wild

Wild being out here. You can hear fireworks at any given moment. Horns and bugles pumping in the background, playing some tune that is driving me mad. The cold wind is blowing strong through the slightly cracked window of my room on the second floor of this apartment building on Limones Street in Queretaro. People are making all kinds of noise outside, but I don’t understand any of it.
Little kids play in the street here until long after dark. The mosquitoes are constantly on the prowl, and an old man selling bread on the corner continues his fruitless cries of “Pan.” “Paaaaan.”
A car alarm sounds in the darkness, and a dog barks along. Night falls over the city and the smell of thick corn chips drenched in hot sauce rises from the street. The clouds loom teasingly over us as if threatening a rain that will not seem to fall. Outside my window, a chicken is clucking and dogs are lying next to each other to gear up for the cold night.
The only light in the house comes from the laptop computer I am hammering feverishly away at, and maybe that is what is drawing these winged monsters. These modern-day vampires.
The wind has stopped, along with the car alarm and the screams from the street. Silence. Just for a moment. Can it get colder? Will it? Do mosquitoes fly south for the winter?
I am an American werewolf in Mexico, and I have a vicious hankering for some apple soda.
How much longer will I stay here. I originally only planned to be here for two weeks. But why not a little longer? Maybe I can do Europe in the wintertime.

Dont stop till you get enough

Rachael Ray and Dr. Phil. Dr. Phil and Rachael Ray. Rachael Ray and Dr. Phil and David Letterman. All day long these programs run my life on the America Network. Over and over. With no break.

Just got back from Mexico City. Amazing, crazy place. Definetly the highlight of my trip so far. I was staying in a 3 bedroom apartment with six other guys watching buckets of rain fall down down down.

My jacket served as my blanket and my Steve Madden shoes were my pillow. Water splashed through cracks in the horizontal sliding sash windows and trickled onto my face in the night. I ate burger king three times.

Went to an excellent restaurant called Fishers where I met another lost american. This girl had been living down here for 3 years teaching at what they call an American school. I didnt bother to ask whether that was a school for americans or just a school that taught english.
I met a beautiful slender girl who looked like a younger version of Rosario Dawson at a bar downtown. She told me that she had just gotten back from living in France. Her eyes were like angry tornadoes and her lips were like ripe watermelons waiting for you to bite into them.
She told me that she liked me. I got up and left.

Maybe I am in love. Maybe.

A strange crackling sound in the distance now. Hundreds of people sleeping on this murky street in Queretaro. I am gearing up for trips to Zacatecas, Guadalajara and Aguas Calientes.
Most of all, I am ready for a trip to the beach. There is not much that can compare to the beaches in Mexico. Especially when you are on the 10th floor of the Las Flores Resort in Mazatlan with a view overlooking the ocean.
Or when you are in a cheap taxi in Culiacan running scared from the many cartels out in the city.
Welcome back, my friend. We are in this together now. No blinking. Focus on whats in front of you.

The road to Mexico

Eighteen minutes now, until my ride arrives for Mexico (city). I stopped their briefly in the airport, on a trip two years ago. Now I am going to see it for myself. I hear the food is excellent, but Juan tells me the streets are paved with danger. It is what it is.
Juan is still asleep on the couch in the other room, while some kind of twisted talk show is on TV. I am watching the 1977 cartoon "The Hobbit" on my computer and waiting for the battery to run out.
This could be a great adventure. I am bringing just the bare essentials for this trip, which includes an economy size bottle of pepto bismol.
Tired now. waiting for this ride.
Clock is ticking on the wall and the fan spins almost out of control above me.
14 minutes.
Time to get ready.

Yes man

From last night:



Juan is battling ferociously with a hoard of mosquitos that have made their way into his room. Its about 2 a.m. and he has work in the morning, but he cant seem to stop.



He walked into the kitchen dreary-eyed a few hours later.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Fighting with mosquitos," he replied before collapsing into a chair.

There are fukking swarms of the buggers out here. They are gigantic, like the size of peanuts, and they are everywhere. You must sleep fully garbed, with the blanket wrapped tightly around your head and your shirt tucked into your pants. We bought some insect repelling air fresheners today. Who knows if they will work.

Juan was dancing crazily around the room telling the little vultures to get ready.





Wierd. I was watching the movie YES MAN, which takes place in Los Angeles, and as it ended, I had a feeling that I was in LA, for a few moments after I turned the dvd off. I always used to tell my coworkers that the movie was based on my life. But I had no idea what it was about.

Being a Yes man has many different meanings.



tuesday is pizza night. All the pizza places have specials tonight. We went with dominos. booooring. But at least the pizza comes with salsa and hazlenut dressing.
The proof is in the putting.

amidst the wolves

Nighttime now. Thinking about the things I left behind in LA to come here.
Will anyone really miss me? Have I made any difference?

I have been a news reporter for 6 years. Rookie time by many standards, but I know what the fuck I am doing. People want to impose certain things on you in the industry, and sometimes you must keep quiet and work for change.
People will tell you amazing things when they believe you are naive. That is when you are poised to strike.
Those who think they know what is going on usually have no idea. Information travels from the ground up, and if you are not on the ground, you will be the last to know.

Ha HA!

I have a saucerful of secrets. Is there anybody out there? Just ring the division bell and you will meet the piper at the gates of dawn.

Its all a game, they say. But what will they do when they find out that not everyone is playing .
No one really wants change. Think through the eyes of the majority and you will get what you have always gotten. When you can comfortably walk through the slums or move seamlessly among royalty, when you have more connection with your surroundings than anyone else -- then you will have an idea of what you should be doing.
Play the game, but make your own rules. Then they can't tell you what to do. But you had better be sure before you play your hand.
What does hef say..... You do not come over at 12 o'clock to talk.

pulse

Sweating bullets now. Detox is the best way to spend a Sunday night. Hunger strikes have been called in all around the planet, and I am joining them. Cant eat like this.
About to watch Los Vigilantes ..... The Watchmen.
A facinating movie that I saw one lonely day in Milpitas. When a movie actually makes you think, you need to grab it by the balls and watch it. I think.
Musica Nortena still bumping outside my door. K-Paz now. Juan has female company coming over and she is supposedly bringing a friend for me to play with. Not like this. Not in this hectic state. My head is spinning and my lips are dryer than sandpaper.
Have to get back to work writing.
Will try to get some kind of work at the local paper tomorrow.

A great moment

Its hot and humid here and I have a stomach ache that is yearning for another drop of alcohol. What is going on here. The weather is turning sour on me and so is this glass of ice water. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
One valium, quickly down the tube. It feels so sweet going down, but even sweeter when it hits. Like a dropp of blood from a sugar cube.....
Ha HA! I love inside jokes.
But the joke was on me yesterday as I ran half-naked through a party of elderly people and began drinking their beer in the street. They never expected that to happen on the quiet saturday night.
Flea market today, bought a bunch of shit, including some cheap ass shoes to kick up shit in, since I was stomping around everywhere in my $90 Steve Maddens.
Dont be a cheap bastard..... Ride the wave.
Listening to banda now, dehydrated and exhausted. My eyes look like those of a withering coke fiend, and I cant seem to moisturize them.
Just watched crank 2 and it was the shit, even the second time around. Outside my window, children are playing and singing and jumping rope while an old man watches with a beer in his hand and a porno mag in the other.
Too much to take in this state. They are screaming now, some kind of primitive battle cry. I cant make it out. Am I imagining all this.
There are mosquitos everywhere, and not enough DEET in this country to repel them.
Turn fan turn. Swat away these fiends.

GUANAJUATO!!!!!

Madness sinking in. Guanajuato..... San Miguel De Allende on Fiestas Patrias is no place for a recovering alcoholic. Hold it together. Finish writing this before you explode.
We took a taxi into the gold-lined streets in the late afternoon. The small cobblestone roads were flooded with people everywhere, singing and waving flags. The party will last all night into the morning. Run, run away from these pills.
Wait. Go back. Back to the taxi. Start the story out right.

Right. Drinking starts early. I am trying to avoid it here. I am still sober. Still hanging on to a thread of sanity. Unbeknownst to my friends, I have 5 mg of valium, 2.5mg of klonopin, and half a xanax bar in my pocket. I cannot take this kind of temptation. Stop it. Lets arrive already.

Beautiful streets. This is what I always picture when I think of Mexico. Even though I have been here a million times, this image will be imprinted as a signature of the country. What a great time.

But now to the task at hand. I should not be drinking. I am losing my grip on this situation. Too much crap in my system. I can't speak Spanish with any coherency at this point. Eyes are warped from substance abuse.

More drinking, dancing, laughing. More nonsense. Fire in the streets now. People moving feverishly to the beat. The burnt-out faces of Americans who have given up on their country and fled to this small oasis to retire.

At a shop now, looking for a trinket. A headband. Something. I need to celebrate the right way. Who is this on the street? Can I get some more. Another video now. I have the "drug eyes". What time is it? 3? 4 a.m.? Are we still here. Two sedatives left to take and a stomach full of venom. This is not a place for anti-anxiety pills. Throw them out. Put away that plate of powder. Let me breathe!

One more video to load now. Do I have time? It has been two (2) days since this madness happened and I have finally let go of it. This post took too long. Streets of gold, Jimmy. Wish that Paul/Emmanuel/Raheed/Oz/Juan/Marco were here to share it with me. You guys would have loved this.

One more to go and we're done. Thanks to Heed for the Chale Tamale. It always goes over well. 15-second video clipse. Eclipse.

Eclipse.

terror

Awake now after the chaos. My eyes are burning and my mouth is parched worse than I can remember. Outside some sick fuc is blaring music.

"Man, I feel like a woman"

I have never hated that song as much as I do right now. My head is spinning and there is a red tint to the room for some reason. We arrived back at the house just few hours ago. I put my head on the pillow and hoped for the best. Now I am up again. Eyes are drooping.
A new song on the loudspeaker outside.

"Everybody Dance now."

I feel too sick to explain what happened last night, the day of Fiestas Patrias. It was an experience I will not soon forget. But right now I am so hungry I could eat a bed of rotting snails without using condiments.

Slurred madness

Even the photos came out like the images in the mind of an acid freak. There was no way to tell what was going on that drug-induced evening, but it sure felt like a lot of fun.

Here is a clear one of me and Don Juan. The band playing gave us a shout out. They thought we were soldiers from Los Angeles.

The quiet storm

Rain sloshing over the streets as I stand at the edge of the big puddle. Several people in yellow parkas are watching me, waiting to see if I make it.

I have to cross this gigantic stream of water running down the street to get back to Juan's house. Several cars have stopped here and people are waiting for the rain to let up, because it is too deep to cross. Do it now. Take the plunge.

I leap, and for a second, I think I'm going to clear it. But no.

Half a second later I am drenched in water from head to toe. I can hear laughter. It is not a mean laugh. I am not the first person who has fallen in the puddle today. But it is still pretty strange. I start to get up, when a hand reaches out to help me.

Her eyes were beautiful, green and deep. I could barely make them out through the rain, which left strands of wet brown hair strewn about her face.

We stand in the rain and talk for about 20 minutes until the rain finally lets up and then we go our separate ways.

Too many beautiful women in this city.

Water, water everywhere

Almost midnite and the rain is beating against my window, showing no signs of letting up. No drinks or barbituates for me tonight. Just this rain and the burnout from earlier in the day.
I toured much of Queretaro during the daylight and what an amazing city.
We are smack dab in the middle of Fiestas Patrias and there are parades going at all hours of the night. Even as the rain pours into the street, people are marching with drenched banners and flags, celebrating like champions.
We leave for San Miguel de Allende on Tuesday for the biggest festival in Mexico. I am more anxious than excited for this trip. But my nerves are calm now, partially because I have recovered from the shock earlier in the day.
I was heading into the tiny bathroom to shower when I heard a voice from outside. Juan was yelling something to me.
"Hay unico problema," he said.
I stepped under the running faucet just in time to hear him tell me that there was no hot water. But it was too late. I was already lathered up with dial soap and had to stand there and rinse off under the icy water.
I should have ran naked out into the rain and took my chances there.

Exhaustion at the edge of the world

Driving quickly through the night on a big red truck with no name, headed to a pizza place, where dozens of empty delivery motorbikes are parked outside.
People I have never seen walk the streets in a daze, but far more clear-headed than I am.
Am I really here? Are the answers waiting out there for me somewhere?

Cut the line now. Separate it into into a thinner, more manageable size. Quickly up the nose. Zippp. Then the other. It burns for a second, as your sinuses try to figure out what foreign substance has invaded their space.
Then. Calm...?
No
The opposite of that. A fantastic urge to do something arises. Nothing in particular..... but something, somewhere needs to be done. If only we could figure out what, there would be a clear light at the end of this tunnel.

And that is the inevitable problem for abusers of cocaine and freebase. Plenty of energy, but no place to focus it. Just a draining burnout at the end of the trip, and the numbing erosion of the soul. There is not much good that has ever come from drug abuse, excluding those famous writers and artists that scribbled their hearts away and died young in a pile of their own vomit and sorrow.

Headache central

Morning now.
Sept. 13 2009. Tupac died today, 13 years ago.
I can hear birds chirping crazily in the distance, and my head is still swimming from the night before. A dog is barking somewhere... It's all fuzzy. I have a head full of sedatives and beer. Got to get a grip and get out of bed. It's 11:30 a.m., but to me it's 9:30. Too early to be getting out of bed.
Am I really here? Did I actually quit my job and fly out here on a whim. No drug is that powerful. Keep it together.
Dozens of beautiful women in the club last night. Something about this city, the girls walk up and introduce themselves to you. They are gorgeous.
I was sipping on my 3rd Dos Equis of the evening, watching the band play, when a foxy vixen with her hair propped up in an 80's headband greeted me.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked me in Spanish.
"No."
"Are you married?"
"No"
Then she grabs me by the collar and makes out with me before walking away. We didnt speak again the rest of the night.
Wierd.
The male-female dynamic is much more in balance here than it is in the U.S., at least when it comes to dating. How am I ever going to go back?

Bless the rains down in Queretaro

Stepping off the plane, I felt a swirl of emotion. Exhaustion, anxiety, confusion -- a general sense of being overwhelmed. It did not help that I was stuck atop a mountain of Xanax mixed within a pressurized cabin.

My clothes were still stained from the tears of desire, spilt the night before.

Is this a new beginning, or am I so trapped in the past that I can not unravel the cloud of chaos swirling around in my head?

1 minute past the immigration checkpoint and my friend Juan arrives in a shiny red truck. I am standing in the rain with my 90 liter backpack and a laptop. He is one of the few people in the world that I honestly trust.

I step in the truck and we drive through miles of roadway, passing cities and wasteland, until we arrive at his apartment tucked in some tiny corner off the main drag in the city of Santiago de Queretaro.

Descent into madness

Houston is a wild, large city, so heavily populated that the locals are forced to say, at every possibly interval, that everything is bigger in Texas. Even the billboards were littered with this proclamation, and it made me feel like a small fish in a very big pond. Which I believe is where the great Texas attitude may stem from. It is the heart of much of the American tradition -- a final frontier for those who have come seeking a taste of the wild, wild west.
It was a wierd, but short time, and there was not much else to say about it. When I return I will investigate this phenomenon further.

But now down to business, right?

MEXICO, the true land of the free.

There are no words to properly explain the scenery as the tiny, 35-person express jet I arrived in decended into Queretaro.
Thick, ominous clouds, still red from the setting sun, hung less than 50 feet from the ground, drenching the streets with rain. It was not a place for the claustrophobic. From a bird's eye view, the state looked sparsely populated, with plains of farmland separating small settlements. Clusters of homes were spaced apart by miles of empty land, and small freeways seemed to be the only things connecting these hubs. It was unlike any city I had seen before.
Thick bolts of lightning struck the tarmac around us as we rolled to a stop.
A middle-aged white woman in the seat next to me was rambling on about how she had lived there for six years.
"Ex-pats have no fear," she said. "We will live wherever the money is. I am constantly on the defense, and my children are followed and harassed mercilessly because they look different."
Finally, another local could take no more of her nonsense talk and doused her with a cup of coffee, sending her screaming into the lavatory.
"That woman is crazy," he said. "She lives in the center of town and sells trinkets and drugs to all the children. The village is helping to raise her kids because she has long been out of her mind."
I knew immediately that he was telling the truth.
We sat in the small jet for nearly an hour, waiting for the rain to let up since we were several hundred feet from the small airport. Another old gringo was demanding umbrellas and that our luggage be shuttled into the station. I wanted to barrel out of the plane, grab my bags and get out already.
When we finally did get out, my umbrella went belly-up and I still got soaked.

Quit your job and move to Mexico

Sometimes... you have to let go of the drama and get into the mood.
There are things that push people past the limit and it's only a matter of time before pressure busts a pipe. It's simple physics.
Is it better to be stuck on a proverbial treadmill, running on a high setting until you collapse, or should you jump off and hope for the best.
Shit, maybe both.
It doesn't much matter at this point, because I can almost taste the pina coladas and beautiful women waiting for me on the beaches of Mazatlan, where I will spill liquor on my body and dance till I am numb.
But right now I'm just hot and tired. Packing is never fun and most people would rather get stoned and watch porn. Maybe thats what I should be doing instead.
You never can tell.

Just Another Manic Monday

My head is becoming light as the last bit of alcohol drains from my system on this lazy Monday morning. My eyes are red and sunken in and my blood itches worse than 1000 mosquito bites.
There is nothing quite like a good drinking binge to put things in perspective.
Can't do much else right now buy lay back and write.
Every time I shut my eyes, my mind fades back to just a week ago, when I stood baking under a scorching sun at some bizarre recreation area in Lake View Terrace. Just me, about two dozen journalists and hundreds of sweaty firefighters napping in the shade. Yes, I was there.
It was the "staging area" for the big firefight, and it looked like some watered-down version of a Saigon Army camp.
Helicopters circled wildly over us as the Press tried desperately to get some kind of legitimate update on the Station Fire, which was tearing through Los Angeles at a very fast rate. No one could give an accurate estimate on the damage, but officials were saying anywhere from 43 to 100 homes were gutted from the flames, and people were rioting in the streets.
As firefighters returned from the battle, it was easy to pick out those who had been fighting for days from those who had just arrived on scene.
The ones that had been in it for the long haul were usually soaked in ash, their faces cracked and dry from the heat and their eyes were bloodshot from smoke exposure.
Unlike war, nobody wins in a firefight. No matter what the outcome, the damage is already done. And you can bet that the fire will return.
This is what a captain from one of the local stations told me as I trudged through the campground looking for interviews. His face was caked in grease and his sunglasses were warped from the heat, but he was smiling and puffing on a smokeless cigarette.
"Whats it been like out here?" I asked.
His face turned sour.
"What do you think, I've been sitting in a small tent with other men and we all stink from sweating in the field all day."
"Don't they let you shower," I asked.
Suddenly he was all smiles again.
"Shower?" he asked. "You want to see how we shower?"
He grabbed a hose from the side of the engine and blasted me into the ground, laughing like a lunatic.
It was terrible.
But better than the firefight itself. I had been there too. Standing on La Canada Boulevard with an orange juice in my hand, watching people breathe in the falling ash as they stared at the flames ravishing the brush just steps from their homes.
We were all exhausted on those days, and it didnt help that legions of helicopters were spinning just overhead, spilling drops of chemical flame-retardant on us as they past. That was a hot day. And I am tired of writing for now.

It's alive?

I'm not sure how these things work. I wish I could take my typewriter with me. Much easier to manage. Lets see if this posts. I am against blogging, and will continue to be even as I write. Too messy. Too much freedom. Mankind was never meant for this madness.