Coffee Moment.

Sat at the counter - wood worn, warped, distorted from the contact of a million fairies - I looked down at my porcelain coffee cup, cream swirled at the top, my brow furrowed my face blank and dead.

Marlon looked at me and asked, "What are you looking at?"

"Isn't it obvious - I am looking into the abyss." I state dryly.

He takes a gulp of his coffee - hand slides across my back tenderly smoothly. "Be careful or that abyss will be looking back."

I look up at him and grin, "Too late."

Hetro/Homo Blues.

Been spending a lot of time with that Marlon character. He seems to have taken a fancy to me however there is always a fucked up side to everything. He claims to be straight - and I mean straight straight. And yet, he screws my emotions by screwing my ass at his convenience. And yeah, I am complaining.

You see, I am far too set in my ways to change now and I am not the cooing, sniveling pansey of yore - oh no, Dear Reader. I have been burned by far too many so called straights in the past. You know the score - we are all fags and we want what all fags want and the bottom line to that is love. Simple love.

But, that it seems is unattainable. Especially down here in ol' Mexico the motives of such characters are always - always - ulterior. Either it being money or clothes or drugs, the time you shell out for these fucks are never for your enjoyment but solely theirs. And what and how much they can get out of it.

Sigh.

Well, the last couple of nights have been visiting straight bars and me flipping the beer bill whilst Marlon and his cronies cruise for broads and drink up my wallet. Sure the evening ends with Marlon banging the bajeebus out of me - but it is all so empty. Worse than a one night stand because I do harbor romantic feelings for the boy. And he realizes this all the while beating his chest claiming his heterosexuality.

So, last night we walked the crumbling ruins of Avenida Mariscal and I finally cut the string - letting him know how I feel emotionally and financially about our friendship. He hesitated a little but finally agreed. We really have nothing in common. At the corner by my flat we shook hands and parted.

I feel nothing except slight sadness - not for losing him as a friend but that it had to be the way it was.

Son cosas de la vida...

Update: Later that evening to writing this post...

Muthuhfuckin' Marlon had the nerve - the downright audacity - to come by my place this evening with his new weasel faced bitch in tow. Some bobby soxed catholic school girl bubbly cunt named Zelma! Zelma??!! "Just stopping by to say hi and see if you are all right." He says.

All the while me thinking of ways of going Ed Gein on their asses! Ugh! Fuck! Death where is thy sting, you lazy ass?!

I'm not bitter, though. Nope. On the contrary, I wish him the best. Okay, okay - I wish him to catch some lingering painful disease. Why?!!! Why do I open up to these characters only to have a barbed knife thrust at first chance into my scarred and withered heart?

You realize I must do something erratically wacky to compensate for this act of random evil...

Stay tuned, Dear Reader, stay tuned....

A Few Days Back.

Climate so insidiously hot - I wake in a pool of sweat. Fan don't work - spins but don't work. I prepare a cuppa joe and watch the morning news. Click on the laptop and start on that damn manuscript. What a monster it is but seems to have taken life of it's own and writes itself.

Late night invited my friend Enrique to the Chihuahua State Fair and he invited a guy named Marlon. Marlon - tall, fair skinned metrosexual type who was utterly shocked to find I was a homosexual - stated sternly his passion for women, understand. I let that slide and enjoyed the evening anyway.

The fair was a bust - rickety carnival rides, shyster gaming booths, and over priced grotesque foods of all sorts. Flies danced their dance in swarms. Hit a couple of the rides but too scary for my nelly ass, I suppose. So us three decided to return downtown and just waste the rest of the evening drinking.

Getting lit, my evil fag intentions were clear in the fact that I planned to seduce fair Marlon in my own way. After the bars closed, said goodnight to Enrique and ushered Marlon to my flat for a nightcap of martinis and whiskey. Nothing. Just talked. Which was okay with me - these things must be done delicately so as not to harm the spell. Good night, Marlon - see you next time.

Next time was manana in which Marlon took it upon himself to come over for dinner and while we sat there watching Cloverfield he blurted out if I had any porn. But of course, fair lad - but of course.

Slipped the DVD in and with one movement the boy flung his Armani clothes to the floor and began stroking his impressive member. Now, this is the guy that stated with a beating of chest that he loved women of all classes, right? Anyways, I took Marlon's suggestion and gave him a little head with gusto. Had to make a good first impression, you know what I'm saying? So, the boy gushed all over my blanket and bid me a good one.

I sat in my darkened room going over my manuscript - Miles Davis be-bop wailing over the stereo and pondered my future with this kid. Slowly, I decided - slowly.

Next day, William Wiggins decided to make the journey across the frontier and spent the afternoon bar hopping. At Bar Olympico - J-Town's notorious daddy bar - two old vultures cooed and spewed all over my young friend much to his chagrin. Returned to my flat William and I and spent an hour wasslin' on my bed. The boy is dumb as a brick but so pneumatic in the hips. Willy returned stateside and I prepared a nice plate of stir fried veggies and a glass of Merlot.

Marlon decided to pay me a visit again and invited me to the bars of ProNaf - the high end of Juarez. Sure - why not? First we went to Pockets - a swanky billiards pub that reminds me of any straight pool hall Stateside. Hi-fives and back slapping amongst the boys and bored twinkling smiles of their girls. Bad service from the waiters so onward to the massive barn called Ole! Ole!

Ten peso caguamas and good music. Marlon and I sat in the VIP section and tried to work off a bottle of whiskey that I had purchased but it was to big for the two of us. Luckily, a few of Marlon's friends began to filter in and the time was a drunken spree of laffs and dancing. I tell you with these Mexican nationals, the alcohol really brings out the fag in them. Two Ambercrombie and Fitch clones began their moves on the only American in the joint as Marlon cruised the local ladies. More hotties began talking with me in a come hither way and I just thought how much I love this country.

As all good things, the joint closed and shit faced as all get out Marlon and I hitched a ride with some broad that knew Marlon - speeding rapidly to his house bought free and gratis by his daddy. Grabbing my hand, Marlon flung me to the bed and kissed with such passion that it hurt. Clothes were ripped off and flung about, erections exposed and then Marlon passed out.

Yup. That's it. You read right. I lay next to this naked Adonis snoring ever so lightly with frustrated passion. Ah, what the hell, I thought. I ain't no lascivious creep - I put my arm around him and dosed myself.

Round 5am I was awoken by Marlon's half assed attempt to make out but he just fell back in with Morpheus. I dressed, kissed him on the forehead and quietly left the building. Stumbling home in the gray dawn of intoxication I angrily loathed that fucker but it quickly passed. Home crawled into my bed inhabited by ghosts and passed out.

William woke me at 11am and could tell I was hungover and in no mood for any shit. But my long time friend smoothed me out with his beautiful erection and afterwards an ice cream from around the corner. Yes, though I sometimes more than less treat him like crap - William does have his wonderful moments. Leaving around 4pm - I bid Willy adios and worked a little more on my manuscript. That evening I spent some time alone at The Yankee Bar - a convenient dive around the corner from my place thinking of what I should do. It seems I have spending most of my time in bars and not on the things at hand - whatever they may be. What do you do in life when you have no goal - no direction. I mean, I am not speaking in a destructive kind of way - just in a free kind of way with out malice. Hmmm....

Next day, spent with Marlon - he thinking I am angry with him but nah, not one of those bitter fags to hold a grudge - life is too short and fun for that shit. We talked ate burritos and ran into a young girl that knew Marlon. Sitting on the steps of the Cathedral and eating ice cream we joked and laughed. But, I wasn't feeling it I wanted to go back home and write write write. And so I did. Saying goodbye to Marlon and Zelma, I walked into the scorching afternoon sun to do what I had to do...and I did.

Rinkadinkadoo!

My life - like the undulating balls of an ancient pedophile - swing in odd directions.

In a wacky fit of strangulating depression, just a few days ago I was all up on selling all my shit and hitting the road like some cock sucking Kerouac character, by God. However, the past two days have been a literal joy.

After months - months, goldarnit! - of spending my time alone and paranoid in one homeless shelter after another, of doing nothing but waiting. Waiting for something to happen. And it has.

To put it simply - I have been enjoying myself. Coming into another form, changing, metamorphosing into a better and more caring person. And I tell you - I like it. I like me!

The last two days have been hanging out with friends - not alone as my usual old self prefers - but with characters I like - going to the movies and clubs and bars with them and actually prefering thier company over solitude. All that shit you fucks take for granted. Ahhhh - so nice.

I have made a acquaintance with an old friend named Enrique R. and he is just so cool, you dig what I mean? We have been drinking together, dancing at The Closet Club, and just having the most interesting conversations. He is all I need in a friend. And through him I have been meeting others like him - no more junkies and thieves and male prostitutes and conniving losers. Perhaps this positive path that I am on will set me straight - become the person I used to be and liked before I left Los Angeles and became an expat.

Well - cool. Tonight Enrique and I along with Jorge and Rosie are attending the Chihuahua State Fair and it promises to be a real hoot. Will write a report manana...

Wee Willie Winkie.

Went over to the States to check my mail and get online for awhile, I suppose. Ran into an old friend - he of William Wiggins by name and legend. Palled around and the youngster came up with the rockin' good idea to go to Trixxx after lunch of Philly Cheese steaks coz we both were hungry and horny with both ideas pointing out, swinging around, and coming back full circle.

At Trixxx, El Paso's finest in skanky porno establishments, William and I curtailed to a booth wherein I went Caligula on his ass with the lad all a-moanin' and a-squirmin' all nasty like to a quivering climax. We did this twice you unnerstand cause I put five in the video machine and we had to use up all the minutes, see?

So, dripping with sweat and nuts squeaky clean we shot back downtown and ran across the border to J-Town so's William could buy a pair of cheap contacts from some unethical optometrist. At one office, the good doctor put down his vaudeville act and examined my boy and charged twenty five for two pair of lenses.

"Come back in an hour." The doctor breathed, sweating in that infernal heat of the Great Desert.

To pass time, William and I hurried to Bar Buen Tiempo for a few brew and had a pretty decent time. But, the goofy kid went all ga-ga over my bar wench friend Rosie and I had to hose the fucker down with more liquor. Luckily hunger had won over and we decided to eat. Not before stopping to retrieve Williams lenses and then returning to my pad to put them in.

Just like history to repeat itself - the ordeal became a Three Stooges slap fest as I tried to help him slip those fuckers onto his googling eyes. Once done, frustrated - I threw the boy on the bed, stripped him of his dry goods, popped in a porn and sweated up a storm.

After that slurp-n-suck, we dressed and walked over to Los Azulejos - a little restaurant with the best barbacoa ever! Gobbled till we wobbled back to bar Buen Tiempo where as William deteriorated into a smitten fool with Rosie again. They coo-ed and giggled at each other like over-heated 3rd graders and it was way too pat. Luckily, William had to leave on accounta curfew and we said goodbyes and made a date Stateside for Friday to check out some movies.

I stayed at the bar and flirted with this one Mexican hottie while Rosie confided in me that William wasn't really her type and not to bring him to the bar again. I mean - really - how dramatic!Sat and whiled the hours away chatting with various friends coming and going out of the bar until my own fatigue caught up to me and I went home to sleep a drunken sleep.

lone.

Had a dinner date at 5:30pm with good friend Scott Goodgame and his girl, Yulan. However, Scott botched it by being ripping drunk for the past three days and was pretty gone by time Yulan and I found him lying in a filthy vacant house. Too bad - wanted to treat the two for a fancy-schmancy dinner on account that Monday the two will be moving from El Paso to the wilds of Wisconsin and to better pastures. Had to settle for the buffet at Golden Corral. Man, I tell you there were some obese heavyweights at that restaurant wolfing down the grub hand over fist.

After saying solemn goodbyes, hopped a taxi and shot back to Mexico where I had a kinda date with this cat Eduardo - I say kinda because it was set up enthusiastically by that Mexican yentle Rosie, the barmaid at Buen Tiempo.

I hate set up dates - rather have chaos take its course, you know. So, I roll in three hours late and give a performance of sorries and pardons for my tardiness. Eduardo seemed to be somewhat perturbed but I couldn't give a rat's ass - I just ordered a beer and smeared on the charm.

After Rosie got off work, the three of us went to a crappy male strip joint and I acted like a complete cold fucker to Eduardo just to drop the subtle hint that I ain't interested. So, I got drunk too and after the first tired stripper we strolled over to that new joint I like called Noas.

Once there I was hit on by a hottie and Rosie and Eduardo sat sullen and looked down their noses at my trick - fuck them both! I am a free person and I am not interested in Eduardo's faggoty unattractive person. I would really have liked to spend time with the hottie - Daniel Santos, he says his name was - even though he was drunk and confided he lived on the streets. (I sure can pick 'em, right?)

After the disco closed and saying goodnight to Rosie, I walked Eduardo to the corner of 16th de Septembre and Avenida Francisco Villa where in, now get this, Eduardo all of a sudden was moving to Monterrey. Idiot! Does he think I am some sappy queer that will plead for his forgiveness and the comfort of his embracing busom? I just shook his hand and bid him a safe journey and cut home.

Why do these bitches think it is so easy to switch love on and off? I got to get to know the fool first and then maybe - just maybe - I might want to be with him an a serious level. But then again - I like to be alone - I have more kicks that way...

Alcohol makes everything okay.

Sat in the bar scoping out the few hotties that sat around the old wooden counter. Some sullen and alone as only faggots can be, others in animated conversations with friends or tricks. Each of us had the all mighty caguama in front of us. I was feeling it - being my third one. I swear I am becoming an alcoholic.

The waitress and friend, Rosie - only cunt I ever had cared about - pointed out that Carlos, my flavor of the week was standing just outside the rotted swinging double doors - waiting. Waiting to talk with me. I uttered that it was a public bar and he could come inside if he wanted to talk. You see, we had an argument a couple of days ago and I suppose he thought I would be a simpering faggot squirming back to him for forgiveness. How little he knows this cold imperious homo, right?

So, he's standing out in the dust and the smog with the honking night traffic when finally Rosie beckons him to come inside. Meekly Carlos sits next to me - we shake hands. The wonderful thing about alcohol is that it has a tendency of making things better. We talked and drank and shot a few rounds of pool - all was okay again. As a fact, after I left the bar and stood in the lurking shadows of the dark street - Carlos followed me, I had the intention of going home alone. But looking into those beautiful brown eyes with the thick lashes - What the fuck?, I thought.

Back at my trap, Carlos was garrulous - going on about his wife and kid, family, general life of his.

"You gonna stay the night here - or you wanna go home?" I asked. "I am tired and want to sleep."

He optioned to stay and I commanded that he sleep in his boxers. Peeling off each others clothes we lay on the coverlet entwined like hibernating pythons. Kisses in the night turned into a massage. Rolled onto my stomach, Carlos smoothed away much needed tension - had to admit - the boy can give a mean massage. I reach up and brush against his erection in his boxers.

"Que es eso?" (What is this?) I say jokingly.

"Si sabes." (You know.) He smiles in the dark.

My boxers are pulled so slowly halfway down my legs and with saliva applied, Carlos slides in. He grunts and puffs lunging and thrusting into me before he yanks himself out and shoots his semen onto my ass. He plops down onto the bed next to me - still drunk out of his mind. My buzz still buzzing. Laughter. Pecks on the forehead and cheeks. Arms wrap around smooth brown frame.

We shower and dry and lay quiet in the warm darkness under the noise of the ceiling fan. Suddenly, Carlos bolts up and runs to the restroom and vomits loudly and abundantly into the toilet. Poor drunken kid.

He mentions it would be better if he went home and after borrowing taxi fare - we dress and I walk him to the taxi stand making a date to see him Saturday afternoon for a movie. In the musty warmth of the night, I stroll back to my my flat realizing I really am starting to care about that guy...

Hola, mis Amigos!

I have been slacking at this blog - I know, I know. But I have been face first in editing, re-editing, writing and screaming at in desperation my book. True, I have been going out - doing the usual crap that I usually do...crappy. But, for the most part I have been writing.

Why for the re-write when I had so gloatingly stated that publication was just around the corner?

"Too wacky." Was one publications critique.

"More pages." Another letter stated.

"More descriptive."

And so on. So, with wine bottle on one side and joints on the other - I have been pounding away unrelentlessly at that fucker. The book I mean.

Private life - in a nut shell? Been trolling Bar Buen Tiempo, been breaking a couple of hearts, taking rent boys home at wee hours of the night. What do you want me to say?

So, shaddap and settle down - I'll try to post more often. Though that book has been draining me literately - I will try harder...

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...