Tengo una cita en mi palco en el Azteca antes del mundial con una mujer hermosa bajo la lluvia.

It was a good week and funnily enough, that makes me think I have nothing to write about. I want my life to keep being an adventure, but are adventures only possible when you hand yourself to the devil.

IT’S ALL FALSE. NONE OF THE PEOPLE I TALK ABOUT ARE REAL. I AM NOT REAL.

Cough, cough.

So where was I. Yeah on the streets, a genuine rich homeless man, then I met a dude. A real nice dude that had problems of his own and saw in me a helping hand by being a helping hand. God placed him there outside by the pillar as we chatted and suddenly I had a place to live.

It was a construction and I slept in the albañiles room, there were two of them, an eighteen year old mute and an older guy. We got along well, the Annex and Jail do that to ya. You’re not just another empty hollow white guy, you’ve seen some shit and having seen some shit can be seen by those who have seen some shit and those who bullshit bullshit themselves because we all know they haven’t seen some shit.

I saw some quite literally as I pulled and pulled the heavy shit bucket with the blue rough rope to relieve the drainage in the annex. I’ve seen and smelled some goddamn shit and they could tell.

I had everything I needed. A shower, yes cold, but the days are hot and that gets you started in a nice way. I didn’t have a towel so I used my expensive wool sweatshirt as one. I lose everything. I have left a caps and clothes trail behind so that if I ever got to the witches house for some candy I won’t be too hard to find.

When the albañiles began to sleep here once again I lost that room but gained another and an air mattress that constantly deflated so that really I was sleeping on the floor.

And I was so happy about it, for those of us who have been trying to be free but somehow every turn we turn we are trapped again, as if tested by the heavenly and demonic things when you finally find freedom and its the real thing.

Meaning no OCD, no repetitive thoughts, a constant good stream of money, keys. No addictions. And you know the literal physical freedom removers like jail and clinics. You almost can’t believe it, so you test the waters and visit a hooker and a dancer, not really because you desire it but because you want to see if it is finally for real and as you dip your toe in the jacuzzi and feel the sting of the heat as the lap dance goes on and you realize you are finally free, then you remove the toe and get to living.

So I did, I got to living, hit the gym, once or twice, the body is nice, the belly a little potbellied, I used to think that was bad, no it isn’t it’s a food reserve in case the money runs out. That is what a belly is isn’t it, and why most manly men have it, we are storing resources even inside ourselves preparing for hard time. Hell now I feel stupid my potbelly isn’t big enough it should be bigger.

Went to midnight group (my personal favorite) when the masks fall down and the real meat in the spiritual shit is told to those drinking coffee in the night. Talked about my lack of a mattress, not complaining, actually just for the fun of it, and then we went to eat some tacos and right there in their parking spot, a used but perfectly fine and working free queen size mattress left behind.

God was saying te voy a poner un colchón ya tu pon de tu parte y pon la almohada. GOD DID!

Anyway, decided to go for a walk with my backpack like a tourist smiling to the passerbys and I walked from Narvarte to Pedregal across the heat and the city terrain. What a cryptic cyberpunkish constantly filled up sounding like a roaring engine grey and green poor and rich city Mexico City is. There is no place in the world I’d rather be.

New York go fuck yourself, I met an old guy from New York a year ago, he was very wealthy. New York wealthy, I wanted a handout, he thought about giving it, then he said “I thought about it and you gotta do it yourself kid, you gotta do it yourself” he was right, and I am, doing it myself.

I thought I was falling for a sixty something year old woman, I wish you could see her, she is sophisticated, wise and beautiful. Really beautiful. I love spending time with her. She shares my faith (the truth of the universe get over it) and my principles and the sound of her voice and the colour and depth behind her eyes is truly honestly enthralling for me and I can’t get enough, nothing going on.

She is just a good samaritarian, and this is all from my side, but I kinda like that and I have always liked older women. Anyway I know what’s good for me and healthy and it’s purely platonic and we have grown to have a beautiful friendship.

She is so intelligent and her spirit glows, always saying the most regular things in secret because of fear of gossip and saying “tengo que ir al tocador” in the most polite manner instead of the modern crude “tengo que ir al baño” such heathens around me that use the word baño instead of tocador.

On the heathen note a guy spat on the road, my roommate made an impressed face, the guy said, and if it had lemon and salt I would’ve swallowed it whole. Come countries of the world to the world cup and meet our interesting Mexican real specimens that season their spit with salt and lime.

The world cup can be felt in the air. The fucking world cup. Who would’ve guessed it.

Got a box in the Aztec stadium. That’s great, no other way to go about it, it’s a nice flex, but when you flex you lose, because nothing really comes from you but from the one and only GOD. I look at my surroundings and see god everywhere, and I can’t fathom how I used to be so blind.

Anyway on my three hour walk like a pilgrim in an inn I took a stop took my usual two cold brews with extra charge caffeine drug dose and chatted with my spiritual guide, my pastor, we talked about any and everything.

I wish everyone would realize about jesus, but some get angry when you mention his name. Demons. No doubt about it, like the OCD. Demons swirling around your brain like a vanilla chocolate cone repeating the same filth, and what I thought was medical turns out was spiritual. It all is. Spiritual. Worked. Keepin’ that a secret for now. But cool and anyway this is all fiction and none of it is real so how could fictional people that don’t exist sue me.

Saw a friend from my old uni, good guy. Miss some people, but I was never the school type, plus in art you only need it to a certain point, us artists our job is to take in as much of the world as possible and digest it and then spiritually place it on a camera frame or the page of a book or colours en un lienzo.

The so called “artists” at that school, not all, for example my good female friend who is always smiling and I think is just the spitting image of joy is full of art. She is art in her soul. Not into her just think she glows. I would love to raise my daughter to be like her and that’s respect.

But others are fakers, they think they artists cuz they’re faggots and they dress a certain way. NOPE.

Being an artist, well…. ask Hemingway, or Kubrick, Kerouac, Tarkovsky, Joyce, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Sergio Leone and Bergman….

What a fucking wannabe jackass I sound like, but the point I was trying to make is this: they didn’t express for profit or fame, The night 2001 a space odyssey was released a third of the theatre walked out and the studio heads yelled at Kubrick telling him he was an imbecile, Tarkovsky was exiled from Russia and Kerouac died an alcoholic in his mothers house.

These people all had a certain quality I share, not one I chose, but one I share, and one that led me to spend every friday in detention in the principals office and therefore get that certain fascination, that quality that sent me to jail and that quality that makes me me. Meandering me. I live to live and that is all.

Okay the ego is getting out of control, back on track.

Yeah worked, and loved it and went to group as usual. The loneliness stings i miss my uni friends, maybe that’s why i am being an ass face. An ass on my face that would be nice wouldn’t it. Hmmmm. Isn’t that a sin? It is yeah. Still want it.

Friday night I saw the usual misfits and we decided it would be a good idea to be waterboarded by ourselves that way we could tell people “Hey you guy, you ever been waterboarded? No? well I, I have! fucking loser tibio sonnoffa…” so we got a wet towel and a hose and reclined the victims head and we burst open the tap and let the person half drown. We all did it. It was horribly engrossingly hilarious as we all choked and coughed and I spent the night with the guys.

Saturday a streamer called something like Shifu walked into a restaurant I was at. Lotta attention. Realized that’s coming, gotta appreciate it’s not here yet. Prize to pay for art. Not something good but a devil’s trap, actually bad. Look at Jesus Christ and the Devil in the dessert. Look at his life, GOD’s life on earth.

Sunday I invited a girl I liked to my box. I know her from rehab, we spent many days under the Jacaranda trees talking about life when I was still scared and trembling. Purple Petal Pressed in our pointing fingers and thumbs. She looks exactly like Margot robbie just mexican. Mexican Margot Robbie, so she is more beautiful cuz, fuck you australia who is hosting the World Cup, anyway Mexarobbie and I had been chatting and planning a bar jazz date, realize I could invite her to a match in the box and so I invited her and my roommate and his girl and my sponsor called godfather who is the sobriety goat and a kindhearted man, although a little bit too scared of germs, again OCD.

Addiction and OCD very similar thought patterns, obsession compulsion, he just like I never had a shot at normal use. OCD gets in the way of that.

Anyway Mexarobbie, although I don’t like calling her that because she is so much more and so beautiful and I didn’t have to try. What is she? Because depth is what matters not looks as much as she has.

She is half American and half Mexican and grew up in a beautiful school surrounded by jungle she has her father English and her mothers spanish. She had to make do for herself as I never had to but she is learned in the game of life although a little bit destructive in her choice of men. Smart she is finally making a good choice the recovering drug addict that has been in jail. Who would’ve thought.

Seeing her was like all those other full day and nights in the clinic when we would talk and smoke tobacco, and we realized a year ago we actually had been together in the clinic. And remembering our dynamic needed no remembering as it was engrained and ready as soon as we said hello outside Medic Sur where she parked her car, why is she coming out of a hospital, is she a doctor that has come to fix what Helen, the woman with the red dress destroyed or is she just a gal that came to see a football match with a pal.

If it seems as though I am trying too hard is because I want to try hard. I have sinned about and around that in my prozac madness getting all obsessive about an Estonian girl for no reason at all. I want to be there, I want to feel and I now understand it’s not about perfection in the other person but about imperfection and the beauty thereof, she is so ferocious she is gentle like her cheekbones protruding and her full lips, but fuller is her smile which comes from her even fuller heart and the sound of her voice is a song, but the form of her thoughts a poem and the gait of her walk a painting.

We watched the match. It was fun. We talked about cuahutemo0c blanco down there at fifty three a mobster a mayor and a football player, what a life. And although he is fat and has the appearance of a turtle he is goddamn good.

The match was over.

And then it was beautiful, it began raining and we waited for everyone to leave, and she and I this beautiful woman I didn’t have to try hard back then nor these hypothetical day. We didn’t try, but God sure did as the gentle rain fell down and the bright white lights showed all the droplets like a thin curtain and mist covered the field and there was no sound except the droplets hitting the security guards yellow ponchos.

And then I thanked God as I thought. Tengo una cita en mi palco en el azteca antes del mundial con una mujer hermosa bajo la lluvia.