2011-10-22 001 020

Here I am seeking truth in Mexico DF. I found her alright. You can see the writer’s notebook in my hand. The truth is, I was not the man I believed. I was not a man.  I perished in DF, born in Carolina del Norte, November 22, 1954. Died in Mexico DF. November, 2012. Mine was a good life, a writer’s life and I lived it well.

“I’m a man. I’m incredulous. This is unnatural, like flying. Being here gives me squeevy vibes.

Everybody wants to be a man here, wants to be somebody. I am, and so are you. We are real. We’re alive. We want someone to be kind to us, more than we want a poke unless… one of the guys says:
‘HEY!! I THINK YOU ARE SO HOT!!’
Good for them. We want to be kind in return. We also want to be funny. There’s no second guessing on that. We are hilarious. You know it. I know it. The whole world knows it. Other life forms in the Universe are txting – ‘Earthlings! LMAO !’

We know writing these essays sucks…because it’s like walking on stilts at a… like, 800 Flowers accidentally sending an arrangement to a funeral with a note reading ‘Get Well Soon ! ‘

The vital element is this one: if we meet l want to be a man, ten times better to you than what comes across here if it comes across. We ain’t gonna’ meet. I know it. You know it. The whole…

******I like women. They owe me nothing. I owe them everything.

The image is one of A glass of port wine with a Bellicoso and a box of matches and a woman coming back from the Ladies Room to sit beside me – people are stripping her with their eyes, men and lesbians at other tables; Black Holes flee in terror when she crosses the frontier in her tight fashion jeans and sleeveless black top lip gloss nail varnish hair pulled back tight moisturizer sun glasses pierced ears slip-on shoes or sandals and toe-rings and…you look at a painting? It’s art. I look at a woman’s hands, after she comes out of the Vietnamese nail salon. That’s a work of art, with, with…balls? No, an art, with…character truth and substance. All any man wants is a woman-hand on him somewhere. Don’t matter which one. Smooth his brow – touch shoulder, grasp knee riffle his hair if he has hair…take out his cufflinks roll up his sleeves and look him in the eyes with a look says:
‘Mr. You are cleared for landing on runway Six-Niner.’

…always standing on Lookout Mountain for something new from among these things, except food, I am curious what young people are up to. You see an old person on a Harley or driving a Jaguar – maybe they are wealthy, retired or in Second Youth. Good for them. Ho-hum, but see a young person on a Enfield Commando or driving an army-surplus Hum-Vee in desert cammo with the top off…your head is going to swivel on your neck – get them on your radar, draw a bead touch base be on the same page, left hand knows what the right hand is doing while you think: ‘Yowza! There goes somebody.’ Maybe, it’s your son or daughter and they’re writing a book about it or in a film or scoring a show or got a gig:) Man, I want to know about it because it is going to be my favorite. The Whole World wants to know.

Thinking is handy for problem solving – driving, shopping – children – work – rest of the time I’m spending a lot of time feeling Human Emotion because for me that’s where the money is. Humor is a good one – but I like the other one too. Why beat around the bush…No matter what we do, there are people wanting to hack into it, take a picture with their mobile device – fuck it – - gossip – tell tales – write screenplays – make films – record a song – write a book – write a poem – put it on the news – put it in the paper – upload to The Internet, tweet, twitter, text…call. What is it about humans? Everybody wants to know everyone else’s business. Not only that but we want to lather it all over the place like a TV ad for Viagra; exaggerate – spin, aggrandize, supersize. What’s-up-with-that? And then, it’s always the person, who wants to share their most private story with you when you’re thinking: ‘I don’t give a fuck,’ and you can’t help it. They’re still talking as you turn and walk away. I am willing to admit, 99.9% of what men will say, in their lifetime, is crap or an attempt to seduce a woman, which is, not, crap. It’s vital, especially if you are wanting to be licked like an ice cream cone. If there comes a time, when women are not sexually satisfied, it’ll be the beginning of a time of bloodbathing. The next time you listen to a man, think, what did he say, that might just as well have been silence? What came out of his mouth that needed to be communicated? And if it was vital, something with some steak in it – did he look you in the eye and speak or did it, slip out, so you could see the: …’ oh-shit-I wish-I-hadn’t said-that,’ look on his face? His word was red-lined like he needed spell-check? A man needs steak in what he says to you. Otherwise he may as well jump off a gaddam’ cliff and you won’t miss him.

…it is my opinion – actually it’s more of a visceral, elemental , Tribal Instinct…women – all of you, not just the pretty ones, are the only virtue, Earth, possesses. Bigger than God. Bigger than nature. Bigger than science. Sure bigger than Man. Without women, Earth would be, like, MT. Tornadoes, would be made of blood. Maybe some OKC guys don’t get that. Fuck I don’t know what they get. All men want to be chosen by women, because that is why we live. There, is, nothing else, to live for. He wants to log on, check his mail, check his messages, and find one from a woman who totally bakes cookies for him. If a man has no woman, then he survives on his memory of what once was. He’ll abandon his children, leave his wife. Quit his job… for a beguiling female voice on the mobile device. If you want to send me a message, go for it but remember, I am only one man. If you don’t, I can put Humpty Dumpty back together again. It’s all good.

I hope it’s not my zippers’ down…I’m a man. I like people. I believe in us. I am gentlemanly, respectful, wide open and have a calming influence – would put it in the private essay…all men pray, maybe not the first thing people notice, but at some point, no matter whom, our homies, whoeva’ we meet, we are willing to accept them, listen to them and offer something of ourselves, like, a smile for starters. If it’s a woman? If it’s a woman and we’ve never met, she may notice me straighten my spine, lift my chin, suck in my breath, extend my hand, smile while l offer to make direct eye contact. A woman can kill a man with direct eye contact, so l want her to know, l am not afraid, to go in, through her eyes, while other men, think of nothing, but going in somewhere else; their eyes boinging out on stalks aimed at her breasts. We believe computer technology is rapid, right? While…what you just read can be written between a man and a woman in the time it takes to flutter your eyelashes. It’s all good.