Desolation Angels

Dressed to the ninths and tenths, Ricardo and I entered the Cafe Central, a 24hr restaurant located on Avenida Revo in downtown Tijuana to meet with Esperanza Robles and others. Esperanza, or Espie, was another long time friend from my old days of living here. A beautiful college girl studying Economics at the University in Tijuana. So smart and so wild.
Espie smiled her smile big under that giant red poster of Che that bore down on us like some communist Big Brother. Clinking coffee cups with her was another chic chick named Maria and Espie's boitoy for the evening, Manuel. A real hottie, sporting one of those pencil thin moustaches that I love so much and jet black hair slicked back. All three looked like models offa runway from some foreign competition. Hugs and kisses and what ever happened to so and so's issued and Espie invited the whole lot to a house party up in the hills, in the Old Colonias -Tijuana style.
From the back of this party taxi the city whizzed past. At the end of San Letran is the last series of bars that end in a ruined mist, fields of broken adobe, no bums hidden, all wood, Downtrodden Dank, with sewers and puddles, ditches in the street five feet deep with oily water in the bottom. Powdery tenements against the yellow light of the nearby city. I watch the final sad bar doors, where flashes of women golden shining lace behind I see and feel like flying in yet like a bird in flight twists on. Kids are in the doorway in hip-hop drag, the band is wailing a chachacha inside, everybody's knee is knocking to bend as they pop and wail with the mad music.
Taxi halts in front of two story teetering onna cliff and folks are coming and going and the music is loud. Espie takes my hand and leads me inside. Gorgeous people stand and pose with drinks and cigarettes in hand. Mostly queer with a splatter of women. But so many good looking people. Even the tough tattooed cholos standing alone - hot. There is a bar and a DJ mixes and mashes several beats of continents smooth and simple. She introduces me to several people who all ohh and aah at the American. Ricardo makes his rounds being suave and adorable. Drinks were non-stop and a handsome Mexican Indian led me out back were he shared some weed. Timid and cute. Behind a crumbling wooden shed we embraced in fumes of ganja, our tongues probing, our souls lusting. The rest are only anecdotes that will become rumors.
A tune by Cafe Tecuba wailed over the stereo, Ricardo found us and slurred, lank black hair falling over big brown eyes, "Damn those crazy Tecubas - don't they sound like the Beach Boys?"
"Yeah, but very much into the Jaraneros sound", answered my secret lover. He squeezes my hand and smiles. I found out his name was Jaime and he stayed by my side the rest of the evening. The music pounded and we danced, we ate, we partied. We smoked more weed. Some cholo covered in interesting tattoos offered me some coke in the bathroom. Snort---wheeee!!!
Through foggy hangover, these are the highlights of that evening:
I made the off kilter comment that Mexicans generally have small penises. I was taken upstairs by an irate hottie and proven wrong - showed the bestest of the mostest ya'll. Espie's wild erotic lezbo dance with Maria and some other drunken girl. The WWF Transvestite Smackdown between two titanic drunk trannies fighting over a vaquero. Made quite a scene. Ricardo pissing in the potted plant in the parent's bedroom. The continuous flow of booze and coke.
The cool people and new friendships that were forged.
Ricardo, Espie, Manuel and myself all retired to my apartment at 3:30 in the morning giddy and drunk. Manuel and Espie sat on the couch sipping martinis made by yours truly while Ricardo browsed through my CD collection. Would you stop playing that damn Rings of Fire over and over again! We sat up a bit and talked about politics, The Jetsons, and Oreo Cookies. All four of us crashed on my queen size bed.
Okay, next morning, I wake up to Ricardo sitting butt-naked on my couch - laughing - and watching Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space. In the other room, Manuel and Espie are obviously auditioning to be porn stars because all I saw was bouncing boobs and balls. So, I blew Ricardo while he watched Plan 9 and after every one was satisfied, Espie cooked us up a big mess of chorizo y juevos. Love that gal!
The gang showered and dressed and we took a Sunday stroll through the Market and ate the best tacos - ever. There was a little rock concert going on and we stopped and jammed to the throbbing tunes. Ricardo still had a roach stashed in his leather coat and we passed it around to the knowing smile of an elderly man. The sun swung through the sky and we all said our goodbyes and parted. I stopped into the Internet Cafe to pound this out. I am so glad to have good friends like these.

Boogy Wunderland

A cab was called and we found the gang outside a large warehouse somewhere south side Tijuana - where the shanty adobes meld into black smoke belching factories. The wind was blowing and dust and debris swirled in little eddies. Music from inside the corrugated iron building resonated and thumped as a hundred catatonic youths dressed in Day-Glo costumes meandered outside drinking cervezas, talking, smoking mota. The new style with the guys is gangsta faggito, I call it. Pink and black, flashy, saggy, baggy frilly clothes with little band-aids on your face and over sized tinted sunglasses, baseball cap sideways. I think it looks cute.

Esperanza looked great in her shiny black tube dress and her hair was fierce. Big smiles from ruby lips and hugs and kisses. Ricardo, already drunk, tottered up looking like a Latin model for Abercrombie and Fitch. I mentioned he really should try his hand at modeling, the boy is strikingly handsome. He laughed and said let’s all just go in. We smacked down our fifty pesos at the door and entered under the watchful glare of some gorilla looking bouncers. I expected machine gun nests and barbed wire.

The warehouse seemed more spacious inside than outside and was a seething mass of gyrating sweating bodies. Scattered throughout the dark cavernous space were several boxes with dancers precariously perched and jerking to the techno and house beats. Glittering multicolored lights played over the candy colored masses.

“I’m thirsty, baby.” Ricardo says to me, the disco lights playing in his big amber eyes. “Let’s get some beverages.”

“Good idea.” I say, hooking Espie’s elbow in with mine and with her, Ricardo, and Oscar follow us through the crowd to the bar. This is the best kind of rave; the beer was only five pesos. But the line was hella long and we had to elbow our way up there. The two beer attendants were a couple of gorgeous guys from Paraguay and seemed to be having the time of their lives.

From behind, I am shoved so hard that I am almost lifted off of my feet and up onto the bar. I look behind me over my shoulder and it is this cowboy in a wife beater, sweaty and puffing from the dance floor, with his crotch well planted firmly against the backside of my black Kenneth Cole pants.

“Excuse me,” I start.

“Hola.” he smiles. Handsome in a rough Mexican Marlboro man kind of way.

“Would you kindly take your cock out of my ass, I’m trying to purchase a beverage?”

He laughs – pop – and returns back into the smoky darkness.

After we attained our drinks, finished them and take in the surroundings, we hit the dance floor. Espie, Ricardo, and I jumped up on a twelve-foot high lime-green box and shook a tail feather as Oscar found some broad and stayed on terra firma. The DJ from Argentina was pretty good and the music selection kept us going for a few hours – techno, trance, house, reggeaton, European disco, local Mexican music and others I haven’t a clue kept the place jumping. Then they let the foam go. Everyone was waist deep in the stuff and knocking beach balls around. From the rafters someone had constructed a couple of swing sets and kids would precariously swing screaming at supersonic speeds through the crowds.

Hours pass and Espie and I are ripped. Somewhere – where? I have no idea – Espie or me, found a television picture frame in the junk that littered the corners of this warehouse. Well, elbows hooked, Espie and I would work the crowd, Wonka glasses and all, with me yelling, “Make way! The television lady! Can’t you see you are in the presence of a Star?!” And Espie would hold the frame up to here face and wave as we walked by. The people applauded, the fags cooed and screeched – “Fabulous!” “Look at her!” “Love the show!” Yeah, two drunk fools.

Because of this debacle, we had lost Ricardo and Oscar in the mix. Esperanza and I hit the bar tore up from the floor up with the terrifying news that they had run out of beer. Run out! What now? We stumbled around the warehouse and towards the back, standing by one of the huge concrete girders that supported the building was this little cholo. Hidden in half shadows.

“Psst –psst. Hey, you want to buy some beer? I got a case for fifty pesos.” He asked me, putting his hand on my arm. He was one of those little tattooed, shaved head, tank top, khaki types.

“I don’t have any money, man.” And I walked on. Then – ding – an idea hit me and I drunkenly dragged Espie back with me to the little cholo.

“Hey,” I said. “If my girlfriend sucks your cock, can I have the beer.” I mean he wasn’t that bad looking. He looked at me, looked at Esperanza; Espie was splashed and just drunkenly tottered and giggled.His eyes widened, little red tongue licked his lips, “She doesn’t mind?”

“You don’t mind, Espie? I mean, the bar is out of beer and we do need more beer and this gentleman is offering us this case. How about it? Pleeeeez!”

She smiled, “Por que no?” (Why not?)

We walked behind a large trash dumpster that was against the far wall and with the glare of the yellow light above, the cholo pulled out his short fat dick and Espie went to work. I leaned up against the wall and drank a beer and had a cigarette watching. Out of the shadows, like a cockroach, comes this guy’s friend, similarly dressed, except tall and thin – hard and with his wiener out, long and skinny – so, there’s Espie crouched down, taking turns sucking off these two cholos. That was until this big ass security guard showed up waving his flashlight all over the place, snarling “Hey! What’s going on!? You can’t be doing that shit here! Take that bitch out to you’re car!”

Great idea, I thought. Both these guys were kind cute in an I’ll cut you and steal all your money kind of way and Esperanza agreed and by this time was very horny. So we four went outside the warehouse to Hectors car. Hector being the guy with the case of beer and his friend was Francisco. Francisco and I sat in the front seat drinking our cervezas Tecate as Espie and Hector got undressed in the back seat and put on a porn show. Francisco watched wide eyed with crotch throbbing as Hector banged away, what a tight body he had, and a little round brown ass. That turned me on. Ten minutes went by and Hector squirted into Espie. Switcharoo and Francisco jumped in the back. And began rutting Espie like his life depended on it. These guys must’ve felt special getting someone this beautiful – they are lucky indeed. Skinny Francisco finished in a few minutes and pulled his long penis out, hard and still dripping semen. “I think he want some more, Espie.” I breathed.

“Vamanos.” Esperanza moaned, rubbing her red vagina. Francisco rolled back on her and began thrusting and lunging. Sweat rolled down his lean back and off his muscular smooth ass as he pumped furiously. Grunting, he let loose a second orgasm and collapsed on top of her. I raised my beer bottle,"Ole!” Hector laughed and did the same, “Ole, compa!” We all began laughing. Francisco slid out and began dressing; Espie did the same. In the most boyish timid way, Francisco said something to her that made her smile, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, saying, “No import, Mi amor. No importa.”

Saying our good-byes, Esperanza and I walked around front to find Ricardo and Oscar waiting for us. Hailing a taxi, we stopped at Café Central for four in the morning coffee and sweet breads and talked of things that friends talk about. Afterwards, we four crashed on my bed at my house to sleep a contented sleep.

Severed.

Woke up mouthing the word Navajo.
Tried to piece together the last two days. All darkness and confusion.

When Jose found me, I was crouched in an alleyway filled with shit and garbage clinging onto a bottle of Petron tequla. Filthy and a shaking wreck, can't remember the last time I bathed, pants stiff and shiny over the dirt.

I recall:

Jose stooped down next to me. He called my name several times. "What is the matter?"

I wobbled up, leaning against the wall, a passing smile. "Oh, nothing. Slipped gears, crossed wires. Nothing out of the ordinary. And you?"

He looked down at me with those big beautiful brown eyes, "Let's go. Let me get you home."

Tears filled my eyes and I sank back down onto the stinking concrete. "Home? I have no home...I can never go home." I sobbed as that fact hit my heart like a gunshot. "Never go home...never..."

Pulling me back up, Jose whispered, "Come on, guero. First we fix your head and then we fix your life."

White flash bulb of deja vu.

As I said, woke up in the Detox Clinic in downtown San Diego amid the hacking and coughing of thirty or so junkies. Shiny white walls and guerrilla faced interns. Blank and slack stares from resident relics. Old man offered me a cigarette. Was a Lucky Strike. There is a God.

"You're too young, kid." He wheezed. "Too young to be here." Spit protoplasm onto tiled floor.

The rancid smell of hospital filled my nostrils. Wrapped in the flames of devils. Looking into cold dead fish eyes.

I moaned and rolled over in my cot. My stomach felt like it was filled with red hot barbed wire and my head felt worse. And so, there you have it Dear Reader. I will be signing off for awhile until I get my head on straight.
I guess you can't live in madness without going a little mad yourself.

Yeah, I thought to myself, Merry Christmas.

Life imitates art blah blah blah.

For the most part, I have joined the ranks of the Unhappy Waiters and Killers of Time. Oh God, are there so many of them in our land! Students who can't be happy until they've graduated, servicemen who can't be happy until they are discharged, single folks who can't be happy until they've found a mate, workers who can't be happy until they've retired, adolescents who aren't happy until they're grown, ill people who aren't happy until they're well, failures who aren't happy until they succeed, restless who can't wait until they get out of town, and in most cases, vice versa, people waiting, waiting for the world to begin.

Splish splash.

As any warm-blooded homo, I was itchin’ for some action this chilly Mexican morn. So, after a good breakfast of a spicy bowl of menudo and a hot cuppa joe, I made my way over to Banos Roma on the corner of Avenida Mejia and Constitution. Located conveniently across the street from the pile of Spanish adobe masonry that is St. Marks Cathedral – the statuary, I swear glares at you with heavenly scowl.

Banos Roma, large glass plate windows welcome you into a 1930’s lobby with beaver board reception desk of glass brick and fake marble. Ancient attendant smiles and takes your personals – cheapo watch, Wonka glasses, black leather Tijuana wallet, silver Aztec ring, pack of Lucky Strikes – say ‘Howdy’ to a tall dark and suave cowboy on the way in. He smiles back a beautiful mouthful of pearlies.
Well, down to business. Walk through the moist and grimy halls in search of an unoccupied cubicle. The sounds of slurps, grunts, and growls of broken random lust mixed with Mexican top 40 permeates the humid air. How many times do I hafta hear Daddy Yankee's Rompe? Finding a cubicle in the dim back – just the perfect spot – I set up camp. The white tiled room is covered in mildew and filthy drawn graffiti; there is a small cot and on the wall wooden hooks with a broken mirror. I disrobe, wrap myself in a white towel, slip on flip-flops and start the hunt.
I hit the steam room - sitting on the white tiled bench, relaxing as the hot vapors swirled around me. Not there five minutes and out of the misty mists comes a thin lad wagging his long and nasty at me and it was on like Donkey Kong. After a good bout of gulp-n-slurp, I wondered back to my room to cool off and check out the eye candy prowling the halls. Jumpin’ jigglin’ Jesus! The guys on parade were hot – all this for seven dollars!
Standing outside my room, I hit up a hottie for a cigarette – menthol, yech – and stand there talking a bit. I glance up to the steel girders and wish I hadn’t, a biological nightmare of fungus and mildew. Just as I am about to mention this, said hottie grabs my joint and we repair to his cubical where before I know it I’m on all fours getting the bajeebus pounded outta me. Unfortunately, he blows his wad in a couple of minutes and after gracias I hit the showers and take a sensual bath under the watchful gaze of three guys in jock straps posing by the glass brick wall.
After the shower, I sit on the olive tiled bench opposite the handsome three and take in the surroundings. The air is hazy and humid. Water drips constantly from the grimy fungus covered girders and hissing pipes. The Boy comes by and I order a beer. A cerveza Sol. Relaxing, sipping my beverage, I watch as the three pretty boys in jock straps start up. The skinhead kneels down in front of his friend in the middle and pulls out his cock; it bobs long and hard. He sucks it with gusto. The other jacks off while kissing the guy getting blown. The masturbator squirts his semen all nasty like onto the tile floor, as the skinhead leaves no trace of his friends’ semen to be found. He swallows it all like any good fag should.
Well, that shit made me horny, so with my towel poking out at the crotch, I enter the steam room and sit down. Opening my towel, I let myself swing free. A guy with a shaved head and prison tattoos sits next to me. He has great arms and killer abs and his tongue swirled around my cock like a champ, I couldn’t help myself, I shot off like a ten year old virgin when I touched those rock hard muscles on his back.
I returned to my cubicle and paid The Boy to retrieve from my safety box my Lucky Strikes. God, were they needed. Then outta nowhere – well, not outta nowhere, from the entrance, I guess – came my friend Lazo. By this time, it was early afternoon and the place was packed, so I invited him to keep his things in my cubicle. After changing changing into his towel Lazo lost himself in the mists of the steam room for the next hour or so. May God have mercy on his sphincter.
Close to my room, there was a hallway that led to a shower room that looked like it hadn’t been used in fifty years, This skinny hottie in red boxers meandered that direction and I decided to follow. In the grimy shower room – littered with beer bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms – there was this large open window over looking an filthy alley. Him standing there, with the lighting and the background, looking like an erotic photograph. What could I do? Not saying a word, I walked up, pulled out his penis and started blowing him. Pulling his boxers down, I turned him around and lubing my penis with saliva, I pushed him against the dirty wall and fucked him standing up. Yanking out, I spilt my semen onto the grimy floor. Smiling and squeezing my hand, he pulled up his boxers and left. I hit the showers again.
I found Lazo lounging on a bench in front of the radio sipping a soda and listening to reggaeton. Ordering a beer for myself, we sat and joked and watched the boys go by. Lazo informs me that he has had his eye on that tall and suave cowboy that I met on my way in. I smile and tell him to go for it. He walks off and does. Lo and behold, when I am returning to my cubicle, tall and suave cowboy’s cubicle is right across from mine and Lazo is sitting in there on the cot with him. For some goofy reason, Lazo invites me in there, and cowboy looks so hot in nothing but his black boxer briefs. Long, long legs. And I am a sucker for long legs. Well, the three of us have a funny and nice chat and Lazo invites the three of us for frescas. When he goes to gets them, cowboy asks me to close the door and the next thing I know those long legs are wrapped around me like tentacles and cowboys tongue is swirling in my mouth. Sorry Lazo. Sliding myself into him, I held onto his ankles and fucked him hard and fast. Shooting what I had left into his tight ass, we lay there sweating and breathless kissing each other for a couple of moments.
I put on my towel and open the door and there is Lazo holding the drinks – oops – he said it was no big thing and we sat in the sauna and talked. It was late and I was with empty scrotum and flaccid penis and I said I had to go. Getting dressed, I said my good-byes and left into the cool night air. Stopping first at Burrito Row for two burritos colorados and a manzana fresca, I walked back to my trap and fell asleep.

Clowning Around.

Was awaken early by the gentle rappings of Chuck the Canuck on my bedroom door. "You have a visitor."

Clock says 9:53am. What is this - a fucking farm? I get dressed and stumble downstairs to find Fernando waiting. For those of you not in the know - Fernando is the stable job holding homebody that has been hounding me for a relationship the past few weeks. Poor slob. I've been a card carrying member of The League of International Playboys since day one, dears - so I have been avoiding him. Slightly. Oh, too be sure he is what you dream of, you lonely bitches - he is smart, well read, funny, handsome, and sensitive, and not the kind that bar hops. A real bore. He has been hounding me because he has the weird notion that we are compatible in some freakish way.

Yes. Uhm - okay.

Well, Fernando sat in the living room smiling pleasant as I made some instant coffee and offered him the same. As a side job, Fernando performs in the park on weekends as a clown to the delight of squealing little uns. A side job that would be scorned in the states but is held as virtuous here - I suppose. Well, ol' Fernie had asked a while back to purchase some clown shoes for him online and I said I would - today he was collecting on that promise.

Being a man of my word, we repaired to the cafe on the beach and I went online and bought said clown shoes - big floppy yellow and orange things that honked when you walked. Dear God...

Wonder what it's like having sex with a clown? When he orgasms does he h'yukh'yuk'y'uk like Krusty? Does he cum silly string? I asked Fernando - he just laughed and stated that I was wonderful. Thanks, Fernando. Then I took his picture - just to be cute.

We sat and talked of things, of how he thinks my solidarity is the reason of my depressed state, Fernando explaining how he can be the ying to my yang - and Fernando explained where he lived and gave me - gave me, mind you - a key to his apartment. Well, don't that take the rag offen the bush? After an hour of laughter and coy comments, Fernando jet to go to work. Myself, made a run to the border.

The Christmas crowd was ghastly. A gajillion damn people clogged the frontier like a freakin' exodus - fat old women as far as the eye could see. After waiting what seemed an eternity, I jumped the trolley and shot off towards downtown San Diego.

Firstly, to check my mail and was delighted in receiving the DVD of the Criterion Collection of Pier Passolini's Salo: 120 Days of Sodom. Also, I received a letter from SSI stating that my pay was to increase in 2009. Yay! I treated myself to a big ass carne asada burrito at El Tapatio's and then checked out the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still. What a horrible remake!! I had entered the theater with high hopes and left angry and disappointed. A travesty of the classic!

I returned home only to be clogged at the border going in to Mexico which is unheard of. Thousands of commuters returning from shopping and work jammed the turnstiles into Tijuana. It was a nightmare.

When I dodged traffic and strode through Plaza Santa Cecilia, I stopped at bar Villa Garcia for a quick beer and struck up a conversation with a young lad who just came up from Chiapas. He was quiet funny and we joked for an hour. However, fatigue set in and I said adios and returned home on the city bus - it would have been a nice quiet ride if it weren't for this old fart that got on and belted out mariachi ballads loudly and continuous the entire trip. Asshole.

Got home made a salad and watched Naked Lunch being broadcast on television in Spanish. I sat - thinking of Fernando. Perhaps I should give him a whirl.

"Me no like it, meester."

Oh...Hi!

Sitting here slurping my Frappacino Mocha at the local Starbuck's watching the parade of young lads followed by the old daddies glaring dark and nasty.

Yesterday evening took the city bus down to el centro - with a black fart and squeal of gears the ancient school bus deposited me amid a torrid flow of Christmas shoppers gathering their gifts from various shops all in the hopes that St. Nick will be there. Stopped at a corner stall and downed a Mexican hot dog - one of the greatest culinary delights of the world and I ain't shittin' ya. As I finished my dog and started my descent into The Plaza - my name was called and that froze me in my tracks as it always does - nothing good ever comes out of it. So, I turn around and am delighted to see an old acquaintance of mine - Hector, tall handsome and decked out in fine clothes as usual. He strode up to me arms outstretched, big smile line in pencil moustache, "Luis!! Hola!!! Que dice??!!"

I said 'howdy' he said 'hi' and then the long patter of what-happened-to-so-and-so set in. We found ourselves sitting at a table outside a small cafe and what-ever-happened-to-so-and-so really took off and flew in a kaleidoscope of directions. I have not seen Hector in a coon's age and after that delicious cup of hot chocolate he invited me to El Taurino for drinks.

The chill of dusk set in as we walked down the trash covered sidewalk into the Red Zone and up to the puke green colored building of the bar. The corner was congested with the creatures of the night, the corners spilling into the streets with taco stands steaming the smell of seared meats and spicy salsa into the sooty air. Swatting away pre-teen transvestite hookers at the door, Hector and I sat and ordered a beer each. It was sprinkled with fags and Rentboys and being the only gringo in the joint I was met with several raised eyebrows. The beers flowed and the alcohol took effect and Hector just got better looking - not that he's a bad looking character in the first place.

At the bar, I started flirting and getting into animated discussions with the boys around me - laughing and spewing routines. I felt so alive again - not once thinking of that sapping darkness that puts me in a state of antisocial funk.

I began a dialogue with some lad named Javier - a Mexican Indian with a great smile and smooth copper skin. After a few more drinks and a few more dances Javier asked if I would like to go someplace else. Hector said it was cool - he being occupied with his own victim - and I left him to his own vices, making a dinner date with him two days hence.

Javier and I wobbled down Revo and laughed and gawked at the drunken tourists and crazy Mexicans and flashing neon in the cold winter night. We ducked into El Caliente - the new casino and lost a few pesos on slots. At a bar called Exotics we met up with some of Javier's friends and danced danced danced. Bucket after bucket of booze was bought. Screaming laughter and hoots to passerby from second floor balcony - the smile and confused stare of the straight hot pedestrian. Javier and I sat on the big red velvet couch talking and entwined. We made out under the uncaring sad beat eyes of the midget waiter.

2:35am. Lights flashing past us and we strolled to the end of Revo and up a flight of stairs - down a flight of stairs - darkness over a concrete valley of houses perched on a cliff and into the small apartment of my new friend. In the distance a big dog barked and a siren wailed. He offers me a bottled water as I look around his little flat - old furniture, TV, stereo, books, paintings tacked to an avocado wall. Lived in and comfortable. It smelled good - like him.

He took my hands and glided over to the sagging bed and we lay down. Kissing, probing, licking. Clothes flung onto the dirty tiled floor and sucked each other till we both climaxed. Lay under the blanket shivering in the still night and passed a smoke - the red cherry illuminating his handsome sharp features in the darkness.

The following morning we had a light breakfast at a cafe by his house - sweet bread and coffees - shook hands and I hailed a taxi. As the cab swerved and dodged chaotic traffic on its way to La Playa - I took out the little note that Javier had scribbled down and placed in my palm as we said good bye.

Please call. Number is here 0118557963

I like you alot - please call I want to see you again.

xoxoxo javier mercado

Perhaps it is time - no, it is time - to burst out of this fortress of solitude I have built around me for no fucking reason other than my own radical paranoia. I will live - I will love - I will enjoy. And all you haters that have been recently criticizing me for it - can go fuck yourselves. I like my life and most importantly - I like me!

River of Mud

Like only a junky can understand a junky, an alcoholic can share solice with an alcoholic, a queer can spot another fag in a room full of feelthy breeders can anyone understand the despair in this insidious depression that has wracked my trembling form for the past few days.

I have hit the rock bottom I believe. Nothing interests me. I do not go out. I do not socialise. And if I do attempt this I only stare at these garrulous beings in hateful contempt. I do not write. I do not eat. Rarely do I sleep. All things - all of them - that previously have given me some remembrance of joy, now just give me nothing.

I am completely alone in this world. All friends have severed contact from my loathsome being. After that debacle with the family a couple of months ago - I do not will not ever contact them again. I see no need. They are all strangers to me. No more important than faceless pedestrians walking down a dark street. All past has been atrophied from my emotional being. I am a husk. Or so it seems.

Even where I live - though I had previously herald it as being all that I need - is no more than an island in this poisonous river down I float. I can't stand it. Can't stand the people I live with. I recently received my passport but have no desire to use it. Oh how have I changed! Just a few months ago I had plans to use these monthly benefits to travel as I saw fit. Now, I want to do nothing. Have no goal to do so, anyway.

God!!!??? What is it you want me to do??!!! My patience is far from taxed! I am on that precipice now and am looking into darkness ready to jump...

Just For Kicks.

The dank smell of unwashed penis and bleach assailed my nostrils. Close to me a gray old queen sat tapping his foot - face a worried mask of sadness fretting over his lost youth - watching in the gloom the ballet of sex throughout the theater. On screen an Italian hooch was sucking cock twelve feet long - so it seemed.

Alex - he said his name was - sat next to me motionless as statuary. Skinny, hawk like face with black goatee, red cap turned backwards - sat transfixed on the flickering images dubbed in Italian with Spanish subtitles. I look over at him silhouette outlined against green wall streaked in black goo splattered in other liquids now dried and flaking. Long moment of silence. "Let's get out of here." He finally stated.

Best thing I heard so far.

Out into the chilled night broken sidewalk under our feet apparently going nowhere in particular. He pulled his coat tighter around his lanky frame and I lit a cigarette standing on the corners of the world under that navy sky - dash across street dodging kamikaze taxis and waving away Indians with hands outstretched forever. No word passed both of us - I just followed him.

Under a rusted corrugated awning white florescent light seared my eyes he stopped - pedestrian traffic bumped into us - Alex turned and mumbled, "You wanna coffee?"

Mambo be-bop jazz wailed from the speakers as we sat in the cafe watching the people dash outside. We talked of various subjects from science fiction to the fall of Communism - he was quite literary. Well read - knew of books that I had never had the chance to read. He took a long drag off of his cigarette blew it into the air above his head, "So, tell me of this book of yours - what is it?"

"It's a horror story." I stated flatly.

"Really?"

"No, it's a heart breaking romance."

"Okay."

"Actually, it's a travel book."

"Now, wait a minute --"

"It's a medical report on dealing with schizophrenia and depression."

He smiled, "How many fucking books is it?"

I sipped my coffee, "It's a mess. Like me."

We found ourselves strolling down Revo - the avenue clogged with hipsters in hip hop rags and sad beat whores clomping in plastic their see through pumps and sad brown eyes looking up up up forever to Guadalupe - the Christmas Tree towered above us dwarfed only by the slash of the Millennium Arch.

Somewhere down in Coahuilla the rattle of machine gun fire, screams, a siren wails - typical night. We turn a corner past the fag bar where they spill out onto the pavement screeching and shrilling as only fags can - Alex walks with hands in coat pocket. Me - I am here just for kicks. Down a dark street, lamp post out and furtive shadows lurk in the cracks. Alex cops some weed from ratty old fuck coat dirty - shiny over the dirt - and we retire to Alex's one room flat.

Sagging bed, dresser loaded with folded clothes, a small radio that played fucking ranchero. We sat on the bed - our conversation animated and Alex was a good roller, though - fat he makes 'em. Watched in lustful silence as his thin tongue glided over the paper. We lit up and both fell into laughing jags. Passed a beer battle back and forth, too. I sucked his cock just for kicks.

Slapped cien pesos in his cold hand as we said our goodbyes on the corner. A gray dog covered in soot and mange trotted past and Alex disappeared into the chilly fog laden night - his tall lanky body dematerialized into mist. A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a guy I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world. I lit a cigarette and hailed a taxi - sitting in the back, yellow lights flashing across my face, I took a deep breathe and thought, My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.

Another night, just for kicks.

High on Blue Tomorrows.

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