The night was cold and bitter - my mood exactly. To alleviate I wondered out to talk to the boys. Found them shit faced off of King Cobra and propped up against a warehouse wall like giggling pretty boy idiots. Taking pictures under the yellow lamp - "You go to Espana wit us, Luis, it will be muy bueno." - Yeah I probably will. I probably won't. Will decide in two months. Had enough of that ruckus and returned to my bunk snuggled down into a coughing fit sleep.

Last day of the year and I am accosted by pendejos early on - fucking tramps always sticking their snouts in my business and then pissed off when they can't buffalo me. Fools. Oh, well, decided to hang with Enrique and Marco out at Balboa Park - will attend a alcohol drenched fiesta to scream out the new year tonight. Of course I will file a full report...

Happy New Year!

Gotta call for a job - reservation agent at some swanky resort. Yeah, I'll take it. Seems things are beginning to swing upward. Everything is coming up daisies.

Last night wiled away time on the street guzzling booze and flirting with the pretty boys - they didn't mind and reciprocated.

However, just got outta the movies after seeing Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd - not bad. This movie stunned me so much that I could hardly move from my seat when it was over. The dark cinematography is brilliant and works so well to enhance the story. Johnny Depp has given us so many amazing performances in the past and you can put this one up there at the top of the list. I approached the movie with trepidation because actors put in singing roles seldom work, but not this time. The singing was not only terrific, it was mesmerizing. I have to warn you this movie is for movie fans that love music (Broadway, classical or opera) and have a cast iron stomach. I heard they used 70 gallons of fake blood filming it and I believe them. All I can say is you can see the bloody scenes coming a mile off so you have plenty of time to avert your eyes.

Really, really want to make movies again and cut out all this traveling crap. But, aver...

Not much to write will post manana being the last day of 2007. Adios, bitches...

Foul and black have been my mood lately. Today doubly so. Rolled out of my bunk cold and hacking up ectoplasm in wrenching fits, shuffle to the fetid bathroom and take a cold shower under the watchful eye of the aging queer.

Spend the better part of the morning with Enrique and Marco, those fucking pretty boys - light patter of conversation amid sips of cheap coffee. After lunch - ghastly hamburger served with smelly something topped in ugh - I have a cold Steel Reserve beer with some youth from Colombia named Oscar and this handsome ex con I have been flirting with lately named Eddie. Us three stood in the shadow of the Petco Stadium downing beer macho yaps of pussy and the tolerance of jotos - mainly me. So, when the beers are gone - Oscar splits and Eddie flatly states that he needs to be serviced in the worst way and if I am obliged to help him. Yeah, sure. Wouldn't you?

So, we high tail it over to the sixth floor of a swanky hotel where I know there is a banos solo and the freakin' door locks. A God send really. Once in there, pants are yanked down - "Let's see whacha got, Louie." - big Cheshire Cat grin on his part, and I suck that fucker like a champ. He squirms and moans at getting his nuts blown. Spicy! So after three years being locked up I get a mouthful of thick goo and we shake hands and he says thanks.

Down at street level we both race over to get a haircut and the trim looks absolutely fabulous, you bitches! Eddie splits after that and I return to Vinnies and I ain't feelin' it, you know what I mean. I have been so angry lately. And I know why. I am stuck here. I have to get these warrants cleared before I can get a passport - and I want to go! go! go!

Where? I hear Miami is nice this time of year. Want to use that as my springboard to Puerto Rico and all points south...

Navidad was a hobo hullabaloo - out in front of the 40 million dollar Petco Park hundreds of tramps ate, drank, and were merry. Several churches fed delicious homemade vittles - the best was the black Baptist Church, there soul food was downright amazing.

Smoked a gigantic Cuban cigar courtesy of a Hell's Angel and ate chocolate covered cherries handed out with yule tide cheer with my two handsome friends eres Espania - Enrique and Marco. Later that night as Marco stroked his erection under his coverings, wrapped in another blanket idle hands took care of Enrique under that crystal clear moon. My fingers sticky from his holiday goodness.

Next day, wobbled bloated like an engorged tick from all the eatin'. Lie in bed playing someone else's GameBoy. Felt tired and slothful but as usual up to no good.

Following morning up before the birds had time to brush their teeth to be whisked off to Los Angeles for a prescription scam - made a hunnert dollars though. Now I think I really need to leave the country before the axe comes down.

I don't know if it's just me - but the fucking fags are flying out of the closet at Vinnies. It's a homo Renaissance - but all is well, it takes the edge off. Flirting again with the indigenous tramps - oh, naughty me...

Urm...merry christmas....

Shifting through time and The Long Wait. Cigarette smoldered down to a butt - the cries and shouts and hacking of a hundred hobos echo in my mind. I stand and I wait. Waiting for the world to turn.
I am up to speed with the necessities of my quest - that long walk to Nowhere. But I am doing it anyway, you dig? The natives are getting hostile and I am quite drained from thier antics - I don't wanna here of your pathetic problems, got my own.

Nothing to write - cause nothings going on.

Exept the fact that I am sending the kid back to El Paso. A month of nothing. Guess the fool can do nothing there, too.

Moving through the edge of night - dust is dancing in the space - a dog and bird sound far away. Hacked up the last of that hobo virus sick and gelatinous in a shivering dawn sitting cold at my cot on a bright sunny San Diego morning. Walked downtown - pass the hot construction workers and that stinking ass bum that lays in the same place - at least he is consistent - I walked to the pharmacy and bought some dope to clear my head and it is clear. Right as rain, you stuck up bitches.
Made nicey-nice with The Father and I guess I am getting sentimental in my crotchity old age - even mailed the old man a Christmas card. I hate fucking Christmas.
Spent the afternoon in the cinema and sat through I am Legend, the third go round of that apocalyptic tale of old. Charleston Heston and Vincent Price are rolling in their graves - wait! Chuckie is still with us. He's pissed.
Flirting with the various indigenous characters that inhabit that hive that I currently reside in. Mostly waiting, waiting for something to happen - to get a sign. But, mostly lay in my bunk and think - think of getting back to TJ and settle in and start making movies again. Fuck Costa Rica - bunch of snotty slobs with no class to them. I'll stay in the land of the free, home of the brave. Or at least until the Thought Police come and get me at night while I sleep...

Started these therapy Challenge to Change classes. Death! Where is thy sting? What a soupy mess of therapeutic crap! But, I gotta - so I did.
Life is horrid at the Hobo Hilton - I am suffering from some form of hobo virus and it is racking my ass! Perhaps I will get pneumonia and keel over - finally!
Speaking of changes - cut that dead weight cancer from my life. Remember that kid I imported from El Paso. Gads! What a terrible mistake - boy's been a drag from day one. Lopped him off but good and it's conscience free smooth sailing from now out. Unlike Lot's wife - I am not looking back.
Seems that the job search is over - my pal John has secured me a shipping and receiving position at his warehouse - cake job and will be moving back into Tijuana by the end of January.
Hurrah for me!

The sky was a mottled grey from the drizzling rain. The wailing of an ambulance below, distant rumble of air hammers, always building and repairing in The City.

I sat naked in the rickety hotel chair and watched the boy sleep. 1:47 p.m. the clock said. Could be wrong, felt later. Lighting a cigarette, I sat transfixed as his erection melted away in the early afternoon. Fransisco, he said his name was and looked enough like a Latino Leonardo DeCaprio from Gangs of New York to pass as his brother, floppy light brown hair and scraggy goatee. He lay naked on his back amid rumpled yellow sheets in this ratty hotel embraced in the arms of Morpheus and content as a nodding junky. I took another drag and scoped him out, hairless thin frame, eyes shut, pouty lips parted in sleep breathing.

We met last night at a dive bar on Broadway called Chee Chee's and struck up a conversation amid the thieves and the dykes and the just released cons with Black Eyed Peas blasting over the juke box. Next day had brunch with him at a local Chinese resturaunt - afterwards we walked over to a bar. Chit-chat ensued over many drinks and then walking drunkenly to the Hotel Pickwick, a flop that by American standards can't get any shittier. Looking at me and smiling, Fransisco said he needed to score for some meth and would I front the twenty? Sure, why not? Walking down several alleyways covered in shit, bums, and abandon shopping carts, copping his dope from a slick coon with gold caps, we soon entered the dank hotel lobby. Flaming old withered fag with bad purple-tinted permed wig at reception.

"How much for a room?" I croak.

"Two Queens?" The receptionist asked.

"Nah, just two boys that need some sleep." Quipped Fransisco. I laughed with cigarette between my lips and the warm glow of five whiskey sours in my gut.The room was occupied by large black roaches and bad tattered furniture. The television got three channels; English, Spanish, and soft core porn.

I lay on the bed and watched Fransisco take a shower, water running down his long thin smooth frame, over an ass that was like a peach. He sits naked on the bed and asked if I wanted to try a bang. Nah, not in any condition. Needle clogged twice, thin line of blood from inner elbow to wrist. I look away, always freak me out watching someone probe for a vein. He sighs as it goes in sweet and pure. I sure can pick 'em.
The sex was much needed - hostile, violent, hot - the bed banged and binged with our fucking. Your basic crimes against nature. Several nasty positions later, covered in sweat and semen we lay embraced as the rain pounded down outside our fifth floor window.

Like I said, sat there and watched the boy sleep. Finished my cigarette, gargled with what was left of a can of Steel Reserve, got dressed and left twenty dollars on the nightstand. Sweet dreams, kid.

Walk out into the world and find cheap hole in the wall 24hr diner, Lee's Cafe I think and eat a mess of grub all served by faceless Chinese man. Decide to take in a movie, see The Golden Compass. Ho-hum. A little disappointed. Being one of my favorite books, the movie did not do it justice in my fuck'd opinion. I remember the first time I had read the book. Way back when I was in High School, living in Long Beach, California and after the daily beating from my loving Father I decided to run away to Hollywood to live a life of glamour. Hanging out all night in a 7-11, I had found a copy of the book and it all kept me up all night. Read it cover to cover, slurping on my Slurpee. The next day I returned home. To more abuse. To more beatings.

Sigh.

No time to recollect those Wonder Years, I am strong and defiant now and have made peace with said Old Man.
So, I'm walking down the street in the rain with ciggy dangling doing my best Kerouac production and I come across another old friend, Tommy, he of Native American decent and as fucking handsome and sexy as all get out and we fall into whatever happened to so-and-so. So? Tommy understands that I am a wily faggito so the conversation wonders into wacky sexual innuendo and offers me to come up to his room in a low rent apartment for a nightcap and a little humpity-hump, but I refuse and after saying adios, I return to Vinnie's to see what the hell's going on. Stand out on the balcony alone and star gaze as I light up a Lucky Strike. 'Round 10:30, turn in for a little shut eye.

Was asked today by a grinning and freaky bible thumping street minister if I am happy with my life. I grinned, yeah. I'm happy.Wouldn't you?

Have crippling depressions. I wonder how I can feel this bad and live. Very few people are ever in contact with that area of human despair. I lay and do nothing - no feelings for nobody.
I cannot shake my feeling of apartness from the rest of the human race.

Saw this film yesterday evening at the ArtHaus in Downtown amid sniffs and polite belches and silent farts. Wonderful. Pure cinema.

Based on the bestselling novel by Patrick Süskind, Perfume is a story of murder and obsession set in 18th-century France. I have acquired the book and I now can not put it down.

Sitting in the Gaslamp District outside Tin Fish - a swanky fag fish food joint jotting notes into my little brown notebook. Sky a bright blue with that salty breeze off the bay - little concrete park with fountain. Swishy homos walk by with a parade of petite furrballs. All normal in their complacency of delirium. I am outside that loop - you know that, Dear Reader and it is a matter of choice.
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes "Awww!"
American homosexuals are like dogs, not gods - as long as you don't get mad they'll bite you - but stay mad and you'll never be bitten. Dogs don't respect humility and sorrow.
Queers in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk- real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.
Oh little American Queer if there had been some way to send a cry to you even when you were too little to know what utterances and cries are for in this dark sad earth, with your terrors in a world so malign and inhospitable, and all the insults from heaven ramming down to crowd your head with anger, pain, disgrace, worst of all the crapulous poverty in and out of every splintered door of days, if someone could have said to you then, and made you perceive, "Fear life, but don't die; you're alone, everybody's alone. Oh little American Queer, you can't win, you can't lose, all is ephemeral, all is hurt."
I get bored and walk around the district - Christmas Commercialism is in full swing it seems. All is shiny and glittery with multi flaming tinsel and oversized balls.
I'd like to light a mall Santa's beard on fire. Because that thing's attached to him and made of, I'm guessing, a wildly flammable material. I would stand there with a cup from Orange Julius as he thrashed about, and when he grabbed for it to douse himself, I would laugh, "The cup is empty! Ha! Sucker!" Of course, this would all be "movie magic." No Santas would be harmed during the production of the USA original movie Luis Blasini's -- A Santa on Fire .
Clopped by the cineplex and caught I Love You. By the power of Hilary Swank's gigantic teeth, I have the power! If one of Hilary Swank's mega-choppers ever gets knocked loose, I want that thing. If I attach it to an axe handle, it would be more helpful and handy around the house than a team of illegal immigrants. I could open tin cans, aerate a garden, chop down an avocado tree, and I haven't figured out the exact logistics, but I'm pretty sure I could brew coffee with it.
Fade out to mambo music...

Playing Uno by moonlight. Crack addicts buzzing us on the cold concrete as the train roars by a red blast of steel and popping electricity. Booze in my rucksack keeps us warm as the cold breeze starts up - but it's okay, Rocky the Dog makes it all worth while.
Finally, my traveling companion - who we will call Cookie or Alex - depending on your mood - after two weeks displacement from El Paso, Texas and living like a tramp in the concrete jungle has acquired a bunk at the Hobo Hilton. We can now get the ball rolling.
Speaking of rolling - called the Old Man for a hundred bucks in lieu for necessities. No can do, he says - just gave my divorce stricken sister $2000 for God knows what and I don't care. I am the perennial outcast with The Family, I suppose. I really feel no emotions for these people - every time I contact their petty judgemental asses all I get is grief. It is time to lop them off completely. I am alone in this world as of now and I wouldn't have it any other way. So long suckahs!
So back to The Report: Jumping through the hoops in the daytime - damn, got more appointments now than when I had my own place - and at night trolling with the Beats under the harsh lamp post lights yellow and questioning.
'Mota?' 'Rollies?' 'Smokes?' 'Beer?' 'Vicodin?' - echoes through the steel and concrete labyrinth from a million junkies - the mumbling sound of a crazed hag. Neat kindly folks - except when you need a smoke.
I stare up at the navy sky under a fuzzy moon. "So I guess it's time to start", I say philosophically to my boy - next week it is time to hit the pavement and look for work. I need cash to further my next harebrained scheme. Lucky me.

You are a true believer.
Blessings of the state.
Blessings of the masses.
Thou art a subject of the divine.
Created in the image of man, by masses, for masses.
Let us be thankful we have commerce.
Buy more.
Buy more now.
Buy more and be happy.

Enter that Chamber of Horrors and for two days sleep on a cot. The coughing and farting got real, you know. Real nasty. But, alas I batten down the hatches and move on. Thrown into a permanent bunk in The Hive. Hunkered down for the first good nights sleep in many a moon.

My companion wasn't so lucky and missed the boat - he now resides on the concrete lying dormant in his cocoon of tattered blankets. I feel for him, I guess - like I am responsible. I will keep an eye on the squirt.

Things are actually quite pleasant now - meeting past associates and colleagues and mysterious lovers. This time I must fulfill my destiny - time is running out and Old Man Time is looking at me staring at his watch.

The cold night fraught with danger and intrigue - man, them crackheads are funny. A jolly sad reckless irreverent bunch. Deathless angels wings blackened to the sky with the smell of scorched metal. I try to lay my head down on the hard concrete bench to sleep - the stars bright and clear all is well except for the piercing frigid wind. Like I said, I try to sleep but the Phantoms won't have it - troublesome little beasts. Lighters flick on and off in the woods sparking glass stems and the fags cruise at supersonic speeds so fast they pass without notice - lonely and petulant. I detest American fags.

Each night gets colder and more mundane and I am at the end of the rope - especially with my travelling companion. We glare at each other in silence over coffee tables of the world; eyes burning with hate and discontent. I know he wants to kill me so I just shrug it off with a haughty laugh. Silly boy.

Money finally runs out and it is all quiet like a mausoleum - the first leg of this trip has run it's course. Each night we gather our newspapers and booze for the long warmth in the cold night, but you wind up cold anyway. But after a couple of days doing a junky shuffle my number comes up and I am admitted into the hobo sanctorum. My constituent will have to wait a few more days. Son cosa de la vida, no?

A last cough of dust from my lungs and we pull out an hour late from El Paso, Texas - that dead museum of cowboys and drunk Indians and arrogant hostile locals - a real no where nightmare and I made up my mind to split but quick, girlfriend. So, 820 miles into the night and your ass hurts like you just been fucked by some randy and hung cock with the annoying meth addicted hag that wouldn't shut up from Tucson to Yuma - but I move onward anyway in my mad quest for adventure and the perfect life. Whatever the hell or wherever the hell that is.
I had taken a desert rat with me and he makes a good travelling companion - no bitching, no whining out of him because that's my department, see? And that's my department anyways, I can bitch like the best of them. So, the night turns into day and the day drags and the bus rumbles on past dry desert and scrub brush and rusted cars of Sanchez Motors under that everlasting blue sky.
We finally run aground onto civilization and my travelling companion is all gee whiz over the shiny clean metropolis where happy polite people stroll the streets not talking to anyone except via cellphones grafted to their ears - "Hey what's attitude you got?" Asks shopkeeper jovially at my friends shirt. It has Attitude on it. "A bad one." He says. "You're on my team."
We walk and wow and see the sights - me playing tour guide - and catch two movies at the grand cineplex. Resident Evil and 30 Days of Night. He liked the first one, I liked the second - no accounting of taste, I rekon. Night progresses and we pitch camp in the Park. But it gets cold and we are tired but the crack heads were in full bloom and they some annoying fuckers.
I have or rather had a friend that worked the night shift at a hotel of previous employment and my head pops an idea - shuffle through the darkness and the kid is working the desk and after blowing me a kiss we get a room free and gratis the night. Orale.
Sunny day next morning and munch at old diner joint for breakfast and them eggs were simply toothsome. Best damn coffee...ever. Spend Sunday walking around and visiting more sites and the night came and it was cold. Cold COLD. Tired and feet sticky and clothes smelt like crotch. Next day shivering in the sunset dawn like terminal junkies but must move forward - down to the marina and lay in the green green grass under warm sun and nap. Black hobo with a Popeye accent rolls up and disco dances on a concrete jetty - "They call me Tata."
Try to land a bunk at the mega-hobo complex but there is a two week wait. Not detered because I am on a mission from God, right? Gobble fattening hobo cuisine and wonder the streets some more silent and furtive in the night and then the rain came. Cold winds blew and we huddled in the concrete with other Fallen Angels passing a crack pipe too and fro. Sloshing with wet feet back towards the Park and sleep on the icy cold concrete benches. Wake up with shivering jags and I break down tired and fully exhausted and call the old man for help. Buckets of tears later and long confessional - "I love you, Son, I just don't accept your lifestyle," - Pops wires me some dough and we hunker down the day and night in a warm junky hotel and it was paradise I tell you.
Zipping across International Lines - first being harassed by American Federal agents leaving the country - I tell you the United Sates is not a free land it is evil and the evil has always been there. Orwell is rolling in his grave.
Past the hawkers and the barkers and the chubby spandex clad hookers grinning so nasty behind silver teeth we make it to a bar and slop down Delicious enchiladas and frosty cervezas and now at this moment with a good alcohol buzz on everything in the universe is all right.

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. Survive, it's the name of the game. Would I give a shit about these people that mock me? Nope.
I go where I want - I do what I want - I say what I want. And this seems to upset a lot of people.

This is where it is at and how it is done. I am he.

Night brisk and clear and the fags were out in full force at least one was. I had invited him out for drinks because I don't like drinking alone - no civilized transient should if you ask me and you didn't but I'm telling you anyway. Sitting in a patio at The Tool Box a piss ass elegant joint with this eighteen year old gangsta I found living like a Night Hero in the cold concrete and he never been to fag bars right and and no experience with touched flesh of Fallen Angels either - but I wanted to have myself a time so early on I admits between polite chatter and casual silence I drop the fag bomb - wouldn't you?
Kid was cool with it and the beer flowed those delicious frosty Coronas and them Bud Lites - my constituent scoping out the digs cause his virgin ass and cock is on full alert. His sexy ass walk through the bar to the pissoir and as he pass fags lift their heads like animals sensing danger. We cut next door to the Briar Patch - the neighborhood joint - got inna fist fight there a few years back - but that's another blog, another time. Hob knob in the back patio with El Paso's elite homos - laughing drinking joking. A real character he and he seizes me up the same I reckon.
The kid smoothed out after a few Rum and Cokes and we both got lit like the Rabbit's Moon and fell into a pit of giggles. Some of the homegrown fags cruised my boy but he brushed them off like dust and we moved on - out in the street holding each other up from laughing so hard. Move on to Chiquita's - the rough bar where I warned him that he would see all his goof troop friends that are faggy in shadows but boy killers in the sun. Shit sure as shinola there were three gangstas sittin on the bench out side sucking on smokes so nasty - much backslapping and surprised 'What you doin' here's' amongst them and strong macho affirmations of heterosexuality - no one talked to me cause I am not there. I never am.
Enter said joint and the place is jumpin and order a pitcher of brew settle down at a table and have the best time in many a moon. My pal - that killer with a killer smile - has the bestest too and changes his lateral about queers. Jokes, raucous laughter and singalongs to the old school tunes - my buddy tries to hit on a corpulent lezbo and that starts off many a jokes. Tranny - wicked and insidious cruises my friend - but his hetro world won't isn't can't let her in. "It's time" - the swish shrills behind the bar - and we both stumble laughing smoking into the chilly night to my trap. My boy sleeps on the futon and I crash in my bed. What you think we're queer or somethin'?

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson once said: "Who is a better man? The one who sailed the sea of life, braved the storms and lived or the one who stayed on shore and merely existed."
With that said - I can't do it, Dear Reader. I have tried to be like you and I can't do it. I have easily attained a good job and a nice apartment with the central heat and the cable and the electric can opener with the color coordinated furniture from the IKEA catalog - and I can't do it. How mundane - how dull. I am withering away from boredom. On top of it, I am gaining weight from being comfortable, sedentary - bored. The 9 to 5 punch card life is not for me and I shall go the way of Kerouac, Burroughs, Hemingway, Thompson - to be truly free and do the things that I wish to do. There is a whole big beautiful world out there and I want to touch it. heheh
It is time to hit the road. I have quit the best job I have ever had and decided to continue travelling - to where? Who cares. Fate is my friend, chaos my fuckbuddy.
See you when I get there...

So I'm waiting, right...I'm sitting in this coffee shop on Avenida 16th de Septembre in Juarez City across the border in Mexico watching my cold coffee swirl with the thin skin of curdled cream float on top. My cigarette is burned down to a nub, but I'm waiting. And I hate waiting. The clock up on the wall crawls like the clock in the Machinery of Metropolis and just as painful. This old fart, winkled and the color of a brown paper bag sits starin' and a-starin' and I glare at him but he won't stop. What? He think I'm queer or sumpthin'? So I gulp the coffee and ask the obese and overworked underpaid masera fer another cup and she look at me like I just fuck her virgin daughter and slosh haffa cup full. (Make mental note to slam down two pesos and dramatically storm out. Cunt.)

Sigh. Stare out the big window and the world is cold and the wind is blowin' dust and the Mexican folk they walk briskly by huddled in their trappings to avoid the cold, but it's cold in here too and I sip my coffee and that shit is hot. I make a little yelp and the old coot giggles. Wyoncha go watch the toilet flush, Gramps? So, I'm waitin' and I got one Lucky Strike left and I got like twenty two pesos and he's late. They are always late. Goddamn, like there are two time zones, American and Mexican and Mexican is always outta whack.

Two Mexi-fags enter and coyly scope out the gringo before sitting at the booth but I just watch the cockroach skitter across the diner bar. I flick it with my finger when it comes to close and catapults it into an eclair that some fat bitch rich and nasty eats later. Where the fuck is he? I can hear the ticking of the clock over the fucking chachacha music. I straighten the wrinkle in my black chinos and gaze over and watch two hoggish couple slurp and kiss each other inna booth. Revolting. Wonder what would happen if me an my boy started frenchin right here in the middle of the cafe? One of the Mexi-fags catches my eye contact and smiles. Flames and knives shoot outta mine in return.

Ding! The door...but no, just some shoe shine boy asks the gringo inna shop fulla customers but asks the gringo only if he wants his shoes shined. Nope. I says. Kinda cute. I give the kid ten pesos and tell him go buy him some marijuana - he laughs - then I follow with 'and come back inna few years to make some real money.' And watch the cutey leave the cafe.

Finally, with a blast of cold air the glass door swings open and in all his hottness Richard comes in and he looks tall and fine in black leather coat, black sweater, black slacks and boots. "I hope you weren't waiting long, babe?" He asks and smiles that smile that melts hearts. He is so full of warmth and patience and kindness - emits it like radio waves. Fills the room.

"No, not long. Time was just flying by." I smile back. "I was just finishing a cigarette. Ready to go to the movies?"

"Let's go." And we both hit the cold pavement. I walk next to him, laughing and thinking what a beautiful night.

Having is not always as good as wanting.
There was an acquaintance from my last stay here in El Paso. An African American named Trent. Very handsome with a boxers physique. Had women flinging themselves at him. And I did my share of flirting - but he no fag, right - wouldn't have sex with a man cause that's sick, okay. Last I heard he got rip roaring drunk and rammed his car into the El Paso Rescue Mission - cans of empty Steel Reserve flying everywhere. After that he spent time in jail.
The other night, I was returning home late from work when this muscled bulk came lumbering up to me. Intoxicated and dressed out in his thug gear. And the flirting started again - because my chances with him I thought were zero to none.
Well, next thing I know, Trent is lying naked on my bed and I am doing to him that which is inconvenient. Thick muscular body and mythical black cock - I was in paradise. Until he asked for money for coke. Right in the middle of "it". Turned me completely off. As a fact after half an hour of debating and pleading - he was asked to leave. And was he pissed - saying I shouldn't get him worked up and then shove him out the door like that. That's how women get raped, he grunted.
I have changed. Remember Desolation Angel - that obnoxious devil may care asshole of old? Well, apparently he's dead. Gone. Forgotten, hopefully.
I do not regret what I did to Trent - only the regret of asking him in in the first place - but I have become so cautious - so banal. Perhaps I am digressing into an old spinster. Ugh...

Sigh. Well, here I go again...

I hadn’t gone out last Thursday night, I was staying in and finishing up the book Borrowed Flesh that’s due like - two weeks, really. I had gotten a couple of publishing companies interested and they some time crunching bitches!
And I understand that I’ve been neglecting my blog like a total pendejo and I also totally get the irony: how no one would have ever asked me to write a book if it wasn’t for the blog and now that I spend all of my writing time on the book I’ve been ignoring this blog. But I never said I was perfect. I’m actually having a really good time writing the book. At times it’s been really hard and I’ve totally doubted that I had the ability to write it. But then I’ll print out what I’ve written so far and go to a café and read it, just like I imagine real writers doing - but I imagine them doing it in more glamorous locales like Paris or Tangier – and I'll read it and be like wow, this isn’t half bad, it’s actually pretty fucking good. So I’m proud of the way it’s coming out and I promise to pay more attention to the blog – like full time writing attention – once the book is done. I have nightmares about missing the deadline but I actually have no idea what they would do. I mean it’s not like they’re going to send Tony Soprano after me or anything. But I won’t miss it. And then I’ll be all over my blog again.
So - I decided to go out - and I mean all out - Friday night at the bar's here in El Paso. Even invited that neanderthal Tony - all expenses paid, I told 'em. We first cruised over to the Whatever Bar and had pitcher after pitcher yukking it up and being goofy. All fun until we were buzzed by one of his goddamn trannie friends. Skank plopped down at our table and decided to guzzle all my beer and smoke all my cigarettes all the while being a bitter old thing. These cute guys came out onto the patio and one was checking me out when this cross-dressing mess started a screaming match with them - over nothing. Your usual trannie bullshit. After that embarrassment - had to sit there and listen to her quack on about how she hates her drug addiction and the fact she gotta sell that flabby ass to make rent. Too much. After I mentioned something to the fact that when the fourth or fifth pitcher was empty, my money had ran out. Poof! That skank was gone in a puff of methamphetamine smoke.
So much for making a first good impression on these faggots.
Next up, pleasant talk with old coot that knew Juarez well and had established a tour to the unethical whorehouses for wayward American truckers. However, some black guy - shit faced drunk and high offa god knows what - that knew said coot, sat at our table screaming and rambling as any good ghetto rat should. Man decided he wanted to give me a massage - standing behind me and giving the worst massage ever while rubbing his big and nasty against my shoulder. Getting the jitters - I told Tony let's split.
On a hunt for smokes - we found our way to the Greyhound Terminal and Tony talked to three trannie prostitutes of past acquaintance. All three asked if I was looking for something. Ugh.
Hungry - we clomped over to Micky D's, but being closed; Tony and I decided to order through the drive thru. However, of course two skanky ass heroin addicted trannies shuffled up and screaming and fiending over Tony - old friends, you understand.
I pretty much had enough of these beasts and walked off. I explained to Tony my hatred for these ugly she-men and then - well - we got into a drunken scuffle on that empty dark street under that big pale moon. A few slugs. A lot of yelling. Cursing. Stalemate - I walked away and tromped over to Chiquita's and had a few Coronas wherein met this handsome Mexican guy - it was his birthday. So I bought him a beer and the flirting commenced. He confided that he wanted to do it. You know - it.
When the bar closed though, he mentioned that he was going to drive a friend home - I said sure no problem whatever and stumbled the few blocks home. Two blocks from my house, said birthday boy pulls up in his truck and invites me in. Wouldn't you?
We pull into parking by my apartment. Drunken patter between us. Kissing. Petting. I yank down his pants and start blowing him. Right in the middle of it - dork asks to use my cell phone to call his pusher. Unblinking, I bid him a good night and return to my home.
Seriously - am I the only faggot in El Paso that is NOT addicted to some form of dope?

My life is always imitating art.

Domestic bitching...
I believe with the utmost conviction that I have fallen in ill favor with the smoke detector in my apartment. Every time - every time! - I cook some morsel the damn thing goes off. Loud piercing whine, right? So, realizing I am master of my castle I grasp a mop and start swatting at that mechanized fucker - I have to use the mop because I have high ceilings and I can't reach it - even standing on a chair. So, I'm swatting at this thing - knocking it off the mooring and it dangles there from the ceiling - it's red and yellow wires looking like gouged entrails. Ha! I thought - I won! I killed it! But, then the thing starts beeping. Nice - even after the fact that I smashed the battery out - it seems to stay alive and annoy me all night with this beeping.
So the neighbor below me - who, being Mexican stays true to her heritage and blasts her fucking music so loud that it comes up through the floorboards like the muffled moaning of a whore earning her rent. And to make matters worse - it's the same damn song - I hate you Furgi!
About bad tenants - the street I live on; all apartment buildings are infested with fags. I mean, there are a lot of homos living on my block - from doe eyed twinks to crotchety old farts. And with them come the hustlers and rent boys. Yesterday, I exit my building and sitting on the stoop is a guy with the look of a masturbating idiot. No shoes - blackened feet. Apart from not likely having a place to live - he wasn't bad looking. Anyways later that evening when I left for one of my nightly trolls - er, walks - said guy is coming out from of the building across the street. Old coot smiles, pats him on the back and hands him a wad of cash. We stop and glance at each other - he the look of disturbed paranoia and me? Well...
I held a conversation with him and the boy is nuttier than squirrel shit! After confiding that he took a 'big dump' on the corner by the palm tree - he goes into a tirade about said old man he was with and how he spent the last three hours screwing the old coot. Ew.
After that I had to go to the Tool Box and down a whisky sour - met my new friend Tony and we shot the shit as only fags can shoot. Was cruised by this handsome black guy - gave him a smoke in which he said thuggishly, "Good looking out, homie." Got his number, too.

All is good as of now - started going to the local gay bars by my apartment - namely Chiquita's and the Tool Box. Socializing with quite the lively bunch - nice people opposed to the thieves, junkies and tramps I was usually associating with. Good times just sitting in the patio at the bar, drinking and joking. All fun.
Physically I am healthier looking - not that worn out junky look that I thought was so chic. Eating right - plenty of fruits and vegitables. My daily work out routine is going well - I attend the gym daily now and this morning it was the first time I looked in the mirror at my body and it didn't induce projectile vomiting. My arms and chest are coming out just peachy. Hopefully I will be in real good shape by Halloween - gotta look good in that Captain Kirk uniform, right. And I am talking first season - not third or the movies when he bloated up.
Even Borrowed Flesh is knocking out great - getting closer to the definitive form. It is an adventure story - that is what it has morphed into - the true story of a manic-depressive homo-erecto goes the tag line. I like it.
You know, living this sedate life I have chosen isn't bad at all - after ten years of wandering from one country to the next and sleeping in some foul grotto with no aim or direction - this route I have chosen, the stability of it is bliss.
Now, as my friends have clobbered me over the head with - I need to find a boyfriend or he find me. Sigh. But as we all know - I am a difficult nut to crack.

God is good. Though I am known to bitch - loud and long as any good American - if things don't go my way; sometimes I gotta step back and look at the big picture. In the past all I griped about was to have a neat apartment (check), have a job that I can tolerate (check) and acquire a small circle of good friends. I can finally check that one off, too. So, Mr. Blasini - shaddap with yer whinin'!
Tony has become quite the good friend. The last two nights we have went bar hopping together in downtown El Paso and had some rip roaring kicks. Last night we just chilled at his pad - he lives across the street from me - and watched the Fox Sunday line up. While checking out the Family Guy - Tony ordered two medium pizzas with three toppings each - a special running at Papa John's Pizza. Yes, folks - we devoured a pizza each. Nice.
Thank God that I am using the exercise room at the hotel now and working that off! Whew! And on that note - really like my arms and chest - quite sexy grrlzz!
So, after Tony and I gobbled the pizzas - we took a walk around downtown and while passing the Greyhound station; we were swamped by all the trannie hookers an the hustle. Ugh. Made our way to this fag bar called Chiquita's - quaint. Downed a pitcher of beer and life became all warm and fuzzy. Was hit on by this Mexican named Richard - don't worry, exchanged phone numbers and not bodily fluids. Remember, I am changing here. But into what?

Damn. In kinda a flux right now. I am working and setting my apartment up - which is going really well. But I have been broke for the past two weeks - I have become somewhat of a recluse. I work and go home and that is about it. And since this paycheck - only the third since I have started working - will be going to pay rent and my gas and electric bill, I guess I will be broke for another two weeks. The thing is - since I chose to live in El Paso and not across the border in Juarez - things are quite slow. There is literally nothing to do. I have no money to go out and am not the type of character that will usurp benefits off of my friends. I don't have a television yet, so I can't watch my DVD's - all I have right now in form of entertainment is my digital clock radio.
It shall pass I assume in time - but right now I sure am in a funk about it. Just editing my book wiles away the time. I really need to start going out and being sociable again.
What is happening to me?

Nostalgia is a disease.
I had done a thing yesterday that I regret and have learned unlike Lot's wife - don't look back - never look back.
With that said - onward with the progression. I have bought more furniture for my apartment and am becoming quite pleased with the out come - if it out come. I have decided on a espresso/black/nickel color scheme - muy sympatico. Finished wrap up photography for Meth and am completely shameful of results - it projects as a first semester student film and I want to toss the whole thing in the trash. I guess I have lost my edge as a filmmaker - I remember before everything I made was great and fresh and inventive - now it is plodding crap. Perhaps a career as a writer is the path I will pursue.
Speaking of - Borrowed Flesh is still this ugly disgusting monster that I am trying to control. As I glance over page after disgusting page dripping with sex and drugs it just puts me into a funk - but the story must be told, right!
Last night as I was walking back to my apartment around 11pm - coming around the corner was this guy named Tony - a big hulking mess of handsome just released from jail a few days hence and I have kept an eye out on him - spreading my intentions through various webs of gossip and faggot hear say. A tall muscular bad boy with thick lips, goatee, penetrating eyes and pelon. Anyway, we stood on the corner and then inviting him into my swanky pad in the making - Tony and I sat and had actually a very pleasant and funny talk. Confessing his love for transsexuals, he invited me to troll the fag bars here in El Paso this coming weekend - why not? Wouldn't you?

Hands in pockets I cut across San Jacinto Plaza as wind whips around me and dark thunderous clouds undulate on the twilight horizon. I pass the tramps huddled in someone else's clothes - "I saw RJ the uthuh day - he was lying in an alley butt naked totally fucked up strung out on some shit." - board the bus with consternation.
On the stretch of Texas Ave. where there are old rotting factories and silent warehouses and the fat power cables buzz and crackle, I get off and it is dark dark dark - no streetlamps are working but I make my way to Eva Theater anyway and slap down my fiver to the short fat woman behind the booth. Two obese Mexicans eye me as I enter the foul smelling theater and I make a b-line to the men's toilet. There was no one and I mean no one else in the theater - which I thought was quite odd.
The floor, walls. sink and toilet was splashed with blood - above the sink there was a great red/brown glob of gore and blood as if someone had tossed a bag full of that stuff violently at the mirror and it had splattered all around the small room. I quickly exited - the souls of my shoes sticky from the floor coated with blood. Someone really got what they deserved...
One of the fat guys that were eyeing me whispered, "I tried to warn you before you went in there."
"What the fuck happened?", I asked lighting a cigarette. "A fight? Damn that was a lot of blood."
"No - no." He smiled. "That was only paint - someones idea of a little joke."
I stared at this fool in disbelief, "That is not paint. I've seen blood before and that is blood!"
As some Asian cooch was being banged by a bald tired and petulant looking "stud" onscreen - one of the fat guys wrapped his hands in plastic shopping bags and went to the horrid task of cleaning that shit up. Poor guy.
Oh well, about fifteen minutes later a hot young guy came in and we hooked up...

Started filming Meth last night. Went around and found some locations to shoot. We have decided to use Kevin's apartment for the interior scenes. It is small and he has agreed to let me 'industrialize' it. I'll pay someone to clean up the mess afterwards. Last nights shoot went very well - as long as the coffee flowed, the crew and I stayed up till 4am filming one damn scene! Those damn cockroaches wouldn't hit their mark! Got starstruck, I reckon. But the dailies look awesome and Kevin did a chilling job - I think this is going to work.

Below is the exterior scene where Kevin's character finds the mysterious video tape outside his door. The lighting worked out well and the shoot was fun - except for the old fat lady in curlers and flayed flip-flops that kept complaining we were making too much noise. C'mon it was only 12 midnight!

Another exterior location - a little clean for my taste. Cutaway shot to be used for mood.

That's it for right now - tonight we have a couple of scenes to rehearse and I want to film that 'dream/hallucination' scene before dawn - will spend the day making the deformed paper mache head for the Mystery Man. Quite scary.

Everything is coming up roses.

I have moved into my apartment and left that drudgery of tramp life behind. My job is good and I am making sufficient money to support myself comfortably. Now it will be a matter of a few short months to get my apartment in order.

I have decided to sever all ties to those crazy tramps, thieves, and weirdos. Bueno - not so much the weirdos - kinda keeps my life interesting.

Ok - the novelization of Borrowed Flesh has grown into a 978 page monster. It's time to put that fat bitch on a diet. Will start editing and rearranging the prose - it is dictating itself like rapid machine gun fire spewing out of my laptop with a life of its own. Like a larvae of some creature ready to hatch out and unleash its horror upon the face of this Earth. However, I do like the shape it is becoming. It will be a thrilling read.

And!!! I am back in the director's seat again. I have borrowed a Panasonic HDC-DX1 AVCHD 3CCD High-Definition DVD Camcorder and a couple of theater lamps and am going to attempt to film an old script I wrote back in my junky days. It is a short called Meth; a brooding little nightmare about methamphetamine addiction - 99% of the film takes place in a old hotel room with one actor. I think Keven C. can pull it off - he seems to be a gifted actor. Last evening, Victor, Kevin and I sped around the warehouse district of El Paso in a semi-drunken hoot getting exterior shots and scouting locations.

Avanti!!!

Saw a film last night that really perplexed me - it was a Brazilian movie called Madam Sata. How I related to this film and the way it touched me was how the central character was so passionate about life and would not allow anyone to deter him from what he wanted in his simple life; albeit was a life of drugs and prostitution. I can not put into words how such a film touched me - I guess I was the same way at one point - living in some poverty stricken slum in a foreign country and all I had was my wits and a couple of junky friends to keep me going.
But, as I have mentioned several times...I am changing. God - in his infinite wisdom and unfathomable passion - has granted me with much ease the things that I hold so dear in my heart. A great job and a little apartment - from these all else will follow. I want to sever from my life all the junkies and whores and tramps and thieves and all other bad influences that I have swam in with gusto all these years.
Take yesterday for example. I am walking down the street when I am approached by an old friend Victor - haggard, dirty, unshaven - but under that filth was a handsome guy who was a knockout in bed. He had asked me if I had gotten my apartment and I said yes but I did not moved in yet because I hadn't activated the gas or electricity. He then asked if I would give him the keys and if he could flop there for a few nights. Now the old me would of said yes and used him for a flesh toy for a few days - instead I issued a long tirade on how I do not want to turn my place into a shooting gallery or a flop house. I actually forbade him from ever coming over. Cruel? Maybe. But I do not want to swim in these waters any longer. I want stability - I want cleanliness - I want a normal life.
So, on the first of September I will be moving into an apartment that I have ever intent and purpose in growing old within. No more traveling - no more adventures. I have done pretty much everything I have wanted in life and more.
Even though Brazil is looking mighty tempting...

I got swimmers ear! I stated that I have an ear infection and apparently it's swimmers ear. It doesn't hurt - but my left ear is swollen closed and that makes it uncomfortable. You can get this little nuisance by trapping water in your outer ear canal and somehow scratching the surface allowing bacteria to penetrate and cause all kinds of ruckus. A few days ago I showered before bed as I always do and afterwards I placed earplugs in my ears to block out all the snoring and farting at the mission - so there you have it. I went online to check out a home remedy and it seems that simple alcohol and white vinegar will do the trick.
In other news....
There is this new kid at the mish - an African American and he is really cool. We spent the afternoon chatting behind the mish and had dinner together in the canteen - ill prepared spaghetti and sour tasting salad with water. Perhaps I should change my Latino diet and go strictly for blacks - there seems to be quite a lot about El Paso lately since the exodus from hurricane Katrina. Plus, at 4:30am I was in the shower getting ready for work and my new friend decided to take a shower, too - very impressive torso and 'thingy'. Seems comfortable with me.
The quest for a bed for my new apartment continues - there is this one store that I know of that sells refurbished beds from hotels and a queen size goes for about $100 dollars - seems the most logical and economical. BUT - I have not lived in this country for some time and was shocked to find out that I need a deposit to activate my gas and electricity - zoinks! Being stable sure is expensive!

I have acquired that apartment that I had my eye on - a perfect hovel for my distinct tastes located in the bustling downtown zone. However, even though I have the keys - since I have no furniture, not even a bed - I will not move into it until the first of September so I have to endure the missions hospitality for a short time more. Fuck that! My patience is gone! I am surrounded by the most lazy bickering retards you have ever seen! They are all worthless filthy tramps who will never amount to anything - they should all be slaughtered. AND that fucking bed bug debacle has spiraled out of control - egads what a Kafkan nightmare! And then pile on the filth and stench and there will be a stew that will turn your nose, dearies.
All the tramps living there are haggard old pot bellied fogies, however I have met two - two! - real hot guys passing through but both of them are nuttier than squirrel shit. Jesus, why can't I ever meet normal people in this life - why do they always have to be weirdos? Julio is just drop dead gorgeous - but talking to him is like swatting flies, he's all over the place. Then there was Daniel who just popped out of nowhere - but he just turned out to be your cookie cutter manipulative pretty boy. Ugh.
I hafta stop smoking, too - I have developed a oil burning habit - a freakin' pack of anything a day. And plus I am gaining weight! Jesus - this blog has deteriorated into a bitch fest or what?

His name was Miguel - wait, Mike thank you - I sat out back of the mission swatting flies in that simmering heat with the sun setting big and yellow and he asked for a cigarette or something to that effect. About twenty-one years old and ruggedly handsome in a macho Mexican kind of way - but he wasn't there and occasionally starred out into the near distance with canceled brown eyes.
We chit-chatted of casual things and his dialogue would drift off into nonconnecting dementia. Apparently, he squatted in the catacombs under the grain refinery near here. Mike spoke of his alter to Satan and if I wanted to see it. Why not? Wouldn't you?
Right off the mission property is an ancient derelict of warehouses and gigantic empty feed grains rusting under that unrelenting El Paso sun. As twilight fell, Mike lead me underneath to these labyrinthine catacombs - dark and smelling of musty air and urine and feces and rotting clothes.
We entered his chamber - gray concrete den littered with trash and dirty blankets and ripped up porno magazines. A dented metal folding chair sat next to a charred alter of ashes and blackened glass jars. On the left wall was a great rubble filled hole in the thick concrete that led up to the train tracks - apparent reason of ventilation.
I took the chair as Mike flopped down onto a layer of slutty blankets. More stupid talk as he went into painful detail of his alter to The Prince of Darkness all in soft spoken whispers. Mike stops his random patter short - starts leafing through the tattered porn his crotch stiffening and that was quite impressive, I don't mind telling you. He asks for a dollar and I ask what do I get out of it - same old manipulative faggot bullshit, I guess. Well, I tell him I want to watch him jack off and he smiles like a predatory canine in the moonlight beaming through the gaping hole in the roof.
Sure, why not? Wouldn't you? He peals off his well worn t-shirt and dirty jeans with a casual air of apathy - hairless torso brown lithe and tight. That beautiful penis was long and circumcised - uncommon for Mexicans. Mike lays back on the blankets naked thumbing through porn and playing with his long floppy cock.
With dead unfixed eyes, I sat puffing on a cigarette as Mike withes pounding away - hips thrusting slowly and erection pointed towards heaven - he comes to some sort of a climax as white semen oozes out and glazes his thick brown fingers - shiny in the moonlight. He flings the offensive matter onto the dusty floor - wiping his hand and softening cock with a filthy yellow sheet.
I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out a crumpled bill - toss it to him. "Uh...thanks." Above us a locomotive rumbles by in a blast of black iron. Naked, Mike scampers up the rubble and stands at the gaping hole in the concrete - black silhouette against dark navy sky stars glittering - so handsome and so insane.
I squashed my cigarette butt out on the dirty floor and walked out - leaving that beautiful fallen angel to his demons.

Things are chugging along quite nicely. I am now Assistant Manager at my job and I love it. I went apartment hunting yesterday and found a nice film nior looking pile of bricks down town to squat. I will rent a trap at the first of September.
The mish is getting downright - no it is downright filthy. It has basically become a retard home since MHMR closed their doors, so most of the clients are loonies lying in their own filth waiting for the SSI to kick in. Makes my exit date the more pressing.
But, I keep busy. I have just wrapped up the 6th draft of Luna - a short film I want to direct. A little dark film nior nightmare thing. So that is keeping my mind in motion. I have been also relieving myself with the help of Carlos and Steven - two oversexed pals of mine who are always up for an afternoon of delights. All is well - all is well.
Meeting some inneresting film lovers online too. And they are locals - I will make with the physical contact once I am in my own place. This isn't a sexual come on, you understand - I just want to surround myself with good friends that have the same likes as me.
It has been a long, hard ten years...

Well, it was bound to happen. I am employed now and a pretty decent joint. Front Desk at this little hotel - 40 hours a week at $8 an hour. Not bad. The managers are pretty cool and gosh darn attractive at that! Now I can set this plan in motion - I want to stay at the mish and save at least $2000 and move into an apartment comfortably. Hell, I even have started looking for furniture.
On the bus yesterday, I ran into my old friend Suevon - and has she lost a lot of weight! We kicked it at her apartment for a spell and I played with her three yung'uns. She even walked to the Best Western across from my job and got a spot as a housekeeper - oh, lucky day!
Yep - things look pretty good right now - got a job, meeting new friends...I can settle down in comfort, write my memoirs and grow old...

Yesterday I was trudging down the simmering street around 7:42 and as I was passing some bushes I heard a voice croak out, "Hey what time is it?" Looking down I saw it was an old friend of mine. For security purposes we'll call him 'Shakey'. Really really cute but nuttier than squirrel shit - know what I mean? All those psychiatric meds the nut house has had him on all this years has turned his nervous system into a quivering wreck...hence 'Shakey'.

Anywayz...as I glanced down at my watch to tell him the time a white van comes screeching up and two thugs and a fat lady with a slight mustache leaps out and approaches me real slow like....real slow. Telling me everything's all right - life's worth living, have I been taking my meds....blah blah blah. They thought I was Shakey, ya see. Well, I explained the wingnut in question was hiding in them thar bushes - which raised a fay eyebrow on the mannish woman. Luckily, before these fiends lurched at me, Shakey pops out behind the bush with a 'Huzzah" and a smile - what a B movie production.

As they drove away with that cute but nutty buddy - I started singing this song that I haven't heard in a coons age.

I am not crazy - you know. Okay a little. No haha I'm not. Well, maybe. Nah....just kidding. I am the sanest guy I know! I mean if you traveled precariously all over this continent, swam in both oceans and the Gulf, partied with New Yorkers to Arizona Apaches, seen the sun rise over Mayan ruins and set on remote tropical Islands, hitchhiked from El Paso to Bagota, Colombia and back, tried almost every drug there is, drank all kinds of liquor's until you got no liver and lived....talk with me - you'll be a little off too....

I have attempted all week to seek employment here in El Paso, Texas - but the wheels move awfully slow. I am certain I will attain some sort of employment. I have been getting the "We have other interviews scheduled and will call in two weeks" routine. Sigh.
Scott Goodgame - an old acquaintance - has fallen with a psychotic girlfriend and is in the mood to kill the bitch - the relationship is that bad. He came up with the fact that at the first of the month she receives a financial aid check for her college at the sum of $5000 dollars. The important part is that the funds are direct deposited in his bank account. Well, Scott has gotten the notion to run to Hawaii - the state where he lived the first 17 years of his life - and has invited me to come along. I told him that there was a huge shelter on the main island - that we can stay there seek employment and then rent a two bedroom apartment somewhere on the island. He is all gaga over the idea. At this point it is a flight of fantasy to be sure - but you know my life....
I am now without funds and hope this week of job seeking bears some fruit - if not I will get what I can and return to San Diego. Sheesh - all my bridges are almost burned down.

So, it has been a week here in sunny El Paso. Quite optimistic me. It is relatively good living in a small town where people on the street actually say hi to you and mean it. I have decided to settle here - however the indigenous homosexual population has not changed. They are the queer clones - they all seem to look alike. Hmm...so much for gay individuality. Perhaps in time they will catch up.
I saw Hairspray - the musical remake of John Water's tribute to '60's civil movement and acceptance - the remake was very good. Damn, almost rivals the original. John Travolta was quite good as Edna Turnblad and the rest of the cast and songs are memorable. It is destined to be another gay classic - alot of drag shows are going to be inspired by it, I am certain.
Waiting for Monday to roll around so I can start looking for work - I am sure I will land something tolerable even though the El paso Times statistics quoted that El Paso is third in unemployment in Texas. That will not deter me.
I originally returned to El Paso in the vain hopes of getting MHMR - that loony bin - to assist me as before. They basically handed me everything on a silver platter last go round - free apartment for two years, free bus passes, food stamps for a year - and I gave them the finger and left for San Diego. I was basically told this time to forget it - you had your chance. It does not matter. I come from an upper lower middle class family and years ago when I purposely transferred to the life of the poor I thought how romantic and adventurous it was; living free and always with that hint of danger - wanted to live like my literary idol William S. Burroughs - but I am tired of it. Definitely wore it thin. Now do not get me wrong - it is dangerous, but you have more loyalties and long term friendships with hobos than you ever will with Joe Punchclock. A ver...it is time to raise myself up - and yes I am intelligent enough to do it and leave this impoverished life behind.
So, I will attain some sort of employment and I even have set my eyes on the apartment that I want to live and grow old - nice little place downtown in a 1930's red brick building. To grow old in medium comfort as a confirmed bachelor with my little circle of friends.
It is so good to have direction and purpose again....

Patience has always been my Achilles Heel. My undoing and now the next step in my life is to acquire patience.
After staying at the Rescue Mission for three days I had become quite depressed - even more so because of the clean somewhat productive lifestyle of San Diego. The mission has become dilapidated even more over the years - the place should be condemned. It is infested with lice and vermin. So, Yesterday I went and got a food stamp card - it has $200 dollars on it and I am tempted to sell them and use the money to return to San Diego.
Two options lay before me - one; my work history is in tatters. If Juana Ortega - the facilitator of the mission agrees to let me say on my resume that I have been employed there since I was originally employed there - I will return to San Diego, enter Vinnie's again and start anew. Or I can muck it out in this blank void of El Paso. El Paso has it's benefits - the tranquility, the nice people, the inexpensive living. Either way, if Juana says no - I am fucked. I will have to hang around and wait...take my chances and apply for SSI.
Somethings gotta give...it always does.

I loved the movie by Tarantino Death Proof! And this song just had my toes tappin', Daddios!

Why am I here? It is a formidable question, for ever since I have stepped foot in El Paso I have been cursed with bad luck and ill omen.
It took Greyhound two days to locate my luggage - so I had to trudge through this hellish desert heat in the same clothes - my socks had become quite squishy. I had checked out of the Gateway Hotel and returned to the Rescue Mission of El Paso to do...to do...at this time I haven't a clue. I have a vague plan - concerning readministering my meds and applying for SSI benefits. Other than that - nothing...blank...zip...dead end. The mission has sank abysmally low in standards of hygiene and on top of the grime and filth of this dilapidated building they are plagued - no...completely infested with lice and bed bugs.
My first night there I did not sleep - I was issued a bunk but after the fifth bug crawled across my skin, I wigged and stayed outside. Not so bad as there were these two attractive Russian boys - Andres and Demetri - who got stuck the night in El Paso while traveling across country from the east coast and we spent the evening talking of things from politics to movies.
The following day, I decided to spend the day at El Paso's porno theater - Trixxx - to sleep on their big leather sofas they have in the cinema, but wound up playing around with every hottie in there. Wacky me.
Spoke with my caseworkers this morning and I will be set up again with MHMR - the local loony bin - and get back on my psychotropic medications. So, here I am in this no-horse town and I wonder what weird stuff is on my bleak horizon.