Punch Drunk Shinanigans.

Have fallen for a new beau. His name is Carlos and he's drop dead grrjus! Met him at the Plaza las Armas two nights ago while I sat there sucking on an horchata. Walked by and eyes met two aware connections of mutual alert souls that clickclickclick - his eyes are glittering smile of beat saint, you dig? So, after hilarious chit-chat under the neon glare of the crimson cross a top the Guadalupe Cathedral we strolled over to Bar Buen Tiempo and got scorching drunk. At closing we stood outside the bar in the warm night of phosphorescent glow he asked if I lived near and I said, "Very near."

Back at my pad a little mutual kissing, groping and standard sixty-nining. Damn! The guy is so beautiful - dark brown hairless torso, well toned, shaved head and goatee with full lips and great smile and those eyes, those hypnotic kick you in the heart eyes! Carlos stays the night and next morning we munch on juevos rancheros at the corner cafe before he returns home to his abuela.

Last night I get dressed to the nines and tens to do a little disco dancing with the local faggitos when I enter a farmacia to buy a bottle of water. To my gleeful surprise, Carlos is in the shop and I notice he is checking out baby bottles. We greet with enthusiasm and I ask what's up with the baby bottles? He confides that not only he has a one year old son but a wifey to boot! I question his motives about last night and his simple answer is he digs both genders. Okay, I guess I can live with that because ten minutes later we are both back at my flat doing that which are crimes against nature. Afterwards Carlos showers and sadly states he's gotta return home to the wife and kid. With baby bottle and pampers in hand he leaves saying with the sweetest of kisses that he will visit on Sunday.

Well hell - it was still early and I returned alone to Buen Tiempo and the place was packed. Met an old boyfriend from times past and secretly was thrilled that he has become an obese wreck. I'm not bitter, though.

Unfortunately, the bars close at 11:30 here on accounta city ordnance 666 of the No Borrochos en el Calle Code, but the discos are open till whenever. I had become quite chatty with one of the barmaids named Rosie the two weeks spending my evenings drinking at the bar - great gal and fag hag to the core - she giddily explains that there was this joint called Noa in the Old Mercado and it is always jumping.

Rosie and I strolled through the dark walkways of trash littered cobblestone of the Old Mercado to Noa and she wasn't lying - the place was sizzling. Packed so that the fags spilled out onto the broken sidewalk. Young twinks in their Ambercrombie and Fitch drag, cowboys, gangsters, snarling lesbians, drunken staggering street kids and horrendous Amazonian drag queens packed corner to corner of the spacious hall. The music bopped and thumped as patrons swirled and dipped to musica ranchero. Rosie introduced me to her circle of friends - all aging queens of class and stature - and we stood at our table downing caguama after caguama. I was pleased to be reacquainted with two old buddies from my previous stay - Lalo and Arturo - and after the obvious what-ever-happened-to-so-and-so routine I was the social butterfly ping ponging back and forth between the two groups sputtering comedy and trivial antidotes.

But, alas the place closed for the night - all wished all a good night and I began my trek home. Passing quite drunkenly through Plaza las Armas I was hit up for a cigarette by a hot guy that claimed his name was Miguel standing in the shadows with his hiphop attire draped over skinny bowed frame - we yapped a few minutes when he upped the ante and flat out said he'd screw the bajeesus outta me for twenty dollars. Yeah, why not? Wouldn't you?

Hopped in a taxi - safer from the predatory eyes of police patrols - and sped to my flat. Miguel wasted no time - being the pro that he is - and my bed and I wheezed and popped as Miguel lunged and thrusted on top of me. Spewing his goo, this late night gigolo cleaned up took the twenty shook hands and was out the door.

I returned to the bathroom and as I washed the sweat off of my face at the sink I gaze at the visage staring back, hoping these hickeys will be gone by Sunday...

120 Days of Sodomy.

Crossed la linea into El Paso and took in Indiana Jones - not bad, but I guess I am one of those millions that have outgrown that shit. Or maybe it is just me and my cold robot personality that I have morphed into over the years.

Whatever.

Went shopping and bought clothes and a shitload of DVD's. One I was lucky to find was Passolini's Salo. There was a film I had not seen in over a decade back in my all or nothing film school days.

Moping more around - I returned home with my accumilated booty and sat down to witness the horrors of Salo - this notorious film banned for so many countries for so many years.

Eh...I guess I have become jaded with life imitating art and all. I do not mean to say my life reflects that film. I deplore fascism, eating barrels of human feces, and beating kids to the consistancy of Alpo - though the guys in it were way hot in a shaggy haired Greg Brady kind of way. I just found, this time round, the film quite boring. Oh well, I guess it will just become another date movie for visiting guests..

Plaza las Armas.

Hot and dusty the sun beats down on my drenched flesh as truckload of Mayan faced black uniformed military roar by - uzis slung at hip and they the look of predatory dogs. Cross the street into Plaza las Armas - cry of sellers of trinkets and paletas, cry of shoe shine boys, cry of religious fanatics, cry of babies under that unrelenting Mexican sun.

I find some shade beneath a dusty poplar tree and suck down a cigarette so nasty watching a demonstration in progress against the fascist take over of Juarez City - or so it seems. Youths in red bandannas and black shirts shrill their opinions to a catatonic crowd. The pedophiles do their stylized ballet around the youthful boys - giggling and shrieking. Others gaze at the demostrators with animal apathy.

Drunken Indio shambles over and bums a smoke and start up conversation. A real funny guy - in his pigeon English he weaves his tale of woe from Michigan to Riverside to Idaho and the eventual deportation by our snarling la migra.

Home of the free...

So, this Indio and I - ah, yes Eduardo, thank you - Eduardo and I cut down Avenida Mariscal to some hooch joint and it was dull by God - a regular house of ill repuke. Some hippopotamus in bikini and stilettos swirled and gyrated on the tiny stage to a Caribbean beat. I flat out spat at Eduardo that I am queer by act of congress and let's scram. Smiled he did at this revelation - that look in his bloodshot eyes I had seen before in the eyes of a rabid dog in heat.

We cut next door to some other joint - just a bar this go round - nudes on black velvet adorned the beaver board walls of the tiny joint. But, the waitresses were funny and the music was The King.

Maybe it was the beer talking or perhaps the fact that I was just horny - but I gazed at this Eduardo for the first time - it being a well lit joint - and not bad. Tall, dark and well intoxicated. He had a handsome face and well toned body under those shabby clothes - kept flashing a tattoo at me on his left chest. The crazy Indian drank the booze like it was water. I asked him why their was blood on his khaki pants in which the reply was, "Life is hard." Smile behind twinkling red eyes of the beat Fallen Angel of Lost Night.

Look over and up and some lanky scumbag with preditory black shiny spider eyes leers at me and enters water closet - keeps the door open so I can get good look at him wagging that obscene pickle in my general direction. Turns straight at me and flounders that fucker like a bruja's scepter and that puts an idea in my head - I lean to Eduardo next to me and whisper a rather filthy invitation in his ear and his copper face lights up. He drunkenly nods and we are out the swinging doors and walking briskly down the cracked pavement in the warm early night. Cars honk and hookers hook as we both stride to my pad.

Key shoved in hole, black metal door banged open and as I stand in the middle of my room, Eduardo grabs me by the arms tight, leans down and slips his thick tongue between my lips. Laughingly quickly we peel our clothes off flung onto red tile and plop onto my bed - hands and fingers probe and stroke, lips kissed in drunken passion, stiffening organs rub and grind against copper flesh white flesh. I am pushed on my back and stare at the whirling ceiling fan as this boy sucks cock like a champ. I return the favor - both in sixty-nine that favorite position of mine - we squirm and grunt pleasing each other. Boy goes loco - grabs my ankles and places over his shoulders, licks his hand and smears the saliva on his throbbing cock. Slowly he slips into me, I gasp behind clenched teeth as the rhythm mounts. Bed sings in squeaks and boings as Eduardo fucks me like a porn star. I feel his organ stiffen more and his eyes glaze over as he yanks his cock out and white hot spurts splatter against my heaving chest. With a fluid plop he lays next to me and we share a cigarette under that slow spinning fan. Fall asleep in that mess, wake up shower and both walk around the corner for juevos ranchero, menudo and damn good coffee. Outside three trucks of black uniformed rifle toting military youths roar by in a cloud of tan dust...

Why would I want to live anywhere else?

Gaze a Gazeless Stare.

Lying in my trap round midnite and all silent. Sudden burst of rapid pops - like the sound of a string of firecrackers - but then the pingpingping of ricochet bullets careening of the side of my apartment building. Screams - shouts - silence. Black wind howls through dead trees.The screech and wailing of cop cars and Federale trucks pulling up. I get dressed and walk onto the balcony to a post war zone - taxi riddled with bullets issuing black smoke, six bodies slumped on the dirty pavement with a stream of blood flowing to the gutter. No ambulance for these narcos. No firetrucks like in the good ol' USA. Nothing for them. Bodies are holstered up and thrown in the back of a pick up like dirty laundry. Young M-16 welding black uniformed military look on with cold animal hate.

I light a Lucky and grin, Goddamn - back in Juarez.

A Letter to Starbucks

Dear Starbucks,

Hey, is there anywhere to get a decent cup of coffee around here?

Oh, come on. Don't look so sad. When we're in the mood for a twenty-four-ounce cup of pumpkin-pie-flavored Cool Whip, a Feist CD covered in mocha fingerprints, a possibly exaggerated memoir by a former child soldier, and some customer “service” that denies our essential humanity, we still head straight to our corner Starbucks. Or the one across from that one. Or the one that will have opened farther down the block by the time we finish typing this sentence.

Here's the thing, though: We're never, ever in that mood.

What we do like is coffee. If coffee were smack, we'd be Pete Doherty and we'd refuse to give it up, even if it cost us our career and our supermodel girlfriend. And we'll tank up anywhere: the neighborhood joint with the womyn-friendly breast-feeding policy and the couches composed entirely of rusty springs; the swill dispenser down the hall; an AA meeting. Anywhere, that is, but Starbucks.

In this we're not alone. America is a caffeine nation, perpetually jacked up on gallons of magma-hot fuck-yeah juice, and logically you guys should still be making more money than Halliburton and Hannah Montana combined. Instead your market share is crumbling, and so is your cultural primacy. Snooty people have moved on to snootier coffee—shade-grown, fair-trade, artisanal, brought down the mountain by mules that have good dental coverage. Everybody else went back to Dunkin' Donuts. You're still part of the fabric of American life—think of Mary-Kate Olsen's ever present Venti cup, proof despite massive evidence to the contrary that she's Just Like Us—but so is soul-crushing corporate suckitude. Your new ads spotlight a straight-down-the-middle brew called Pike Place Roast. We're glad you're getting back into the coffee business—seriously, is there anything you haven't put in a latte yet? Courvoisier? DayQuil? Unicorn tears?—but we've tried this stuff, and it should come with an Egg McMuffin on the side. It's a rich, complex blend of desperation and mediocrity.

The real problem is that there used to be something about you, Starbucks, and now there isn't. You were a quintessentially '90s company. You were from Seattle, the same rainy cradle of anticorporate corporateness that gave us Microsoft and major-label grunge. Young dreamers camped out in your stores all day like the cast of Friends, filling napkins with business plans for e-commerce Web sites.(“It's like Pets. com for Wiccans!”) We were all going to get crazy rich and wear ironic sexy grandpa T-shirts to offices where we'd play Frisbee golf instead of working. A $4 latte wasn't an extravagance; it was a little rehearsal for the cushy life that was about to be ours. Even your stupid fake-Italian language made us feel sophisticated. The 7-Eleven crowd could have their week-old bubblin' crude; we'd be over here, talking like Marcello Mastroianni, because we knew better. Even back then, you seemed a little evil-empire-ish. But man, your chairs were comfy. So we drank your overpriced espresso-shakes.

We drank them up!

You know the rest. Cobain died. We got Dubya, war, a recession, and our workplace doesn't have a Centipede machine. We're living in an era of diminished expectations, and if things aren't going so well for you, maybe it isn't because people resent your McDonald's-esque omnipresence, those cups adorned with quotes from deep thinkers like Josh Groban and David Copperfield, or the fact that you roast your beans under the space shuttle. Maybe it's because your neither-luxurious-nor-particularly-affordable idea of affordable luxury now seems like a nonfat, half-caf, quadruple-grande bad joke. With extra foam.

In other words, you've brought this on yourself. If we learned one thing from The Wire, it's that you can only control all the corner real estate in town and pay disenfranchised young people to sling an addictive product for so long before you lose your grip on the game. But we're not mad at you, Starbucks. Give us a call sometime. We'll grab a coffee. It's on us—we just shorted your stock.

Yours with shaky hands,

Another Bleary Eyed Coffee Whore

Flash Gordon

One of the greatest classics ever made. This animated movie was produced by Filmation before the 1979 Flash Gordon cartoon series and of course before Dino De Laurentiis' version in 1980, but this animated film did not actually air until 1982. It is considered the best film version of Flash Gordon, though it would never be broadcasted again following its premiere because the story is associated with Hitler's Third Reich. It was written by Star Trek writer Samuel A. Peeples, directed by Gwen Wetzler and more or less faithfully follows the early Alex Raymond comic strip adventures.

I am a huge Flash Gordon fan and have been looking for this for decades! Sit back and enjoy - I can only hope the new live action version being produced for next year will be this good...

Millions of Tiny Images.

I really don’t know why I expect things to be different with each passing day, nothing ever is. The same old crap day in and day out, sometimes I feel as though I am living on auto-pilot. Like someone else is living this so called life of mine. I really can’t even complain because I chose it and choose to continue living it.

I went to the west side of Juarez - dirt roads and crumbling adobe shacks shored up with balks of timber and card board, sewage flows stagnant in bubbling grey green ditches, a dog runs by covered in disease, old fuck with brown paper bag wrinkled skin and grand drooping mustache eyes me menacingly - so, like I was saying I went with a friend, young and virile but the mental capacity of a fern - light brown skinned youth with big doe eyes and scrawny physique (I seem to be attracting a lot of them lately.), everything thing is cool until we get about half a block from the spot, now he wants to tell me that one of those nacos claimed that he stole some bags from their little hiding spot and he is not quite sure what is going to happen. Fuck, I got so pissed off why couldn't he have related this to me sooner, I don’t want those guys to start fucking with me by association. I told him to get away from me and NOT to walk or talk to me over there. Of course the idiot doesn’t listen, he wants to start asking for rigs, lighters, cookers, you name it.

I am trying to tell this guy to slow down and go first. I do not want any problems. Well of course the gym-shoe boy making these ludicrous accusations he's out there and telling my friend he better pay for those bags. They took his money and chased him off the spot. He is so lucky that is all they did - I half expected a Tarantino ordeal to go down. I went and copped my dope, bought some loose squares and went to the taxi stop. Now here comes my friend no money no dope, he somehow expects me to give him one of my bags. No way! #1 he lied, he didn’t tell me what was up. #2 I only bought two bags and I do two at a time, I was not going to leave myself sick because of his blatant random stupidity. I felt kinda bad, but I just couldn’t do it this time.

Ahhh - fuckem all, squares on both sides.

Mash Taters.

Today is like any other day: Get up, get off, and go look for more . I stood in the alley for about 45 minutes - smell of sewage and feces and urine - me and nine others waiting for the pack-man to show up with all the goodies, the whole time telling myself how stupid I am standing there waiting - waiting cause the man is never on time. The dope isn’t even really worth waiting for this just happens to be the best garbage around. But there I am me and nine other shriveled quivering wrecks standing in the alley of a known drug spot in a shitty cartel neighborhood waiting to cop dope wishing this little Motherfucker would hurry up. It is cold the spot is hot and I am not feeling very well even though I did a wake up. I don’t know - things are not the same - it becomes harder and harder to cop. The dope all over is garbage when you do get lucky and find a decent spot some idiot junky comes along and tells them how good their dope is and they start cutting it more than it already is. I don’t really want to stop getting high I love it too much. I just hate the process of getting high. Traveling 45 minutes on the bus, standing around waiting, and trying to get out of there as soon as possible. I am looking forward to summer it won’t be so bad. I hope.

Coming undone at the lines of stitching, back for more, the insignia transforms into burgundy, I stomach your latest barrier, this one that divides my mind…the beauty of it all, the splendor of some unpaid amphetamines…Junkie he… This slit in my neckline, how did it happen upon me? My imprint is on the raw term paper, it hemorrhages onto the floorboards…My heart is drenched…Thought we both needed a companion to scurry to…

Have you ever longed to lead a transient life? Kerouac-esque - hitching rides, immersing yourself in the scenes and sights of a new town completely and totally only to wake the next day and start anew. A different trip each day and a different kick every night. Here is the problem that lies with-in: where would one be able to hag ones hat? Where would home be? Would it be possible to, at some point, transition back to every day life?
Maybe a Drugstore Cowboy sorta approach would be an alternative. Get a crew of close friends together, to do what you need to survive. That may also rectify the home problem. If you were with those that made you feel comfortable.
Maybe I'm just dreaming of an escape from the mundane today.
Ahhhh, yes I've missed the sweet lolling of miss poppies special tea. She has come to visit me today just in time, too. The Trivial was becoming much to worrisome. The others I live with not speaking unless my oh so very horrible behavior is troubling them. Its a shitty situation but it seems I must deal with the criticisms and lack of trust to attain my goal in all of this. I don't really know what that goal is just yet but, I’ll just keep telling myself that I'm working vigilantly toward it. Maybe I am, maybe not. Time will tell.
Its off to another sleepless night, for me…..

Tweek.

“I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion” Jack Kerouac.

He took the strip of aluminum foil and folded a crease down the middle. Pinching a few small rocks out of the Chinese rice paper - sprinkled the yellow substance onto the crease. With sweaty brown hands trembling as if it were his last, Oscar lit the bottom of the foil strip with his lighter. He jury rigged a straw from an empty ink pen tube - placed in mouth, grimaced downward eyes intent - the heat melted the small yellowish rocks into a liquid of Mercury like jelly. The thick gray smoke - smell of burnt metal - snaked up into the pen - deep inhale to charred lungs. Oscar tilted the strip with care, letting the heavy metal fluid run down the course of the strip - sucking the fumes as he went. His face lit up like a pinball machine with esoteric results.
"Orale." He exhaled - passing the strip to me.

I sat poised on the edge of the rickety brown chair and followed his lead. The meth entered my lungs - like a 240 volt circuit the rush sped up my spine through the back brain and tingled my forehead. Lay back and listened down into myself. Outside in the early afternoon Mexican street, cars honked and kids shouted in play. The avocado painted room in which we sat was sparsely furnished - smell of dust, soiled socks, and dried semen.

Tongue clicking against grinding teeth, my mouth tasted of aluminum - I exhaled and wondered how much of this shit had we done. I was covered in a fine film of sweat - fingers twitching and twiddling uncontrollably when I passed back the strip to Oscar - my eyes bounced around like the Cookie Monsters.

He sat across from me - black straight hair hung limp over his brown eyes, thin face and his slight but muscular copper frame was shirtless from the heat.

"She cooks it herself." He said and, yes, Esperanza did a good job. The piece that she brought was a good size and got it free on account that she liked me. I knew the score - get us hooked and we will be loyal customers. It's working, I smiled to myself.

The worst porn in the world flickered on his small television set as Oscar rocked back and forth eyes diluted and red transfixed on the outdated imagery of some bouffanted skank getting pounded in the butt by an equally gelled and blow dried stud. I blearily glance out the window - the trees and bushes take on Disney cartoon shapes - Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Goofy - we both sat there in silence save for the wackawacka wairn nairn music from the 80's porn. Oscar slid a thin hand down his ravaged face.

We did another hit. Then another. And then some more.

Last night when we started these shenanigans, Oscar joked philosophically, "Why do we always do this shit at night?"

Why not indeed?

Oscar phased out into Tweekerland and I went into the other room and lay down. Hyperventilating on the bed - I heard fucking sounds (The sounds of fucking, you understand.) inside the walls, I always do. Take all this dick, bitch! Bed against wall - thumpthumpthumpthump. My teeth ground and my tongue clicked as I twitched like a short circuited robot on the bed clothes clung to my wet body like a used condom.

I thought, So this is what it has come to.

Monkey Business.

After spending two plus hours at the cineplex with a boat load of screaming kids and their beat plump mothers taking in Ironman, I thought it was time for a drink. On the City bus ran into an old friend - well, an acquaintance really - and we hit a few bars downtown. All were sad dead museums - except for this one small local pub with the odd moniker of Po-po's.

Wall to wall bums, ex-cons, junkies, illegal aliens, skanks, bull dykes, burrocho's and hustlers filled the dingy low ceiling tavern. Goddam! I liked it. After taking a seat at the rickety metal tables with plastic lawn chairs downed several pitchers of cerveza, feelin' pretty good I walked next door and ordered two mouthwatering burritos puerco. Sitting in a booth waiting for his order was a fine Mexican man in tight black clothes showing off his innerestin' physique that I had noticed swaggering in the bar earlier. Struck up a conversation and since he was shit faced drunk - man hit me up for paid sex after he gave me a slobbery kiss on the cheek. I told him I'd consider it while he smiled rubbing his engorged organ. I was impressed enough to buy the guy a beer, though and returned to the bar with two sizzling burritos that my friend and I consumed voraciously.

After that freak show, we wobbled the two blocks to the bar San Antonio Mining Company and were shocked to find that we were the only patrons. It was only 5:30 in the afternoon ferthecrissakes!! Then this paraplegic stumbled in with his short muscular boy in tow. The midget began talking too me in slurred paragraphs of intoxication from countless coke and rums going on and on about how fine he was and even had the audacity to curl up his arm make a muscle and kiss it. Jeez! After that I became catty with him and he shut up.

Feeling the alcohol ten fold I began chatting with another drunk - a red eyed shiny faced Mexican that kept smiling at me, cute Indian type - and he wound up sucking my cock in the mensroom - my friend, who I guess thought we were an item - became irate and split. Like I never had any interest in his unappetizing person. Fucking fags.

Fuck 'em all, squares on all sides.

Trudged back to J-Town and relaxed the rest of the afternoon at Banos Roma. Lounging seductively in my cubicle smoking a cigarette amid the grunts and squeals of random broken lust and the smell of semen sweat and mildew, I had the opportunity at a three way with two locals. One skinny guy stood at my door - naked - holding a conversation about this fantastically amazing taco shop that he owned and how I should visit it. To shut him up I sucked his cock. With the door still open, the handsome beefy guy across from me sat there and watched until his angst got the best of him - he shyly crossed over to us. With both in my cubicle, door closed and the 'funfest' began. Beefy guy shot his ass up on tippy toes like an aroused cat as skinny slapped on a jimmy and plowed that fucker. Grunting and panting, Beefy came to a climax as I jacked him off - splattering white goo all over me hand. Beefy cleaned up and left but skinny - well he wasn't finished and turned that fucker in my direction. Changing condoms, skinny pressed me standing against the stained green tiled wall and jabbed his fucker in deep - drilling like a jack hammer biting up my back delicate brown hands caress my torso. Skinny squirted in deep and we sat there butt naked smoking a Lucky.

Shaking hands I bid him adios - got dressed - and walked over to Bar Buen Tiempo for three quick beers. Ran into an old friend I haven't seen in a coon's age - Rene - and we chatted it up for a couple of hours. Exhausted from the heat and the bath house, I got Rene's number and returned home to sleep and dream of merry melodies with Cab Calloway...

"You have given me many anxious moments, Mr. Blasini."

I looked up - as if coming out of a deep nightmare - my mind sluggish - like I was in a stupor from far too many psychotropic medications. But I remember I threw them all away moments after getting them. I did, didn't I?

"Many anxious moments." He said. The balding man in the wrinkled cotton suit who claimed to be my Case Officer sat across from me behind a mahogany desk littered with files and typed reports reaching far above him. His face was bright pink and glistened in a fine layer of sweat. The small office was ill lit - the smell of dust, old paper and dead bugs. Behind him in the darkness stood two men on either side - I couldn't make out there faces but wore bright white lab coats. My Case Officer continued hissing harshly, "I knew you would fuck me around! Just knew it!"

"What? Huh?" I slurred, still in my stasis - background sounds of popping electricity.

"Your reports are very unsatisfactory! Boring crap - if I may say so." He yelled slamming a file three inches thick onto the desk. He tapped a pudgy finger on the file to the rhythm of his words. "You forget to report many things. All kinds of shit. We must know everything!"

"Everything!" Said the man to his left and he had no face - a slide projection of an old mans pale seamed face would flicker across blank skin when he spoke. His voice was a bass rumble.

My Case Officer continued, "Why didn't you write about the fist fight in the alley over your coke transaction with that cholo (glances at typed sheet from my folder.) ...uhm..Shadow?"

"Or when you and your friend were thrown out of that fag bar for doing all kinds of arcane nasty shit, what was the name...Chiquitas?" Said the bass voice.

"Or when you were blowing little Stevie in the men's room at The Tool Box Bar? That was tasty!" Lisped the other white coat, a face of a thin pinch faced old man flickers across his blank flesh screen. "You squealed like a bitch when he corn holed ya!"

I sat up and squinted, "Look - it's just I don't feel like writing everyday. It's all the same over and over - like a moebius loop. It breaks the monotony."

"It breaks the monotony." Mimicked my Case Officer in a little girl voice. "Mr. Blasini, we chose you for this assignment on account of your sly perseverance, your cold character, your cryptic demeanor - your chutzpa!' He stood up and began pacing the room with one hand in his wrinkled white cotton blazer waving his other hand in the air. "However, Control is satisfied - you did accomplish one job for us. An important job"

"Yes." Said pinch face - drawing out the 's' like a serpent.

"Control has been trying to locate an agent defector for sometime." My Case Officer was behind me now, massaging my shoulders with delicate cold old woman fingers. "And you led us right to him. Thank you, my boy, thank you."

"Yesss, thank you." The others repeated in unison.

"Who?"

"Ah-ha!" His finger shot up, "So sublime of you to pretend to be his friend and then crushing his ego only like you can." The Case Worker offered me a Lucky Strike.

"Pure genius." Said bass voice.

"Superb." Cooed pinch face.

"And now, thanks to you, Control will step in and liquidate him." The Case Officer smiled, lighting my cigarette. "Didn't you notice how he is reacting now? Depressed, non sociable. A feeling of utter defeat. You crushed his spirit, kiddo!" His face goes livid in hate. "The fucking perverted junky beaner deserved it, too!" He goes quiet - pauses thoughtfully. "Ahem - but I digress. We have another job for you, my lad - one that I think you are again perfect for."

"Really? I am attentive to the news." I said crossing my legs taking a drag slowly blowing the fumes out my nostrils.

The Case Officer returned behind his desk with a squeak of springs from his chair, folding his fingers, face blank and business like, "You will go to Juarez City in Mexico, there you will locate a notorious enemy agent that has eluded Control for some years. We know only that he is located in the Red Light District the area is diabolical and fill with purposeful agents swarming in their own diseases, after you have made contact and gained his trust - it will be up to you to fuck...I mean heheh, pump vital information from him and then file us a complete report. Sabe?"

A flashbulb of clearness wave of paranoia fills my head - I took a puff, "Who the fuck are you people?"

Lights flickered with the sound of arcing electricity. The Case Officer looked passed over my head with fear, his face washed in blue from the light - then down to me and smiled, "I can say no more. Control will contact you once you have settled in Mexico." The Case Officer stands grinning, walks across the office and opens a broom closet, "Now..up and at 'em, my boy, no times a wastin'"

Slowly, I stand and sluggishly walk towards the open door. The Case Officer pats me on the back, whispers in my ear, "You'll be okay, kid - Control's got your back. But, just remember - write everything...okay? Leave out nothing." With a push I go in the enveloping darkness with the Case Worker patting me on the ass. Quickly I look back and all three are waving at me like departing queer tourists.

"Break a leg, kid!"

"Trust no one!"

"Adios!"

"Bon voyage!"

"Kick ass!"

"See yahs!"

Just before the door slammed shut I heard the bass voice whisper, "Stupid faggot."

Cold darkness. A feeling of falling - a tremendous rush of wind and bright light. I close my eyes a second and when I open them I am standing on a cracked sidewalk next to a crumbling blue washed adobe building - sounds of Latin music down a windy street. Wires criss cross the air with popping conduits and the smell of fried meat, burnt beans and urine fills the air. A group of dirty preteen Mexican Indian kids swarm me - hands outstretched - I reach in my pocket and pull out a few peso coins along with a key. After I pass out the pesos to the kids and they giggle away - I look around and grunt. Cuidad Juarez! I am back in Juarez! I study the key on a pink key chain. Engraved into the key it reads "NO. 12". I know that place. As the winds and dirt howl around me under the stern glare of ancient Indian Mexican with white drooping moustache - I trudge over the blistering concrete to my apartment two blocks away...determined to continue without fail my destiny.

Hiding Behind a Pillar of Fire.

Thought I'd give that nuisance Fernie a second - no, make that third chance to go right with me. He invited me across the border down ol' Mexico way on account he wanted contact lenses and see the sights. After spending most of the morning gagging off of the stench in the Opportunity Center - a flop house that is even worse than the El Paso Rescue Mission...filthy unwashed bums lay in their own feces and vomit on the dirt covered tiled floor as the beat staff looks on in uncaring apathy - after Fernie attended his business with MHMR me and that bad seed hightailed it across the border for some unclean fun. Crossing the International Bridge passing hawkers taxi drivers on the hustle and pobres with their hands clutching out forever we strolled down Avenida Juarez under that bright blue Mexican sky.

We ate tacos carne asadas at Taco Lucas - a favorite of mine - and then the clown started in. Fernie began disrespecting me in front of my friends, namely Chuey; the cook I have known to work at the restaurant for eight years.

Eating quickly - and Fernie downing six beers to my two - I ushered him out to the hot bustling streets and thought I'd show him Bar Buen Tiempo - an old hang out of mine. Not two minutes in the door, queer decided to start bitching and complaining about the citizens. There was this tall thin handsome guy there staring at us and as Fernie was at the jukebox trying to find something to play - I invited the guy over to share drinks with us. His name was Alex and a real nice fella, too. We began talking and joking, enjoying each others company.

Fernie blatantly began asking if he could score for some soda (coke.) in which Alex nervously said he could probably attain some. Earlier, Fernie ping ponged back and forth about going to Banos Roma - Juarez's bath house. Now, since Alex mumbled that he could probably get coke there - Fernie whined for us to go to Banos Roma.

Not even finishing our beers - we headed out and over to the baths. Myself and Alex were prepared to have a hoot - but again all Fernie did was complain. Undressing and going into the steam room, Alex, I and a hotter than hell guy had an innerestin threesome. Alex was hung like a fucking donkey and our new friend was all muscle and ass! Outside, Fernie sulked and bitterly stated that the place was a dump - it being his first time there. I just ignored that dope and did my thing - and that was being a complete whore. It was good kicks.

Later, I met Alex in the hall and he shyly stated that he was leaving because Fernie kept badgering him to get coke and I don't blame the kid - Fernie just deteriorated into an asshole. Again. This being the third friend Fernie has alienated from me since my return to El Paso.

I said my regretful goodbyes to Alex and continued to play around with the indigenous locals - meanwhile Fernie was downing beer after beer and became a complete mess. So, unable to take his shit anymore - we left.

I strode through the streets in fear of running into a patrol as Fernie stumbled drunk off of his ass behind me. At the frontier, INS gave me heat for not having a passport or birth certificate, but passed me with a stern warning. Land of the free....

Outside customs, asshole became inhospitable when I wouldn't go with him to buy any coke - a few hostile remarks to each other and I dumped that worthless shit. Never again. I split on my way and out of anger I got the balls to go to the apartment complex that I was renting from before I left to San Diego the last time. After a long tender and heartfelt plea that I should have won an Oscar for, the landlady agreed to let me rent an apartment again - and even in my old place! Wheeee!

So, it looks like I will be pow wowing here in El Paso for a spell. And I apologize for the ranting and badly written post - I just don't feel like writing today but I had to vent...

One Saliva Bubble.

Sun screamed down the heat in mid morning. Out front of the Public Library smoking Lucky Strikes and yapping with colleagues - fat kids played touch football in the grass. Lonesome cat walks up strikes conversation about kidney stones. Tall yokel looking ex-military type from the flats of Kansas. So he said. Tall, lean and handsome - black shaggy hair, wide smile from full lips.

Inner self screaming he's wrong! Walk away! He's wrong all over! But, handsome, right. Goes into a monologue about his service in Afghanistan and the body count he's acquired. Popped the question if I wanted to blast on weed - I just looked off onto those purple mountains of Mexico and muttered, "Why not?"

Cut to The Plaza and sat talking of sexual innuendos and I really noticed this country yuk yuk had some big ass feet on 'em! Police patrols swooped around like vultures and I mentioned I knew a park close by that is a little more discreet. High tailed it there and he whipped out his wares and we blasted on that bench over looking the great Rio Grande Valley. Must admit - boy had some decent weed.

Higher than shit, stumbled back to the Plaza a giggling screwy mess. Sat and tried to enjoy my high - but no bueno, goddam tea heads are garrulous. Got my attention when he pulled up his tee shirt to show me his innerestin tan line. Rock hard six pack glowing white in my fucked eyes. Popped the question me and said, "Ya know what goes good with weed?"

"Coke?"

"Nope. Porn. I know a little shack near that's guaranteed to get you kicks." Snicker.

Hop a bus down Texas under the glare of the sad petulant locals and enter Eva Theater. Smell of semen and bleach and smoke. On screen two studs banging some brunette. My trick worked. Sat in the darkness and noticed the long throbbing in my constituents jeans. Silently pulled out that stiff circumcised corn fed cock - long and thick, kneeled down between his spidery legs and bobbed that fucker but good. Hand slides across flat stomach as I felt his tension mount - quick breath, squirm of hips and he lets loose a thick discharge down my throat. He giggle says "Thanks."

Black hipster sits behind us and offers coke to the fleeting lovebirds - slap the bro a ten and me and mine retire to the mens room. Cut that shit up with a credit card, roll a dollar bill and - snort! Zowie! Snort! Wheeeeee!!!

Back to the theater and sit. Kid gets a stiffy again (two fister that curves to the side.) and I do a second round - more intense than the first. Them balls were hanging and suckable. Must've like that - his hand start mussing my hair. After the spurty nut - he breathless and beads of sweat on forehead - we return to bathroom for two more bumps under the watchful eye of the withered grey haired old pervert. "Hey baby..." She coo.

Really feeling it now - tingling and brain popping of blue electrical arcs smell of aluminum in the nostrils clean and sweet - we sit watching the porn our eyes glowing like Tesla coils. Surprise, he reaches over and unzips my fly taking my hard on out. "Just cause I'm gonna suck it don't mean I'm gay, okay?" He hisses. Of course...of course....

Boy sucks it like a champ and after a few minutes I blow a load in his mouth which he prudently spits onto the black floor - splat!

Wordlessly we leave and repair back to the Plaza and sit listening down into ourselves - that is until my arch enemy - Jorge, whore hay, Queenie, fukkinfag - swishes up and asks for a ciggie. I nod towards the boy. He rolls the fruit a Bugler. The Bitch sits like a withered old movie diva with us yapping faggot crap and then handsome started in with his schizophrenic blabber like I can't stand this shit no more. Tall dark and weird asks where a drug store is and I jumped at the chance. I turn to Queenie and slur, "Hey, bitch wyoncha take him to Walgreen's?"

They cut and I stumble over to the Tap Bar and down a quick beer.

Floating back home I smile at the fact that I never found out that fucker's name. But then again - he never asked for mine.

Sometimes a Wind Blows...

On screen some Filipina fob was getting it nasty in her tattoo snatch. The coughs slurps and random gasps of anonymous lust from the Baker's Dozen of fat or ugly or old perverts permeated the murky theater. Two seats next to me handsome Latin transient kid stroked his wiener like a masturbating idiot. I try to make him but get hostile flashes from cold undersea eyes. Whatever.

I pull out my own and dingle dangle to the nastiness on screen when out of the inky blackness young Mexican kid - khaki shorts, blue knit polo shirt, white baseball cap - slithers next to me silent and furtive. Takes my stiff joint in his frail hands and wraps his tongue around my head. Sucks and blows like a champ - my hand glides along his lithe backside, feeling sinewy muscles as he bobs slowly up and down on my cock. He's good - minutes later I am squirting semen into his mouth with gasps and grunts. Before I can button my fly, Little Faggito slinks back into the void - to the mens room where the Pompadoured Fairy lurks.

I walk outside for a smoke - wind howling under that bright blue Texas sky. Puffing on my Camel Wide, Little Faggito exits blinking in the sun - but before we can chit or chat, Old Carnale rides up shirtless on a rickity bike and starts yapping.

"Hey, guero, what's up?" He smiles toothless face of an old woman, hair a mane of grey knots.

"Not much." I croak. I don't know this person.

"Need anything?" Old Carnale whispers down empty alleyways.

I think and half jest, "Got any coke?"

"Come on." He says and I follow him into the dusty trash filled alley next to the theater - Little Faggito in tow and I haven't the slightest idea why. Red brick walls in black soot graffiti claw at the sun. Smell of urine and dried shit and dust that clog nostrils.

After preliminary checks for patrols Old Carnale pulls a small plastic bag out of the folds of his ratty clothes and smiles. Behind a smelly green dumpster as the wind blows and moans I sample his wares. Snort - wheeee! Snort - wheee!!!

Little Faggito disappears with the look of a wounded fawn as I slap the ten into Old Carnale's calloused dirty hand. Look of tired petulance - Old Carnale zips off down the dusty alley on his bicycle and I bebop back down town.

Coke takes effect and I hit centro feeling quite yummy on this dead El Paso Sunday - streets void of pedestrians, void of life. Nothing but empty buildings, wind, sand, and sun. The sun seems to suck the very life out of you and you want nothing - nothing but death. I digress and stopped at the Tap for three quick beers...

When I get back to the mish I get the bum kicks - my little Willy is gone the way of a ghost as outside amid broken bottles and rusted tin cans a tramp staggers past The Factory, his dirty right hand glides along the concrete wall leaving an iridescent trail of greasy slime...

Me of Me.

The raucous nature and deliberate assholiness of the pansy population in this town has taxed my last nerve. For years I have enjoyed the time and serenity of solitude - not hermit, but not suffering in the muck of others drama - I go about my way and just don't care of others business, you know what I mean? I socialise, don't get me wrong, I like to talk and interact - but I am far too independent to follow the main line like everyone else, ya dig?

I have no hesitation to cut off at the blink of an eye all the phony, self important, whining, back stabbing, two faced faggotry that haunt our civilization like serpents slithering through the mire. When this happens - when I tell them with blank face and sincerity in eyes no more, it's over with ya. They gasp and go into melodramatic shock - how dare you?! Ah, go fuck yerselves, ya worthless shits - better off without ya, let me finish my drink in peace...they cannot grasp that I can live happily evermore without their simpering person.

Yes, Dear Reader, there are a couple on that recent list that I had opened myself grudgingly to and thine heart they stabath at first flutter - I will not inflate their already over blown egos by mentioning names - however they have mistaken my kindness with weakness until it was too late.

It just gets colder and colder inside...

Science Fiction Double Feature.

With a few martinis, a bag full of coke, and some good weed - some close constituents and I got together and had an all night movie marathon. They just don't make them like this any more...

Melodramatic Sickness.

Fernie stated he was feeling a bit light headed a few days after that vicious attack upon his person in the gay bar restroom, so after a good lunch at Luigi's, I accompanied him to St. Thompson Hospital for a check up.

We sat in the waiting room and basically cruised the hotties there as we sat the five hours for nothing - he did not have an ID with him. Why they failed to mention this upon reception is beyond me.

So, after that debacle, we swooped down to the Whatever Bar for some alkeehall and got ripped with the local denizens and snooty faggotry. However, Fernacious had began to degenerate into an uncontrollable skank - and that is a lot coming from me.

After our funds ran out - the boy decided to work the geriatric fags slumped against the bar at the Briar Patch. I mean, I'd hafta be pretty fucked up to stroke my tongue against some old vampires - yet, Fernacious did and made enough for a pitcher of brew that we bought hightailing it over to Chiquita's. At that moment, it started - well, two things to be exact - you see, at the mish there has been some voracious air born virus that had been causing stomach cramps, obnoxious diareah, and projectile vomiting amongst the tramps and it seemed that I had contracted it - at the bar my stomach started to hurt as a line formed in the bathroom stall to suck on Fernie's cock and feed him coke.

After an hour of this homo hilarity, I stumbled back to the shelter and took shelter, crawling into my bunk wracked in agonized pain. All night - my stomach felt as if it was wrapped in barbed wire and when I went to the shitter - how can I describe it delicately? Thick fudge being blown out the muffler of a '57 Chevy?

In the middle of the night as I lay there bleary eyed and suffering acute hallucinations, Fernie appears next to me - hopped up on liquor and goofballs wagging his obscene erection in my face. "Get the fuck outta here!" I hissed - but this continued through out the night - him coming to molest my sensitive person. I remember waking up and seeing Fernie masturbating William Wiggins who bunked above me while William was asleep. Ugh.

During the following day I lay bed ridden taken prisoner of this vicious hobo virus.

But I had time to think - and think I did. About what my next plan will be - my next move. And I promise it will be a lu-lu!

Frankenfaggot.

So I'm sitting in the cool pungent darkness of a porno theater snickering at the funny interview with Ron Jeremy on screen when I get a call on my cell that my bud Fernie was going on a blind date and if I'd 'come along'. I look around at all the tired shriveled pot bellied men in with me and agree to meet him in an hour at The Whatever Bar.

Kinda cute Fernie was - all nervous to meet some fucker named Alex that he scammed on the previous night out. We shared a beer and talked with the lisping naco tending the bar when said Alex walked in. Uhm....ew. Even Fernie mumbled that he must've been really drunk that night. But, we both played our parts and smiled and chatted and got free beer - which is always an honest goal.

I certainly wasn't going to be a third wheel - so I called my friend Joey and invited him to join this train wreck - he stated he'd be over as soon as he could. Meanwhile, the booze flowed and it seemed more drunk I became more hostile and arrogant these desert fags were becoming. So, Fernie, Alex, and I piled into a car and sped the few blocks to Bar Chiquita's. There I seemed to maxed out my bank card but Joey arrived with M.J. in tow just in the nick of time. I stayed with them and chatted, much to the chagrin of Alex who began scamming on me once Fernie turned cold. Nope!

Dearest sweetest Joey and I had a sinister good time. However, through the course of the evening - and once we migrated over to the Briar Patch - things got a little weird between Joey and his eyecandy. While Casper was up on stage karaoke singing Neon Moon for the umpteenth million time - M.J. stood at the bar and chatted with this repulsive ancient queer who looked and acted like old Truman Capote. I believe Joey and I made our selves perfectly clear through over dramatic pantomiming that M.J. needed to whore a few drinks out of that bloated vampire - but no dice. Out on the patio afterwards - Joey degraded some and began accusing M.J. of harboring feelings for said geezer. A snarling bitch fight ensued and M.J. stormed out in a dramatic exit.

I was hot - evil turns me on. Through drunken dark thoughts I suggested to Joey that we need to grab someone, some innocent puto from the bar - go to Joey's house and get all Salo upside the victims ass.

We slunk through the bars intent on bloody carnage and in The Tool Box we found him. Fernie propped up against the bar - eyes glazed, silly grin, slithering lasciviously against the bar. We grabbed Fernie by the nipples and dragged him out to the car. "Where we goin'?" He giggled.

The night lights careened past us as Joey drove crazily around down town in no particular direction. Then I got sick. "Pull over." I mumbled. As I stood out away from the car puking up a gallon of gin and tonics this is the goofy conversation inside the car:

JOEY: Gimmee some cock.

FERNIE: Gimmee some coke.

JOEY: Where's the cock?

FERNIE: Where's the coke?

JOEY: Need some cock.

FERNIE: I need some coke.

JOEY: First the cock - then the coke.

FERNIE: No, coke first then cock.

(Small pause.)

JOEY: Fernie????!!!!

FERNIE: Joey????!!!!

And so on - it really was a little too pat. Well, I told myself I'm just going to leave these two lovebirds alone. I asked Joey to drive me to the bridge that spanned down to the mish. I left those two - me stumbling and puking into the night. I sneaked into the dorm and passed out.

Next morning, a hang over me and was shocked and mortified to learn that William Wiggins was my new bunkmate. Then, 'round 7am, Fernie stumbles in asking for smokes - his t-shirt covered in blood, black eyes, scratches on his head with a big gash on top of his scalp stitched and stapled together. He explained that he could remember nothing but being jumped in the Briar Patch mens room. "And what about, Joey?" I asked. "Who?" he stated blankly as he climbed into his bunk and passed out.

Well, the highlight of that morning was that William invited me to breakfast and that coffee was good - damn good. The boy even suggested that we go to Trixx and play around in the booths. So, for the first time in two years, William and I went to the porno theater and like old times, gave him the best head ever. He is still ever so sexy naked and what a cock. Spurting an orgasm twice - he breaking a sweat and moaning - we separated downtown and I just went back home to sleep this hangover away.

How can I complain with a life like this?

How Industrial.

Decided it was high time to jump over to J-Town (That's Cuidad Juarez, Mexico you ignorant assholes.) And check to see if Maria is holding any apartments.

Heat shimmered and hot wind blew over that spanning International bridge. Walked the broken concrete through honking horns begging Indians screaming hawkers. Beefed up security they did on account of the Cartel Wars - sullen faced gray uniformed patrols stood on every corner with an Uzi dangling from their hip.

Four blocks in, I slinked down the sewage smelling alley - a carpet of rusted beer bottle tops and syringes cover the dirty road to Maria's trap and of course she had apartments - can't fight fate, I reckon. Will be moving on the 3rd of May to that turquoise adobe building. Darted over to the optometrist and bought some contact lenses from The Fat Man. Ate lunch at Taco Lucas and shot the shit with the cook - old time pal named Chuey. Has it been eight years we've known each other? Time passes. He's as handsome as ever - with four kids yet!

Walked through The Old Mercado - changed alot, new pavement - sat drinking jamaica in front of the Cathedral blinking in that unrelentless Mexican sun with that bright bloody blue sky. Muscular handsome cops in bright blue uniforms and body armor patrolled everywhere. Stopped in an Internet Cafe and chatted with a ghost from Costa Rica - once I was done the sky was a dull brown and strong winds blew dirt and filth in every direction. Can't beat these damn dirt storms...time to head back. Passed the INS with just a wave of the hand.

Back in El Paso, sat in a coffee shop The Percolator and sipped coffee watching the dirt storm rage outside. Ghastly. The loneliness is numbing. Sun sets and I hitch a bus back home waiting to move again to Juarez on the first of May.

When you are free to do anything and all possibilities are tasty - what do you do?

THX1138:4eb

Wild Eyed Cocksucking Coke Fiends.

Was a little disappointed in the aftermath and confusion pertaining to that apartment debacle, so I handled it in the only way fitting - I text my good pal Fernie Wanna get drunk? He said sure as shit so we clomped down to Bar Chiquita's and had a ripping good time.
After a few beers and shots of Patron - Fernie invited me to some snorts of coke he had acquired from a butt ugly tranny in the back alley. In the toilet stall of the bar - with shaking hands and dry lips - Fernie prepared the booger sugar with prompt haste. Rolled that dollar bill up and snort wheeee! - That was some good shit - electric waves of pleasure shot through my mind and I just felt yummier.

It didn't stop there - for the next two hours more booze more coke standing outside the bar smoking smoking smoking (Can't smoke in fucking bars here - Land of The Free, Home of the Brave...) On impulse decided to call a couple of friends to help us in this illegal debauchery. Fernie and I invited Casper on down and then on a whim - cause I thought it was time to meet - I called a MySpace friend I had never met face to face, a swaggering fuzzy ruggedly handsome guy named Joey - said he'd also stop by for some hooch.

What a pleasant surprise to meet him for the first time - I have chatted with Joey for over a year now and was delighted to find he wasn't a lisping simpering faggot. And he had an equally handsome date with him - a firefighter in training named Matt.

When we all came together so did the egos - all went like a well oiled asshole and Joey and I hit it off quite well. Our gang drank and snorted more C in the toilet stall or the back alley of the bar.

As the night progressed, Joey surmised the smashing idea of taking the party to his house - so, Matt, Casper, Fernie and I jumped in Joeys car and sped to his humble home. There more drugs were consumed along with alcohol - I explained to Fernie that Joey was a masseuse and if he could sample his wares.

In an adjoining room was the massage set up. Fernie lay on the table as Joey smeared scented oils onto his back, Matt produced soothing commentaries, and for some reason I started sucking Casper's cock. I blame the drugs, kids. Bad habit - don't do it.

We all paused - returned to the living room and snorted more blow - lines offered by our esteemed host on the cover of a Salvador Dali hardback. Perfect! Fernie came up with the amusing scheme of snorting a line off of Matts cock - but somehow I was voted into sniffing a bump off of Fernies cock - and well, wacha gonna do? So the group repaired back to the massage room, lights dimmed, candles burning faintly and I gave Fernie what for. And since Casper was sitting next to him, I did him, too. Why not - wouldn't you?

Not to be upstaged - Joey stripped Matt down to his dry goods and began working on Matts cock - egads! This simple gathering had turned into an out and out freak fest! The angelic music was drowned out by slurping and moaning and sighing and embarrassed giggles. Tee hee.

After everyone was done - we all returned to the plush cushioned couches of Joeys living room chained smoked cigarettes and talked on and on fueled by a heinous coke buzz. But, as all good things - it had to end. 'Round 4:30am we all began crashing hard - so Matt was kind enough to give us all a lift to our respected homes. Giving Joey and Matt the glad hand - Fernie and I said our good nights and stumbled into the darkness of the mission's grounds...

Homo Be-bop.

Whirlwinds of wackiness, fair buggers. Three attempts at attaining an apartment but cruel fate is my everlasting cock blocker. The final straw - now pay attention, you dingalings, it gets weird - was when I entered an inconvenience store for said money order to pay a deposit for a swanky trap I had my eye on. Nice hardwood floors, old tyme bathtub, and balcony over looking glistening Juarez.

Infernal contraption sucked $400 out of my account but did not issue dollar one. Must've been a fag hating machine. After an hour of screaming cussing threatening lawsuits - I calmed myself with mantra as the coward manager assured me that 'The Company' will do an audit and return my dough. Sneering I trumped out with a dramatic exit - swirling of black cloak, twirling moustache....

Well, just paid the fucking rent on my fucking apartment where I am going to fucking try - try! I tells ya, TRY! - to live out the remaining years on this mudball.

At the mission, was surprised and had feelings of angst when I saw William Wiggins sitting outback looking forlorn. Seems he is homeless again and will be entertaining the hospitality's there. We joked and smoked and the other resident homo - this mexifag named Fernie even raised a fey eyebrow at William. But I warned Fernie to be aware of that one - a walking petrie dish. Speaking of Fernie - at his bunk he was lounging under a blanket with a massive jaw dropping boner and, well had to goose 'em. He just lay there purring in spastic contemplations. Boy admitted he wants to bang the bajeesus outta me. Why, not, Fernacious, why not?

William and I chanced a shower together - just like old times. Alone, as he lathered up, I grabbed that fucker of his - he smile and say, "I can't get hard." - three strokes of my hand and that cock pointed throbbing at the Northern Lights. Silence amid the fungus and mildew of the filthy shower stall as the warm water sprayed our tense torsos, I looked into those dark brown eyes and he looked into my own blues - no words but there is still a spark there, he knew it and I knew it.. 'And I still can see Blue Velvet through my tears..."

This morning - out back of the shelter hacking and smoking and gulping Victory Coffee under the glittering golden sun - William met Mike. During chatter spreckled with homosexual innuendo, William shot glances at Mikes JLo booty with unhinged vibrating lust - William even confided in me that he wanted to 'tap that'. Ha! Silly bi-boys.

So, the wrap up to this messy sloppy post is this - I got an apartment, freaky friends, and free money for life.

Thank you, God - I wouldn't have it any other way.

Meanwhile, two hours after that post:

Okay, okay - update. Just went to plop down the deposit for that apartment. No. She said no - went on about how I need the whole amount - after the fact of our agreement. You see, the broad wanted $350 to move in and $350 last months rent. I explained I could give her $350 now to hold it and move in on the 3rd of May - but for some arcane reason she changed her mind. Though promising to hold it for me. Grrrrr! Like that is going to happen. I guess I will stick to my original plan and move to Juarez, rent a cheap trap, save my moola, take an ESL course for the certificate and head down to Central America.

Gads, what a predicament...oh, what do you care, just watch this -

Post Manic Overload.

Herr Doktor Benway sat across from me - harrumphing and mumbling like a Bolshevik with marbles in a greasy halitosis stained mouth. Had a psychoanalysis exam with PATH - another nut ward in El Paso, rival of that MHMR outfit - but couldn't get word one across with this quack. Every single time he asked me a question the good doctor would interrupt by digging through his drawer to produce some pamphlet on arcane mental treatments. "Yes yes dis yoo may find interestink..."

This man is insane, I thought.

Towards the end of our session - his nurse, grinning moronically glaring menacingly, produced a small plastic cup with a goddamn gray horse pill coupled with a tiny red one - pushing it in my face.

"Look." I chuckled nervously - eyes ping ponging back and forth between the two. "I don't wanna take these and wake up in some asylum."

"No - no. I am your doctor - you can trust me." He stated flatly without emotion - face unreadable as a cold poker player - a fine layer of grease lacquered his black hair like a helmet. He looked like a predatory sea creature.

Down the hatch. Shortly afterwards, was issued a whole pharmaceutical of pills - mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics - and was given a follow up two weeks later. Walking out, I felt no better - if anything more upset that I wasted three hours with that croaker. Passing through the Plaza - as harsh cold gritty wind whirled around me, I tossed the bag of psychotropic medication into a trash can. Some lucky fiend dumpster diving is gonna have himself a time!

Once back at the Mish, I passed out from the effects of the dope only to be awoken by the obnoxious pestering and raucous chatter of the morons that live there. I stumbled around in a slurring hostile blurr - pissed that the fucker of a croaker over drugged me. Never going back to that asshole again.

My friend Mike Lewis tried to comfort me with kind words but I just lashed out at anything in my gray screen of numbness. Mike Lewis - how to start with that one. Our friendship had really blossomed over the past two weeks. However, Dear Reader - you understand that I do not give my respect, love or trust over easily. The past has caused me to become a conniving bitter cold thing and I will not allow anyone to hurt me. Defenses were on full alert.

For twelve years I have grown steadily worse in my opinion of people. Most folks are mean - especially them homos - and unhappy and do everything in their power to either take from you what you have or make you as miserable and vile and deceitfully as they are. I trust no one. My attention span with them is short. I care for nothing and no one. I am just going through the motions - waiting to die.

But this boy Mike - he sure is going out of his way to prove me wrong. The fool!

Anyhoo, I am getting sidetracked with this rant - onward with the story, right?

Next day, Mike and I went to the bank and I was relieved that I had received my benefit check - so I invited Mike to a delicious breakfast of juevos rancheros at Cafe Tejas in downtown. During breakfast, Mike was concerned that he still had that unpaid ticket for boozing it up in the park a week prior. Staying true to form, I stated. "No problem, kid. However - nothing is free in this world (Learing leacherously across the table.) Let me give you head and I will be more than happy to pay it." Half joking and half serious was I. I mean I must admit, the kid is a knock out!

After a moment - pondering the out come if it out come and to my faggish surprise the little lad agreed to do that which is unconvienient and next thing we were racing into an adult cinema arcade - both of us together in a locked booth - Mike sat watching the porn as I gave him what for. Twice. Mike possesses one of those classic Adonis type bodies that old fags write epic poems about. O! Young lean adolescent man/I'd conquer empires to know the touch of your hand...okay, cut! Jesus! I ain't no hack! The boy came to a quivering squirty climax twice. After snickering and playful patter, we bopped downtown and dined at Luigi's - the Italian food buffet joint. However, Mike being hopelessly heterosexual - his somber mood and angst ridden actions told me that he wasn't keen on our little afternoon tryst. And that put me in a frump, not like I put a gun to the man's head. It was just a business transaction.

After dinner, we wobbled back to the Mish and I lay in my bunk reading House Atreides the prequel to Frank Herbert's Dune. Lights out - snoring farting hacking...

The following morning after showering together, Mike and I walk downtown puffing on smokes and joking around to take in some cappuccino and pastries at a new coffee house called The Peculator. Good stuff. Keeping to my word, strolled over to the court house and started payments on that ticket he'd aquirred. The ticket itself was over $250 but I opted with a plan and had to settle with a deposit of $85 and 25% a month afterwards. All the time I was wondering - is this kid worth it? Why am I doing this? His petty affairs are no concern of mine. I got my own agenda.

Hmmmmm....

Stopped at the bar Tap for booze and billiards, wasted more time walking around shops, cause Mike was interested in finding the perfect fedora. No such luck...I got horny being around him - or perhaps the fact that I secretly started to fancy the guy. (I am such a sucker for good looks and this one's got an angelic personality to boot) Kept telling myself No! No! Don't do it - the black winds of the Ugly Spirit started to blow - smell of decay and let downs and pure white hatred. Control, Luis...control. After buying himself a small pint of whiskey from a liquour store Mike agreed to go back to the adult arcade and I blew him again. It appeared the kid was more relaxed this time and his orgasm far more intense. I did my best stuff on him - hands clasped against that perfect hairless ass, my mouth slid up and down on that rock hard circumcised erection. When he came - hot spurts squirted across my tongue as I deep throated every drop - his torso shivered and he grunting deeply in racked convultions. Then again - I can suck me some cock, kiddies!

However, on the walk back to el centro, Mike began an arrogant theological tirade that just bored me. And it was at that moment that I decided to lop off this uppity whiny bastard like so many before him. I will not permit my emotions to open up and this fucker to stab and poke at my sensitivities till I am a bleeding corpse as so many had had viciously attempted prior in my long withered life. I felt those black winds blowing - the dark crevice in my mind opening. Pure white hatred emerged and I just wanted him to leave me alone permanantly.

Downtown at the Jack in the Box started a verbal sneering assault that ended with Mike doing a dramatic exit. Not to be upstaged, I left the restaurant to find the boy sulking on a street curb - I whipped out the receipt for his ticket and snarled, "Ya forgot something." Hurling the ticket at him - not spending another cent on this prick - and stormed off.

Mike caught up to me and began asking why I was being so cold and questioning my actions - all I heard was blah blah blah empty and black inside I was, not interested in anything he was babbling on about- his words echoing in my head - not caring to listen to his rant. I stood there thinking of nothing - caring for nothing - my defenses on full. I kept telling myself, just sit down, go get a bench and maybe he will go away. Boy wouldn't leave me alone - even followed me to the park and sat with me. He started to rant and rave and assault me with angry charges. Then he began to cry - honestly deeply weeping. Stating I was a friend that was worth fighting for, that I had positive attributes worth sharing, that I am a good person and should try to live with positive outlooks on life.

I must admit it effected me in a way I haven't felt in a long time. But, I live in such a precise way - even if I wanted to change my schedule wouldn't allow it. Four o'clock, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the inner abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one. 5:30, jazzercize. 6:30, dinner with me. I can't cancel that again. 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing; I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9 I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?

Seriously - no one - and I mean NO ONE has ever cried for me. They have cried because of me - my actions being questionable and down right evil. But, never for me. Especially a freaking heterosexual. What do you say to that?

Earlier that day, I wondered if this person was worthy of my time and energy - under much deliberation and one hell of a revelation, yes indeed. He is worth all of that and more. And more I will give - till I can't give no more...

Is that what friendship - I ponder, true friendship about?