I firmly believe that any human is mostly capable of doing most any realistic thing they decide to put time, energy, and effort into. I mean, I could be a dancer, but I just don’t dance. And I don’t know if I’m not meant to be a dancer. I could have missed my calling and the world is missing out on my art. Or maybe not! That’s why life is so much fun, you can’t really plan for what talent you might have or how you get to use it.
In this bizarre post, read about me becoming increasingly suspicious of and enraged by a volcano I believed to be personally victimizing me. Later I come face to face with my soul’s doppelgänger. It was an absolutely normal day.
Cuernavaca, I realized, walking across the bridge with my fabulous black leather bag with the black leather fringe, was a fantasy. I knew that I loved it — we vibed immediately — and I knew that I never wanted to ever lose the dreamy feeling I had looking at the pastel buildings, the wonderfully old Spanish palace with a Starbucks hovering nearby, the cactuses with their flesh etched and scarred with lovers’ initials, the glorious hills, the sky, the flowers, those whitewashed walls that reflected the brilliant light, that perfect eternal second standing in the Museo Robert Brady, oh just all of it. It’s divine!
Why do anything less? Life is not something you can save up like it’s money in a bank. Use it or lose it!
If somehow I’ve failed to make you aware, I have Multiple Sclerosis. (Don’t you wish English was like German and just capitalized everything? I do. I never know if I’m […]
I strolled leisurely back along the unbelievably busy streets. I joked to myself that if you stopped walking, the kinetic energy of the crowd would probably have carried you along as if you were crowd surfing at a concert. Have you ever done that? An absolutely terrifying experience. Not recommended. That’s one of my rules. No crowd surfing, no Fireball, no carnies, no county fairs, and never touch a ukulele. I assure you I have a good reason for that seemingly incoherent string of restrictions. Again, that’s a tale for another time. Might be the opener to my memoir someday.
Each day in Mexico City was a revelation for me. I learned something new about the culture, about myself, or about alternative ways to live. I eagerly look forward to […]
It’s cruel that life is so short. One hundred years is hardly enough time to make a dent on our interests. I know that there are some people who think that life is too long and depressing and awful, but I have always loved living.
My Spanish skills don’t come from laundry, they come from obsessively watching episodes of “La Reina del Sur.” If you want to talk about smuggling hashish to Spain from North Africa, I’m you guy. If you want to talk about the prison system, look no further. If you want to talk about the early hours of morning when the sunlight casts everything in a grey pall and it’s the moment that at some point in your life you’re sure you will pass on, well, I’m you guy. But if you want to talk about the different treatments for rayon….look elsewhere.
And most of all, I think, I would miss the courtyard of the apartment complex. It is, for me, my favorite place on Earth. I revel in the well with it’s aluminum roof, the bougainvillea that creeps along the crumbling enclosure walls, the potted plants that look as if they’ve been sat there for a hundred years, and the random animals and people that would come traipsing through. I’d miss sitting there at night, sipping tequila, looking at the stars which were oddly bright in that cosmopolitan place, thinking of how wonderful and marvelous life could be.