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...