Looking back is more than merely inadvisable, apparently. It's not so hard to avoid, when you realize how many bullets you dodged. Like I used to tell people when I was a cabdriver, who thought it looked like "fun," driving drunken, abusive halfwits around in circles all night, I'd tell them, all the stuff that makes a good scene in a movie, sucks in real life. Same with chicks.
There was a real demonic kick in looking back, though. It was weird. I felt like Goldmund in Hermann Hesse's Narcissus & Goldmund while looking in the rearview all night, nearly flying off the highway. It's one of my all-time favorite books, one I unfortunately temporarily traded for some drunken sex garbage by Henry Miller right before I left Jerome. So I have this miserable copy of Tropic of Self-Absorbed Philandering And Art Worship instead of one of the best books ever written. Narcissus is the guy who's all cerebral and holy; Goldmund is the vagabond who falls in love with everything he sees and makes sculptures in the woods; they're old friends and represent the different sides of one man. Hermann Hesse, presumably. I had all the good parts underlined, too. A major loss.
Fortunately, I still have Steppenwolf, but the phantom feelings I have for Narcissus & Goldmund are dying hard. In fact I slap them in the face and electrocute them so they stay alive. Great book.
Anyway, the point. As it turns out, Proverbs 10:22 may very well not apply to this outwardly-idyllic setting in the rural ranchlands of Jalisco. The neighbor is at least 100 yards away, but plays music loud enough to understand the lyrics to, on an almost-daily basis, pretty much all day long. The caretaker said he'd talk to him, but it hasn't done any good. So I talked to him today. It was like talking to a liberal fundamentalist. It's possible you're going to take that the wrong way. If you're a liberal in the way it used to mean, not so long ago, you won't.
It's possible I'm tired of scanning the walls for scorpions every waking hour anyway. It's possible I'm also tired of keeping all the lights on all night to keep them away. It's not as bad as the Scorpion Den in Guanajuato, but I don't trust it yet. The guy at the store sold me some anti-scorpion pills, said his Chihuahua got stung and survived, said one crawled up his pant leg and stung him 8 times, said his little cat kills them for sport, but with the auto-tuned Spanish-language garbage blasting over the cornfield most of the day, it might be the last straw. I'm prepared to leave tomorrow. Last week, I would have felt like it was a loss. Now, it feels like a good idea; I'm almost excited to get out of here, in spite of the rancheros walking down the street with their horses all day:
And the idyllic, heavenly view:
The caretaker is aware I have one foot out the door, and that his business is leaving if the guy working next door doesn't respect his jefe's neighbors. It's the only noise for at least 20 miles. Maybe I'll stay. I don't care anymore.
All of which is to say, if you want to buy some albums, now isn't a bad time to do it. Some road dinero wouldn't be unappreciated. 3 albums for $20, or the whole discography for $100. If you want the codes for the whole discography NOW without a donation, ask for them and they're yours. You know who you are.
I've heard it said that a jealous friend is a dangerous enemy. Remember, the grass is always greener in someone else's pipe. Appreciate what you have. It's possible that what looks like "stuck" to one person looks like "stable" to another, what looks like "freedom" to one is just "instability" to someone else.
There are upsides, like throwing the dice out the window in Socorro, New Mexico and deciding to spend my LAST money on a hotel room in the next town, tomorrow be forever damned. And I stayed there for 2 months, and met people there who I will probably consider friends for the rest of my life. In fact I didn't have enough $ for the room. The proprietress took one look at me and said, "you're a musician, aren't you." It was a great season. I recorded most of Wild Hearts Forever during that time.
Or giving the homeless guy in San Francisco half my money ($1), only to be invited to a homeless tweeker cookout in the park at midnight, where we had steaks and weed in the park with flames in the grill 4 feet high, like millionaires. He refused my $ when he realized I wasn't "one of them" (his words), and invited me and my homeless wife to the covert, drug-addled event.
Transient life has its moments.
In other news, Midnight Ocean performs "You Will Miss Me When I Burn" by Bonnie Prince Billy as Afghanistan falls to the Taliban:
I have been a political atheist for well over a decade, but here are some detached, free-floating thoughts on Afghanistan and 9/11 if you're interested:
An unpopular article, ratio'd into would-be submission by people who believe everything they're told, like toddlers.
See you in Guadalajara, tomorrow?
Pablo con Dios,