Happy Halloween!

It's a Love Thing.

Kissing is man’s greatest invention. All animals copulate, but only humans kiss. Kissing is the supreme achievement in the Western world. Orientals, including those who tended the North American continent before the ravagement, rubbed noses, and thousands still do. Yet despite the golden fruit of their millennia—they gave us yoga and gunpowder, Buddha and corn on the cob—they, their multitudes, their saints and sages, never produced a kiss. The greatest discovery of civilized man is kissing and I do cherish it.

A Blue Tomorrow

It has been almost a week since I found out and I am still feeling blue. Last Saturday evening as I was sending a message on facebook concerning book sells, I noticed under the word message (not the icon that usually notifies me of current private messages) the number 32. I clicked onto and found an entire slew of messages from people. Obviously, with facebooks new changes, I get notified of messages only from people who are on my friends list. I noticed a few from my sister and one from my nephew - they had attempted to contact me to let me know that my mother had passed away on August 23rd.

At first, I was quite livid because of the tardiness of the notes - cursing facebook even more when I attempted several times to send a message reply to my sister only to keep receiving an "Oops! Error! Please try again later!" to finally a full out ban for four days in lieu of spamming someone who is not on my friends list. Ugh!!

Eventually, I called my sister and we chatted. Mother passed peacefully and was cremated a few days later.

The following day, it hit me pretty hard. I felt such a sadness. Is this what it's like to mourn?

Sunday afternoon I had gotten the idea to walk downtown and find a church, sit and pray, giving my final respects. I walked to no less than five churches and they were all closed on a Sunday?! I even went to the old catholic cathedral on Oregon St. - a nun was there (Or a Mother Superior, I don't know which, I'm not catholic) yet, she wouldn't let me in on account I didn't speak Spanish.

So, I just walked over to a quiet park, sat on a bench, and did it there. I thought about her as I was a kid, to the last day I saw her in Eureka, I thought of the funny, silly ways she would joke and make me laugh, I thought of the hard and cold times at the hand of that brutal monster that she had married - a million memories flushed through my head. I sat and weeped.

I'm going to miss you, mom. I always had and always will, love you. I will miss you so much.

Occupy El Paso

And, so...the protesters had occupied the downtown plaza for a week, now. Hipster kids mostly, lounging in the grass laughing, talking, playing hacky-sack as demonstration signs lean scattered askew nailed or hung to posts and trees. The protesters only stir from their idle reverie when the camera arrives - leaping up to get their greasy, hairy faces seen by the folks back home.

A just cause. But, in the end, futile.

Yesterday, I spoke with one of their ring leaders who invited me to attend a 'rally' that was to begin at seven that evening. He became somewhat belligerent when I stated that why was no one protesting and just laying around. If only they or any protesters for that matter, could harness that anger into a force that could be reckoned with.

Well, I was hit up several times by scrawny, white kids with dread locks for cigarettes. At least, that was motivation for something.

You should be here!! Occupy!! a sign blares. Indeed. It seems the prevailing motive with the local hipsters is to be at least part of "Something...anything."

I wanted to gather the nerve to blatantly ask one of these gung-ho occupiers if they indeed had made a difference. But, much like them, I don't care.

On a lighter note - the occasional car still whizzed by honking. Yet, as we all realize, honking will not change things. I could stand on the corner brandishing a sign that said Honk If You're Horny and get the same reaction. Hell, most of the protesters barely looked up at the passing autos - lazy fucks! Do something!

The only positive thing was that the protesters encampment had put a curb on the screaming preachers that infest the plaza. It hadn't deterred the hobos and sexual predators, though. With all the kids around, they came out in legion.

I sat on a bench, bored after handing out my umpteenth smoke and just left with the realization that ones that the protesters are protesting against had won a long time ago...

The Soft Machine.

It seems that I had fallen into the arms of an unsuspected romance. Am I complaining? Not in the least. After two, self-inflicted, dry years of utter monotony and self-debasement, the uncertain step into a glob of love is a refreshing experience to say the least.

Life has become more tolerable, more livable. I do not have the urge to scream obscenities at the top of my lungs or fling myself in front of a city bus, anymore. Who knew that all misery, all paranoia, all self-hatred and self inflicted pain that life throws at you could be easily and effortlessly brushed away by the hand of a willing and caring partner.

His name is Hector Marquez. I had actually met him five years ago when I used to live in Juarez. A pure, uncut boy of the street - would run the night circuit with a pack of wild rentboys that prowled the Plaza Las Armas. He alone, with sly grin and street charm, would seek me out from the pack and attempt to woo me to my apartment or hotel and each time I would deny him and refuse his obvious advances. I did not want to be just another "john" in his scheme of things.

Jump to two years ago when we are re-acquainted one evening. He was dressed in a clean uniform and stated that he was on his way to work - an actual, real job of graveyard clerk at a convenience store called Oxxo.

Two years of lopsided courtship - mainly on his side - and I finally succumbed to his interest that he stated that always went farther than I had previously thought.

"I've always liked you. " He confided. "When I used to see you sitting in front of the cathedral in the plaza talking with your friends, you looked so handsome to me. And, the fact that you didn't see me as just another piece of meat turned me on even more. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you."

If only I wasn't blinded by my Ugly American attitude back then, because the thing was - I secretly was attracted to him. But, I made the mistake of falling for a hooker before and told myself I'd never travel down that road again.

Yet, people change. Hector has held his job for three years, now and helps support his ailing mother - a sweet and understanding person in her own right, she completely accepts her only son's sexuality and likes me, too boot!

So, there you have it. A small monument to a man who has won a cold robot's heart. I will not go all mushy and say that this relationship will last forever - nothing ever does - but, I definitely will ride this strange torpedo to the end.

Wrapped In The Flames Of Devils.

So, downtown I went and decided to do lunch at Burger King - well not in it, but al fresco and took my dollar-menu burger and cheap ass to Plaza San Jacinto. Nice day with big Texas blue sky and fluffy white clouds, you dig? I sit under a shaded tree and watch cops rumble a couple of cuties on the other side of the park. Seems said hotties where partaking in public drinking of alcohol - I gobbled my burger as one cholo grudgingly poured his beer - a Steel Reserve 211 - into a thirsty bush. Too bad, kids.

Finished my lunch and walked around the park - the two guys that the cops harassed wobbled up to me. Damn - they looked even better close up. Problem was - they were shit faced drunk.

"Hey, man!" said the one in the blue baseball cap. "Did you call them cops on us?"

Smiling, I retorted, "Don't be stupid - and I saw they made you pour out your Steel Reserve. That's fucked! My favorite beer. Guess I hafta by you fellas new ones."

Their eyes lit up like Christmas trees and my mind was set in motion - perhaps some madcap sexual adventures will ensue...

We walked over to the covenient convenience store on Mesa Street and I purchased three tall cold ones from the daffy lezbo and with much yuk-yuks and hardy hars, I found out the guys name with the blue baseball cap was Steve and his friend with the shaved head was Tony. Both fresh outta the clink this morning - for public intoxication. Life imitating art, people.

Well, I was always a sucker for a handsome face and these two had the complete package - so, I had nothing to lose and decided to drink with them. But where? Cops were diving and swooping around on 10 speeds like fucking piranha.

We trumped in the afternoon heat to find a safe drinking hole - Steve took it far too serious. He lead us to a filthy pit behind an abandoned house - No way, buddy! Too dirty for this uppity queen - I mean really! So we stomped up to a small park behind the civic center and under a nice shady tree, began to drink there - until two coppers whizzed nearby on bikes. Ugh - what a bother! What is this a fucking police state all of a sudden?

Eventually, we found ourselves under the overpass to the I-10 freeway and finished our beers there. Discussed many a things. The topic of making jack off videos came up and Tony and Steve whole heartily agreed that much money could be made peddling their wacking talents on the Internet. Hold up, I want to state right here and now that it was in no way shape or form my instigation in this matter - okay? Steve even popped a boner - wow - impressive

Well, we returned to the plaza and for some damn reason as we sat flapping our gums in intoxicated candor until some scum-bum named Harold - lanky, fuzzed out hair and no teeth - wobbled up to Steve and for no damn rhyme or reason, the two just went at it in a WW Smackdown dragged out fist fight right in the middle of the plaza. And then, after whopping some jerk on a bike that decided to get involved and be some cowboy citizen - mind your own business, you ass! - the cops showed up and dragged them away.

I just said goodbye to Tony - who mumbled something about returning home and shlupped myself back to my trap. Guess I won't be seeing Steve for awhile...

Puff.

I don't care what the current trends dictate. Smoking is sexy.

We Can Be Heroes.

I hate how we live in a culture of indifference. Eli Wiesel once said that “the opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” And that was back in 1986. It’s almost 20 years later and yet we live in a world where people don’t speak up. They walk by idly as the weak are oppressed, as victims are raped and murdered in the streets. Where are the brave souls that act when they are called to? Where are the men, the women, the children, that will stand up when they see someone abused, broken and forgotten.

We are creatures of timidity. Yet, we crave courage and honor. We are polar opposites of the ideals that we idolize. I myself am a paragon of this fault. I know that I am guilty of not standing up but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t want the world to stop being less indifferent. Every day I wish I were more courageous… That I could speak up when I feel the most without a voice… Maybe one day that will change… But for now that is what I would seek to change. Get rid of indifference and the world is left with love.

The Blind Mouth

Ciudad Juarez, Mexico:

My room is on a roof. I can see blue mountains across from the City which sprawls out like a simmering, colorless vista in every direction, occasionally dotted by cell-phone towers. After work, Hector comes to my room and brings a packet of griefa, "Muy bueno para follar guero." We are sitting on the edge of the roof, our legs dangling in the air. I point to the sky above the blue mountains and tell him "Some day I will go away in that direction."

He looks at me and wrinkles his forehead like a dog and says I shouldn't think such things is muy malo. I can see he is sad, feeling the sky between us.

Later, I am in the shed behind his house where we change and take showers. Hector is there. The others - his mother and visiting cousin - have gone because it is a fiesta. Hector has his shirt off and his skin is smooth like polished brown wood. He peels an orange and the smell of orange fills the shed. He breaks the orange in two and gives me half and pulls me down to sit beside him on the bench. He finishes the orange and licks his fingers. Then he puts his arms around my shoulders and I can see his pants sticking up between his legs.

"Yo muy caliente, guero. Very hot." He rubs his forehead against mine. "Quiero follarte."

His body is warm like an animal and I feel a soft tingle in my stomach and I say "Muy bueno." We take off our clothes. There is a musk smell from his tight brown nuts. He brings out a little tin of Vaseline he carries in his hip pocket because sometimes he would fuck a tourist for money, he has always carried it. I take the tin and rub Vaseline on his cock feeling it jump in my hand like a frog, he is standing there teeth bared, gasping..."Vuelvete y aganchete, guero"...I turn around and bend over, hands braced on knees and let myself go limp inside as he slides it in. I could see out through a little dusty window the junk filled, back yard and the setting sun on the tiled roofs like bits of silver paper, and when I spurt the the world seems to stretch out and then snap back pulling my eggs together and I am spurting out, silver spots boil in front of my eyes and the window blacks out.

I am sitting on the bench my head against the wall and he is rubbing a towel on my face. "You black out, guero." He touched my cheek and looked at me showing the red gums and belched a smell of oranges. "You very good for fuck."

Darkness falls on the ruined suburbs. A dog barks in the distance. Dim jerky stars are blowing away across a gleaming empty sky...

Cock-Adoodle-Doo.

"Buenas dias." He says.

"Good morning." I blink groggily up to him.

I feel you. I see you. I taste you. Through the hollow stillness I reach out my hand and gently press my fingers against yours. Elysium greets us with the old familiar smell of swirling white asphodel. The wind tickles the trees and scatters the playful leaves. I open my eyes and look down at my arms. In this waking dream the skin is smooth, no scars.

In this waking dream there are no scars. For now, no more blue tomorrows.

War of the Worms.

The Old Queer squirms on a lime stone bench in Plaza las Armas, Ciudad Juarez. That being in Mexico, cabron. (Indian adolescents walk by, arms around each other’s neck and ribs); strain his dying flesh to occupy young ass and thighs, tight balls and hard spurting cocks. A boy walking past, turns, grins at him and yell "Que tal, chief?", their boy innocence achingly whip across his sagging buttocks and drooping loins. He screams, an enigmatic Sybil with dark glasses and grey face. Piss blood warm on his withered thighs.

I set my pen down on my notebook and look at the clock on the cafe wall. There was a vato at the counter giving me the eye and I delineated a vague good impression like something half seen from a bus window - back from the screaming, shuddering sickness, everything so sharp and clear it hurts, suddenly smeared with grey smoke - the clock had jumped ahead like the time will after 2pm even for a sick junky - and I don't want to know about him or anybody...

"Hector." I mouth the name silently, finish my coffee and cigarette – we fought and argued over same silly shit. He wants me to stay in Juarez for the sole benefit of my finances. Out of the nine billion fucked up souls on this planet, he picks me to support him and his ma. No, I whisper.

The night prior, his cousin had visited from Tabasco – by name of Adrian, a sultry, walking hard on with the air that no one, and I mean no one, will refuse his glare when he pin-points your ass to pummel in unbridled macho-lust. We had sat on the roof of Hector’s one story, adobe trap drinking beers and listening to cha-cha reggeaton as out in the paranoid City, citizens partied, fucked, and died. Gunshots in the distance mixed with jukeboxes and car horns. I blew smoke from a joint up into a dark sky blanketed in a swath of twinkling stars. After the beer began to flow, Hector began the same old-same old and it pissed me off, or should I say, irritated the fuck out of me because I was held in the trance of Adrian’s hypnotic spell and all I wanted was that sultry motherfucker to screw me into the dirt.

“You’re being a letdown, boy and an all-around drag.” I drearily said to Hector.

He then went into full bitch mode: Droning on about his financial woes and the cold, imperious nature of your common American homosexual that, if I didn’t know better, was aimed at me. I retorted that if he cared for me as much as my bank account, he would have so much to complain about.

Hector flew into a tizzy (macho homo that I first met two years ago is really declining into a full, fledged fag) and stomped downstairs to warrant sympathy from his mother because he wasn’t gonna get shit from my gringo ass. I sat there a moment, holding my caguama – silently contemplating the conundrum. Adrian had other ideas. He got up off the milk crate he was stooped on, silently walked over to me, gently pushed my head back and stood over me, shoving his tongue into my mouth. I sat there – all quite around us except for the occasional smack or slurp – when all of a sudden Adrian is violently hurled away from me from a rather pissed off Hector who silently slunk back up onto the roof. Hector roared at the well-inebriated Adrian to get the fuck offa me or something like that as the two did a short ballet around the roof swinging blows. I sat there, watching this stupid mess and as I light a cigarette, Mother of Hector swoops up and puts an end to these faggoty-ass shenanigans.

A few words are exchanged and I utter I’m going to get a hotel room to think this silly shit through. And, I do.

As I began this post: Sitting in this café thinking. No one here but me – syphoned inna booth. I do care for Hector. Physically. Mentally. Not too much emotionally. However, after a decade in dealing with this culture, I am befuddled that I still carry that snotty ass attitude of West Hollywood with me when dealing with these gay fuckers. Of course it will be a financial boon to him and his mother - they have nothing. What do I get out of it? A few kicks? I want more. I want what every red-blooded homosexual wants. I want to be loved back. Unconditionally and without strings. But, that seems an impossibility in this land of Mexico. Unless I hook up with some simpering, fey faggot and that truly sickens me.

Fuck it. I leave the cafe stroll through dusty near empty streets. A mangy, yellow dog stares at me from a mountain of garbage. Happy fat Mexican waves at my white ass from his shop. A group of chattering Indian women hush up as I walk by on the smashed sidewalk. I stop in an internet cafe and type this shit out. Yeah, I'm going back to Hector's house. I think I love him.