Time flies

Returned to Todos Santos to see if it was any cooler here. But it isn`t. Hot and buggy and humid. Anywhere would be better than this desert. I can`t believe it is mid august. The grey hair on my beard tells me that I`m not getting any younger. Why is that? But I`m also getting wiser. So that is the evil exchange we all make. ALright, hold your wisecracks about me not getting wiser. I figured out the problem, as though any one cares. See, the environmental crimes committed by humanity have to be punished. It`s like Dostoyevski. Crime and Punishment. Every crime must be punished. I`m not so existential and nihilistic that nothing matters. So if a sea turtle chokes and dies on a hannah montana doll head or some fucking plastic backpack that goes on a shitty bike...then that has to be punished. IF you don`t agree then we are talking about two different philosophies and YOU DON`T UNDERSTAND ME. So, who do you punish if thousands of turtles are dying because we all use plastic bags and horrible shit that ends up in the ocean? How do you punish humanity when all the governments of the world just want their countries to progress into some kind of Blade Runner future where plastic is outlawed and there are no sea turtles? Sorry, that was a loaded question. My point is that when there is no one to punish, when punishment must be so huge that it is inconceivable, then those with my obsessive nature will do the drastic thing and PUNISH THEMSELVES. See, someone has to be punished and if no one can be punished then I will punish myself. I think that sort of gets to what Chris McCandless was doing for two years on the road. He felt his family had committed a crime of fidelity and honesty and that humanity was also destructive but no one could be punished so he punished himself. Some people have the luxury of being so unsophisticated that THEY ACTUALLY DON^T CARE ABOUT CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY. Well, that must be nice.
So, having internalized the geniocide and cultural massacre that is being perpetrated in Iraq (Dominos Pizza in Baghdad) I have suffered and all the joy has left my life. IT is voluntary and perhaps indescribably arrogant to just about every person I have talked to, but that is my explanation. Like it or not. I operate under the moral philosophy that all crimes must be punished. But that philosophy creates pure havoc when the crime is so monumental that it can never be punished except by God, who WOULD NEVER ALLOW IT TO HAPPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE IF HE EXISTED. WHY PUNISH SOMETHING AFTER THE FACT? THAT`S COMPLETELY IDIOTIC.
Now, my current task is to accept that I have been punished for something that I was a part of (The wholesale destruction of cultures and enviroments via hannah montana products) but that I may as well be dead if my life is only going to be a vessel of sacrifice and penitence. Can I ignore the steady decline of civilizations? Can I overlook the plight of the sea turtle? I don`t know. Drugs do not help...they just make me lonely and sad...beer does not help. Nothing helps because the facts still remain that mankind has run amok and is being so careless with resources and life that only an idiot can watch Tropic Thunder and laugh at Ben Stiller`s monkey like behavior. What kind of a culture allows Hannah Montana and Tropic Thunder films? It is repulsive. But to introduce those monstrosities to other cultures like Iraq and Mexico is proof that America is a cancerous, parasitic, pseudo culture that lives only to devour other authentic cultures and replace them with some kind of surrogate, phony piece of plastic shit that was INVENTED IN A BOARD ROOM with "Culture Reinvention" stenciled on the door.

So fuck all of you. I am going to write like a demon unleashed on the world and every word I write will be a satire or attack on that which I believe is vomitous and repulsive. It will make no difference and sea turtles will continue to die and I will be a hypocrite in the fact that I will take part in a culture and mode of communication with animals that ignore the plight of sea turtles and seals and eagles and small monkeys who live simply in trees and are hunted by monsters in trucks. Fuck all of you who devour the earth. I will undercut your endeavors will all my heart. You will be ashamed to eat your daily bread. I curse you and your blighted families. May your coffee be bitter. May your sperm whither and die in the shaft of your cock. IT is high time for a dystopian novel. Don`t you agree? Who better to write it?
I have suffered long enough and now you will suffer. it is your turn on the Hannah Montana cross.
Yes, I have walked an unusual and unpleasant and unenviable path. But it has introduced me to unusual people and I have come to some unusual conclusions. These conclusions are original and they are shocking and they, admittedly, have no place on this planet. But that is why they must be shared with the world, even if the world is hardly worth communicating with.
You think, "All three people who will read this post?" Yes, them. BEcause you see that it does not matter if a million or ten million read this post. So to my mind this is a philosophical battle and it makes no difference, in effect, how widely dispersed my philosophy is. Why should it? The sea turtles themselves don`t really care if I am their patron. They don`t care but still I act on their behalf by sticking my finger in a dike with a million rotting holes that spew filth on their home. IF they could speak they would say "Dude, it`s too little too late." And I would say, that philosophically I still must act. Philosophically, a culture that manufactures Hannah Montana to sell fake plastic cell phones with Hannah Montana stickers on them must be called out and mocked openly. This is a mountain of shit that has no purpose. At least the Egyptians created the pyramids! What the fuck is a two dollar plastic belt with "I like boys." spelled in rhinestones going to do? End up in the ocean where an animal will swallow it and die. IF you are not repulsed by this then the chances are you are not the animal who is going to choke on a hannah montana backpack.
I am repulsed by it...and more things than I can list. But hopefully I will list them all in my dystopian novel. I`ll call it "HANNAH MONTANA ATE MY CULTURE WITH HER CUNT AND SHIT OUT A PILE OF AMERICA"
ha ha.

X stripper blues

The chorus goes,

She´s got the ex stripper, the x stripper blues

She´s got the ex stripper, the x stripper blues

She´ll dance your troubles away with those x stripper moves

the verses are

She´s a gypsy now got two kids on the run

she´s a gypsy now got two kids on the run

they´re three pretty gypsies gonna have some fun

Silver bells on her ankles and a steel plate in her neck

silver bells on her ankles and a steel plate in her neck

gold rings on her fingers and white wings on her back

She drink mezcal from the bottle, eat life a la carte

she drink mezcal from the bottle, eat life a la carte

she´s a gypsy woman gonna steal your heart

on another subject,

The Honeymoon is over. completely over.

There were three days of semi=insanity and then the reality set in and the true craziness took hold. On the outside I am sure the girls look like your everyday college graduates. You know, the starbucks coffee and afternoon workout crowd. But actually they are TOTALLY INSANE!

Just a sample of the conversation

"When was the last time you had mind blowing sex?"

"I asked him if he called us coke snorting whores and when he said yes I broke his nose."

"His cock was like a baby´s arm"

"I don´t have time for your bullshit."

"Good thing we´re in the hooker capital of Baja."

M. "We´re not whores,.." All the girls together..."we´re too stupid to ask for money."

The final straw came when M. was banging on the window of her apartment because she was locked out because V. had passed out and I had said I wanted to sleep alone. (Really, I was keeping boundries up between them for obvious reasons) Genesis comes up and says, as I´m trying to put some clothes on.

"I have an idea."

Finally, I thought. A calm headed girl. The voice of reason. M. was slamming her palm on the door. She turned to me and shouted venemously, "You self absorbed son of a bitch! You fucking asshole." Genesis continued casually, "Can you get a tent sack¨."

"A tent sack? I have a van."

"No. A TEN SACK."

I had no idea what this was.

"Of what?"

"Cocaine. It´ll calm her down¨."

I bowed my head. Even my penis and balls hanging in the wind were of no concern to me. This was the end of any illusion that the gypsy life was a life of happy times and drum circles. A screwdriver hitting the side of my van brought this reality home.

"You self loathing motherfucker!" yelled M.

Genesis looked at me for an answer, oblivious to everything.

"That´s your solution? Cocaine?"

"Yes. It´ll calm her down. Can you?"

"No. I can`t. Furthermore..."

I was about to launch into a lecture but Genesis was turning away even as the word "no" left my lips. These girls don`t hear "no" a lot and don´t say "no" a lot but when they do they understand completely what it means and they hate it. Whatever favor I had earned with the family now evaporated like a line of meth at an all night rave. Genesis, gorgeous, silver ankle bells jingling, bounced toward the barred windows, nimbly scaled the steel grating and began to squirm her way into an opening in the bars until she could throw another broken screwdriver at her passed out sister. All the time M. is staring daggers at me and my fraudulent life. This is a woman who brought a house of pain on a man who grabbed her daughter´s ass inappropriately. This is a woman with a steel plate in her neck. I knew our relationship had reached an ugly turning point. AFTER A MERE THREE DAYS.

The moral of the story is a little murky at this point. We attract the situations we most need to learn something, but once the battle begins we want to turn around and go back to the beginning. But we can´t. The police will always be there to help out, except when you are in Mexico, in which case the police will not intervene at all. They will pick up the bodies but they won´t get involved with gringos fighting in the street. Why should they? So my self preservation instinct kicked in and I locked the doors and moved on into the night. This isn´t the first time I´ve had screwdrivers thrown at me. The van is high profile but the gypsies have no vehicle so they´ll never find it.

My neighbor´s text message came back to me, "Isn´t it funny how sirens come in threes?¨

For a while I thought I was the siren leading them to the rocks, but our roles are now perfectly clear and there is no telling if I am safe at sea or just about to crash.

here´s a candid shot of the family. M. is smoking a cigarette while balancing a hammer DIRECTLY ABOVE GENESIS´s head. Vita is in her comfort zone, passed out. Ah, that´s one for the christmas album. The artwork is Genesis´s pieces. She´s got talent even if after taking this pic she blurted out "Dancing on banana peels!"

The whole scene really can´t be captured without the non stop talk and the dancing and the jokes and lines from movies and anecdotes and Sublime song sing alongs. It was a visual drug even if I was otherwise sober. Intoxicating. Better than David Lynch.

Just when you thought it couldn´t get weirder...

The notes for this past week are unintelligible, written on the floor of my van, covered in sweat. All I have are these photos taken by the girl with the peace sign mardi gras beads, Genesis, who harmonized along with me singing Bobby McGee and Never Been to Spain. The rest is history. She knows Jimmy Page´s middle name. Her mom "partied with Blondie" Blondie, if you will remember is on display on the top of my van´s ceiling. It is all connecting, my unified theory of the universe, but it concerns gypsies and hunter thompson and a beach called Balandra in La Paz. we hunted clams in the sand and ate them alive. Pelicans crashed into the water. They drank Mezcal from the bottle and I wrote a song called "Ex Stripper Blues"
This is not what I expected when I came to Mexico but now I see that after 7 months of getting exactly this, it is what I can expect from now on. I believe that I need to cry before I can laugh. But that doesn´t mean I can´t laugh a little along the way.

new plans as emailed to a friend...

Did your parents move to Miami? I think you mentioned that before but it is only now sinking in. My mother is moving to Australia and my father to Holland. It all seems so fruitless and eratic. I've left too many strings untied in the states and also feel that I am totally out of place here as beer is the number one beverage. I don´t know. I should go to some muslim country where alcohol is forbidden along with women (those inferiors) reading the koran. lol. I can´t win. But I think my mission in life is to have absurd observations and to write about them. Maybe it matters to other people but it will definitely even my thinking out. I can only live a normal life as long as I am recording my abnormal thoughts. When the two worlds interact (as they have been doing lately) then...well, it's just a complete disaster. I recently called Hannah Montana the anti-christ. I think that's a good example of something that belongs in a humorous essay, and not something to say after dinner. This compartmentalization is important for someone like me since I do have thoughts that don't fit in normal society. But you already knew that.

So I want to drive to Los Angeles and sell my van and buy a motorcycle and drive across the country to see my mother before she leaves. Then take some time in Canada or Maine or maybe Nova Scotia watching the leaves change. That sounds normal, right? I guess there will be some work in there and hopefully some writing. I´m not sure. I will be lucky if I make it to San Diego or even the next town north. One thing at a time.

SO you may be thinking too far in advance with moving in with your girlfriend and all that. Who can predict anything? But I´d say moving in with someone because it is the next logical step isn´t right. "That ain´t right." I don´t know if living alone is better than living with someone for the wrong reasons but I know I´m more lonely when I´m with someone I´m not comfortable around than I am when I am alone. Although, lately, I´m not even comfortable around myself. and it is hard to get away from me...except by writing about it. Then I'm happy I'm a little nuts.

I want to get some new books to read. I´ve been reading George Orwell´s essays. What have you been reading? Seen any crappy Adam Sandler movies lately? Or did someone finally assassinate him according to prophecy.

I saw some ants crawling in a line to get at some food compost in a bag. But the
bag was full and I went to bury it and when I came back all the ants were a
ittle confused and disapointed. THey were returning empty handed from
a place
where there had been so much food. I could see they disapointment and thought
you might understand.
so it was 1998 and I was 28? or 27? Something like that. But the problem is that
ven when I was 17 and 18 I was not much different. I didn´t drink or do drugs
or chat up girls or anything. I just wandered the country and read books by jack
erouac and Herman Hesse. So it wasn´t that I was old..it was I was always a bit
different. That´s why I went to HSU. It was good there though I am actually in
much better health now than then. I remember trying to walk to the donut store
at midnight and having a back spasm on the bridge near C street. I kept going
very slowly, like an old man and I had another back spasm. I really wanted that
fucking buttermilk bar so I held onto the chain link fence and sort of limped
inch by inch in the direction of the donut store. Then I had the worst back
spasm yet and fell down. And it took so long to get up that I figured the donut
store had closed so I had to turn around and limp back to the c street house to
eat frozen sausages and cereal. That was a low point. I guess I was like the
ants.
Now I am healthy and have no back spasms. I guess it is because my computer is
broken and I have no internet access so I do other things. the computer really
fucked my back up. Sitting for long periods of time is not possible anymore.
I am worried about crazy D. the last email I got ended with "I am the fatest I
have ever been." that sounds like a dark place she is in now that she finished
her credential and is looking for work. she doesn´t sound like she enjoys the
job at all and teaching is a job that you really have to enjoy. what can we do
to help?

Nueva Gomas

The first thing people ask when they get in the van lately is "What is that noise? It sounds like the whole frame is going to break in half."

Well, I found out it was these worn bushings, or Gomas, between the axle bars and the mounts.
It only took 8 hours and 4 determined men to change these things for the first time in 40 years.
I learned a little bit about Mexican approach.
"Easy, Marco. Easy." they would say when I tried to do too many things at once."

Of course in between the dozen stages of disassembly and installation we actually put a 302 engine from ANOTHER ford econoline (1970) into a 1972 Ford truck. Yes, I realize this had nothing to do with my project, but that is why I mention it. We covered a lot of ground today and not all of it was in the direction or support of El Conquistador. That's how they roll in a Mexican shop and I like it. There were no signs that said, "Customers not allowed past this point."


these are the old bushings. Those big gaps are where a thick piece of rubber used to be in 1980. take that rubber out and it sounds like the frame is going to break in half. It won't, but it sounds like it will.

this is with half the axle off. Jack stands. I can't say enough good things about jack stands.

this is a meaningless pose though we did have to compress the springs to fit a huge crescent wrench in there. Let me tell you, if it hadn't been for three other determined mechanics I would have sworn that several times we were doing things all wrong. The bushings were factory pressed with molded metal and did not slip out easily. Nor did the new ones slip in easy. Fortunately we had reached the point of no return and finished the job. 2000 pesos complete. I gave them 200 extra pesos because I know that is a $400 dollar job anywhere in the united states. 8 hours! At $60 an hour. And there were four of us. and we didn't destroy one bolt.

the proof is when I took it out for a spin and the noise was gone. Al I need is a spare tire and I'm ready to roll somewhere that isn't 110 degrees every day.