Ah, Yes, Watching the Atrocities Committed Against Innocents in Mexico City... My New Only Pastime

On the upside, I still never get to hear any of the lies my own government propogates against me. Well, it's not like any of them are ever worth acknowledging or refuting, anyway. They are always so far off base and so lacking in any logical structure that ... well, ... why do they spend so much money saying things everyone else is too smart to believe? Aren't there poverty-stricken people somewhere that need clean water?

I mean, really, we all know that physically following songs that I have never heard before, particularly when played live and saturated with improvisation, with methods that only my body can recreate, well, there is no better way for my unique chemistry to self-medicate. It is a moment between only me and the music. There is nothing else there, not in my mind, not in my body, not even in the heart I have already signed and sealed and given to the incomparable Mr. Johnny Depp. My eyes shut. The music comes in, and the dancing is formed. Okay, maybe I also have an orchid in my hair when it happens, but, you know, that is about it for frivolities. Even the glasses come off... but nothing else.

That is even how I taught myself to skank. Oh, someday I might make it to the Caribbean to study some dancing, but until then, my techniqueless ways of just letting the music move my body will just have to do. It's kind of like my writing that way. The seemingly random parts connect, and the conclusions choose the words that come out of my finger tips. These things happen in flashes. Have you read my twelve-minute sestinas?

I could say it is also like looking at a sock on my hand and finding its inner voice. But, that might just be getting a little silly about things.

Oh, yeah, I was going to talk about torture beds, biochemical attacks on public kitchens, and how I should leave this building more often. I would if it weren't for that roof deck... that beautiful roof deck. Sigh... and its beautiful view. Well, it's not like anyone is telling me where the live rock shows where I can self-medicate are, anyway.

There is something about this city, La Ciudad de México, that does not want me here. If they did, they would treat me with the basic respect any human deserves. Yet, they will also not give me any communications so that I may leave. I stay in a shared room here for increased safety for my physical self. Why can I not get any messages?

And with that and with my last few efforts at proofreading, I will leave you. Oh, look at all of the things I do in the wee hours of the morning when I am not allowed a sound, safe sleep. I should go put more links on my facebook.com wall. See you there in a few.