Wrenchin' the Monkey

So there we were.
Cruisin' down the highway into Durango, suckin' on the straw of mountain heat scents, illegally entertaining our expired poetic licenses with country and western tunes on the radio

(“I'm a goin' where the green grass grows,
gonna watch my corn pop up in rows,
yes, I'm a goin' back to my trailer park ho's”)

when suddenly…

PTANG!! Pppssssshhhhhhhh…..

And, just like that, we had an exhausted rear tire, as saggy and wilted as Aunt Gemima's tit after a lifetime of offering sugary syrup sucks for US$2.49 a pop.

And, it struck me once again, how integral the occasional chimpanzee wrench tossed impetuously into life's working machinery is to a healthy human psyche.
I mean…, it's all pretty pansies and cute panda babies as long as the gears are greased and running smooth as Guinness down the throat…

But…., c'mon, that's just plain Jiffy and jelly on white! (no-not simple, quick and tasty…, but rather, BORING).
I, for one, think that any soul claiming total satisfaction without the occasional mosquito bite in the matrix, renegade cockroach in the milkshake or passport in the pocket during the rinse cycle, is no more trustworthy than a nun who doesn't masturbate.

But, alright, fine… maybe I'm being a bit extreme… maybe I'm more of a sucker for conflict than most… maybe, I just love to see the milk spilt and the cookie jar broken…

But…, I think that deep down in that itsy bitsy, teeny tiny little electron-sized hole hidden under the little left toe nail of everyone, there's a screaming itsy bitsy teeny tiny little sprite that demands chaos and corrosion in the supporting beams of our lives.
There's a piece of us all that secretly hopes that the mailman will mistakenly deliver the neighbor's porn subscription to our mailbox…, that one day all the world's sewage systems will get blocked up and result in the first shit-works display of the era…, that the world wide web will suddenly and inexplicably go down…, that the cd will start skipping so we can make some of our own music…, that the actress will forget her lines so we can see a real show…, that we'll get so lost on our way to the supermarket that we have to sleep in a field, join a doily-crochetting workshop, eat grasshopper soup for nourishment and rely on the directional sense of nomadic livestock to find our ways home…

Anyway…, all this sputtering of silliness aside…,

The flat tire was a pretty benign, soggy little toothpick in the machinery.

But, if experience wears any paisley scarves of precedence, there're a few mini wrenches and a party set of cutlery waiting around the next bend…

And I can't wait!!

Rock on!

You know you've successfully slipped on the skates and cruised out of L.A. when the hum of alienation and social solitude ceases to harmonize with the traffic of the 405 freeway..., when the Song of the police Sirens sinks into the religious ravings of breadbasket broadcasts..., and when the local newspaper's criminal reports feature a stolen trash can and a goat who got his head stuck in the fence...

Yup, I've again left California for a road trip out to beautiful Colorado, where time is slower, afternoons more poetic and the Rockies rock!

...will try to get a few posts in should an internet connection be blown in on a fresh thunderstorm breeze...

Hasta pronto!

Infidelity and Neptune

So, I've been accused of having an affair.

I've been accused of breaching the loyalties of love and engaging in lustful acts of impious passion and peccant pleasure...
I stand at the discerning conversational gates of Judgement for alleged crimes of boyfriend betrayal and two-timing treachery...

And, well..., what better place to come clean than here in the privacy of my very own www-dot blogging Eden...?
So, here it is...

Yes, it's true.

I have been disloyal.

I have coveted, mentally disrobed, and even quite non-figuratively caressed the supple seams of another's bodice. I have allowed myself to be soaked by the saturating fluids of another, and to feel the expulsions of another's ecstasy on my stomach, just below the belly button. I have plunged, hands first, into emotional exchange with another, back-stroked through waves of desire, and even floated swimmingly in his arms, discussing the intricacies of subjective art and the humility of human existence...

(Hell, we even discussed the roles of self-adhesive stamps, aphids, out-sourced customer service lines and jigsaw puzzles as they pertain to jingoism!)

So..., who was this enchanting seductor whose riptide gallantness dragged me to drift so disloyally from my entrusted love?

... well..., since this is my very-private, well-sequestered, secret, online journal...., I suppose I can reveal his name without violent repercussion...

His name is Poseidon.
And, well, he's quite the looker.
He's got deep, bottomless eyes that change from mailbox blue to toothpaste turquoise in the crash of a wave.
He's got strong. smooth hands that can go from playful ass-slapping to gentle embracing with the blink of the moon.
He wears the rising sun on his shoulder like a price on his bar-code.
And, though he's been known to carry a syringe or two in his pocket, has been accused of aiding and abetting a few narcotic cargo-loaders, and has transported a few weapons in his day, he's quite the catch.
He's more fluid in dialogue than anyone I've ever met, can carry conversation like a ship... (and can sink it with the same ease...)
He's well-traveled; has seen the paper-shredding scandals of the great Barrier Reef, played thumb wars with the discarded Inca Cola bottles on the shores of Ecuador, played hot-potato shoe-toss in Koh Pan Yang, and heard billions of footprint fables from around the globe.
He's strong, confident, and has even been offered prayers worth families (not dollars) in his name!

But, still..., it's true...., I feel pillaging remorse for my infidelity in this case...

Maybe I shouldn't have plunged so nakedly and thoughtlessly into the embrace of such a dodgy, one-timing bachelor of the tide...

Maybe I should have thought twice before allowing such a Casanova to nova all my cash...

But, c'mon...! Who HASN'T had wet dreams about sharing an afternoon or evening with a god who has historically received human sacrifices in his name and who has seen the planet through so many geologic and atmospheric transformations??

Who HASN'T had a fantastical vacation affair with the Ocean??

I don't know...
But, at least I can now tell my grandchildren I once had a one-night stand with a bloke who had hermit crabs in his wallet and kelp in his armpit hair...

And.... THAT's gotta be worth something someday....

Snail-Mail letter

To whom it may concern,

I am writing in regards to the recent shocking and disconcerting decline in acceptable processing of corporal, -c-collected data. It has come to my attention that a few of the devilish little vagabonds in charge of receiving, processing and transmitting information that enters -c´s body have been renigging on their responsibilities, and have been under-performing in their most basic duties.

Over the past week alone, a stunning amount of information has been in-putted for translation, and yet nothing has been properly processed or decoded.

This is, quite simply, an outrage, and I am writing now to demand long-neglected results.

Please dijest, internally and emotionally analyze, and enzymatically break down the following data without delay,
or all contracts will be voided upon the hour:

1 homicidal bus driver, plunging into Chiapan curves as gunshots cough from a skipping dvd of a Chinese revenge film
2 instances of giggles over crude, breaching-on-impeity-and-heresy sketches of Sor Juana masterbating with a vibrator and toe-sucking monks sporting halos
3 quizical gringo "What?s" when bodilly symptoms pharmeceutically perscribed either Gatorade or Dramomine
4 double takes when the used, sun-scorched condom on the hotel windowsill was discovered (... a true cultural and historic icon with profound anthropological stories to tell...)
5 camouflaged gasps of fear when we descended an 80 degree-angled, dodgy latter into a subterranean, fresh-water sink hole
6 Bloody Mary´s said for having entertained band-name inspirations when gazing upon portraits of the crusifiction in the central cathedral
7 "Oh man!" moans of simultaneous relief and disgust at having liquidly evacuated many a meal
and
8 physiological coctails of response when we were stared at by that severed bull´s head; his eyeballs alligned perfectly with all those gooey internal organ adornments

Yes, I write this letter now, requesting that you offer your utmost attention to the deciphering and processing of these bits of input. As a staunch supporter of the categorization of the chaos that often slithers into Our -C, I ask that you now help us to regain a few slivers of order to the otherwise unsightly mess of sloppy excitement, wonder, and naive awe that have recently blanketted formerly relied-upon cynicism and jadedness.

I thank you for your time and patience, and look forward to working wih you in the future,

Sincerely,

-C´s Reaper and Keeper

**Edit/Addition: Check out Mr. E´s take on our idyllic busride into Chiapas here.