"I don't have to live like a refugee."
well. I am in Victoria, Mexico. I am still in Mexico. I would like to return, eventually. But, for some reason, I am still here. I've met a lot of family. They are nice, very nice people. I have really cool cousins who play the guitar very well. The other night, we drank beers and played songs like "Dust in the Wind" and made fun of ourselves for playing "Dust in the Wind". We also played ¨Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall p.III" for my great grandmothers 100 birthday. She's a celebrity, apparently. Writes a lot for the paper here.
In other news, my parrot, Cleepie, is not going to be able to make it to the states with me. Unfortunately, they were given away to people.. I really don't know who, they were just given away. It's actually quite sad. Though, I've plenty of pictures. Sure. God, this is so incredibly boring. How boring can I be!? Quite boring.
It's hot here. The houses are even hotter. This town is exactly what Compiegne would be in Mexico. Except, it's nicer and a lot more active. Okay, maybe not like Compiegne, but like a different city, that's small and nice and full of mountains. Yes, the glorious jesus mountians curl around the entire city. It's breath.taking.
The internet time here is like 40 cents a minute. It's also, breath taking. I read in the news that some lady was fired from her Las Vegas gigs (indefinitely) for praising Michael Moore's film, Fahrenheit 9/11. Whoopi Goldberg was dropped immediately from her sponser for mocking Bush. People are being dropped left and right. GO REPUBLICANS!!!
I hate our presidency. I mean, seriously. Not like in the movies or in sitcoms. I genuinly want to see it stormed by people with pitchforks and machetes and torches with fine scented oils or something. And rope.
I was reading the other day how Latin America is losing another decade due to bad politicians and abject poverty. Later on in the magazine, I was reading about "Napoleon Dynomite" a film by Jared Hess that looks extremely hilarious. Upon realizing this debacle inside my head between Latin America's horribly aggrandized situation, and this new independent film about dorks, I realized that it's too incredibly easy to be swayed by fine jokes and funny people from the more stressed issues that lack the concern from people who are able to have air'conditioning and hot water. (I am flawed somewhere).
This keyboard sticks with a kind of strange frequency that is akin to oranges melting between my teeth. Again, that makes no sense and I am surely going to be torchured for that in my later years.. I should get married. NO! That's crazy. That's absolutely impolite and not under and circumstance appropiate. I hate friendster. I hate the internet so much. No, no no.. that's a lie. I really wanted to see that movie "Robot Stories"; I have this carbourd flyer in my guitar case and I've been trying desperately to persuade people that this is the must-see film of the summer, not Fahrenheit 9/11, or Troy, or .. fuck, I dunno; and they just look at me and tilt their head and call me "pinche gringo, whay!" Or not. They were all English fanatics and hot dog eaters. Fuck em.
So, what is this coming too? Nothing. I've been afar from home for like an accumulation of some 9 odd months. Where is my home? I tell everyone it's in Austin, TEXAS. I love Austin. I do not at all like Houston. Houston is full of big tires and too many superficial real-estate agents who really want to help you. I live in Mexico, now. Upper Mexico is slowwwwwly looking like some place in the states. There are fast food joints, malls, why! Last evening, I had the glorious oppppp( or fucking) tunity to see a WAL-MART! I was so glad, and realized that the 'Merican dream was still up and running and turning brown skin to white, once again! So happy, so happy, doc. Goddammit. Good golly, fuckshit. Fuckeyes. I like writing "fuck" it's gots such potential! I would like to see new add campaigns for burgers like "Fucking Sweet-Ass Fucking good, great fucking fuckety fuck fuck Burgers!!!" American style. Toilets. American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.
There. I should go eat. We're having this huge lunch at my Tia Martha's today. It's really good food and so nice to sit down and try incredibly to understand the conversation. I get quized incessently whether or not I understand. I usually don't and they have to help me become less stupid. Seriously, I don't at all mind. After lunch, we'll go to nowhere land, and I will try to convince my Tio Manual that I need to ride his motorcylce because it needs attention (he doesn't really pay attention to it). However, last night, my brand new cool, long haired college student cousin, Manual jr., was berated for like 24 minutes for turning the light on. I mean, tio is really great, though that Mexican anger comes through. My dad was the same way. He used to yell loud and I would become so incredibly scared. One time, he found me playing with matches and beat me up pretty bad. Later that day, I went to school and didn't say a word. But really, now and days, he's really like my best friend and financial advisor. I love my dad very much and completely understand his frustrations with us children so long ago. He's not at all bitter and I am really thankful for that, because were he embittered, I would most likely be the same way. We are a lot alike, him and me. He taught me to play chess when I was 8. I still can't beat him. My older brother can, but I am still unable to. I love Mexico.
In other news, my parrot, Cleepie, is not going to be able to make it to the states with me. Unfortunately, they were given away to people.. I really don't know who, they were just given away. It's actually quite sad. Though, I've plenty of pictures. Sure. God, this is so incredibly boring. How boring can I be!? Quite boring.
It's hot here. The houses are even hotter. This town is exactly what Compiegne would be in Mexico. Except, it's nicer and a lot more active. Okay, maybe not like Compiegne, but like a different city, that's small and nice and full of mountains. Yes, the glorious jesus mountians curl around the entire city. It's breath.taking.
The internet time here is like 40 cents a minute. It's also, breath taking. I read in the news that some lady was fired from her Las Vegas gigs (indefinitely) for praising Michael Moore's film, Fahrenheit 9/11. Whoopi Goldberg was dropped immediately from her sponser for mocking Bush. People are being dropped left and right. GO REPUBLICANS!!!
I hate our presidency. I mean, seriously. Not like in the movies or in sitcoms. I genuinly want to see it stormed by people with pitchforks and machetes and torches with fine scented oils or something. And rope.
I was reading the other day how Latin America is losing another decade due to bad politicians and abject poverty. Later on in the magazine, I was reading about "Napoleon Dynomite" a film by Jared Hess that looks extremely hilarious. Upon realizing this debacle inside my head between Latin America's horribly aggrandized situation, and this new independent film about dorks, I realized that it's too incredibly easy to be swayed by fine jokes and funny people from the more stressed issues that lack the concern from people who are able to have air'conditioning and hot water. (I am flawed somewhere).
This keyboard sticks with a kind of strange frequency that is akin to oranges melting between my teeth. Again, that makes no sense and I am surely going to be torchured for that in my later years.. I should get married. NO! That's crazy. That's absolutely impolite and not under and circumstance appropiate. I hate friendster. I hate the internet so much. No, no no.. that's a lie. I really wanted to see that movie "Robot Stories"; I have this carbourd flyer in my guitar case and I've been trying desperately to persuade people that this is the must-see film of the summer, not Fahrenheit 9/11, or Troy, or .. fuck, I dunno; and they just look at me and tilt their head and call me "pinche gringo, whay!" Or not. They were all English fanatics and hot dog eaters. Fuck em.
So, what is this coming too? Nothing. I've been afar from home for like an accumulation of some 9 odd months. Where is my home? I tell everyone it's in Austin, TEXAS. I love Austin. I do not at all like Houston. Houston is full of big tires and too many superficial real-estate agents who really want to help you. I live in Mexico, now. Upper Mexico is slowwwwwly looking like some place in the states. There are fast food joints, malls, why! Last evening, I had the glorious oppppp( or fucking) tunity to see a WAL-MART! I was so glad, and realized that the 'Merican dream was still up and running and turning brown skin to white, once again! So happy, so happy, doc. Goddammit. Good golly, fuckshit. Fuckeyes. I like writing "fuck" it's gots such potential! I would like to see new add campaigns for burgers like "Fucking Sweet-Ass Fucking good, great fucking fuckety fuck fuck Burgers!!!" American style. Toilets. American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.American toilets.
There. I should go eat. We're having this huge lunch at my Tia Martha's today. It's really good food and so nice to sit down and try incredibly to understand the conversation. I get quized incessently whether or not I understand. I usually don't and they have to help me become less stupid. Seriously, I don't at all mind. After lunch, we'll go to nowhere land, and I will try to convince my Tio Manual that I need to ride his motorcylce because it needs attention (he doesn't really pay attention to it). However, last night, my brand new cool, long haired college student cousin, Manual jr., was berated for like 24 minutes for turning the light on. I mean, tio is really great, though that Mexican anger comes through. My dad was the same way. He used to yell loud and I would become so incredibly scared. One time, he found me playing with matches and beat me up pretty bad. Later that day, I went to school and didn't say a word. But really, now and days, he's really like my best friend and financial advisor. I love my dad very much and completely understand his frustrations with us children so long ago. He's not at all bitter and I am really thankful for that, because were he embittered, I would most likely be the same way. We are a lot alike, him and me. He taught me to play chess when I was 8. I still can't beat him. My older brother can, but I am still unable to. I love Mexico.