"I want to, meester"

I sit here - black coffee swirls in china cup cream coagulating - staring at the printed manuscript of my 'reports' placed ever so delicately with an almost religious fervor on the slutty table, pocked with cigarette burns and coffee stains. It is almost near. I understand that I have been neglecting this blog - my attention and writing sucked into other directions.

She bent over her religious candles - blues reds greens - the light lit her aged ruinous face like crumpled brown paper. She crooned and whisped away the Dark Spirits, she muttered. Grey mists swirled around matted hair. I don't feel cleansed...

Walking over the bridge to Tijuana centro - the night a blast of navy blue with a tinge of orange at the horizon - gas flares in the hills, stars twinkle like they will, the klaxon of cars and banda down a lonely street like summer wind. He stands at the entrance to his rat trap, slender hips hooked smoking a cigarette eying me as I walk by enraged in vibrating latino lust. I stop at the cafe for pazole and coffee - shoot the shit with the waiter Robert and boy can he ever shoot the shit. "Remember that pinche Americano Ernie? He now lives in a house up on the hill. I went to visit - that pinche pendejo had bout twenty boys living there - all bout 10 to 15 years old."

Yawned and paid the boy plus tip said adios and walked out into the beat sad Mexican night. Flung on a bus and with a black farting blast of soot crawled over that hill to the salty serenity of La Playas. O! Hated spirits! What am I to do with this life?! These questions always pop up in forms of multiple personalities - troublesome little beasts. Down a fifth of bourbon and settle in to witness a fine film - Freeway and I tells ya, Reese Witherspoon got high marks in my book.

Speaking of book - it is now 98% done and Control is happy with the outcome. I was blabbing the other day in a cantina to some doe eyed fucker who didn't give a shit, "Man, I tell ya - hope something comes of it."

But, if you are wondering what the last three months were like - you know, them months I ain't been writin' for your goofy ass - well, sweetie, I tell ya...it was something like this....