As I was packing I came across a transcript of an e-mail dated February 17, 2000. Funny how I don't remember this - so much has happened - and then again I find my mind has moved in so many directions - I remember so little of my past nowadays - that is the purpose of this blog.
Anyway - I want to print it here for posterity on what I was doing at the turn of the millennium and what happened afterwards:
I smiled my pearlies when I realized that I'd be back in the the land of Mexico on which Brownsville bordered. Setting up camp at a hostel for travelers such as me, I enjoyed the nightly company of many young Central American youths. Yes, the New Years Eve came in a bang of grunts and moans from an orgy of manly throats. And yet, I was not happy. Brownsville had nothing to offer in order of employment, and so with the company of two Americans, the hulking Aryan, Jeff Fisher and the old smelly toothless fogy known only as Dumpster Dave, I set off once again to join a traveling carnival.
With sawdust in my veins and cotton candy in my mouth, I spent a grueling three weeks rolling in mud and slime, hocking trinkets and stuffed toys at the cruel whip of my low browed and hairy show boss. Once in a small town in the middle of literally nowhere, I escaped the homophobic atmosphere of those sadistic merry makers and headed for the border town of Laredo.
Once in Laredo, I experienced a whole plethora of ups and downs. Too many to mention here, let's just say they were wired. Running out of money, I quickly debarked for the metropolis of San Antonio to look for work. However, my guardian angel apparently fell asleep at the watch, for our poor hero had to live on the streets amid freezing rain and foul transients. For all the shelters where full and I didn't have any money for a hotel room. But, alas, with a leap of intelligence, our hero formed a plan.
With the money from his income tax, he would use the income to rent an apartment and look for a job and get the hell out of this horrid situation. Wrong! The winds of fate blew me back down to Laredo for another week of cerveza and dick. Then, out of the blue, God woke up and smiled on me. My good friend Anthony from Costa Rica felt pity for our hero purchased me a plane ticket and invited me down to his homeland in Central America. Within moments of boarding the plan, I had a paranoid change of heart, sold the ticket and took the next bus to the desert city of El Paso.
What strange adventures are in store for our for our hero? What evils lie ahead? Stay tuned for:
Episode 11: The Bitch Strikes Back!
Anyway - I want to print it here for posterity on what I was doing at the turn of the millennium and what happened afterwards:
I smiled my pearlies when I realized that I'd be back in the the land of Mexico on which Brownsville bordered. Setting up camp at a hostel for travelers such as me, I enjoyed the nightly company of many young Central American youths. Yes, the New Years Eve came in a bang of grunts and moans from an orgy of manly throats. And yet, I was not happy. Brownsville had nothing to offer in order of employment, and so with the company of two Americans, the hulking Aryan, Jeff Fisher and the old smelly toothless fogy known only as Dumpster Dave, I set off once again to join a traveling carnival.
With sawdust in my veins and cotton candy in my mouth, I spent a grueling three weeks rolling in mud and slime, hocking trinkets and stuffed toys at the cruel whip of my low browed and hairy show boss. Once in a small town in the middle of literally nowhere, I escaped the homophobic atmosphere of those sadistic merry makers and headed for the border town of Laredo.
Once in Laredo, I experienced a whole plethora of ups and downs. Too many to mention here, let's just say they were wired. Running out of money, I quickly debarked for the metropolis of San Antonio to look for work. However, my guardian angel apparently fell asleep at the watch, for our poor hero had to live on the streets amid freezing rain and foul transients. For all the shelters where full and I didn't have any money for a hotel room. But, alas, with a leap of intelligence, our hero formed a plan.
With the money from his income tax, he would use the income to rent an apartment and look for a job and get the hell out of this horrid situation. Wrong! The winds of fate blew me back down to Laredo for another week of cerveza and dick. Then, out of the blue, God woke up and smiled on me. My good friend Anthony from Costa Rica felt pity for our hero purchased me a plane ticket and invited me down to his homeland in Central America. Within moments of boarding the plan, I had a paranoid change of heart, sold the ticket and took the next bus to the desert city of El Paso.
What strange adventures are in store for our for our hero? What evils lie ahead? Stay tuned for:
Episode 11: The Bitch Strikes Back!
--e-mail reply to Alberto Vargas and concern of my whereabouts the last few months
And that was my first trip to El Paso. There is an end of the world feeling to El Paso - something sinister in complete laissez faire. Even stepping first foot in this city back then I never liked it - it is a trap that takes hold and never lets go.
But, this last year here has changed me - in a way that I don't know the exact result. I am disinterested in all aspect of pleasures of the flesh. The contact of human beings is beginning to repulse me - physical and mental. I am becoming. What? - I have no idea. Is it the meds that MHMR put me on? Is it years of hedonistic and dispatched lifestyle?
But, this last year here has changed me - in a way that I don't know the exact result. I am disinterested in all aspect of pleasures of the flesh. The contact of human beings is beginning to repulse me - physical and mental. I am becoming. What? - I have no idea. Is it the meds that MHMR put me on? Is it years of hedonistic and dispatched lifestyle?
I think that I have gone so far out that I may never come back.
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