Way back then - when I started this mess, this literary experiment - it was all based on some joker long forgotten by now. For years I roamed looking for that taste of sweet lovin' I had lost - mm'mm and that was some good eatin' boy I tell ya!
So from town to town, shack to adobe, trailer to homeless shelter across America the beautiful I rocked and I rolled kissing the lips of mysterious strangers under a big round orange moon so close you could just reach up and goose it, you know what I'm saying?
And I was getting it good and plenty I tell ya brother - strutting around with my ass in the air like some cat bitch in heat with nary a worry of only one thing - that black fear of loneliness. The dark cold emptiness of being solo. Comprende, hombre?
But the more I loved someone - or the facsimile thereof - the more I became emotionally wounded. Like dead leaves falling the years passed and I metamorphosized into what many a faggot becomes in this fair land of ours: Embittered with resentment and untrustful of anyone. Pinch faced old bitches! After some time - deep down inside, you unnerstan - I just wanted to be left alone and listen to the hollow nothing inside. As my Father dully noted via the last telephone communique, "Son, it sounds like you gave up." Fuck you, old man...
So the farting winds of fate blew me to El Paso - snore capitol of Texas, where the horny toad yawns in the shimmering heat of the slow burn of desert hell fire. I nestled down into a numb cocoon existence well knowing in the fact that I was born alone, lived alone, and I will die alone. Kinda an absolute - needed to face up to it.
Also smacked me in the kisser that this love crap was a myth - that emotion had been long crushed squeezed pulverized burned hacked out of me. Like the Tin Man - he of Oz - empty, void, and cold became I. There had been numerous attempts by several callers to win over my heart - poor jerks! I need a heart first, fellas...
I said it once and I'll say it again and I'll say it slow and country simple: I am not boyfriend material.
First off, I'm nuts - nuttier than squirel shit! Mood swings, manic depression, random fits of hilarious wackiness - and besides that, your Reporter has some rather peculiar habits that are best left unsaid.
I do not play well with others.
So content in my misery I mired - until one day I was being pestered via Internet by some foreign kid who one way or another got my wheels going - he somehow pushed all the right buttons and started the old love machine pumping again. Before you know it, your Reporter is dancing and singing in the streets, kissing babies and hugging bunnies.
Star struck - love sick - or just plain retarded, I roll up tent and head west back to California to earn just enough - just enough mind you - loot to get down to this magical land where my Prince Charming dwelt. Hell or high water, no holes barred - love will conquer all kind of shit! Man, everything was outta whack! All my premade plans of setting up shop were thrown askew because it was rush, rush, rush, him, him, him....
Sigh. Basta.
But reality set in. On top of the stress of the squalid living conditions I was in, on top of the strain of attaining employment - I started to think...El Paso was a vacuum and that Internet Kid filled a void. But now that I am back in the land of milk and boy whores I have no need to travel half way across the globe for companionship - there are 27 thousand pretty boys in my own back yard: Tijuana!
All said - that raging fire of passion I held in El Paso has dimmed down to a flickering flame. Quite honestly - I feel almost nothing for the kid now. And I have come to this final conclusion after years of searching:
Love is not worth the time nor effort. It is a hindrance and a bother. I deem it unnecessary in my life. To accomplish my goals in life, a relationship or that silly love concept does not fit into the equation.
However - however! (Banging my fist on the desk for emphasis) - after ping ponging 2700 miles in two months and just tired and over it, dearies, I have found my Shangri-la, my home of happiness. The place I have pitched tent is - at the moment for my forever wandering mind - is a tranquil tree lined hacienda on the playas of Tijuana. Gay owned and operated - not by the simpering, screechy fairies that send shivers up and down my spine - but quiet nonaddicted sane folks with goals and purposes in thier lives. An influence that Your Reporter desperately needed.
And so, at this writing, I will be here a while and do what I deem necassary.