungry, so while he talks with a friend I jet over for some tacos carne asada and they were quite toothsome I tell you. Back at the Plaza, the rest of the Juarez Irregulars arrive and off we go to a new dive that Isidio speaks of and grrl it is a snore factory.
So, we skip over to Bar Olympico and amidst the oldies and the yunguns that love ‘em we drink Sol cervezas and laugh and talk. Onward to Bar Callatillas, our tried and true watering hole. Tottering hottie eyeballs me and I soon forget Bryan and all his silliness.
Then it is off to Freegay Disco and we boogie down for it is the birthday of Alfredo and we all get ripped on a massive bottle of Absolut. And that shit can’t be beat. Skinhead cholo type in wife beater and baggy khakis kisses me deep in a dark corner after a wild dance mix of Daddy Yankee. The strippers were quite good this evening.
After the joint closes, group and I stand outside and a boatload of hotties in yellow SUV yell for me to get in with them to go to some house party – but I decline as some drunk naco with massive crotch wobbling next to me breaths beer and tacos in my face. Sexy lips, though.
This is when it gets stupid. Isidio’s boyfriend - his name is Arturo, and he is fucking Hot! Sexy! Hot!– through blatant manipulation and obvious intentions – invites me to tacos and then we walk down my street – which is on the way to his house also. We left the others to go home their various routes. Obviously, and I hadn’t known this before, Arturo lives near me or something like that. Well, Arturo is drunk offa his ass and like I said blatantly makes his intentions clear that he wants to fuck the bajeesus outta me. I decline stating that Isidio and him are boyfriends and I didn’t need that kind of fag-o-drama in my life, having mucho respecto for Isidio and Arturo for that matter. I walked Arturo halfway to his house – with him pleading all the way…kinda cute – and then I returned home alone.
After what happened this morning, for some reason I wasn’t in the mood for nobody or nothing.

Don't Cha?

Thought Gang.

Sitting here editing the Great American Novel – heh, that’s novel – I have the nostalgia of returning to San Diego – no, it is not San Diego exactly, but Tijuana. And of course the fantasy involves taking Brian with me.

Will he take the risk to change his life? Will he? It will be hard at first but is he will to take that step? I think I am – I am dying of boredom here. More than I was in Tijuana…perhaps now that I have gotten to see my psychoanalyst, I can continue my therapy in San Diego – it is worth it. A better life than in this hellish climate and limbo existence.

I will ask and see. Will talk to my caseworker/psychiatrist…see where this goes.

Bim Bam Boom.

Okay, get this, Jack – I’m coming back from a great day of shopping, understand? So, I'm standing on the corner of El Paso and Oregon -–or was it Oregon and San Antonio – I can’t recall, I just know it was hella hot – and I’m standing there, right, waiting for the light to change green – even though your average naco won’t – nope, those fuckers’ll walk right against the red, no class to them.

So, I’m waiting for the green and this fucking machismo vaquero naco come walking by and begins yapping insults at me outta the blue! I mean – what the fuck?! I have no idea who this asshole is and never laid eyes on this citizen and as he passes me he is still puking forth a string of obscenities. He says something about me wearing all black – I was decked in a black Kenneth Cole ensemble with me Wonkas – “Watta ya some sorta faggat? Queer muthafukka…” – Goofball continues to walk away – I retort – “What asshole are you to start yelling at complete strangers on the street, you worthless piece of shit!” – “Fuck you!” says he over his shoulder.

Flash bulb of anger and I am bolting down the sidewalk – he half whirls – I leap into the air and my right knee plows into his back and he is down. Rolls he then leaps back up like a jack in the box and right hook in my jaw – spry little minx – shatters my Wonka glasses – that pisses me off to no end! I grab the mother fucker by the neck – Whap! Whap! Whap! – Three belts in the face – he equally grabs me by the throat and we are rolling on concrete – choking the life out of each other – being a vicious and dirty fighter, I dig my thumb into his right eye until blood oozes out and his screams brings me joy – I let go, grabbing his prescription glasses – somehow in a fury we are on our feet – I smash his glasses under heel – he is holding his eye and I take the advantage to punch his head a few more times. There is now fear in this shit heads eyes (excuse me, eye.) – he thought I’d be the timid fairy and take his shit – but no, I’m going to take my time and have fun with this cunt.

A little old Korean bitch and offspring runs out of their store pleading, “Guys! Come on guys! Stop fighting!” I point my blood tipped finger in the face of the old gash and roar – “Get back in your fucking store and mind your goddamn business!!” – The fool taking the distraction to start wailing blows on me again – fucker! I took him by the throat and flung him to the ground – shoving his broken glasses into his bloody mouth – so hard I knocked out a tooth – canine I believe – lotta blood – lost track – the fucking fruit loop!

Welp, that’s when I heard that familiar sound of the old sirens and I had to cut – but my nemesis wouldn’t have it – “You’re not going nowheres!” he says, grabbing my pants leg– Can’t be stuck with this illiterate fuck when five-oh shows up – kicking the fucker a few more times in the ribs – Yelps as I hear one crack - I jet down an alley all the way to the border and hobble across the bridge – lucky in the fact that my black duds hide the blood like so much water spots. Got to my trap and peeled of my clothes and showered – lotsa bruises and just minor scratches – fucked up that asshole, though – he’ll think twice before causing any shit with strangers again, know what I mean. He sure didn’t expect that…

Freegay.

What a hellishly hot day it started out as. Hotter’n Georgia asphalt. Stayed in most of it. Laid around watching old film noir movies- Strange Loves of Ms. Ivers, Quicksand - and editing the Great American Novel. Still stuck in this frump – thinking of returning to Tijuana, perhaps asking Brian Wynn to go with me – talk about your flights of fantasy.

Eventually got up and showered; dressed and liked the way I looked. Walked over to the corner; got a pack of smokes and a bite to eat – at the hamburger stand from that little hottie Ignocio, wonder what I can get from that? Cuter than shite, he is. Then strolled to the Plaza to relax and think, but there was a rip-roarin’ bible thumpin’ show going on, so God wouldn’t have it. Sat there anyways and did the best I could. It was a nice warm night and the stars twinkled in a navy blue clear sky. The moon was big and orange like a grapefruit hanging in the hazy hot sky.

First goofball I ran into was my good bud Alfredo, he was making the rounds – going bar to bar – looking for his friends, but was out of luck. We shot the shit for a few and he took off. Eventually, and thank God, the Holy Rollers with the bull horns left and the Plaza quieted down and I sat there sipping my manzana fresca when Saneen walked up and said his howdy’s and gushed at how much he wanted to talk to me. So, three minutes into into the conversation, his razor cell goes off and he explains that he has to zip off to ProNaf and makes a date with me for coffee manana noche at nine. Okay…sure. And the fag scoots into the busy pedestrian night. I sat there – little dwarf woman drags luggage by (wheels long gone) begging for coins – old and ancient cowboy croons (white ten gallon hat and a dusty scowl under white bushy mustache) to a patient yet appalled cholo (handsome and queer) a few benches down – police prowl making random checks of identifications…

I decide to stroll over to Bar Nebraska to look for Alfredo and before I enter the door something calls for me from the shadows – I squint to see who it is. I have to look hard before I recognize him as Javier, that guy I really liked from Zacatecas. He is painfully thin, face sunken in, eyes all pupils, clothes are filthy – he has deteriorated into a full-fledged junky. My heart sinks – this is the same Javier that not two months ago I had to explain what crystal meth was. He denies taking drugs – but c’mon, who does he think he is kidding? I don’t say a word and enter Bar Nebraska and look for Alfredo. The small joint is crawling with Old Navy and Abercrombie and Fitch clones, Mexican style. Alfredo ain’t here – Javier has followed me in (What has happened to your face? – Nothing.) Buy me a beer, he pleads, grabbing my sleeve – no is my answer and I leave him standing raggedy in the middle of all that dazzling poshness. Goodbye Javier.

Hit the streets depressed even more after that and return to the Plaza and sit and chain smoke Lucky Strike after Lucky Strike – non-filtered, you dig? Alfredo appears outta nowhere and I groan my woes and say I need a drink so we walk around the corner to Bar Buen Tiempo for me a cerveza Sol and him a agua mineral – Alfredo doesn’t drink, dig?

Depression is lifted somewhat when I am scoped out by two hotties and that is what was needed to lift my spirits. Alfredo and I drink and giggle and talk but he says the word aborrito – boring for you stupid assholes that don’t speak Spanish –and we are out the door and off through the Old Market to Callatias – that bar of bars.

As ever, that hole in the wall was packed with bloated drag queens, bulldykes, junkies, pimps, homo-thieves, prostitutes, and whatevers – love the place. Always keeping it funky fresh. Alfredo and I made our way towards the back were we met our friends and the beer began to flow. One mention: my pal Isidio brought with him some little waif that looked like he was twelve years old – he claimed to be eighteen – named Manuel (Manuela! – Which is also Mexislang for masturbation.) Well the kid clung to me like a wart, I of coarse said to my group of friends that I had no intentions to do anything with the kid he was to young. Gotta keep face with these bitches – know what I mean? Even though I would have threw little Manuel on the floor and banged him doggy-style on the spot – he is that cute… Anyhoo, after the bar closed, this group of bitches and I walked over to Freegay Disco to boogie down – I was relieved to hear that Manuel could not enter because he had not an I.D. Made me all jittery having him around, you know – felt all kind of nasty the way he looked at me – I ain’t no child molester…Fucking Lolita.

Isidio was nice enough to pay for all eight of us to get in and we all climbed the stairs to enter. Finding a dark corner in this cavernous hall, we all got pretty ripped. Danced – drunk – hit on by hot guys – ran into some old friends. Even the new waiter, Manuel (There’s a pattern here, I just know it!) was hitting on me – and this waiter was fucking hot! Hot! Hot! But, of coarse he wanted money – oh well….

Transvestite show – strip show – then that little waif Manuel somehow got in and was being cruised by every old fat pedophile in the building – heh! One hot guy with a shaved head asked me home – what’s you’re name? He asked – Muy nice! He said – Wish I took him up on it.

Eventually, the disco closed and we all took our drunk asses out to the sidewalks outside where for some reason Isidio and some fat guy got into a heated argument – there was much gesticulating, finger snapping, Maryism – then we were invited to a party – in which for some reason – I was too drunk to figure out – we didn’t go. No, instead, I waited at the taxi stand with Isidio cruising the drunk cowboys – and some were quite handsome – but I was so drunk all I wanted to do was go to sleep. Took a piss next to a van to the gigglings of an old hag – what’s so fucking funny? Isidio met some vaquero (cowboy, you idiots.) and took off in a cab – I just stumbled home the few short blocks to my house ignoring the catcalls of the Amazonian Transvestite Hookers prowling the neighborhood.

Nah, Tijuana won’t do – Jaurez will do just fine.

Deep in the Sty.

Went to work and popped the question to Brian about moving to San Diego – he is all giddy about the idea. I explained the ups and downs about it – he, of coarse, understood completely.

Day at work dragged as work only can. My manager suspects the affair between Brain and I and warned me of the circumstances of such fraternization, and I accepted her ultimatum. Utter termination of employment. What a party damper. While she went off property on some errand, Brian and I flirted like school kid lovers. A ver.

Talked with my psychiatrist today about leaving for San Diego. She was completely against it – went on and on about how much I had accomplished and what I’d be leaving behind. I explained that I would be leaving nothing and that a place is just a place – I had a better life back west. Plus I would be taking Brian with me.

We then proceeded to discuss my emotional productivity and I related how detached I have become, I like Brian but I feel nothing for him. I feel nothing for anything. I have lost all interest in life and the passion has been burned out of me – I have become so hollow. I also, afterwards discussed this with Brian and he said that perhaps he was the person to restore that fire back into my life. Time, as they say will tell.

I have picked two months from now to leave for a number of reasons. Mainly to save enough money to move comfortably and more so to get to know Brian on a more intimate basis – to see if this relationship is going to work of not.

So the wheels are set in motion and the plans are being made…in two months Brian and I will return to San Diego and perhaps a better life for both of us.

Love...again.

My emotions are in quite a turmoil. Again. I work at the moment as the front desk receptionist at the Rescue Mission in El Paso, Texas. I meet all kinds of people on a daily basis, you can well realize. From tramps to all out kooks.

One day, well, a couple of weeks ago a tall thin and strikingly handsome young guy came to check in for the drug program that the mission offered. He said his name was Brian Wynn, very well groomed and exotically hot looking. My type of character.

The weeks went by and we talked and became acquainted and eventually came out to each other. The boy was witty and well educated and had quite a striking personality that I found very intoxicatingly attractive in a weird way. He was a strange and unique person for the type that stood in this cesspool. There were sparks of some sorts on both parts, I suspect and I got the balls up to ask him out to dinner and a movie.

A date. How maudlin, no? Like a freckled face schoolboy crush I clumsily went through the motions like a zombie or a dead robot without feeling or passion – what was I doing? I thought the entire night? I sat there listening to his every word, interested…yet terrified like a virgin. My entrails were frozen like solid ice. He shared intricate details of his life and I sucked it up – he drifted into flights of fantasy – or was it displacements of his dementia?

Downtown, after work, we ate at Bobo China’s buffet and shared our drug experiences that would have terrified any psychoanalysis. The words we spoke solidified our bond. I was captivated by his every word.

Taking a bus to the cinema, we caught Poseidon and it was okay – not as good as the original, I suppose, but Brian thought it was good, never seeing the first.

When the film let out, we took a bus back to down town El Paso and since the buses stopped running – it only being 8:30 p.m. (How I loath this city!) – I walked Brian back to the mission after fist stopping for sodas and smokes.

The walk was nice. We talked some more. Brian talked mostly. Sometimes his flights of fantasy was a little much but over all I think I really am beginning to like him – and like him a lot. However, there is one problem.

You see, at the mission, I am staff and he is a resident and they have very strict rules about fraternization. If management finds out about this or I pursue this any more – I can get fired. There lies the conundrum, people. What to do. Brian has already expressed his want not to go into the drug rehab program but to move in and live with me.

But, I could lose my job.

But, I like him.

If he leaves without anyone knowing – it won’t be a problem.

He doesn’t have a job yet.

He is really smart. He is really attractive. He is really funny. He is well read.

I don’t know him that well. I don’t want to get hurt. Asking someone I only met two weeks ago to move in.

I could get fired.

I don’t want to get hurt, again – again –again….

What is this doubt? Where did this come from? What am I deteriorating into? I am better than this! Stop analyzing everything!!

What happened? What happened to me? Where is that old devil may care self? That what doesn’t matter – just slide….

Take a deep breath – close your eyes – and jump….

And the world spins.

Writer's Funk.

Until the age of twenty-five, I had a special abhorrence for writing, for my thoughts and feelings put down on a piece of paper. Occasionally I would write a few sentences and stop, overwhelmed with disgust and horror. At the present time, writing appears to me as an absolute necessity, and at the same time I have a feeling that my talent is lost, and I can accomplish nothing, a feeling like the body’s knowledge of disease, which the mind tries to evade and deny.

This feeling of horror is always with me now. I had the same feeling the day that Felix and I separated; and once when I was a child, I looked out into the hall, and such a feeling of fear and despair came over me, for no outward reason, that I burst into tears. I was looking into the future then. I recognized this feeling, and what I saw had not been realized. I can only wait for it to happen. Is it some ghastly occurrence like Felix breaking my heart, or simply the deterioration and failure and final loneliness, a dead-end setup where there is no one I can contact? I am just a crazy old bore in a bar somewhere with my routines? I don’t know, but I feel trapped and doomed.