I finally have a computer in the house.  We shall see whether this makes any difference or not in my writing.  I suspect not since my brain is already thoroughly cracked. 

FOR EXAMPLE: A very nice gentleman writes me from a philanthropic organization and I write back telling him I hope he's not one of these ugly American types who comes "down" to Mexico to throw shit and think how superior we are and man how rude can you be all he wanted to do was flatter us and say how wonder full filled the pages are and he is looking for resources to work with his project to bring people touring to Tijuana with a social conscience and then I go and walk across flaming coals and tell him I hope he is not some scam artist like those mega inheritance ripoffs from Nigeria and Eurotrash lottery fakers who show up in my email box don't they yours?  Heh heh he said he went and checked to see if all his body parts were still there after reading my letter and then he asked me where is my bibliography page heh heh heh with one fell scalpel he cut oh yes and he is absolutely right

        s i g h
                            I  was    feeling pretty bitchy
                            Monday afternoon when I got his letter

                            had to go back to work the next day
                            but it wasn't so bad

                            except Greggy kept insulting me
                            as usual in his tangled puppydog way

                            like hanging out with a bunch of
                            drunken sailors he once said

                            he used to be that
                            and yesterday for a while

                            he called me a pussy and
                            said I wasn't gonna get any


       p a n o c h a


ugh     and the fact is then I turn around
        and ask Francisco to step on him like
        a cucaracha

        heh

                                         who knows
                                             where this wind blows





                                             not me





my love Tere meanwhile has had problems with her own at work
the other boss upstairs failed her requirements

I will make him feel like a fumigated cockroach
she said

but then he apologized



the world is full of insects and stupid people, Alas, Babylon

So anyway I have a computer in the house now and I sit in the morning before going to work I get up early to write and now I just sit down and type instead of scribble scribble scribble.  It is yes a bit faster since I know touch typing which is why I am thinking about applying for another job than the bookmaking factory where I work now three weeks well two and a couple days.

Believe it or not I am thinking about going back to work with government.  Becomming a bureaucrat again.  The city of Docho Beach has an opening for deputy city clerk and it is close to the border and of course it pays more than I am getting now and

But it all depends on my backache.  If I can recover from the pain of hustle hustle hustle with the shipping shipping shipping then I will stay with Bookmakers (unless they fire me for telling Pancho to squash Popeye) but if my back and legs continue to complain from all the faut king hard word then no. 

But I don't want to go.  I like the people there.

---

SPEAKING OF FAT KINGS: The mayoral (or municipal president) election campaign is in full swing in Tijuana now.  In case you haven't heard the owner of Caliente race track is running as the PRI candidate.  "Well, he may be a gangster but he's our gangster," people say.  Or, that with all his hundreds of millions he could never be corrupted more than he already is.  His name is everywhere around town, on the taxis, on the border fence, even up on the sacred mountain of Cerro Colorado, there it is, right below the big JESUCRISTO message massage.  Heh.  You remember Ramón?  I miss him.  Last I heard he's supporting his candidate.  Block captain.  Mr. Caliente wants him to teach women where to put their forks.  I suppose that's why his greatgreatgrandmother spoke French and moved to Sonora after they shot Maximiliano.  Oh Danial shut up.

Last night after I went to the book fair a woman asked me on the street downtown if I wanted a penis massage.

THE BOOK FAIR is, meanwhile, in full swing and since I have not gotten a full paycheck yet (and still owe my beloved several hundred pesos) I cannot afford to go splurge on the hundreds of books available for purchase all in one spot under the big white tent right out there on Revolution Avenue in front of the Jai Alai palace.  Hell I can't even get there in time for the early evening talks and presentations and CERTAINLY not for the ones during the daytime... gotta go to work you know this little gringo is now just like so many other gringos and Tijuana Mexicans working on the other side for the yankee dollar....  How oddly and strangely appropriate that I am laboring in a propaganda factory don't call it that.

                         I went to the Rosecrans cememtery
                         on Point Loma        Sunday afternoon

                         to visit my grandparents graves

                         oh I think I wrote that already
                         day before        yes ter  day

                         in between writing the horribly rude
                         response to

                         Yu No Hu       poor bastard
                         all   he    w a n t e d

                                               was



                                               l o v e





like all of us          yes

Well and anyway the city is still here, on the edge of California, at the beginning of a natural world of unbelievable desert beauty, where the two million Mexicans have transformed Tijuana into a megalopolis from the future, where my stepfather's eductor invention will pour water down the dry river from the mountains into the city and we shall drink for free, like the chilangos do, sucking their great lake dry dry dry dry rumble rumble oh my God not another earthquake....

---

Time for me to shut up and go to work.

---

maybe Chris will come visit us on Sunday and go to the street market his wife and kids should come too and see all the junk for sale everywhere....

---

they are double parking on Sor Juana street by the Otay gate.

together we walk across the line, up the long sidewalk into the glass doors beyond the ugly statue of dancing giants man and woman

all God's pedestrians got shoes

I get to the bus, dreaming of verses and paragraphs writing dreams.  Writing it down.  The Indiana Review contest for short short stories and prose poems closes in a few days, and so does the Bitter Oleander poetry contest.  I scribble on the bus, hoping Phil will plug in the links later when we come to type this tonight.  This is paper (was) but by this time you see it it will be electron patterns of "page" of on or of off, changes in delicate charge cargo that add up bit by bit to byte by byte to kilobyte megabyte etc.  Webnetarts have given me 50 megs without advertisement to expand and rebirth re-berth the ship of my site.  Inauguration will be in October, I believe, in order to get it right, absolutely right, and celebrate the new year - the 48th year of the Space Age which began October 4, 1957, on the Twelfth Day of Autumn and the Twelfth Day of the Moon.  Things are not always so seredipitous like this flow of words that echoes what I wrote this morning now and then later type and then you can read yes 2 June 2004.

Odin's Day -- WODNESDAEG

combined with what I typed at home this morning seize the day but oh my God what a long long long day at work ahead of me....

it began at six a-m ish not amish albeit my German ancestors were dunkard brethren yes they were all the way across the sea to Pennsylvania Dutch (Deutsch) and then over to Kansas... where my great great grandfather Daniel Holtzinger died and his son married a methodist I believe and then... no más menonitas no.

I saw David again coming home from his flagmaker job he gave me a copy of a story he wrote Jesus Stone to read I want to make it into a movie how ironic that forty years after I gave up that madness I come back full circle to the art form I threw away long before homemade video and internet broadcast became possible maybe maybe maybe I can send some video online from my new site SEE OCTOBER libra loud brazen Tijuana Live yes no don't believe it it's true/false like so much else in this life multiple choice short answer, please, no essays no wraptaur dream but floppy logic squeaketh her back door screen and you can hear the footsteps coming closer, colourouser carrousing on Revolution Avenue great good God can't you see the fabulous business going on inside this place?  No.  No way buey sí buey way.

David has written some fabulous paragraphs I hope he gets more time to write that novel he longs to work.  There are racing sentences and dialogue of ambience, true ambience of the damned, the lost gringos of Tijuana gambling away their last hours on earth and border bars and anger, righteous anger

you are a smoke in my nose, sayeth the Lord

tickles my puritan sense to see and hear him galavanting about on his high and mighty

trojan horse

Pearl Jam horse

Besides the man gave me a job what am I supposed to do?  Tell him how my back aches every day, every night and I still am not sure whether I can adjust to it.  How can I tell him I might have to leave Bookmakers after he convinced Eddy to hire me.  Here.  Tell him here.  AFter ALL it is still only semi-fictional... yes.  The bitter truth is only semi-fiction.  It goes away by the time I wake up tomorrow.  But then, bending over the packing table it comes back and... NO.  I am NOT going to quite.  I am not quit yet going to quite not shhhh be quiet who would his quiatus make with a bare bodkin ah go home go home go home and rest....  No, I am going to give it a few more weeks to see if the pain ever goes away... and then WATCH out PDF file one step away... well just thank Goodness this week is almost over again....

Yes.  Only this.  I shall bust my butt until I cannot stand it any longer.  Already I have become attached to the little warehouse bookmaking factory place in spite of its office politics and class war between front office editors and sales staff and us technicians and warehouse types in back... and the pay is enough to live on although Docho Beach could offer much more much much mucho mucho más.  No.  Maybe they won't want me after all... maybe my back will stop aching every day...........

Yes.  Meanwhile the bus begins to move and I don't want to write anymore.  Jiggle jiggle tittle tattle can't keep the pen straight any moreeeee eeks dkskdl ldk

steady scribble scrabble stop at a traffic light and no....

bye

see ya tomorrow or Friday