Friday, October 28, 2011
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.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
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...
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
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.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Monday, October 03, 2011
In this waking dream there are no scars. For now, no more blue tomorrows.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
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.