Whirlwind of Wackiness.

I'm hungover while I'm writing this - so forgive me if it goes astray.

Have you ever lusted after a straight friend? You're good friends, yet you know nothing will ever happen between you two - but deep down inside you want it to happen - because the guy is hot beyond reason.

I have known Mike McCabe for over a year - when I first met him - he was installing light fixtures at my old job when I first arrived in El Paso a year ago. We hit it off quite well - we had the same madcap zany sense of humor. Point was - he was hopelessly heterosexual. At the time he was engaged to some girl - madly in love with her. As a fact, he was quite shocked - he said - to find out that I was queer. He was cool with it, though. He admitted to me that the the act of having sex with men repulsed him - so I never forced the matter.

Over the year we kept in contact by way of meeting on the street, bumping into each other shopping and the such - he invited me to his apartment a couple of times. But it was a usually a brief visit of small talk and good laughter over a couple of beers.

Well, a bad coke habit and a year has passed and he is now alone and struggling living the life of a bachelor and I have brought you up to speed so let me take you to yesterday:

I was at work and it sucked - sitting at Node 39 I told myself, Luis you can do better. And I did. I shut my terminal off and walked out - first stopping to pick up my check it being payday. I called Roberto to give him the news but he seemed to be freaking out over family matters so no sympathy there - I went shopping. Bought a couple of real nice shirts. And I thought. I thought hard about my situation. I really deeply want to return to San Diego to work and save the cash I need for the Costa Rica venture. At least there are more diversions there...

Anyway - later that evening as I was sitting on my balcony downing some Steel Reserve and sucking a Lucky Strike, the big Texas night sky was dark navy blue and awash with stars and I didn't want to drink alone - the depression funk started to hit hard so out of the blue I called Mike McCabe and invited him for beer- but no answer on his end, had to leave a message. Dammit.

Sigh. Really feeling blue - I took a taxi to the porno theater and while I was sucking a quite handsome Mexicans cock, my cellphone rang - it was Mike. I said that I still wanted to come over for drinks, "Sure, c'mon over." The Mexican that I was blowing was quite the looker though - to bad I had to leave, real sweet fella...had helluva cock on him.

But, I digress and I left for Mikes via taxi. Sitting with that hottie and getting drunk in his apartment the jokes flew and we were having a good time and that was until he broke out the porn on his computer. It really turned him on - which of course got me hot. He confessed of getting fucked by a transvestite downtown a few years back and how he had purchased a dildo and randomly screws himself while masturbating.

I love alcohol.

Well, one thing led to another and Mike stripped down to his shorts - I was sitting in his white leather chair adjacent to him. "I took my pants off - why don't you take off yours?" He said coyly.

Not two seconds after I peeled off my black Kenneth Cole slacks he slithered over and started to blow me. It was so crazy - I was rubbing his shaved head thinking - My God! What a life I lead! He whispered that he wanted me to screw him - I lay him back on his futon and fucked him so hard - the look in his green eyes were hot and primal and beautiful - I came in his ass feeling his muscles gripping me squeezing me dry.

After we showered, Mike kept saying - "Wow, that was cool - not bad. I liked it." It was the second time he was ever screwed, I guess. "Don't fall in love with me." He said with a big smile. "Don't flatter yourself." I laughed, lighting a cigarette, "It was only sex."

He leaned back on the futon - staring at the ceiling fan, "Look - I like pussy, okay? Don't think of me any different." He paused and took a drink. "But at least now when I need dick I know who to call."

I'll never say no.

We drank some more - watched Conan O'Brien, and then went to sleep. He slept in the bed and I crashed on the futon - what do you think we are - a couple of fags?

Raining Drunks.

Rain pounds hard and I mean from nowhere baby - like outta some damn Micky Spillane novel. I stand on my balcony, sucking on a Lucky and a whiskey lost in the nights darkness drops bounce up splattering my khakis when my phone rings - "Yeah?"

"What up, fool?"

Ugh - hetro. Still have no clue who it is, so - "Who is this?"

"It's Roberto." Oh yeah - Roberto, that friend from my job who was tricked in screwing the old switcharoo in J-Town (That's Juarez City, south of the border to El Paso to you ignorant fucks.) with the tranny last week. Freaked out, quit his job and high tailed it back to Idaho all the very next day - that Roberto. Well, seems the freaky fucker had since returned and with some friend in tow - and now wants to troll the streets of J-Town. "Nope. No more Juarez for you, kiddo - not after last time. You're cut off. Plus it's raining - and I don't do rain."

"C'mon, man - I wanna show my friend around and if I go by myself I'll get lost." Roberto began to whimper.

Ugh - "Look - by now the fucking city is a vast mud hole with a fine layer of stinking garbage. You wanna trudge around a mudhole?"

Well being a kind hearted faggitto I eventually gave in and so did the rain and an hour later I found myself crossing the International Bridge with said hottie and his rather thuggish and unfortunate looking friend 'Mike'. Damn - the boy was hard on the eyes - like a deformed hairless gorilla albino. Ew.

We sloshed through stinking heaps of feces smelling sewage and taxi drivers all on the hustle to Hollywood Club the best titty bar in lower J-town and sat ordering three sets of cervezas Dos Equis. We sat and drank as up on stage the hoochies jiggle and quivered in all the wrong places. Then the bitches started to slither over. My homosexual genes where screaming to get out and get out now but with iron will I kept my cool as I was pawed and stroked by these diseased she-bitches. The boys had a ball - $250 worth of lap dances later we split. And of course they now were hornier than hell - so it was off to a house of ill repuke.

This one cooze was good - as we walked by a cathouse, this white spandex clad ho sprung outta her trap like a jack in the box onto the side walk in front of us in a lucha libre stance ready for the kill and began her babbling spiel with Roberto that does he wanna come in a bang the bajeebus outta her or is he a fag. Well - after much debate if the bitch was a he/she (remembering his last faux pau) he finally succumbed to the Medusa and paid for her advances and bought Mike a jiggly tart, too.

I sat with the old haggish Mamacita in the foyer sipping on a Pepsi Light - hearing the bed banging and pounding like crazy in Roberto's cubicle - staring at the old wooden door with ravaged disembodied ghostly lust - sat crossed legged on that old leather hotel chair sucking that Lucky so nasty. The whore moaned and Roberto grunted and fifteen or so minutes and a loud sigh later Roberto walks out looking like he just took a shower and I am so pent up with jealous frustration. Fuck!

A few moments pass and that ugly lump of flesh Mike wobbles down the hall buttoning his pants. We all say adios and step out into the dark drizzle and much bravura and back slapping and cigarettes are passed as we walk back to the International Bridge. A short preliminary check against the wall by the police patrol - but they were cool about it - small chit-chat with them, search of pockets and let us move on.

Once stateside we rush back to Roberto's apartment and break open a bottle of Jose Cuervo and start drinking heavy - Roberto takes a quick shower - "I hate that stink of bitch on me." He jokes. I can relate.

The night progresses and the more drunk we get the funnier things start to become. Of course, my flirting gets outta hand - Mike asks if I am a faggot or something - I answer, "Heh - or something."

Eventually, Mike passes out in his bed room and I make my move - on the living room floor to the green light of the stereo hi-fi the classic seduction without boundaries and without scope. What ensued with Roberto, that beautiful Mexican - I haven't been screwed that hard with that much passion since grade school. Next morning - woke up with a hang over and a sore ass. The three of us enjoyed a somewhat stifled breakfast at IHOP. Roberto and I averting glances - he swirling toast crust in his egg yolk - mumbling vowels and consonants. Good coffee, though.

I had to sleep - after breakfast, dropped off at my flat, goodbyes where said and went up to my trap. In the case of Roberto - Prometheus, what?

Node 39.

Work dragged as work will. There is this little pudgy fella Ralph Martinez - black rimmed square glasses and all - kinda cute that sat next to my cubicle today. Not fat - just a little pudgy and it looks cute on him, you know what I'm sayin'? Hit on me pretty obvious and went all coo-coo for coco puffs when I mentioned I used to make movies - YUSTA, Ralph yusta! Key word. Well, chunky invited me for a drink after work and we drove in his Honda Civic down to centro El Paso to the Tool Box - the local fag watering hole and confided that he also makes little movies and wants this Saturday to get together and shoot something. Something. Write a script he says - about what? Well I got three days - I'll come up with something. Jeez!

The booze flowed and ya know how it is with beer you get all mushy and comfortable and the topic of how white guys got bigger penises than Mexicans somehow ended up the main point of drunken conversation - and right here I wanna state that I was not the instigator, okay? Well, anyway - Ralph to prove that I was wrong and just I think he was horny said let's go back to my place in which we did to finish this heated debate.

To the entire CD of Outkast's The Love Below and some of The Best of Prince Vol. 2 - Ralphy and me 69'd with each other and I gotta admit that shorty had some fuckin' dick on 'em - and we took our dear sweet time and did it all nasty like. Sixty-nine is my favorite thing to do. After we both drained ourselves - he and I showered together and lathered each others hairless torsos up - mine pale his dark caramel - and the boy had it in him to bang the bajeebus outta me in my white tiled bath/shower combo. After that we dried and dressed and went to Subway and gobbled some footlong subs. Well, lil' Ralphy had to pop the mood and act all stupid - getting all wishy washy saying we should be boyfriends and that he thinks he is falling in love with me. Play it cool, kid - play it cool. No time for love - plus, I ain't boyfriend material - I am way too fucked up for that. I'm just that kooky friend that you hang with once a week when you want a cheap thrill, ya know?

Thank baby Jesus Ralph had the cajones to accept that - it's only sex. No more - no less. So, we knocked around ideas for a short movie and had a few laughs - the ideas we were rolling far too many to mention here. The night progressed and since both of us had to be up early for work the following morning - I was dropped off at my flat, good nights were exchanged and I retired.

Life is okay. It's shitty sometimes - but it can be okay.

Damn Transexual Cockblockers.

Sigh.

When will I learn.

Okay - several days ago I was at a 7-11 purchasing a carton of orange juice and a pack of Little Debbie's before I had to go to work when I ran into a fellow employee waiting in line behind me. He was also a new hire and in my training class - introduced himself as Roberto. Now, I have had my eye on this guy - I mean there is a lot of eye candy in my class - but this guy was different in some way. Not homo him - definitely hetro - but I was to learn he was not from these parts - he was born and raised in the wilds of Idaho. Idaho - on his fathers ranch. No wonder the guy was built like a brick house - and he had manners - real small town politeness to him. And just a spry twenty one - small town rube. Actually thought El Paso was a big city.

Well, Roberto and I hit it off and after work being his polite self - I was invited to his house yesterday for drinks. I learned that Roberto and his girlfriend and two baby daughters have only been living here in El Paso for three weeks and the poor boy new practically no one. At first Roberto wanted to cruise around El Paso with me, we shot off in his car and somehow wound up at Hooter's for beers. Yeah - Hooter's. I at this time still had not told Roberto that I was special.

So, we sat there drinking three pitchers of Bud and gobbling spicy buffalo wings as the Hooter girls did their stylized ballet throughout the restaurant making every guy in there horny save one - all the while Roberto was getting a buzz going and confiding in me on how much he hated his girlfriend and he wanted to leave her. The alcohol was kicking in my also and - well - the sexual flirtation started and yup, you guessed it - Roberto took it, hook line and sinker.

"Have you ever had sex with a guy?" Inquired I.

"Nah - but, you know, I'll try anything once. Like you said, God put you on this Earth to live, so try experiencing as much as you can - if you like something keep doing it - if you don't - don't. Life is too short. I like your philosophy." He slurred.

However - this guy was quite the pussy whipped - he promise his girl that he would be back in ninety minutes. So, we drove back to his apartment and got plastered on his patio with the help of a case of Steel Reserve and that's some evil shit - and to my surprise - he started to flirt back in the most cutest ways. I think his girlfriend caught on - because all of a sudden her sister invited them to dinner. How convenient. I was driven home (not invited to dinner, family only.) - but Roberto said he would call me later - pealing out, back to pick up the girl and kids.

After eating a can of Ravioli's and conking out - several hours later my cellphone woke me up and Roberto slurred, "I wanna die, dude."

"That's stupid talk, man." I said groggily - stirring outta my drunken sleep the clock read 8:45pm.

"I hate her so much - I gotta get outta here. Can I come over?"

"My door's always open for you, baby boy, you know that."

"Let's go to Juarez - you think fifty dollars is enough to have a good time?"

"More than enough - just bring forty - don't waste your money."

"I'm on my way."

Plan: Get Roberto drunk and seduce him. Case closed.

Twenty minutes later, we are racing to the border - Roberto is so excited for the fact that he has never been to Mexico. Finding parking - we cross the International Bridge and stroll down the main drag that is Juarez Avenue lit up with the neon grotesques of discos and juke-joints. Playing the guide I try to give Roberto the grande tour but the young buck is a kid in a candy store - keeps babbling - "Take me to the whore's - I want some pussy - I gotta have some pussy, now."

"Slow down - don't you wanna look around first?" I keep saying.

We cruise a couple of strip joints - Hollywood's, Virginia's, Fausto's - but the kid was just antsy. So we walked over to the dark and foreboding whore sector and out slithered a prostitute straight from some old French Movie red sequins, fishnets, titanic ta-tas. Roberto nearly came in his baggy jeans - "That one" - Okay, I'll wait here. Standing outside the room, sucking on a Luckie I wonder why would this boy pay money when I would give it for free? Ten minutes - no gotta be less than that! - Roberto stumbles out grabs my arm and mumbles, "Just walk, c'mon - let's go."

Depressed and frustrated, I asked like I have asked a million straight boys before - "Well, how was it?"

"It was a fucking dude!" Robert shook like a leaf. "A motherfucking faggot!"

"Really?" I said without shock. "What did you guys do?"

"Look at me my hands are shaking - I hope I don't have AIDS."

"What did you do?" I repeated, slightly annoyed.

"I fucked it in the ass - but the condom broke. When I pulled my dick out - the condom was ripped - You don't think I will get AIDS do you?"

"You have a better chance at winning the lottery." I assured him - but told him to get checked anyway. Well, that burst the bubble. He was so freaked out kept cursing fags and queers and transvestites under his breath - Roberto just wanted to go back home - on the drive back he just kept mumbling about "I hope that thing didn't give me anything - Oh God - I'll hunt it down and kill it if it it did."

Sigh.

Dropping me off at home - said goodnight and goodluck see you at work Monday and all that jazz - and went to my flat. The poor kid is now scarred for life - another homophobic asshole created by some monstrous tranny. Fixed me a martini and settled down to watch Todd Browning's Freaks playing on cable. Perfect - gooble gobble.

Underground Art Films

I was asked recently what type of films and who influenced my creative impulses. I thought about it - because I really haven't for awhile. Luckily, I had the fortune of finding a few of the short films that I saw when I was a teenager that had open my eyes to independent cinema and away from mainstream Hollywood. I hope you enjoy them as much as I had and still do...

Towers Open Fire by William S. Burroughs

The master! The one and only father of the Beat Generation - the sole literary author that I have based my writing technique on. In 1963, in France and Tangiers Burroughs and others got together and made Towers Open Fire - this film alone set my mind in motion - this film alone made me want to make films in the same way Burrough's writing led me to write. This film is my favorite of all short underground art films. Enjoy. You will notice the dialogue is very similar to my writing style - it is no coincidence...

Andy Warhol

For a time any film made by Andy Warhol intrigued me - I sat for eight hours in a dark theater and watched Empire State Building - sat through fifteen minutes of Blow Job - bought the Velvet Underground albums - I was hooked.

Fireworks by Kenneth Anger

In 1947, a young Kenneth Anger starred in his first homoerotic opus that caused a national scandal and caused him to be exiled from the United States. He would later return in 1963 to film Scorpio Rising among other films - but he will always be remembered for the groundbreaking - Fireworks. When I first saw this, I was 14 years old and it would get me so excited - no wonder I am so screwed up...

Rabbit's Moon by Kenneth Anger

One of the early silents done by the great gay filmmaker Kenneth Anger. A great influence on me during my days in film school. I still enjoy watching this - and the song is catchy...

Pink Narcissus

An underground film from the days of Andy Warhol - it is the for runner of porn as we no it. This film broke all censorship barriers and paved the way for filmmakers to express liberally thier vision on the screen. This is the sole surviving clip.

High Jinx.

The stage is set - the curtain has been drawn and the drama will begin to unfold.

I started my new job today with a myriad of mixed emotions. Firstly, I hafta keep this thing for two years if I am going to achieve my goal - and there lies the problem. In all my years I have never held a job more than six months - but I am trying to change - become more responsible - more like you.

Well, woke up before the tequila side of sunrise - the bluebirds hadn't even had a chance to brush their teeth yet - damn, can't remember the last time I had woken up at 5:30am. Showered and attended my morning grooming. Outside as the sun crept over the horizon, I stood there blinking like turtle in the sun. Bus rumbled by - got on - went to work with the housekeepers and waiters.

My job is quite simple - I take orders for a major clothing chain from their catalog - nation wide orders - good pay. Mostly women - and the few guys that did attend the orientation were really handsome, especially this tall hunka flesh named Eber. God he was hot - and he was working those tight slacks - not only a perfect ass but that boy had a box that didn't leave much to the imagination. I had the fortune of having this tall hottie sitting next to me at the training computers all day and -yup- the flirting powers where set on high maximum.

After work, Eber and I drove for ice coffee at Starbuck's and chatted but since he had a second job - he dropped me off at my apartment and split. Grrrjsss! Changing out of my corporate drag, I whipped me up a Cesars salad for dinner and then hit downtown to see what was what - ran into my Nigress in crime Suevon Moncrief, and she was on a Weed Hunt. So - along with her pal Fabian, part-time homo, we returned to my apartment building because it is notorious for the marijuana and such paraphernalia. Securing a bag we lounged at my pad - smokin' dope and watchin' Star Wars - the one with Luke Skywalker, fuck that Annikin shit! - and got fairly high and drunk the three of us wacky kids laughing and smoking our cares away...

Eleven o'clock rolled around and I gave Suevon and Fabian the boot - ironed my clothes the best I could - I was rather toasted - and crashed. Well, at least they don't drug test at this job...

Funny.

Ugly American.

Rain comes down hard - so I stand out in the drizzle shivering in someone else's overcoat smoking a Lucky - the computer lab is closed and it is Saturday in this dumpy town and I am broke. So, I am standing there and make with the casual converse with some cat named Lance who feels it is necessary to blurt - I'm gay, by the way - like I fucking care.

So - without further ado we dash around puddles to his house and watch the most godawful porn imaginable - guess he was trying to seduce me - or vice versa - after a long discussion on my life and times in Juarez and Tijuana Lance is enticed into spending the Saturday nite in Juarez. So - a bus is boarded and after we travel to pick up Lance's paycheck - "Don't worry, Luis - you be my guide - and I'll pay for everything. Just don't leave me stranded down there!"

Natch! Clouds burst heavy rain as we ready ourselves and grace with a let up long enough for Lance and I to hump over the International Bridge and slopping through those sad mud streets to the great rain splattered Guadalupe Cathedral. I was stabbed in the stomach with pangs of nostalgia and wanton as we waited for perhaps my old friends to arrive - Alfredo, Ignacio, Enrique - where for art thou? It would have been a pleasure for it hadn't been that Lance was the most yakkity obnoxious faggot I had ever come to meet in many a moon. Shut up awready!

To alleviate this motor mouth - we jet over to Bar Buen Tiempo where nary a friend can be found - so I suggest perhaps Bar Callatias. Slopping through mud - we find sprinkling of said friends - Pablo, Manuel and Lazo. But Lance - fucking pedophile - wants to go where the tweeny boppers are. Ugh. I try to make nice with my old bitches, was actually having a gay old time with Pablo and Manuel - but Lance plays the Ugly American and we just cut so I can save face.

Trod over to Fag Central - Ritz, Olympico, Albatross, Bananas - an assortment of faggoty dancaterias. We sit in one of the swankier ones and we drink many a cerveza sol and Lance gets drunker and drunker and talks more and more and the annoyance level reaches the breaking point. So Captain Pedophile wants an even younger crowd - he slurs - okay, let's hit el Madalon - can't get any younger than that.

Outside the dark clouds have burst and unleashed their torment. Rain pours hard so we jot into Olympico with some obese fairy that has hooked Lance on the street - I have had about enough. When will this goofball pass out? Loud - drunk - obnoxious - goofy. Why did I agree to this?

Luckily we agree to run in the rain to the Ritz next door - my chi was off. I have had it. Told the goofy fuck let's separate and walk around. That was my undoing - asshole took off. Split - left me in the lurch. When the club closed - I stood out in the pouring rain waiting for him to come out and he never did.

Ugh.

So - sloshing through the neon storm back across international boundaries I strode up to Plaza San Jacinto - it being three in the morning and knowing full well the buses in this shitty burg didn't start to run until eight Sunday morning. The only other soul was a ex-con cholo standing under an awning that I new that sold dope in the park - his name was David. Both stuck - we agreed. If we can get a ride, you can crash at my house - the offer platonic you unnerstand. Taking refuge in a Holiday Inn - I called an old friend who dispatched for Yellow Cab and pulling strings gotta free ride to my trap - David in tow.

Once back at my pad - hot cuppa joe was made, porn was put in the DVD - cuz I'm one smooth cat - and David and I warmed each other up. After a pretty smooth make out session we crashed to sleep...

I will never go to Juarez with an American again.

Drunken Faggots.

Hector Mercado.

Bastardo.

I sat in Taco Lucas chomping down some crunchy flautas on the corner of Avenida Juarez and Calle Ignacio Mejia - eyeing the hot vaquero with his henpecked wife two tables over - he looks over and smiles - I smile back lighting a Lucky and my blue eyes all sparkly and the man blushes. Bitch grabs his square jaw and jerks him around, "Are you listening to me?!"

Ugh - women.

Well - Hector decided to show up and looking like Hector does his lateness was pardoned - he kissed his wife hello - yup, the cashier - the fucking hostess, Gracelda - was his wifie. Nice as far as broads go. Hector was dressed in his dark denim and black leather and I nearly creamed my dry goods lusting over that thick stocky man frame as he scraped up a chair to my table and ordered a beer and some tacos al fresco, cabrone.

We ate as men eat - great gulps of flesh and swigs of beer and laughing of antidotes of wild drunken times and adventures and sexual escapades. A few of my cigarettes later, Hector asked "Hey, guero, have you ever drank a tequila called Xuxupaste?" Pronounced Chu-chu-past-eh for you dumb fucks that don't know Espanola.

"Nope." I said, ordering another beer. "Can't say I have. Is it any good?"

"Aie, guey - the best. Finish up - I'm taking you around the corner to the oldest bar in Juarez that has the best Xuxupaste." Hector said like an excited teen ready to burst my cherry - eyes a poppin' and biting his bottom lip.

"Okay." I sighed. As we walked to the door where are you going or more like donde esta was roared at us from that mammoth woman of his. Whirling around - Gracelda stood there like some supreme Aztec earth goddess arms crossed and flanked by the condescending greasy cook.

"Out for a beer." Hector said to her. She clomped over and towered above - holding up one finger. "Bueno, Hector - ONE BEER! Okay! Solomente - one!"

"Okay, baby!" He smiled - kiss on the cheek. "One beer - I promise. I love you."

Out the door - hot concrete under our feet. Past the crumbling adobe and the ravaged heroin hookers - past the piles of garbage and the roving packs of cholos - we came upon a small cantina called El Arbolitas. Entering the bar was small with two metal tables three booths and a huge mahogany bar that was warped to Dr. Suessian proportions. The bar was populated by the friendliest group of working class guys I have ever encountered in Juarez City.

Behind the bar, the bartender was a friendly jovial man that emitted warth and hospitality. Hector ordered one beer each, cerveza Sol. He then order two shots of Xuxupaste. It cam in a clear bottle with some sort of large root in it - to me it looked like a petrified hand. Slice of lemon - salt on the wrist...Slamming it back - the taste was bitter, with a hint of gin. Not bad - good kick.

Ten more and Hector and I were fucked up. And we still hadn't finished our first beer. Some fat guy took out a guitar and the entire cantina burst into singing old Mexican folk ballads - it was something out of a movie. We all laughed and slapped each other on the back - told jokes and stories and downed more of that delicious Xuxupaste.

Eleven thirty rolled around and the bar shut down. Hector and I - arms around each other for support - stumbled back to Taco Lucas. waiting at the door - arms folded and mad as a hornet was Gracelda. "Look at you two! I told you - one beer!"

Hector looked at her - focused for a moment, "I didn't brake my promise, honey - we had one beer. Ten tequilas - but one beer."

We both fell on the concrete laughing. Gracelda hit Hector across the back - "You're impossible!"

Hector and I were both so gone that two Mariachi had to help us to a table and Gracelda brought us coffee - however when Hector went to the washroom - he never came back. For over an hour he stayed in there. First, Gracelda was at the locked door banging on it - calling his name - but to no avail. Then a line of mariachi kept knocking calling his name - but Hector still wouldn't come to the door. Finally, the police were called to force open the door - there was Hector - curled up on the floor under the sink with a smile on his face passed out.

With a splash of bucket water - Hector was revived and it was my duty to walk his drunk ass the two blocks to his house. Fine - I told Gracelda I'll crash on the sofa. "And don't wake up my children!", she shrilled as I helped Hector down the cobblestone sidewalk. Once back at Hector's house and after thirty minutes of drunken Three Stooges comedy of trying to get the door open - Hector and I creep into his bed room. It took Herculean effort to control myself as I stood there watching Hector peel of them clothes and crawl in bed. Damn - he has a physique like a pro wrestler - muscles bulging all over the damn place.

The only thing I can report is he pulled me on top of him and we made out. Kissing those thick soft lips - feeling that hot fat tongue - I was so excited. But - he passed out again. So - I just left the house, walked across the border and returned to my apartment.

Hector - you make me so anxious...

A Perfect World.

The United States has become Oceania.

11:10 en el Noche.

Walking through these dark cracked streets huddled in someone else's coat. I stop under a poster covered street lamp and light a cigarette. The buzzing from the condenser above me fills my head. Banda music waivers down among the shadows intermittent like black wind through dead trees. I look up and the wires criss cross the starry night. I close my eyes and sigh.

In a town of ten million people, why do I feel so alone?

Dark Backwards Theater presents:

I Flew Over the Coo-Coo's Nest.

The blaring white light flashes across my face - heat upon heat upon heat upon heat as the box cars rumble beneath my feet once again. My jaw clenches my Lucky Strike so hard the tobacco falls onto my tongue - leaves bitter taste. Click clack click clack click clack click clack - the locomotive rushes below me like a steel behemoth - make up your mind before it's too late - the end is near. As fast as it had appeared it is gone and I am left in cold darkness - the train is now nothing but a small red light in the distance and a faint howl of the klaxon.

I stand on the rim of the bridges precipice - blinking the dust and tears and walk into the night. I walk the twelve blocks to the El Paso psychiatric Center. NO WALK INS. I call the 1-800 number and between sobs admitted - faceless surgeons armed with razors cut out my imagination - popping psychotropic pills with left hand - signing reams of paperwork with my right hand. Stripped to my dry goods by a leering and obese fairy porter and handed my tattered hospital gown - I am escorted by said porter and some goon to my room. Amid howling and screams I try to sleep, but it don't come.

4:35 a.m. 'Time to take your blood pressure.' Why not? I say head all groggy and lift arm like putty and not knowing where I am and not really caring - more pills are taken. I lay down and my head is throbbing - but there is a big black hole back there. And I can't remember what was there - you know?

So, Dr. Sahid strolls in all smiles and has viscous nurse takes blood in the worse way - cause I'm a fag and I gotta be tested for germs, because that's what we got, right - but the bitch goes probing for a vein like a rube and a diggin' and I'm starin' and I ask with raised eyelid "First time?" In which she yanks the needle out and jabs - jabs! - the fucker in the other arm and draws blood from the good arm. I'll say it here for the sake of future generations and I'll say it country simple - I HATE WOMEN. THE VIRUS OF THIS PLANET! NEVER LIKED THEM - NEVER WILL!

Anyway - back to the story in progress - I return whimpering to my cubicle - fucking cunt - I lay on my stinking cot in a room that reeks of vomit head spinning like numb cotton. Every so often orderlies come and ask me something - voice muffled - I just answer "I'm okay." They could be asking, "Did you murder that little girl behind the 7-11 the other day?" - I'm okay.

Shuffled with the rest of the retards to eat. Poo on a plate. Mmmm. Some spaz decided to go theatrical and flung his Martian Dinner all over the cafe. Ugh. If I had half a mind I would of - well I didn't so I just sat there and watch with medicated numbed atrophy like everyone else.

There was a large part of my stay that was a gray screen - just a blur. Numb. Nothing. A part that was taken out of my brain - I can't remember anything. Hmmm? All I know is, the following morning I had enough of this crazy shit and walked up to the head nurse and demanded with a stern eye - well saggy and bloodshot - an immediate discharge. The doctor agreed. And 12 hours later - amid torrid rains and crashing thunder, I was in the back of a yellow cab returning to my apartment.

My life is crazy. Or is it just me?

Dry dead leaf.

The gray just gets grayer. Can't connect with anything. No time left on my cellphone - so no body can contact me for job interviews - which is a bust anyways; who the fuck is going to hire me anyway? On my resume it states I haven't worked for a year - I wouldn't hire me. There isn't any work in this town. Tired of going out for weeks on end and hearing that nothing is available...Have sold everything of value san my laptop - only thing I have left - only thing I have left grounding me to reality - writing that book. And on that have really lost interest. Lost interest on all things, really.

Feel so cold inside. I feel nothing. I feel like a corpse waiting to be sent to the grave.

All my friends are gone - have abandoned them. I don't talk to anyone. Don't feel exceptionally social anymore. Last night took a walk in the night and felt so alone like always - can't connect with anything. What is the point of continuing this? The world is such an evil and hostile place and seems nothing but an disgusting struggle to the bitter lonely end.

Even those at MHMR I have lost interest - the only person I have trusted has left. The others are nothing. They listen but don't hear nor care. No one does.

That is the point - no one does. Why should I? And the reality...I don't.

I want to call my parents - my long suffering parents - out of shame I should. I need money. I know my mother is probably dead at this point - I am not sure, but she most likely is - I should join her - how I envy her if she is. The peace she must've attained from this shit we must endure! How I envy her! Sigh.

Tonight - tonight I think I shall try again. I mean - shit...how hard is it?

Evil Elderly.

My life has become a bizarre Hitchcock film. I am being stalked by an evil elderly woman. Actually it is the same woman that I had encountered on the bus a few days prior. She is now following me around snapping pictures of me on her cell phone - mouthing 'I am going to get you, you mother fucker.'

Can't wait to see how this pans out. The suspense is killing me...

The Black Lodge.

Dark Shadows on the Wall.

Woke up and made scrumptious menudo - from a can - for breakfast with a cup of joe.

Dragged my ass across town on the bus to see if there was employment available at this one joint that a friend said that 'they were always hiring' - well they were not. And on a side note; nice to see racism is alive and well in our fair country. When I got on the bus and plopped down in the back next to this old Mexican hag - she gruffly got up and sat two seats forward. No big whoop, I thought. Until she grumbled something and flipped me off.

Sigh - I just let it slide and kept focused on the matter at hand of getting a job. Well as luck would have it - the old cunt got off at the same stop as me. Now get this - crossing the street as we were entering the shopping plaza's parking lot, the old bag starts yelling, "Die you fucking asshole!" In espanol yet.

I did what any red blooded faggot would do to protect his honor. I said, in my best Travis Bickle, "You talkin' to me?" and casually walked over to her and spat a big loogy right into her wrinkled contorted face. Wouldn't you? Well - she screamed and she hollered and she cursed like a sailor some more after that. I just calmly walked away thinking if she is going to hate me at least I will give her a justifiable reason to. Why is it we live in a society built on apathy? Where does these people come from?

After that stupidity, I stopped in Barnes and Noble and found the coolest book on Costa Rica and read up on the subtleties of opening a business down there. Can't wait.

It seems I have decided to start small, perhaps with a coffee shop first and then move up to the hospitality part. I want a gay bath house - yeah, pimp out my own boys. Heh - heh - heh. Just kidding, a Bed and Breakfast on the beach will do just fine...with boy whores.

Up your ante.

After much bitching as only a bitch can bitch - EBT is functioning fine. MHMR has upped the doses of psychotropic medications - hey Mr. Lee how 'bout them roaches? - and have to battle the dark shadows just out of range of my optics. The old now you see them now you don't. Yeah, I'm crazy.

Must come to the conclusion that in a desert all things are desolate - employment, mental health, love - and that must demand patience. After all, two years are at my disposal. The search for employment continues - look pretty darn hot in my Tommy Hilfiger jacket and black slacks. Kerpow.

Pulsating emotions of warmth and love and understanding from Central American ghost egg me on to complete my goal - but the Great Black Vortex still looms ahead. Like Homer I will sail through this tempest or will sink - what ever the outcome my fate I shall accept.

Damn this depression is insidious business.

Ignorance Is Strength.

This week had just gotten progressively worse. Do office workers get off on being incompetent? Why are all the good ones fired and the idiots always kept on the pay roll?

Had a run in with my caseworker at General Assistance concerning my EBT card - has not and will not be activated until she gets a written letter from MHMR stating the fact that they are paying all rent and utilities. I had of course asked my tech - the one who is handling the payment and receipts of said documents a month ago to fax General Assistance a month ago - fucking month ago - said letter. Four times I had asked and I was told it had been done. Not by the caseworkers files at General Assistance of course.

After several pleaful phone calls to said caseworker - she finally agreed since no tech or tech's supervisor could be reached at MHMR, I myself could fax over copies of the paid receipts and lease from my apartments office and all will be dandy.

Okay. Fine. So, jumping aboard the World's Worst Public Transit System, I finally reach my apartment and with much arrogance I get the documents from my landlord and are grudgingly faxed by her. But - no. They are not good enough. Called back the caseworker at General Assistance and she then informed me she needed that fucking letter signed by my tech.

Fuck you. I'll wait until tomorrow. Luckily on the bus I met an old friend - grand old queen by act of congress - and he gave me a sawski and Lucky Strikes and food was purchased. Staples, you understand.

Woke up early Friday morning and - thanks to the crappy transit system - two hours later I am at MHMR bitching long and hard about my EBT card and that fucking letter. Much smiles from my tech's supervisor and phone calls were made and psycho therapeutic pills were downed and a letter was drafted and after reaching the caseworker at General Assistance was finally notified that my EBT card would be activated in 24hrs.

24hrs later and that mother fucker is still at zero and it is Saturday and the fucking Kafkan offices won't open until Monday.

Why do I even bother getting out of bed in the morning?

Any rich cats out there? Please help the Desolation Angel Relief Fund.
Send checks and money orders to:

Luis Blasini
4730 North Mesa #61
El Paso, Texas 79912

Living in a Septic Tank.

For the past two days the city of El Paso has been under water - which is odd for a desert city. But never the less it has been drenched in torrential rainfall. The worst of it all is I have been on a forced fast. I - through no fault of my own - have run out of food at my apartment and within a series of stupid events I have not eaten anything for three days - going on four. Several people that I thought I could rely on have said they would help me but of course not - worthless unreliable shits. And 'they' wonder why I am so independent and do not trust anyone. They never can see past their own ignorance. Oh well - like I always say if you're going to do something, do it yourself - others will just wind around fucking it all up. I am better than this...

Last Friday, MHMR issued me a voucher to the food bank, at the time I had a couple of cans of soup to last until Saturday. Drank a lot of coffee all of Sunday. Unfortunately, because of this stupid and freakish storm the El Paso Food Bank was closed both Monday and Tuesday and of course as luck would have it not opened on Wednesday. So, looks like I shall be dining on hot coffee and will power tonight and wait for tomorrow.

Sigh.

Anyway, desperate for cash I decided to sell my laptop - however, now get this and this is one of the millions of reasons why I loathe El Paso so fucking much - I take the damn thing to all four pawn shops in downtown. Nope - we don't accept computers.

Okay.

All the rest of the friends I have are poor and worthless and want the damn thing for like twenty dollars. So, again I am back to square one. Bad thing is I erased all my saved documents - including my book - all for nothing.

Well, highlight is I got a job and I start the following Monday - so that will alleviate the financial woes a bit.

A New Hope.

Traffic in my apartment was hectic. If I am asked one more time how I am feeling by an agent by MHMR I swear I'll kill myself.

Visited by several caseworkers from the loonybin to see if yours truly is okay - Monday I hafta go to Kook Central for a check up of the noggin and as most likely will have to spend the night downing all types of psychotropic drugs and tolerating anal probe after anal probe. The good thing is I will be granted SSI benefits - that's free money monthly from the gov folks gratis in large amounts for the rest of my miserable life. And what do I plan to do with it? Well, along with some part-time employment I'm sure to land - God knows what that will be - scrimp and save for a year and do The Secrete Project - it has become my obsession - my single propose in life. With burning desire, I will focus all my attention onto this endeavor - I have nothing else to lose.

It will become my life. It will be my new hope.

Lost.

The night is dark and the stars blanket me. I look up and I see nothing. Under me - far below are the tracks - I can hear the rumbling of the approaching train - I feel nothing. The wind has picked up and the dust has caked into the sweat mixed with tears stinging my eyes. I don't even know why I am sobbing - I feel nothing. My body is frigid and my insides are cold. The sounds of the trains' klaxon is deafening as it rushes under the concrete bridge all I have to do is to take one step - one small step and all this misery - all this loneliness would end. The bridge is shaking from the force of the black iron engines as the locomotive rumbles at great speeds under my feet - black smoke swirls around me. I take a deep sigh - look up and gaze at the stars. It really is a beautiful night. What a wonderful God we have to create something so beautiful. The train passes and I turn away and walk into the black swirling dust.

What a loser - can't even kill myself.

I even failed at taking my own life.

The Cold Inside.

When I arrived in this Godforsaken desert back in August of last year I sat across the desk of my counselor a quivering swallowed eyed wreck. He asked me a simple question: "So, what are your plans for the future?'

Let me try to explain this - and I am not being theatrical - this is the best I can come up with: a big black cold nothing. No vision of anything. No fantasy of nothing. Blackness - inky darkness - empty silence. And the feeling from it sadness and cold loneliness.

That's it.

When I was a kid my mind popped - over flooded with images of what my future would be like. Bright lit candy-colored tableau. A famous film director making blockbuster hits like Lucas and Lynch. World famous - my name a household word.

Now - nothing.

I started with MHMR - the local nut factory here in El Paso - and began their treatment program, took their psychotropic medications, went to their therapy - and several months later...

I feel the same. Nothing. So empty and cold inside.

I feel like a corpse waiting to be sent to the grave - I've done so much in the past decade - what is their left to do? I have no impulse to go in any other venture - no drive or spark for any project. I don't want to do anything, talk to anyone...

At this point perhaps termination of this borrowed flesh is the only step forward.

Traveling without moving.

The funk that I have been feeling lately is really getting awful. Is this the depression? My sickness? How insidious. I have no drive to do anything - anything at all. Today I planned to look for work - nothing.

I worry that when I find a job my psychosis will return - I will have an attack and somehow lose it - same old story...like the pea under the shell trick - now you see it; now you don't. Of coarse my greatest fear - and this has been gnawing at me for over a month since I came back to El Paso and got this free apartment from MHMR - that right when I am on the brink - right when I am at the cuspice of getting ahead, it will blow up and fall apart and once again I will lose it all like I always have so many times before. Everything taken away - so what's the point?

Let's face the facts - I am a loser in this life, folks. And not just petty ones - I have fucked up in some grand humdingers! I should have been a famous film director, or manager of a resort hotel, or television station supervisor, or drug runner, or cartel - but always ended the same...right at the brink of success, just as my fingers were to grab that trophy - splat! Boom! Everything crumbled around me and within a matter of days if not hours - I was either living in some transient shelter or on some bus to some damn slum in a foreign locale.

I sit here poised - staring at this screen...wondering even if I should join the work force again. The paranoia consumes me. Just last week I applied at a company that had a reputation of hiring anybody but me - denied. A blow to the old withered ego - I tell you. And me being over qualified for almost everything I apply for - problem of being to smart for your own good.

I have this dream - and at the moment all it is is a half hearted fantasy that will probably flounder like so many other of my projects - I want to open a bar - a gay bar on the beach down in Costa Rica. A place like the Copacabana 'cept queer where the fag jet set would lounge sipping mai tai's and half naked native boys frolic - with me behind the bar looking like Cap'n Carl from Pee Wee's Playhouse. But - as I said, a dream - how can an insane man with no ambition make this happen?

My future once again seems black and dark - a huge void. Cold and empty - and I see no light at that other end.

Plaza San Jacinto.

Decided to wile the afternoon away at the Central Park in downtown. Ran into Abel and Bubba – Bubba is a local character, crazy ass Negress that gets his living offa the government tip, i.e. his social security checks. So – the girls and I sat in the stifling heat and watched the parade of boys.

Sitting across from us was a group of heroin junky cholos and their two bitches. Much chit-chat about the three attractive ones – the cholos I mean. There was one that was sitting directly in front of me with shaven head, wife beater, and baggy black pants – real hot except for the chunky beeotch that clung to him like a deformed monkey. However, as the old vato gangster with weary eyes and drooping moustache with the boom box blasted oldies – this younger cat kept eyeing me tugging at his crotch and popping a boner. But alas, their bus showed up and the whole troupe left with it.

It would have been a peaceful day in the plaza if that asshole about town William Wiggins did’t pollute my gaze with his presence – why? I hate him so much for treating me so bad for nothing. My only satisfaction is that his life is truly shitty – living at the O.C., unemployed, and contracted chlamydia. Brilliant.

Bubba – who knows of this loudmouth pretty boy – wanted to start shit, but I explained that if anything started, I would go to jail for murder – my hatred for Wiggins is that intense. Dear Reader, you know what a savage wildcat I can become in a fight. Luckily nothing came of it.

So the boy watching continued and the stories of sexual conquests and the ungodly heat. Bubba – who reminded me of myself years ago, had no qualms of talking to handsome boys who walked by on the way to the bus stop. One green eyed Mexican guy – who is extremely handsome in a model kind of way and is known for selling his wares in the public mensroom – walked by and Bubba blurted out, “Hot! You’re hot!”

“What the fuck does that mean?” He growled back.

Without missing a beat, Bubba returned, “Whataya think it means? You’re hot – shit!”

The guy just stormed away. Oh well – we all just laughed it off. Bubba and I made a date to visit Banos Roma in Cuidad Juarez in Mexico next Tuesday – can’t wait to see how that pans out.

Our Taxes at Work.

Public transportation has always been overrated. Even though the El Paso bus system has to be in my opinion the worst in the country – it does at times transport an entertaining assortment of characters. And I like how everything on the bus – from the plastic chairs to the aluminum railing is slimy and/or sticky.

As I waited for my route 15 in the dimming twilight of the Central Plaza – the hot winds began to blow and that crazy ass black lady started to get too close. The heat caused the flies to come out at Biblical proportions and I sat there swatting them fussily. With a squeal of gears, the old bus farted black smoke and halted at the station.

Already I took inventory of the people that were waiting – mainly the two hot young Mexican boys that I have noticed before waiting for this line. Especially the younger one with the highlights – always checking me out.

Well, flashed my free and gratis bus pass compliments of MHMR and sat way in the back – with the cool kids. And then wish I hadn’t. The bus idled for twenty more minutes as I cooked on the engine where the seat I was perched sat over. It didn’t help that the air conditioner didn’t work – then again the air never works on these buses.

The two hot Mexican boys sat adjacent to me providing eye candy – the one with highlights kept taking digital pictures of his friend (lovers?) It was too cute. A filthy ass drunk that lumbered back and sat two seats away ruined it – he smelt of piss and sour beer. Then two bloated teenage hoochies in miniskirts sat back with us, also.

We were also joined by three real handsome Mexican cholos that were high on heroin – they sat in the back – all three…silent, legs crossed, eyes drooped, sniffing. One, the thinnest and by far most attractive, pulled a small crossword puzzle book from his back pocket and began to figure out the games. I sat there taking it all in – simmering from the heat of the engine until finally with a grunt and protest of gears, the bus lumbered up Mesa Avenue north to my apartment.

It would have been a quite ride if the drunk didn’t clomp up front and start grating loudly, “Goddamit! Whydoya hafta shtop at ev’ry fuckin’ shtop? Yur fuckin’ shtoppin’ at evr’ry fuckin’ shtop! Ya Goddam muthuh fukkuh!!”

All through this I kept checking out the skinny cholo in the white wife beater who appeared completely oblivious to what was going on and didn’t falter from looking up from his crossword puzzle – not only hot, but intellectual.

The metal dinosaur continued and picked up and dropped off corpulent women and goofy looking homosexuals. I like how in the back this one bloated fairy would dart his eyes around from one guy to the next and look away in nervous shame – especially at this young white guy with travel bags that was either homeless or coming back from a long journey.

Well, the drunk started up again and the driver slammed on the brakes and threatened to call the cops. “I don’t givva fuck!” was the response.

About this time I had reached my stop and debarked. I wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed on? I try to imagine that the whole bus had to team up to subdue the enraged drunk – in a fit of anger the drunk takes the wheel of the bus and drives it over a ravine…passengers screaming, carriage bursting into flames…