"We dance by faith, and not by sight." Proverbs of Smog 79:1

Dear Patreon Subscribers,

The "solar" charger has yet to take an actual charge from the sun, and while it is a vast improvement over what I was doing before I got it, the phone is still off for a significant amount of time during the day. As a result, filming the daily minutiae will probably not happen until we leave Colorado.

In the meantime, check out the "México 2019" and "La Vida en México" playlists on my YouTube channel, which are perhaps an unwitting preview for the upcoming main event. The vertical video format will not be repeated, and this trip will be different for reasons I'm not entirely aware of at the moment.

More involved, higher-quality videos, for starters.

It's hard to explain, but I get the sense that all the previous trips south of the border, including the Poor Man's Nick Cave Tour, were just a warm-up exercise. In the early 2010s, I considered driving to Mexico City. I looked at the idea, saw pictures of headless blood piñatas hanging from bridges, and abandoned it immediately. Now, I'm looking at taking buses through the Baja with a cat until we run out of money (?), at which point it will be necessary to hitchhike. Where? I don't know. For how long? Until we stop, or are stopped. Why? Why not. I'm not wallowing in self-pity when I say that nobody cares about me. It sounds pathetic, but I'm not saying it to elicit sympathy. It's just true. Nobody cares. My cat, some great friends, that's it. Not enough to keep me here. It's a good thing. Like having kids, and a job you don't hate. A blessing. But there's nothing happening here.

I'm not happy about it, to the point of being legitimately unhappy about it, but I have to be honest. This place depresses me.

Even if I get hateful glares at socialist rallies in Mexico. Which I have. But it's not the same. I'm not going to hang out at the event, and if I hadn't happened upon it, I never would have attended. However, unlike the equivalent event in Gringoland, I'm probably not in any actual danger by being there.

I don't agree with their methods, but at least they haven't lost their minds.

Not quite surprisingly, the US feels like a foreign country to me now. Oddly small, in a way. Not geographically, but spiritually. The spirit here is cold, stupid, and small. Everyone is angry. Reading the news is like reading the curriculum to earn a PhD in hell.

Doctors of hell, on every side.

For example, as though to mock themselves by unwittingly disproving the Theory of Evolution, embracing an evolutionary dead-end like same-sex relations as a fundamental basis of their moral high ground and political platform alike, the left has actually adopted the belief that hate is a virtue. If you don't hate the right, you're not a good person. In like manner, the right has to pretend Muslims carried out 9/11, Tyler Robinson isn't a patsy, and to like the music of Kid Rock. Both views are anathema to my muse, and neither of them are apparently able to actually see or hear me. It's like I'm invisible. Intentionally blocked from view.

It doesn't feel good, which I believe is God's way of driving us out of here. Maybe something will change in the next 2 months, but if it doesn't, there's nothing I dread quite as much as spending another holiday season taking jug baths in central Arizona in a van with Mexican Horse Shocks From The 19th Century, reading signs in the library that address me like a stupid, wayward child, actually telling me to sit down to take a piss. How abhorrent. The sanctimony required to actually post a sign like that is among the greatest proofs of an eternal hell I have ever seen. I will try to film it before I leave town, but I find that I have no desire to ever see the Silverton library again. "Please sit down to urinate." Please sit still while we blow your brains out... What's the difference? A patronizing request that makes every self-respecting man one poor night's sleep away from straight-up pissing on the floor. Because who are you?

Simply horrible.

I ripped a similar sign down in Jerome years ago, but this isn't my town. Sit down to piss. What luxurious problems you must have, to find the time to not only think something like that up, but actually make a sign and hang it on the wall. What soft, spoiled children you are. The cartels at least talk to you like a man. There's no guarantee you'll get through the checkpoint alive, but at least they don't tell you how to piss. I respect that, in ways this cold, estrogentrified culture is simply resistant to. American culture has become respect-resistant. It pleases me to say, in no way whatsoever. But it's true. Respect-resistant. It's why everyone demands respect. They can't earn it, so there's no other way they will possibly get it. Well I'm sorry, but, I don't respect you. I don't hate you either. In fact, you bore me. Your world is depressing and uninspiring. I've been writing about it for years.

So, I am excited to be leaving. Again. But this trip is different. The stakes are simultaneously higher, and completely non-existent. There will be no attempt to find a place to live. I have no income, so I can't commit to that. We have to keep moving. This trip will be different. I don't understand it, so I can't possibly explain it. We walk by faith and not by sight, is the best I can do. We walk by faith and not by sight. We roll up on narco checkpoints by faith and not by sight. We get out of bed by faith and not by sight.

We dance by faith, and not by sight.

Thanks again for subscribing to my Patreon and YouTube channel, and for reading this article. I look forward to unloading another freight train of cultural grievances on you again soon.

Til then,
N