Fits of Nostalgia.

"Why do we always do this shit at night?" He grimaced as he reached for the charred light bulb with one hand and the flecked remnants of methamphetamine with the other.

I shrugged. What can I say - though he was philosophically right. Why do we always do this shit at night. It's not like we sleep during the day. Sleep - those little slices of death. How I loathe them.

I glance out the window moon swings 'round at supersonic speed, in the distance fat man calls "Tamales!Tamales!" up in the hills - Toby places the lighter under the bulb, open end to his mouth - flick! Gray smoke warps around inside like a Texas tornado swirling contortions of Blank Death. I see the dope hit and his eyes light up like florescent lamps. I take the bulb and repeat his actions. The metallic tastes flows down to my lungs activating junk sick cells. The shot of what seems like 60 watts tingle up my spine back of skull hair stands and pow to the forehead. I begin to jerk in mechanical galvanized movements - vibrating like a tuning fork. Tongue clicks, teeth grind.

Toby was laying back on the tattered futon - blue basketball tank top with matching shorts. My lascivious eye wondered to his limp but long cock resting on those sagging balls. I wanted to reach over and grope that fucker - but, alas he being helplessly hopelessly heterosexual. No - this fucker was here only for my dope however he was not only eye candy but a good conversationalist.

"You hear 'bout Carlos?" Toby spat - small balls of white spittle slowly flinging through the air. Clik-clik went his movements. A spastic robot. "Cops raided his place. Took everything."

I didn't give a fuck - my thought wondered into last night. After an evening at some straight club with Toby, he picks up some chunky American girl and we three drunkenly return to my sordid flat. She wasn't actually ugly - big boobs, big hips - the kind I guess straight guys jack off about. Or maybe it was just the easy pussy. Feigning sleep I repair to my room only to peer through the cracked door and see in the blue light of the flickering set Toby screwing that hooch. Didn't give a rat's ass about the girl, my bloodshot eye held it's gaze on his long cock sliding rapidly in and out of her wet hole, his balls slapping against her vaginal lips the sighing grunt Toby made after five minutes of this and when he pulled out his white fluid dribbling out after him. I slithered back to my bed and took care of myself - fell asleep in that mess. Next morning, they both were gone. He returned in the afternoon and we went to score.

Standing in an alleyway of garbage and shit under a blinding yellow sun and dazzling blue Mexican sky - paranoia as white sedan with darkened windows rolls up. "Cartel." Toby mutters hands in pocket looking down. The watchful eye of the taco vendor on the corner scrutinize our every move.

After copping from The Hand, broken sidewalk rushes under our feet back to my joint for a blast. Nothing on the tele, only orange juice in the fridge, filthy bathroom over run with ants. My carpet was covered in marijuana stems, food containers, meth papers...It's amazing what you notice when you're tweaking.

Toby wanted to watch porn. Fine, I thought, torture me. As the video progressed he got half a hard on. Nothing more sexy than watching a cock grow in shorts unaided by hand. Inching upward, pulsing once, inching outward...

I digress...

In the most wicked sleazy perverted way, I leered at him and asked, "Hey, Tobe, you wanna blow job?"

"Dude, you know I'm not no fag." He retorts all the while groping his semi-stiff organ. "Your cool and all, man, but don't fucking ask me again."

I sank deep in the futon - anywhere I wanted to be but there right now. I took the light bulb - flickwhooshweeeee! I glance over at him - long and lean his body was, amber eyes encircled by thick dark lashes, copper skin, short cropped curly hair. I lay there broken and in pain - vibrating in torrid lust amplified my the methamphetamine.

"That girl I met last night?" He finally said, white tongue licking thick lips. "I got a date with her again tonight - we supposed to meet outside Las Pulgas." Las Pulgas was a straight dance club on Avenida Revu - been there once. Groped drunk boys passing in the crowd. "So, I gotta jet. Gonna go home and get ready."

After taking two more hits, we shook hands and said later to each other. I watched his skinny frame walk out the door. Why am I such a fool for those types of boys? Why am I so addicted to this chaos and not only that - but lustfully to revel in it. At that time I hated myself for it, worried of the out come if it out come. Mortified by my addiction and sordid homosexuality. The conflicts that raged in me drove me literally insane.

Now? I care about nothing and no one. So jaded I have become - and antisocial. I loathe most faggots to this day - I see through all their amateurish attempts at deceit and seduction. I should know, I have tried them all. Trying to attain all that I have accomplished in the past and finally realizing, as it had done to me, leaving them bitter and empty. And like me, they always do this shit at night.

Oh, and two days later, Toby was found shot to death behind Hotel Coliso off of Avenida Coahuilla. I didn't care.

Dogs Bark in The Night

I sat in the dim Mexican bar hunched over my warming rum and coke. My shirt clung to me in the humid heat coated in a fine layer of dust and soot. There were two others in the bar - to my left some suit wearing fruit was in an animated conversation with the young handsome bartender - you know the type, calls the bar tender by his first name using vague gay innuendos in every sentence, rolling eyes, flipping wrists, takes bets on the current futbol game, keeps a girl handy to divert suspicion from his co-workers. A real asshole.

On the other end was a bloated balding queen deep in the drink that kept glancing at me with blood red eyes - greasy face. A real loser. I sat there depressed, looking at my shimmering ravaged reflection in the bar mirror when someone sided up into the stool next to me.

"Mr. Blasini, I am so glad I have contacted you."

I look over, my eyes droop and I cough out carcinogenic vapors. "Yeah? Who are you?"

The thin man in black suit and tie, eyes bulging and predatory, his face a mask smooth and shiny as a China Doll. He smiled back showing long yellow horse teeth. "Don't feign surprise, Agent Blasini - under the current situation, you knew Control would contact you. I am authorized to tell you they are very impressed with your reports - and that's coming from the top, I might add. The Head Controllers are impressed by your mission here."

I took a long drag from my Lucky and downed a swig. My head swam, I felt woozy. "Go on."

"Agent Blasini, I am here to inform you of a new directive. One I think you may enjoy - if you live that long." His monkey like laugh was derogatory and defensive.

"What do you mean if I live that long?"

He placed a veiny hand on my sleeve, black hair covered his knuckles. "Pay that no mind, my friend - just an inside trade joke. Here take this." He pulled something out of his jacket and slid a long envelope across over to me, tapped it with a finger.

"What? What's that?" My head swirled and hurt. Ringing in my ears.

"A ticket to Puerto Rico. Tourist class I am afraid - but what do you expect in today's economic climate?"

"Puerto Rico? You mean the Caribbean island?" I asked glancing down at the ticket. The ringing in my ears and the dull ache in my head intensified.

His face grew blank as a poker dealers, he drew close, "A black dog will bark in the night. This dog does not realise his fate - but he barks. The distant breathing of the highway, the Wild Boys and The Fallen Angels with Dirty Wings, the moon so big and yellow - so close you can almost reach up and goose it. He fears the night, you know? He fears. But he barks. Is it to drive away his fear? Or the voices that control his action?" He then burst into uncontrollable barking and face turning pink with laughter, "Woof! Hahaha!! Woof! Hahahaha! Woof! Hahahaha!"

I sat staring at this character. The laughter stopped as if cut off by light switch.

"Continue to write your reports, Agent - and of course do not edit any of the tasty details." His eyes go dreamy, " The look of shock on his face when you ripped his ear off - the gushing of blood, the passion of your hate. Ooooh, baby - that was sweet." His face snaps back into focus. "We will contact you once you reach San Juan. Oh, before I go - you gotta smoke?" Suddenly he was in dirty tattered street clothes, his hands stained black as a shoe shine boy. I reached in my pack and handed him a cigarette. "Gracias, compa - y adios."

I sat hunched back over my drink, ice cubes long gone as the character disappeared into the hot dusty streets of The City. I looked up into my reflection and nodded, thinking, Yes, this is it. They were right. It will never stop. And as Kafka once stated, this is the point reached when there is no turning back...

Fade to Black.

I have started selling the items I have purchased over the last few months - my 37in. plasma television, the mp3 Sony stereo, the universal DVD player, the swanky dinner ware and glasses I had attained at Copenhagen Furnishings, my DVD's among others.

Last night the Mexican Federales raided our building and robbed and exiled the few American expats that reside in my building - thier belongings 'nationalized'. I was luckily not there - enjoying delicious burritos colorado with Beto. In the dead end street that leads up to my building I had to stand and hear the horror story of an African American who had lived in that building some odd 15 years. The raid was sudden and without mercy - all the expats were told to return to their country with what little they could carry.

I looked up from the foul smelling street at the shattered windows and busted metal doors, the street littered with broken personal objects. Why mine and two anothers were spared I have no idea. Juarez is not a free place any longer so it seems - the police are more brutal and the populace a gang of desperate Anglo hating thieves.

It is only the twelfth of the month and I must either try to hang on until the third of next month or flee with what I can get from selling my belongings.

The air is thick with humid fear.

Ha ha. Hee hee. Ho ho.

Nights wracked in Kafkan pain and angst. Insomnia is my bed mate of late. Trains roar by - inches from my flat with a blast of blackened terror, gunshots in the distance, mutterings down in the street, and some damn cat won't stop mewing - night after night. I lay in the heat of my grungy flat littered with dust, personal affects and dead bugs and think and debate and scrutinize and analyze but I can not come up with a solution.

Psychoanalyst has optimistic hope but she ain't gotta clue how cold it is inside. My arm hurts, my rib hurts and that gnawing throbbing hateful niggardly ache in my head continues without mercy. Truth is - I do not have not and for some cockamamie reason will not take my meds. The depression that goes with this masochistic existence has become such that I am numb to it and all that is around me. Nothing matters. Nothing ever matters.

Control was right - it will never stop. Ever. My rationale and conclusion is what is the point? The point of anything human? Getting up, washing, eating, talking, drinking, fucking, smoking, shaving, living? The great cosmic joke is - there isn't a point. The great joke of God is suffer horribly without alteration and endure it for that is all I offer. Dios, you are such a kidder.

Why aren't I laughing?

American Psycho.

The beer was hitting me - felt the warm glow of a buzz coming on, you know. We stumbled out of the Bar Buen Tiempo into wet streets, a hazy drizzle shimmering down from that pitch black ominous sky. Through splashes of puddles we both headed into the maze of the Old Mercado - drug fiends and prostitutes of both sexes lurked in the shadowed corners.
I met the guy back at the bar after casual conversation over a few beers, not a minute too soon - that faggito Ernesto that sat to my right was deteriorating into a simpering shrilling bore. The guy introduced himself, in my drunken stage I can’t recall his name much less cared. All that I was entranced with was his tall thin stature and good looks - dressed kinda flashy, too. And the bomb dropped when he invited me over to his apartment for some rest and relaxation. Why not - wouldn’t you?
So, back in the Old Mercado, we dodged shady figures and drunks as we clomped along on the wet cobblestone. He mumbled something to the effect that he wanted beer before arriving at his flat and asked for 150 pesos - I handed him fifty. No, that wasn’t enough - and switched for the hundred peso note. Turning a corner, he asked for me to ‘wait here’ while he went for the beer. Nope, I’ll come along. Something fishy, I stated hissing through teeth, “And if you try to fuck me out of my pesos - I’ll break your fucking leg.” I was serious. And so was he as he bolted down the street. Asshole.
Sometimes you do things that are without reason and ration - without thinking of the circumstances that may occur from your actions. I don’t know why I did what I did - I believe at that moment, after four months of being ridiculed, shystered, robbed, and abused - I had reached my limit. I ran after the petty thief through the dark crumbling adobe houses south of the market. With great speed I overtook that motherfucker by grabbing him by his shirt tail - he swung and landed a nice tap to my left jaw. I yanked him in and wap!wap!wap! I wailed on that shit with all the hatred and accumulated frustration within me. He kicked and swung and dodged as I countered those precise blows. This ain’t gonna work - I’m not getting nowhere this way. And that’s when I decided to go psychotic.
Leaping up, I coiled around him and bit into the right side of his throat - as my left thumb dug into his left eye, I felt the warm sticky blood oozing down my chin. Wack! He punched me away and I jolted back, biting off a piece of his right ear. We both fell onto the wet ground, rolling in the mud and garbage - punching and choking. With a whir he was up and kicking me in the ribs - and was gone, racing back down the dark streets into that murky rain.
I stood up, screaming in unbridled rage with blood covering my lower face and splattered on my clothes in the dark drizzle, “Coward! Pig! All that for one hundred pesos! You could of just asked and I would have gave it to you!” My hysteric rant echoing down windy streets at night.
I slammed open the door to Bar Buen Tiempo caked in mud, filth, and blood. “Get me some napkins!” I roared at the bartender. That screaming faggot Ernesto - loaded off of all the booze I had purchased him earlier - gaily called out my name as I stomped to the rest room. “Shut up!” I yelled pointing across the bar at him. After cleaning the blood off of my hands, I returned to the bar amid frantic questions of the owner and a couple of friends. Without a word I stormed out - my thoughts were dark as the night.
I returned home and lay down, however as the numbing effects of the alcohol began to wear off - my body became wracked with pain, especially my right arm. I lay there moaning for a few hours until about five in the morning when it became unbearable I dressed and crawled across the border stateside. I stumbled into the nearest McDonald’s to ask the manager to please, please call 911 - I think my arm is broken. Half the naco crew looked slack jawed at me as if I was insane - the manager agreed to call. But that worthless fucker never did. Time passed. As the dawn crept up, I marched across the street to a pay phone and called myself. Within minutes I was surrounded by four squad cars and stone faced inquiring officers. I made up a tale that I was mugged on my way to work after I crossed the border - they weren’t buying it and just as I thought the jig was up, an ambulance screamed to the curb.
So, I was hauled to the nearest hospital wherein the croaker diagnosed me as a compound fracture in the right arm between the wrist and elbow - gave me a sling and sent me on my way. After lunching in a downtown Jack in the Box, I sat in the park adjacent to think things through. Mexico, for the last few months you have not been kind to me - we used to have such a smooth understanding, great repertoire - now, I just hate your stinking guts. I sat there smoking cigarette, cigarette, cigarette - knowing full well it was time for me to lay new tracks for a different part of the world.
I sat there as a shadow crossed me, looking up to see the skinny frame of William Wiggins standing with hands on hips, “What the fuck happened to you?”
I blearily gazed up, took a long drag and croaked, “Old friend, I sure as shit can use some cock right now.”
After downing two quick beers as The Tap bar we curtailed it to Trixxx Adult Video - that perverted hideaway on Texas Ave. and quickly entered a booth. Plunking five dollars into the slot, William yanked down his shorts and peeled off his shirt as his erection flipped upward ready for action. William always was a trooper. Through the blue flickering of the cathode ray I sucked on that fucker like my life depended on it. William squirmed and grunted and broke a sweat as ten minutes later he came to a shivering climax. And then of course we did it once more.
Wiping up the best we could in that filthy restroom under the fay stares of the three patrons, William and I returned downtown, munched on some burgers and I bid my farewell. Finally crashing back at my pad - I have decided - this is it. I must GO…