Dr. Hunter S. Thompson once said: "Who is a better man? The one who sailed the sea of life, braved the storms and lived or the one who stayed on shore and merely existed."
With that said - I can't do it, Dear Reader. I have tried to be like you and I can't do it. I have easily attained a good job and a nice apartment with the central heat and the cable and the electric can opener with the color coordinated furniture from the IKEA catalog - and I can't do it. How mundane - how dull. I am withering away from boredom. On top of it, I am gaining weight from being comfortable, sedentary - bored. The 9 to 5 punch card life is not for me and I shall go the way of Kerouac, Burroughs, Hemingway, Thompson - to be truly free and do the things that I wish to do. There is a whole big beautiful world out there and I want to touch it. heheh
It is time to hit the road. I have quit the best job I have ever had and decided to continue travelling - to where? Who cares. Fate is my friend, chaos my fuckbuddy.
See you when I get there...

So I'm waiting, right...I'm sitting in this coffee shop on Avenida 16th de Septembre in Juarez City across the border in Mexico watching my cold coffee swirl with the thin skin of curdled cream float on top. My cigarette is burned down to a nub, but I'm waiting. And I hate waiting. The clock up on the wall crawls like the clock in the Machinery of Metropolis and just as painful. This old fart, winkled and the color of a brown paper bag sits starin' and a-starin' and I glare at him but he won't stop. What? He think I'm queer or sumpthin'? So I gulp the coffee and ask the obese and overworked underpaid masera fer another cup and she look at me like I just fuck her virgin daughter and slosh haffa cup full. (Make mental note to slam down two pesos and dramatically storm out. Cunt.)

Sigh. Stare out the big window and the world is cold and the wind is blowin' dust and the Mexican folk they walk briskly by huddled in their trappings to avoid the cold, but it's cold in here too and I sip my coffee and that shit is hot. I make a little yelp and the old coot giggles. Wyoncha go watch the toilet flush, Gramps? So, I'm waitin' and I got one Lucky Strike left and I got like twenty two pesos and he's late. They are always late. Goddamn, like there are two time zones, American and Mexican and Mexican is always outta whack.

Two Mexi-fags enter and coyly scope out the gringo before sitting at the booth but I just watch the cockroach skitter across the diner bar. I flick it with my finger when it comes to close and catapults it into an eclair that some fat bitch rich and nasty eats later. Where the fuck is he? I can hear the ticking of the clock over the fucking chachacha music. I straighten the wrinkle in my black chinos and gaze over and watch two hoggish couple slurp and kiss each other inna booth. Revolting. Wonder what would happen if me an my boy started frenchin right here in the middle of the cafe? One of the Mexi-fags catches my eye contact and smiles. Flames and knives shoot outta mine in return.

Ding! The door...but no, just some shoe shine boy asks the gringo inna shop fulla customers but asks the gringo only if he wants his shoes shined. Nope. I says. Kinda cute. I give the kid ten pesos and tell him go buy him some marijuana - he laughs - then I follow with 'and come back inna few years to make some real money.' And watch the cutey leave the cafe.

Finally, with a blast of cold air the glass door swings open and in all his hottness Richard comes in and he looks tall and fine in black leather coat, black sweater, black slacks and boots. "I hope you weren't waiting long, babe?" He asks and smiles that smile that melts hearts. He is so full of warmth and patience and kindness - emits it like radio waves. Fills the room.

"No, not long. Time was just flying by." I smile back. "I was just finishing a cigarette. Ready to go to the movies?"

"Let's go." And we both hit the cold pavement. I walk next to him, laughing and thinking what a beautiful night.

Having is not always as good as wanting.
There was an acquaintance from my last stay here in El Paso. An African American named Trent. Very handsome with a boxers physique. Had women flinging themselves at him. And I did my share of flirting - but he no fag, right - wouldn't have sex with a man cause that's sick, okay. Last I heard he got rip roaring drunk and rammed his car into the El Paso Rescue Mission - cans of empty Steel Reserve flying everywhere. After that he spent time in jail.
The other night, I was returning home late from work when this muscled bulk came lumbering up to me. Intoxicated and dressed out in his thug gear. And the flirting started again - because my chances with him I thought were zero to none.
Well, next thing I know, Trent is lying naked on my bed and I am doing to him that which is inconvenient. Thick muscular body and mythical black cock - I was in paradise. Until he asked for money for coke. Right in the middle of "it". Turned me completely off. As a fact after half an hour of debating and pleading - he was asked to leave. And was he pissed - saying I shouldn't get him worked up and then shove him out the door like that. That's how women get raped, he grunted.
I have changed. Remember Desolation Angel - that obnoxious devil may care asshole of old? Well, apparently he's dead. Gone. Forgotten, hopefully.
I do not regret what I did to Trent - only the regret of asking him in in the first place - but I have become so cautious - so banal. Perhaps I am digressing into an old spinster. Ugh...

Sigh. Well, here I go again...

I hadn’t gone out last Thursday night, I was staying in and finishing up the book Borrowed Flesh that’s due like - two weeks, really. I had gotten a couple of publishing companies interested and they some time crunching bitches!
And I understand that I’ve been neglecting my blog like a total pendejo and I also totally get the irony: how no one would have ever asked me to write a book if it wasn’t for the blog and now that I spend all of my writing time on the book I’ve been ignoring this blog. But I never said I was perfect. I’m actually having a really good time writing the book. At times it’s been really hard and I’ve totally doubted that I had the ability to write it. But then I’ll print out what I’ve written so far and go to a café and read it, just like I imagine real writers doing - but I imagine them doing it in more glamorous locales like Paris or Tangier – and I'll read it and be like wow, this isn’t half bad, it’s actually pretty fucking good. So I’m proud of the way it’s coming out and I promise to pay more attention to the blog – like full time writing attention – once the book is done. I have nightmares about missing the deadline but I actually have no idea what they would do. I mean it’s not like they’re going to send Tony Soprano after me or anything. But I won’t miss it. And then I’ll be all over my blog again.
So - I decided to go out - and I mean all out - Friday night at the bar's here in El Paso. Even invited that neanderthal Tony - all expenses paid, I told 'em. We first cruised over to the Whatever Bar and had pitcher after pitcher yukking it up and being goofy. All fun until we were buzzed by one of his goddamn trannie friends. Skank plopped down at our table and decided to guzzle all my beer and smoke all my cigarettes all the while being a bitter old thing. These cute guys came out onto the patio and one was checking me out when this cross-dressing mess started a screaming match with them - over nothing. Your usual trannie bullshit. After that embarrassment - had to sit there and listen to her quack on about how she hates her drug addiction and the fact she gotta sell that flabby ass to make rent. Too much. After I mentioned something to the fact that when the fourth or fifth pitcher was empty, my money had ran out. Poof! That skank was gone in a puff of methamphetamine smoke.
So much for making a first good impression on these faggots.
Next up, pleasant talk with old coot that knew Juarez well and had established a tour to the unethical whorehouses for wayward American truckers. However, some black guy - shit faced drunk and high offa god knows what - that knew said coot, sat at our table screaming and rambling as any good ghetto rat should. Man decided he wanted to give me a massage - standing behind me and giving the worst massage ever while rubbing his big and nasty against my shoulder. Getting the jitters - I told Tony let's split.
On a hunt for smokes - we found our way to the Greyhound Terminal and Tony talked to three trannie prostitutes of past acquaintance. All three asked if I was looking for something. Ugh.
Hungry - we clomped over to Micky D's, but being closed; Tony and I decided to order through the drive thru. However, of course two skanky ass heroin addicted trannies shuffled up and screaming and fiending over Tony - old friends, you understand.
I pretty much had enough of these beasts and walked off. I explained to Tony my hatred for these ugly she-men and then - well - we got into a drunken scuffle on that empty dark street under that big pale moon. A few slugs. A lot of yelling. Cursing. Stalemate - I walked away and tromped over to Chiquita's and had a few Coronas wherein met this handsome Mexican guy - it was his birthday. So I bought him a beer and the flirting commenced. He confided that he wanted to do it. You know - it.
When the bar closed though, he mentioned that he was going to drive a friend home - I said sure no problem whatever and stumbled the few blocks home. Two blocks from my house, said birthday boy pulls up in his truck and invites me in. Wouldn't you?
We pull into parking by my apartment. Drunken patter between us. Kissing. Petting. I yank down his pants and start blowing him. Right in the middle of it - dork asks to use my cell phone to call his pusher. Unblinking, I bid him a good night and return to my home.
Seriously - am I the only faggot in El Paso that is NOT addicted to some form of dope?

My life is always imitating art.

Domestic bitching...
I believe with the utmost conviction that I have fallen in ill favor with the smoke detector in my apartment. Every time - every time! - I cook some morsel the damn thing goes off. Loud piercing whine, right? So, realizing I am master of my castle I grasp a mop and start swatting at that mechanized fucker - I have to use the mop because I have high ceilings and I can't reach it - even standing on a chair. So, I'm swatting at this thing - knocking it off the mooring and it dangles there from the ceiling - it's red and yellow wires looking like gouged entrails. Ha! I thought - I won! I killed it! But, then the thing starts beeping. Nice - even after the fact that I smashed the battery out - it seems to stay alive and annoy me all night with this beeping.
So the neighbor below me - who, being Mexican stays true to her heritage and blasts her fucking music so loud that it comes up through the floorboards like the muffled moaning of a whore earning her rent. And to make matters worse - it's the same damn song - I hate you Furgi!
About bad tenants - the street I live on; all apartment buildings are infested with fags. I mean, there are a lot of homos living on my block - from doe eyed twinks to crotchety old farts. And with them come the hustlers and rent boys. Yesterday, I exit my building and sitting on the stoop is a guy with the look of a masturbating idiot. No shoes - blackened feet. Apart from not likely having a place to live - he wasn't bad looking. Anyways later that evening when I left for one of my nightly trolls - er, walks - said guy is coming out from of the building across the street. Old coot smiles, pats him on the back and hands him a wad of cash. We stop and glance at each other - he the look of disturbed paranoia and me? Well...
I held a conversation with him and the boy is nuttier than squirrel shit! After confiding that he took a 'big dump' on the corner by the palm tree - he goes into a tirade about said old man he was with and how he spent the last three hours screwing the old coot. Ew.
After that I had to go to the Tool Box and down a whisky sour - met my new friend Tony and we shot the shit as only fags can shoot. Was cruised by this handsome black guy - gave him a smoke in which he said thuggishly, "Good looking out, homie." Got his number, too.

All is good as of now - started going to the local gay bars by my apartment - namely Chiquita's and the Tool Box. Socializing with quite the lively bunch - nice people opposed to the thieves, junkies and tramps I was usually associating with. Good times just sitting in the patio at the bar, drinking and joking. All fun.
Physically I am healthier looking - not that worn out junky look that I thought was so chic. Eating right - plenty of fruits and vegitables. My daily work out routine is going well - I attend the gym daily now and this morning it was the first time I looked in the mirror at my body and it didn't induce projectile vomiting. My arms and chest are coming out just peachy. Hopefully I will be in real good shape by Halloween - gotta look good in that Captain Kirk uniform, right. And I am talking first season - not third or the movies when he bloated up.
Even Borrowed Flesh is knocking out great - getting closer to the definitive form. It is an adventure story - that is what it has morphed into - the true story of a manic-depressive homo-erecto goes the tag line. I like it.
You know, living this sedate life I have chosen isn't bad at all - after ten years of wandering from one country to the next and sleeping in some foul grotto with no aim or direction - this route I have chosen, the stability of it is bliss.
Now, as my friends have clobbered me over the head with - I need to find a boyfriend or he find me. Sigh. But as we all know - I am a difficult nut to crack.

God is good. Though I am known to bitch - loud and long as any good American - if things don't go my way; sometimes I gotta step back and look at the big picture. In the past all I griped about was to have a neat apartment (check), have a job that I can tolerate (check) and acquire a small circle of good friends. I can finally check that one off, too. So, Mr. Blasini - shaddap with yer whinin'!
Tony has become quite the good friend. The last two nights we have went bar hopping together in downtown El Paso and had some rip roaring kicks. Last night we just chilled at his pad - he lives across the street from me - and watched the Fox Sunday line up. While checking out the Family Guy - Tony ordered two medium pizzas with three toppings each - a special running at Papa John's Pizza. Yes, folks - we devoured a pizza each. Nice.
Thank God that I am using the exercise room at the hotel now and working that off! Whew! And on that note - really like my arms and chest - quite sexy grrlzz!
So, after Tony and I gobbled the pizzas - we took a walk around downtown and while passing the Greyhound station; we were swamped by all the trannie hookers an the hustle. Ugh. Made our way to this fag bar called Chiquita's - quaint. Downed a pitcher of beer and life became all warm and fuzzy. Was hit on by this Mexican named Richard - don't worry, exchanged phone numbers and not bodily fluids. Remember, I am changing here. But into what?

Damn. In kinda a flux right now. I am working and setting my apartment up - which is going really well. But I have been broke for the past two weeks - I have become somewhat of a recluse. I work and go home and that is about it. And since this paycheck - only the third since I have started working - will be going to pay rent and my gas and electric bill, I guess I will be broke for another two weeks. The thing is - since I chose to live in El Paso and not across the border in Juarez - things are quite slow. There is literally nothing to do. I have no money to go out and am not the type of character that will usurp benefits off of my friends. I don't have a television yet, so I can't watch my DVD's - all I have right now in form of entertainment is my digital clock radio.
It shall pass I assume in time - but right now I sure am in a funk about it. Just editing my book wiles away the time. I really need to start going out and being sociable again.
What is happening to me?

Nostalgia is a disease.
I had done a thing yesterday that I regret and have learned unlike Lot's wife - don't look back - never look back.
With that said - onward with the progression. I have bought more furniture for my apartment and am becoming quite pleased with the out come - if it out come. I have decided on a espresso/black/nickel color scheme - muy sympatico. Finished wrap up photography for Meth and am completely shameful of results - it projects as a first semester student film and I want to toss the whole thing in the trash. I guess I have lost my edge as a filmmaker - I remember before everything I made was great and fresh and inventive - now it is plodding crap. Perhaps a career as a writer is the path I will pursue.
Speaking of - Borrowed Flesh is still this ugly disgusting monster that I am trying to control. As I glance over page after disgusting page dripping with sex and drugs it just puts me into a funk - but the story must be told, right!
Last night as I was walking back to my apartment around 11pm - coming around the corner was this guy named Tony - a big hulking mess of handsome just released from jail a few days hence and I have kept an eye out on him - spreading my intentions through various webs of gossip and faggot hear say. A tall muscular bad boy with thick lips, goatee, penetrating eyes and pelon. Anyway, we stood on the corner and then inviting him into my swanky pad in the making - Tony and I sat and had actually a very pleasant and funny talk. Confessing his love for transsexuals, he invited me to troll the fag bars here in El Paso this coming weekend - why not? Wouldn't you?

Hands in pockets I cut across San Jacinto Plaza as wind whips around me and dark thunderous clouds undulate on the twilight horizon. I pass the tramps huddled in someone else's clothes - "I saw RJ the uthuh day - he was lying in an alley butt naked totally fucked up strung out on some shit." - board the bus with consternation.
On the stretch of Texas Ave. where there are old rotting factories and silent warehouses and the fat power cables buzz and crackle, I get off and it is dark dark dark - no streetlamps are working but I make my way to Eva Theater anyway and slap down my fiver to the short fat woman behind the booth. Two obese Mexicans eye me as I enter the foul smelling theater and I make a b-line to the men's toilet. There was no one and I mean no one else in the theater - which I thought was quite odd.
The floor, walls. sink and toilet was splashed with blood - above the sink there was a great red/brown glob of gore and blood as if someone had tossed a bag full of that stuff violently at the mirror and it had splattered all around the small room. I quickly exited - the souls of my shoes sticky from the floor coated with blood. Someone really got what they deserved...
One of the fat guys that were eyeing me whispered, "I tried to warn you before you went in there."
"What the fuck happened?", I asked lighting a cigarette. "A fight? Damn that was a lot of blood."
"No - no." He smiled. "That was only paint - someones idea of a little joke."
I stared at this fool in disbelief, "That is not paint. I've seen blood before and that is blood!"
As some Asian cooch was being banged by a bald tired and petulant looking "stud" onscreen - one of the fat guys wrapped his hands in plastic shopping bags and went to the horrid task of cleaning that shit up. Poor guy.
Oh well, about fifteen minutes later a hot young guy came in and we hooked up...

Started filming Meth last night. Went around and found some locations to shoot. We have decided to use Kevin's apartment for the interior scenes. It is small and he has agreed to let me 'industrialize' it. I'll pay someone to clean up the mess afterwards. Last nights shoot went very well - as long as the coffee flowed, the crew and I stayed up till 4am filming one damn scene! Those damn cockroaches wouldn't hit their mark! Got starstruck, I reckon. But the dailies look awesome and Kevin did a chilling job - I think this is going to work.

Below is the exterior scene where Kevin's character finds the mysterious video tape outside his door. The lighting worked out well and the shoot was fun - except for the old fat lady in curlers and flayed flip-flops that kept complaining we were making too much noise. C'mon it was only 12 midnight!

Another exterior location - a little clean for my taste. Cutaway shot to be used for mood.

That's it for right now - tonight we have a couple of scenes to rehearse and I want to film that 'dream/hallucination' scene before dawn - will spend the day making the deformed paper mache head for the Mystery Man. Quite scary.

Everything is coming up roses.

I have moved into my apartment and left that drudgery of tramp life behind. My job is good and I am making sufficient money to support myself comfortably. Now it will be a matter of a few short months to get my apartment in order.

I have decided to sever all ties to those crazy tramps, thieves, and weirdos. Bueno - not so much the weirdos - kinda keeps my life interesting.

Ok - the novelization of Borrowed Flesh has grown into a 978 page monster. It's time to put that fat bitch on a diet. Will start editing and rearranging the prose - it is dictating itself like rapid machine gun fire spewing out of my laptop with a life of its own. Like a larvae of some creature ready to hatch out and unleash its horror upon the face of this Earth. However, I do like the shape it is becoming. It will be a thrilling read.

And!!! I am back in the director's seat again. I have borrowed a Panasonic HDC-DX1 AVCHD 3CCD High-Definition DVD Camcorder and a couple of theater lamps and am going to attempt to film an old script I wrote back in my junky days. It is a short called Meth; a brooding little nightmare about methamphetamine addiction - 99% of the film takes place in a old hotel room with one actor. I think Keven C. can pull it off - he seems to be a gifted actor. Last evening, Victor, Kevin and I sped around the warehouse district of El Paso in a semi-drunken hoot getting exterior shots and scouting locations.

Avanti!!!

Saw a film last night that really perplexed me - it was a Brazilian movie called Madam Sata. How I related to this film and the way it touched me was how the central character was so passionate about life and would not allow anyone to deter him from what he wanted in his simple life; albeit was a life of drugs and prostitution. I can not put into words how such a film touched me - I guess I was the same way at one point - living in some poverty stricken slum in a foreign country and all I had was my wits and a couple of junky friends to keep me going.
But, as I have mentioned several times...I am changing. God - in his infinite wisdom and unfathomable passion - has granted me with much ease the things that I hold so dear in my heart. A great job and a little apartment - from these all else will follow. I want to sever from my life all the junkies and whores and tramps and thieves and all other bad influences that I have swam in with gusto all these years.
Take yesterday for example. I am walking down the street when I am approached by an old friend Victor - haggard, dirty, unshaven - but under that filth was a handsome guy who was a knockout in bed. He had asked me if I had gotten my apartment and I said yes but I did not moved in yet because I hadn't activated the gas or electricity. He then asked if I would give him the keys and if he could flop there for a few nights. Now the old me would of said yes and used him for a flesh toy for a few days - instead I issued a long tirade on how I do not want to turn my place into a shooting gallery or a flop house. I actually forbade him from ever coming over. Cruel? Maybe. But I do not want to swim in these waters any longer. I want stability - I want cleanliness - I want a normal life.
So, on the first of September I will be moving into an apartment that I have ever intent and purpose in growing old within. No more traveling - no more adventures. I have done pretty much everything I have wanted in life and more.
Even though Brazil is looking mighty tempting...

I got swimmers ear! I stated that I have an ear infection and apparently it's swimmers ear. It doesn't hurt - but my left ear is swollen closed and that makes it uncomfortable. You can get this little nuisance by trapping water in your outer ear canal and somehow scratching the surface allowing bacteria to penetrate and cause all kinds of ruckus. A few days ago I showered before bed as I always do and afterwards I placed earplugs in my ears to block out all the snoring and farting at the mission - so there you have it. I went online to check out a home remedy and it seems that simple alcohol and white vinegar will do the trick.
In other news....
There is this new kid at the mish - an African American and he is really cool. We spent the afternoon chatting behind the mish and had dinner together in the canteen - ill prepared spaghetti and sour tasting salad with water. Perhaps I should change my Latino diet and go strictly for blacks - there seems to be quite a lot about El Paso lately since the exodus from hurricane Katrina. Plus, at 4:30am I was in the shower getting ready for work and my new friend decided to take a shower, too - very impressive torso and 'thingy'. Seems comfortable with me.
The quest for a bed for my new apartment continues - there is this one store that I know of that sells refurbished beds from hotels and a queen size goes for about $100 dollars - seems the most logical and economical. BUT - I have not lived in this country for some time and was shocked to find out that I need a deposit to activate my gas and electricity - zoinks! Being stable sure is expensive!

I have acquired that apartment that I had my eye on - a perfect hovel for my distinct tastes located in the bustling downtown zone. However, even though I have the keys - since I have no furniture, not even a bed - I will not move into it until the first of September so I have to endure the missions hospitality for a short time more. Fuck that! My patience is gone! I am surrounded by the most lazy bickering retards you have ever seen! They are all worthless filthy tramps who will never amount to anything - they should all be slaughtered. AND that fucking bed bug debacle has spiraled out of control - egads what a Kafkan nightmare! And then pile on the filth and stench and there will be a stew that will turn your nose, dearies.
All the tramps living there are haggard old pot bellied fogies, however I have met two - two! - real hot guys passing through but both of them are nuttier than squirrel shit. Jesus, why can't I ever meet normal people in this life - why do they always have to be weirdos? Julio is just drop dead gorgeous - but talking to him is like swatting flies, he's all over the place. Then there was Daniel who just popped out of nowhere - but he just turned out to be your cookie cutter manipulative pretty boy. Ugh.
I hafta stop smoking, too - I have developed a oil burning habit - a freakin' pack of anything a day. And plus I am gaining weight! Jesus - this blog has deteriorated into a bitch fest or what?

His name was Miguel - wait, Mike thank you - I sat out back of the mission swatting flies in that simmering heat with the sun setting big and yellow and he asked for a cigarette or something to that effect. About twenty-one years old and ruggedly handsome in a macho Mexican kind of way - but he wasn't there and occasionally starred out into the near distance with canceled brown eyes.
We chit-chatted of casual things and his dialogue would drift off into nonconnecting dementia. Apparently, he squatted in the catacombs under the grain refinery near here. Mike spoke of his alter to Satan and if I wanted to see it. Why not? Wouldn't you?
Right off the mission property is an ancient derelict of warehouses and gigantic empty feed grains rusting under that unrelenting El Paso sun. As twilight fell, Mike lead me underneath to these labyrinthine catacombs - dark and smelling of musty air and urine and feces and rotting clothes.
We entered his chamber - gray concrete den littered with trash and dirty blankets and ripped up porno magazines. A dented metal folding chair sat next to a charred alter of ashes and blackened glass jars. On the left wall was a great rubble filled hole in the thick concrete that led up to the train tracks - apparent reason of ventilation.
I took the chair as Mike flopped down onto a layer of slutty blankets. More stupid talk as he went into painful detail of his alter to The Prince of Darkness all in soft spoken whispers. Mike stops his random patter short - starts leafing through the tattered porn his crotch stiffening and that was quite impressive, I don't mind telling you. He asks for a dollar and I ask what do I get out of it - same old manipulative faggot bullshit, I guess. Well, I tell him I want to watch him jack off and he smiles like a predatory canine in the moonlight beaming through the gaping hole in the roof.
Sure, why not? Wouldn't you? He peals off his well worn t-shirt and dirty jeans with a casual air of apathy - hairless torso brown lithe and tight. That beautiful penis was long and circumcised - uncommon for Mexicans. Mike lays back on the blankets naked thumbing through porn and playing with his long floppy cock.
With dead unfixed eyes, I sat puffing on a cigarette as Mike withes pounding away - hips thrusting slowly and erection pointed towards heaven - he comes to some sort of a climax as white semen oozes out and glazes his thick brown fingers - shiny in the moonlight. He flings the offensive matter onto the dusty floor - wiping his hand and softening cock with a filthy yellow sheet.
I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out a crumpled bill - toss it to him. "Uh...thanks." Above us a locomotive rumbles by in a blast of black iron. Naked, Mike scampers up the rubble and stands at the gaping hole in the concrete - black silhouette against dark navy sky stars glittering - so handsome and so insane.
I squashed my cigarette butt out on the dirty floor and walked out - leaving that beautiful fallen angel to his demons.

Things are chugging along quite nicely. I am now Assistant Manager at my job and I love it. I went apartment hunting yesterday and found a nice film nior looking pile of bricks down town to squat. I will rent a trap at the first of September.
The mish is getting downright - no it is downright filthy. It has basically become a retard home since MHMR closed their doors, so most of the clients are loonies lying in their own filth waiting for the SSI to kick in. Makes my exit date the more pressing.
But, I keep busy. I have just wrapped up the 6th draft of Luna - a short film I want to direct. A little dark film nior nightmare thing. So that is keeping my mind in motion. I have been also relieving myself with the help of Carlos and Steven - two oversexed pals of mine who are always up for an afternoon of delights. All is well - all is well.
Meeting some inneresting film lovers online too. And they are locals - I will make with the physical contact once I am in my own place. This isn't a sexual come on, you understand - I just want to surround myself with good friends that have the same likes as me.
It has been a long, hard ten years...

Well, it was bound to happen. I am employed now and a pretty decent joint. Front Desk at this little hotel - 40 hours a week at $8 an hour. Not bad. The managers are pretty cool and gosh darn attractive at that! Now I can set this plan in motion - I want to stay at the mish and save at least $2000 and move into an apartment comfortably. Hell, I even have started looking for furniture.
On the bus yesterday, I ran into my old friend Suevon - and has she lost a lot of weight! We kicked it at her apartment for a spell and I played with her three yung'uns. She even walked to the Best Western across from my job and got a spot as a housekeeper - oh, lucky day!
Yep - things look pretty good right now - got a job, meeting new friends...I can settle down in comfort, write my memoirs and grow old...

Yesterday I was trudging down the simmering street around 7:42 and as I was passing some bushes I heard a voice croak out, "Hey what time is it?" Looking down I saw it was an old friend of mine. For security purposes we'll call him 'Shakey'. Really really cute but nuttier than squirrel shit - know what I mean? All those psychiatric meds the nut house has had him on all this years has turned his nervous system into a quivering wreck...hence 'Shakey'.

Anywayz...as I glanced down at my watch to tell him the time a white van comes screeching up and two thugs and a fat lady with a slight mustache leaps out and approaches me real slow like....real slow. Telling me everything's all right - life's worth living, have I been taking my meds....blah blah blah. They thought I was Shakey, ya see. Well, I explained the wingnut in question was hiding in them thar bushes - which raised a fay eyebrow on the mannish woman. Luckily, before these fiends lurched at me, Shakey pops out behind the bush with a 'Huzzah" and a smile - what a B movie production.

As they drove away with that cute but nutty buddy - I started singing this song that I haven't heard in a coons age.

I am not crazy - you know. Okay a little. No haha I'm not. Well, maybe. Nah....just kidding. I am the sanest guy I know! I mean if you traveled precariously all over this continent, swam in both oceans and the Gulf, partied with New Yorkers to Arizona Apaches, seen the sun rise over Mayan ruins and set on remote tropical Islands, hitchhiked from El Paso to Bagota, Colombia and back, tried almost every drug there is, drank all kinds of liquor's until you got no liver and lived....talk with me - you'll be a little off too....

I have attempted all week to seek employment here in El Paso, Texas - but the wheels move awfully slow. I am certain I will attain some sort of employment. I have been getting the "We have other interviews scheduled and will call in two weeks" routine. Sigh.
Scott Goodgame - an old acquaintance - has fallen with a psychotic girlfriend and is in the mood to kill the bitch - the relationship is that bad. He came up with the fact that at the first of the month she receives a financial aid check for her college at the sum of $5000 dollars. The important part is that the funds are direct deposited in his bank account. Well, Scott has gotten the notion to run to Hawaii - the state where he lived the first 17 years of his life - and has invited me to come along. I told him that there was a huge shelter on the main island - that we can stay there seek employment and then rent a two bedroom apartment somewhere on the island. He is all gaga over the idea. At this point it is a flight of fantasy to be sure - but you know my life....
I am now without funds and hope this week of job seeking bears some fruit - if not I will get what I can and return to San Diego. Sheesh - all my bridges are almost burned down.

So, it has been a week here in sunny El Paso. Quite optimistic me. It is relatively good living in a small town where people on the street actually say hi to you and mean it. I have decided to settle here - however the indigenous homosexual population has not changed. They are the queer clones - they all seem to look alike. Hmm...so much for gay individuality. Perhaps in time they will catch up.
I saw Hairspray - the musical remake of John Water's tribute to '60's civil movement and acceptance - the remake was very good. Damn, almost rivals the original. John Travolta was quite good as Edna Turnblad and the rest of the cast and songs are memorable. It is destined to be another gay classic - alot of drag shows are going to be inspired by it, I am certain.
Waiting for Monday to roll around so I can start looking for work - I am sure I will land something tolerable even though the El paso Times statistics quoted that El Paso is third in unemployment in Texas. That will not deter me.
I originally returned to El Paso in the vain hopes of getting MHMR - that loony bin - to assist me as before. They basically handed me everything on a silver platter last go round - free apartment for two years, free bus passes, food stamps for a year - and I gave them the finger and left for San Diego. I was basically told this time to forget it - you had your chance. It does not matter. I come from an upper lower middle class family and years ago when I purposely transferred to the life of the poor I thought how romantic and adventurous it was; living free and always with that hint of danger - wanted to live like my literary idol William S. Burroughs - but I am tired of it. Definitely wore it thin. Now do not get me wrong - it is dangerous, but you have more loyalties and long term friendships with hobos than you ever will with Joe Punchclock. A ver...it is time to raise myself up - and yes I am intelligent enough to do it and leave this impoverished life behind.
So, I will attain some sort of employment and I even have set my eyes on the apartment that I want to live and grow old - nice little place downtown in a 1930's red brick building. To grow old in medium comfort as a confirmed bachelor with my little circle of friends.
It is so good to have direction and purpose again....

Patience has always been my Achilles Heel. My undoing and now the next step in my life is to acquire patience.
After staying at the Rescue Mission for three days I had become quite depressed - even more so because of the clean somewhat productive lifestyle of San Diego. The mission has become dilapidated even more over the years - the place should be condemned. It is infested with lice and vermin. So, Yesterday I went and got a food stamp card - it has $200 dollars on it and I am tempted to sell them and use the money to return to San Diego.
Two options lay before me - one; my work history is in tatters. If Juana Ortega - the facilitator of the mission agrees to let me say on my resume that I have been employed there since I was originally employed there - I will return to San Diego, enter Vinnie's again and start anew. Or I can muck it out in this blank void of El Paso. El Paso has it's benefits - the tranquility, the nice people, the inexpensive living. Either way, if Juana says no - I am fucked. I will have to hang around and wait...take my chances and apply for SSI.
Somethings gotta give...it always does.

I loved the movie by Tarantino Death Proof! And this song just had my toes tappin', Daddios!

Why am I here? It is a formidable question, for ever since I have stepped foot in El Paso I have been cursed with bad luck and ill omen.
It took Greyhound two days to locate my luggage - so I had to trudge through this hellish desert heat in the same clothes - my socks had become quite squishy. I had checked out of the Gateway Hotel and returned to the Rescue Mission of El Paso to do...to do...at this time I haven't a clue. I have a vague plan - concerning readministering my meds and applying for SSI benefits. Other than that - nothing...blank...zip...dead end. The mission has sank abysmally low in standards of hygiene and on top of the grime and filth of this dilapidated building they are plagued - no...completely infested with lice and bed bugs.
My first night there I did not sleep - I was issued a bunk but after the fifth bug crawled across my skin, I wigged and stayed outside. Not so bad as there were these two attractive Russian boys - Andres and Demetri - who got stuck the night in El Paso while traveling across country from the east coast and we spent the evening talking of things from politics to movies.
The following day, I decided to spend the day at El Paso's porno theater - Trixxx - to sleep on their big leather sofas they have in the cinema, but wound up playing around with every hottie in there. Wacky me.
Spoke with my caseworkers this morning and I will be set up again with MHMR - the local loony bin - and get back on my psychotropic medications. So, here I am in this no-horse town and I wonder what weird stuff is on my bleak horizon.

Escaping - literally - the filthy ravages of Tijuana, I make it to the Greyhound minutes before departure. Waiting in line, the slow ass ticket lady sure as shit was taking her time - had to act fast! I begged the few people in front of me to let me cut, since they were not boarding the bus to El Paso - they were nice enough to oblige and I got my ticket in the nick of time.
The over night bus was packed with your usual fare of Greyhound riff raff - I took a seat with a middle aged hillbilly with a blond mullet (He confided in me that his destination was South Carolina - had to have the word 'south' in it.) harassed by youthful gang banger coming out of the W.C. - 'You stepped on my shoes, homey!' 'Move your damn feet.' But in Calexico, the passengers thinned out and I got a seat to myself after twice being checked by the Border Patrol.
As always, I can't sleep on a moving vehicle and stared out into the moving darkness all night. When we hit Gila Bend, Arizona the sun rose a golden ball of flame inching over the craggy mountainous eastern horizon and it was odd to leave the lush green surroundings of San Diego and to once again find myself looking out into flat tan desert dotted with sage brush and spire like cactus.
Passing lonely farm houses locked in a sea of green...Motel Westward...R.V. park....concrete dinosaur...3am in Yuma hot shirtless boys skateboard in convenient store parking lot...mountainous formations of purples and blues...lifeless colorless tract houses destroy all individuality...
Come to Phoenix, Arizona to change buses. Phoenix how I hate your stinking guts. Crammed onto a bus filled with Mexican migrant workers - my bag is placed onto the overflow bus for the rest of the East bound passengers. Long gloomy silence as we meander towards Texas. Naco next to me falls asleep and produces fantastic erection in his grey sweat pants. I look over and he is handsome - playing a sleep, he puts my hand onto his crotch under his jacket and I give him a stroking until my hand looks like a glazed donut.
Roll into El Paso and that is one hot town - climate wise. Over flow bus had not arrived when we got there - so I trudge over to The Gateway Hotel and get a cheap room for the night. Showered, slept and when I returned to retrieve my luggage from the terminal - of coarse it was lost. Of coarse. So, filling out forms and giving information - I was asked to return in 24 hours. Strolling around downtown El Paso at 10:30pm was kind of creepy - silent, destitute, no people, everything closed. A couple of hookers clomped around - but no one. Nothing. Perfect.
I returned to my room and fell asleep. Well, here it goes...

Well, what was done is done.
Last night said goodbye to Daniel, Victor, Felipe and others. Sat with the lot in Bar Patio drinking caguamas and watching the futbol match of Mexico against Uruguay. The sad truth about leaving - and it is something that I really must do - is for the first time in all my travels of leaving a city - I will genuinely be missed.
A ver...Today got my check and after the last time eating a fabulous carne sada burrito at Azteca's in centro San Diego, I wasted time and saw this film 1408. Spooky but corny. Had John Cusack in it and it was all right. Returned to Tijuana in the blistering heat, packed my gear and as of this writing waiting to cross the frontier to catch the 10:45pm Greyhound to El Paso - will be arriving around 5pm thereabouts local time.Sigh.

Damn in such a funk of late. So numb inside - avoiding contact with everyone. I am just waiting to leave - and even then I feel no surge of excitement over that. Yesterday, I lay sweating in my bed all day - only to pull myself out to walk to the corner bakery to buy some bread. I am so broke right now - I am surviving on bread and water. Went back to my room and lay there thinking about nothing in particular for hours on end. Around one a.m. or there abouts - walked back to the 24hr bakery and bout some sweet bread and a small milk with my last 12 pesos.

Why is it like this? How has all enjoyment of the fundamentals of life been crushed out of me? I want nothing. Nothing but to be left alone with my own thoughts. And they are even mired in bleak resentment of past events. I see my future - those filthy haggard old men pushing a shopping cart down the street, all sanity and lust of life gone out of them - I believe that will be me.

I'm drunk as a skunk while writing this so fuck all you haters.
Slept most of the day but awoke to the suprise that there was no water in my flat - gotta love living in a third world country. Walked over in the simmering heat to my favorite cafe, La Patio and scarfed down some enchiladades pollo and they was good. Demetrio - that hottie beyond words was in the bar watching the futbol game and invited me in for drinks. After I ate - I took him up and Demetrio and I among his paraplegic neighbor drank several caguamas of Corona. Getting pretty ripped we stumbled over to Bar D.F. and played pool. Had a good time until some snatch showed up and took all of of Demetrio's attention. "I love pussy." Was his excuse. You go on boy - you go on.
As the night progressed - I talked with Demetrio's neighbor - who's name I can not pronounce - and was well versed in the cinema arts so we had lots to talk about as Demetrio chased cunt. Other friends showed up and we all got rip roaring drunk - as I am of this writing - and Demetrio showed his true colores. Again the more he became intoxicated the more loathsome he become and that is pretty damn despicable when your close friends say shit at which they did.
He even did a striptease to salsa witch disgusted every one except me - coz he's hot.
Things got real festive when Mexico won the futbol match against Paraguay. But as all good things all came to an end. As Victor a chick and some dude went to Las Pulgas dance club - I opted for home and slept a drunken sleep.