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?