Monday, July 31, 2017

Curvaceous Rides and Straight Razors

We weave and whirl amidst shaggy green mountains. Fern-draped springs cascade on the left and bottomless cliffs drop off on the right. We’re flung back and forth. A gray squiggle highway ascends the knobby spine of the Americas through dense Sierra Norte wilderness. Our van abruptly halts.

An elderly Chinantec woman boards with white ponytail contrasting her muscled brown arms and baskets of green bananas contrasting the chilly alpine air. We plunge ahead into the mist. Tuxtepec and Oaxaca are not far apart as the crow flies, but they’re five gruelling hours as the backseat passenger vomits.

Let’s change the subject. The wild heart of the Americas is still beating, if you’ve got what it takes – to take the beating it takes to get there. I still do. I breathe desperately deeply and repeat a mental mantra from the Oklahoma school of yoga: “The barely nauseous tourist went over the mountain, the barely nauseous tourist went over the mountain, the barely nauseous tourist went over the mountain, to see what he could survive.”

This isn’t working. The distracting curves on my softly dozing seatmate are much easier on the eyes and stomach. I visually traverse her mountain range. Chocolate leather boots with cream laces dangling, charcoal spandex stretching over pouty thighs and hips, see-thru salmon-hue knit sweater with baby pearl accents, plunging cleavage, plus moist lips with a tiny freckle dot just above.

All this leering is purely medicinal. Still, my stomach isn’t the only body part with therapeutic needs, so I reach out to give my hand a little grope therapy, then my waking corn goddess pulls me under her fleece blanket to kiss my cheek. Vacation travel is awesome – but some curves are definitely more fun to navigate than others.

We arrive in Oaxaca City. There are myriad local attractions for visitors, but I oddly commence my visit at the death cult barbershop. It’s not really called that. However, the huge Santa Muerte statue, blaring gangsta-metal music, wall-mounted buffalo skulls with dark magic amulets, and full-body-prison-tattooed stylists explain the corporate culture as clearly as any company brochure could.

The owner is a former gangster. His shop offers transitional undocumented employment to thugs no longer welcome back in California but strangely unmotivated to return to Honduras. And they sure can cut hair. Apparently, some years of experience wielding sharp blades really pays off artistically, plus supporting a harem of hot bitches without drug smuggling requires a dilligent employee.

I dig this place. Nothing makes me feel more badass manly than calmly relaxing with a hot towel over my eyes while a semi-retired assasin drags a straight razor up my neck. Live with gusto or die with honor – either way it’s cool to be a man. Straight blades and dangerous curves punctuate the highway from boyhood to manhood. It’s a hell of a ride.

There’s one female stylist too. Her chiseled and scarred face looks like she spent her puberty fending off gang rapes atop northbound trains. Gotta respect that. Though I’m proud of my journey from Californian metrosexual boy to Mexican bad hombre, I tip my metaphorical hat to her far superior survival skills. Life is a tough but sweet journey. Enjoy the straightaways, the raw dangerous edges, and most of all the curves.

Friday, July 7, 2017

Exploring a Jungle Devoid of Wild Animals

Nothing smells as fresh and fertile as cool rain in the jungle - except for my woman, but we are not discussing her right now. Dripping and cascading from every direction, rinsing and polishing the leaves to a shiny vibrant green from the treetops downward. A rainforest canopy is Doctor God's version of an oxygen tent. I'm a lucky permanent resident in this sanitarium.

Friday, June 30, 2017

A Declaration of Liberating Dependence

Since no man is an island entire of itself, the July 4th American Declaration of Independence cannot have been absolute, but rather declared a certain type of independence that people must understand correctly to ever celebrate correctly. Beer and BBQ ain't near enough. Like my mother's ancestor Benjamin Franklin, I've thrown in my lot with uncouth savages in a brave new world (the Mexican jungle), so I know a little about giving up refined society for liberty and I want to help others have a bold American heart regardless of where your butt may currently reside. Can ya dig it?

Friday, June 16, 2017

Maybe America Should Just Divorce

California and New York (or Sodom and Gomorrah as they're called by their Christian names) are a different world from middle America, and it may be time for the barely united states to divorce over irreconcilable differences. This could be a good thing. I'll never forget the day a Bible belt woman told me that she didn't know where I could find a pub and wouldn't help me locate the devil's brew if she did. Okay, sorry I asked. Nor the night when a festival crowd in my native California glared at me as an irredeemable hater, because I softly declined a transgender's bullying insistence to dance. Unity isn't always desirable or possible.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Next Book: Primeval Woods & Primordial Stones

A crocodile thrashes beneath me. The squawking and dripping of the rainforest where Mel Gibson filmed Apocalypto and Sean Connery filmed Medicine Man surround three sides of my cozy wood cabin that overhangs a lily-choked shore and overlooks a mist-shrouded isle broadcasting monkey chatter across the glassy lake. It’s Christmas in the jungle. The lush fertility extends to a curvaceous young form peacefully dozing under the blanket beside me and deeply inhaling from the cool oxygenated air. I recall a perfect day.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Eastern and Western Genital Mutilators

Deep within a cave on a remote mountain sits a bushy-bearded Asian jihadist who shares the outlook of a bushy-underarmed American feminist ensconced within the safe space of a modern university. Both are proud genital mutilation advocates. Seeming a world apart, they nevertheless carry the same sacred fire from down below, with the road to hell paved by their culturally-approved "good" intentions. Let me explain why all moral folks must reject such patriarchs and matriarchs. This is not for the squeamish.

Friday, April 21, 2017

How to Construct a Contented Life

My smug happiness annoys some people. That's fair. Their neurotic misery sometimes annoys me. Newsflash: I'm not going to give up my inappropriately bubbly bliss to make whiners more comfortable. Not gonna happen. Yet, I do feel a moral obligation to reveal those secrets of contentment I unintentionally and undeservedly stumbled upon. Here goes.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Rattlesnake Musings and Manta Ray Moments

After I bent over and lifted a dusty rock, a fat coiled rattlesnake glared and hissed within easy striking distance of my face. The day could've easily been my last. I was a two-mile desert walk from the highway, then a thirty-minute hitched ride from a Mexican doctor, whose Spanish questions I could barely comprehend and answer on a good day without venom surging thru my veins. I froze in terror. Then I backed my head and torso away at the speed of tree growth, over the longest meter I've ever crossed, while the slit eyes and forked tongue bobbed menacingly.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Kong Is Still The King

Kong: Skull Island allows cinema chair travelers to escape the urban jungle for that more authentic kind. A cliche storyline of explorers venturing deep onto an uncharted island doesn't rain on the fun of this neo-primal rainforest experience. The casting of Samuel L. Jackson, Tom Hiddleston, Brie Larson, Tian Jing, and John Goodman offers a pleasurable balance of both action and characters.