I Sought

Del Toro Dispatch First Edition:

The World Cup is near, my next book is also near then. Fear and Loathing at the Mexico City World Cup. Oh what a joy! To write today on a computer, I can half incline on my pot belly in a state of relaxation whilst living. Do I have to pay someone to live? Everybody seems to be telling me all the time I gotta pay someone to live. I don’t know.

I came to Acapulco, as an act of faith, to pray, read the Bible, and get close to the GOD of my fathers, the GOD of Abraham. Is this book the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me GOD? It must be because it kept me from swearing the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me GOD in a Georgia court. So I have nothing left to do but have FAITH. But faith works. If GOD is like gravity, if you have a relationship with HIM, then you shall see His WONDERS.

Still, I am scared. So I came to the beach in search of answers. I sought and I searched for them… I prayed and read. And then I prayed and read again. In fear and not in love. Wrong. Search with your spirit, call out as you did that night in that County Jail cell. To the stars.

They told me not to talk about jail. Well, fuck them.

It’s the third night of searching and after writing this and playing some rummy, I’ll kneel by the beach with the waves lapping against my feet. Looking at His wonders with my mind, my body, and my spirit, which is His wonder. And isn’t that the last act of faith? Oh my God, giving up the spirit. I am not ready, the world still calls me, and as I walk the beach and see a probably underage girl with a great body, the devil pulls me back from my talk with God. I see her body and I want to be inside it, but then I think with my soul, not my mind, and let the seventeen-year-old girl out of my mind.

Then I am alone and it’s nighttime and I look at the pool and there she is next to a scrawny seventeen-year-old boy and then the Devil calls again, not in the sexual aspect, which a strong soul can withstand, but the romantic aspect, which is the sweetest dew of life, and to see it below in the pool water, in the ocean, and in the sky, flowing even there on the pool, around the bodies of these two young loves as they’re covered with water and their heads get near. That’s where the Devil pulls back to the world.

There is only one for me. Who she is, I still don’t know. That’s fine. It’s not time. Only one. I have fought the good fight and I have kept the faith and I will wait for my reward, which is her reward. But today it is not time, although the world pulls me back from the Kingdom of Heaven as I see the two silhouettes kissing by the moonlight and the song of the sea, and the whispers of the wind.

I came for other reasons and I must not forget. To talk to GOD. I have questions and I need answers because I don’t want to lose my track. So I prayed and I read the Bible, which is to pray, and sought. In the quiet moments in the pool where light seemed to just be and therefore God, and the pool made no sound before the little children came and played as they splashed, I felt my God who brought me out of bondage, not from Egypt but from the United States.

There is one question in my mind. My career. Now that money is tight and I couldn’t buy my used-to-be girl a 13 peso Bonafont. HAHAHAHAH.

Then I felt fear.

It’s just me now. But it was never just me, we are all part of the same force, stronger than gravity and more faithful than a promise. And I wonder. That time outside Joe Rogan’s house, I thought God placed me there and I always thought that was His promise. Do I still want all that for the wrong reasons or am I learning to hate it for the right reasons? Is that a promise? Should I keep this path? Should I keep the faith? Should I continue the fight like Joshua and conquer the land that was promised to my forefathers?

I seek answers by the beach at night near the stars and the frolicking children. There is a movie about a Woman with a Red Dress, and a documentary about a boxer, and a play about a book about a movie about a real-life story, and a second, third, and fourth book. But I have to eat, and wash my clothes. But like my mattress, which I found outside a taco restaurant twenty minutes after I asked for it, does God provide? Does He really? He has. Always.

So why do I doubt?

Because demons shout in their sly whispers through other people and worries in my mind, trying to make me forget the things I have seen with my own eyes. They are sly at first and before you notice it their whispers are everywhere until they are shouts and you can’t hear anything but doubt, both inside and outside.

So I must not forget the Lord Jesus Christ.

Do you fear the Lord Jesus Christ, demon?

The scripture says man shall not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of GOD.

I sought again.

I feel the pressure, but should I feel it? Wasn’t I told I was chosen through that glass, through that jail cell as it became foggy? The preacher said he saw a halo and he promised in the name of God I would be let out. Twenty-five years to life didn’t become twenty-five years to life.

But sometimes I don’t see the halo. I only not see, which is to perceive only the dark.

Romance.

The most powerful drug through which the nymphets make us men fall. I shan’t. Not until it’s a godly woman, which will not make me fall but rise. Never again a woman like the Woman with the Red Dress, which it wasn’t really. It was white.

So work.

What work. Which work. How work. Why work. Where work. Prize work. Fear work. Love work. Work.

So I sought. And I will continue to seek, not only en el Paraíso del Puerto but everywhere I go. I must search.

I am afraid, and the world screams be afraid and everything in it, but God gently touches my shoulder, makes me turn around to look at the waves and the sun, and presses upon my soul.

DO NOT BE AFRAID.

But I still lack in trust. How many more miracles, how many more signs? How many more halos? The Woman with the Red Dress, The Golden Boy, Fear and Loathing at the WC, The Rapist or so they said but HE saw and said NO, The “Rapist” then it will be. Understand the importance of quotation marks.

And how can I be afraid?

But still I am afraid. Always, constantly, all the time in the metro looking at the brown folk and me so white? But am I really? I wasn’t white enough for the American Justice System.

I could dance with the keyboard all night long, but I shan’t. The effort is null, it just comes out.

This is not a book, it’s prose, in a way, the commas and the stops marking the rhythm. Is there rhythm in this as in music, as in life?

Fame, the price to pay for art.

I am a nobody, must I be a harlot on social media? Must I? Must I be a harlot on social media? Must I? Or is there no other artist under heaven in this particular style, even if he is never read or heard but only by GOD?

I am afraid.

I will continue to search, the journey isn’t over and the answers take time. I want to break my back. But which way ahead? Where shall the train go so that I place the coal, shovel after shovel after shovel?

I don’t mind.

But where shall the train go, God?