The good thing about my new place is, I could put my head through the wall and it wouldn’t
be a big deal…just throw a piece of batik over the hole and go on living…and even if I did do it,
there wouldn’t be anyone watching….might come by in a day or two…”Oh, that batik
pattern is one of the copyrighted ones from Indonesia….isn’t it?”…maybe my kind of place.
Death feels closer here…more visible…back at the House of Pain, (my former palace),
death was covered by the ongoing Tella Novella of my co-denizens….
I may be going blind…hell, something’s going to happen sooner or later….cancer,
heart attack, dengue fever, fall down some steps….I’m sixty and counting….
they’re dropping like flies around me.
A new place at this point in time must fulfill certain requirements. It must be compact
and sturdy….dark and cool…..not so much about lifestyle as how the body needs to be held.
And it must be in nature.
I’m laterally mobile….lived in mansions and hovels…good training….
There’s something I don’t understand about Mexico…where ever I live here, there’s
always someone next door banging on a piece of metal around five o’clock in the
A new place at this point in time is not really a new place…it’s just the next place…
Newness is not a concept that has much to do with perception anymore….even babies
seem like they’ve been around a long time…and women? I meet them and two minutes
later I’m breaking up with them in my mind. Is that why old people talk about the same
things all the time, the same stories? The alternative is peaceful simplicity and a killer smile.
Some people actually understand that.