My mother doesn't talk to me. Claudia doesn't talk to me. Michael doesn't talk to me. Should I erase them from my life and move forward? My father doesn't talk to me because he is dead, but it doesn't bother me much not hearing his voice. My first two wives don't talk to me and I don't miss them at all. My two older boys occasionally message me, but they have their own lives and keeping in touch with the old man isn't a pressing concern. Therefore, I shouldn't fret not hearing from my mother, Claudia and Michael.
I have to live an unattached life similar to the one I'm living in Mexico City. Not all days are the same, but they are similar. I've been sleeping later. I rise at eight and go eat breakfast generally at Bisquits Obregon where I have almost convinced two separate waitresses to trust me. They make 700 pesos ($35) a week and work long hours six days a week. They spend between buses and the subway three hours in total coming and going to work. I have told them I will take care of them with a 1000 pesos if they take care of me. They aren't that easy. They are eyeing that shiny red apple, but a morality I suppose keeps them from taking a bite. Before I arrive at the restaurant, I walk another three blocks, drink a glass of freshly squeeze orange juice, buy a paper and return to the restaurant.
I return to the house, surf the net and write. About one I head to the gym. By the time I return from my workout. I check the next again to scan the news, both locally and nationally, and then I take care of my hygiene. I shave every two days. I will also take the scissors and clip those worthless hairs sprouting from my ears and dangling from my nose. The shower is luke warm, but I've dived into plenty of mountain streams and lakes, so I'm not bothered bathing without the luxury of hot water. I have a special soap for the toe nails as they slowly grow and recover from the fungus infection. I believe the procedure was a success, but time will tell and it's not akin to battling with cancer. By the time I return downstairs to open the internet again, it can be as late as four.
There are a number of restaurants I patronize. I've added a coffee shop to my itinerary where I sip on a cup of manzanilla tea and observe the pedestrians. I usually stop here after my meal. By the time I arrive home it's six. I'm back at the computer and that's where my comadre and her son find me when they return from work. She is always hungry and after a kiss and salutations, she inquires about my meals. She is hoping that I will take her to dine, which I did frequently at the beginning of my stay, but I have grown tired of her company. She is 64, her dyed hair is thinning, her beauty has disappeared into the hollows of her face and her teeth are yellow. She has retained her physical form disguised in clothes, but she hasn't availed herself to me. Even though she is my comadre and I would feel bad for my compadre, she informed me that they hadn't had sex in five years because he had insulted her and she hadn't forgiven him. I asked her if she had ever cheated on him and she answered no. I asked if she still had sexual desires and she answered yes, but my subtle attempts to find the key to unlocking the door have been unsuccessful, so I have distanced myself from her.
Sometimes I'm not at her home when she arrives because I have gone to the ballpark. I didn't plan on attending so many Diablos Rojos during this vacation, but the crowds are electric and these forays allow me to escape her clutches. If I don't leave, I work at the computer and later retire to my room to read. Near midnight I'll pop a milligram of Xanax and a Melotonin and drift off to sleep. And that is my day. Why shouldn't I live the rest of my days following a mellow routine that allows me to eat, work, exercise and sleep well. I have confidence that overtime I would find a few females to relieve me of my stress.
Do I escape my mother, Claudia and Michael during these days that flow toward eternity like a calm river? No. I scratch my head amazed that my mother could forsake me so easily, but I don't miss her. When her parents died, she didn't attend either of their funerals, which precipitated a rift with her siblings that never healed. She argued that she would rather spend the money visiting me in Texas than traveling to Massachusettes for their burials. Raising eight kids in an unending economic struggle made her practical. She won't know it and as a result won't appreciate the irony, but I'll will skip her funeral also. Unless my sister were to confess to my other siblings that I didn't rape her, there is no way I am going to endure those reproving looks. Thinking that my nephews and nieces and their children know I had an incestuous relationship with their aunt would be a sufficient reason for skipping the ceremony. I'm not concerned about anyone attending my funeral since there won't be one. I will be quickly cremated and thus to dust I shall return.
Sunday, June 21, 2020
Saturday, June 20, 2020
ROBERT E. LEE
With the City having disposed of Jefferson Davis and the BISD wrestling with the fate of slaveholder and traitor Charles Stillman, Brownsville's treacherous founder after whom the school district has named a campus, Texas Southmost College is moving to remove the designation of the Robert E. Lee Youth Center located in the Jacob Brown complex.
"The board listened to a Zoom presentation by an individual who insisted that Robert E. Lee's name should be removed from the junior college because associating a traitor with higher education was a disservice to the latter," said a former Brownsville Herald columnist.
"Apparently, his appeal has found sympathy with TSC Trustee Dr. Tony Zavaleta, a respected historian and renown writer. He has asked TSC President Jesus Roberto Rodriguez to put the item on the next agenda and consider the imminent removal of Lee's name, a traitor who refused command of the Union armies so he could lead the Confederacy and the rebels' commitment to slavery.
"Zavaleta has been instrumental in having the African-American 25th Infantry Regiment--the black soldiers who were the victims of blatant Brownsville racism and ultimately accused of shooting up downtown with no conclusive evidence supporting the allegations that led, nevertheless, to their dishonorable discharges from the military until President Richard Nixon righted the wrong to the consternation of many bigoted Anglo-American locals whose ancestors would have lynched these fighting men, several veterans of the Spanish-American War, without a second thought--honored with a plaque to be placed on the campus in the near future when the Coronavirus pandemic subsides.
"But Zavaleta's crusade hasn't stopped with his support for the 25th. He wants Lee's name removed and replaced by literary giant Américo Paredes who wrote about these same Anglo-Americans who abused Mexican-Americans in South Texas where lynchings abounded and where murders, much like the recent killing of Rayshard Brooks by the Atlanta police, were committed by Texas Rangers who gunned down 'escaping' Mexicans by placing a few bullet holes in their backs. It is often said that when the Rangers grew bored of shooting Mexicans, they would shoot rattlesnakes instead.
"Will Zavaleta be successful in his noble endeavor to let the facts speak for themselves or will his colleagues prefer the fictional version of the great Robert E. Lee instead of a rewriting of history predicated on the truth? The Confederacy is dead, but the unburied corpse fills this country with a stench that must be cleansed.
"The Confederacy tried to destroy the United States of America. We wouldn't be one-tenth the country we are today if Abraham Lincoln and his loyal followers had allowed Lee and his traitors to succeed. Their names and their causes will never be erased from our history books, but this nation will not honor them, particularly when the South thought that it would rise again spearheaded by ghosts past.
"The Confederacy, like court martialed soldiers stripped of their ranks, must be stripped of their symbolic representations in our cities, in our schools and in our parks. We will not progress as a people if we are always carrying the dead weight of the Confederacy. Zavaleta's challenge of history is the same challenge that faces all Americans. Our history must be rewritten. Now!!!"
"The board listened to a Zoom presentation by an individual who insisted that Robert E. Lee's name should be removed from the junior college because associating a traitor with higher education was a disservice to the latter," said a former Brownsville Herald columnist.
"Apparently, his appeal has found sympathy with TSC Trustee Dr. Tony Zavaleta, a respected historian and renown writer. He has asked TSC President Jesus Roberto Rodriguez to put the item on the next agenda and consider the imminent removal of Lee's name, a traitor who refused command of the Union armies so he could lead the Confederacy and the rebels' commitment to slavery.
"Zavaleta has been instrumental in having the African-American 25th Infantry Regiment--the black soldiers who were the victims of blatant Brownsville racism and ultimately accused of shooting up downtown with no conclusive evidence supporting the allegations that led, nevertheless, to their dishonorable discharges from the military until President Richard Nixon righted the wrong to the consternation of many bigoted Anglo-American locals whose ancestors would have lynched these fighting men, several veterans of the Spanish-American War, without a second thought--honored with a plaque to be placed on the campus in the near future when the Coronavirus pandemic subsides.
"But Zavaleta's crusade hasn't stopped with his support for the 25th. He wants Lee's name removed and replaced by literary giant Américo Paredes who wrote about these same Anglo-Americans who abused Mexican-Americans in South Texas where lynchings abounded and where murders, much like the recent killing of Rayshard Brooks by the Atlanta police, were committed by Texas Rangers who gunned down 'escaping' Mexicans by placing a few bullet holes in their backs. It is often said that when the Rangers grew bored of shooting Mexicans, they would shoot rattlesnakes instead.
"Will Zavaleta be successful in his noble endeavor to let the facts speak for themselves or will his colleagues prefer the fictional version of the great Robert E. Lee instead of a rewriting of history predicated on the truth? The Confederacy is dead, but the unburied corpse fills this country with a stench that must be cleansed.
"The Confederacy tried to destroy the United States of America. We wouldn't be one-tenth the country we are today if Abraham Lincoln and his loyal followers had allowed Lee and his traitors to succeed. Their names and their causes will never be erased from our history books, but this nation will not honor them, particularly when the South thought that it would rise again spearheaded by ghosts past.
"The Confederacy, like court martialed soldiers stripped of their ranks, must be stripped of their symbolic representations in our cities, in our schools and in our parks. We will not progress as a people if we are always carrying the dead weight of the Confederacy. Zavaleta's challenge of history is the same challenge that faces all Americans. Our history must be rewritten. Now!!!"
JUDAS ISCARIOT
Brownsville
honoring
Charles Stillman
is akin
to the Catholic Church
canonizing
Judas Iscariot
CHUCK STILLMAN
The president took a few minutes before his Tulsa rally to talk about Charles Stillman's legacy and that as Brownsville's founder his many successes on behalf of the Third World Capital of the United States more than compensate for his absolute sympathies for slavery and the Confederacy:
"His descendants adore him much like my children rate me as one of the three greatest presidents along with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Based on my knowledge of him, Chuck Stillman was a very fine American. Can you imagine Brownsville if Chuck hadn't taken control of the city's establishment? It would be another Matamoros filled with rapists and murderers.
"I don't have any problems with Chuck once owning slaves. Washington and Jefferson owned slaves. Owning slaves at that time in our history is no different than Brownsville residents hiring Mexican women to take care of their children and their homes and paying them slave wages.
"As to his leaving the Union for the Confederacy even though he was born in Connecticut and died in New York, Brownsville had left the Union and to do business you had to be a Confederate in order to survive. Chuck was no different in his thinking than my decision to leave the Democratic Party for the Republican Party. I could not survive politically as a Democrat and only as a Republican could I become your president.
"Chuck would have never been a multi-millionaire if he had remained a citizen of the USA. I know that as a businessman you have to make tough decisions and I respect Chuck for thinking outside the box.
"As to the Civil War, you have to remember that there were good people of both sides. Bobby Lee, Stonewall Jackson and Jefferson Davis were great patriots during the Mexican-American War. If it weren't for them and other fine Southerners, California, among other states, would still be a part of Mexico. Just like Chuck turned a chunk of Mexican land into America, Lee and his comrades helped fulfill our Manifest Destiny calling as we stretched our boundaries from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean.
"I recently read that Brownsville removed its memorial to Jefferson Davis. I shouldn't be surprised that a Democratic town would spit on our country's past. 'Tiny' Trey Mendez would never make it in the big time. I wouldn't be astonished if he decided to replace July Fourth with Juneteenth. I have no doubts that the South will rise again in spite of all these black and brown troublemakers who want to undermine our heritage by destroying our heroes and substituting them with the likes of Martin Luther King and Cesar Chavez.
"I hear that there are rabblerousers in Brownsville who want to desecrate Chuck's fine reputation and many outstanding contributions to the community by razing his home and stripping a middle school of his name. For those who believe that he should be punished for being a slaveholder and a traitor, I say you can't let a few trees blind you to the forest.
"In his later years he released his slaves and he was genuinely apologetic for switching sides during the Civil War. Chuck died a proud American. I find it very disturbing that anyone would challenge Chuck's impeccable reputation. Brownsville is a better place thanks to the efforts of Chuck Stillman."
"His descendants adore him much like my children rate me as one of the three greatest presidents along with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Based on my knowledge of him, Chuck Stillman was a very fine American. Can you imagine Brownsville if Chuck hadn't taken control of the city's establishment? It would be another Matamoros filled with rapists and murderers.
"I don't have any problems with Chuck once owning slaves. Washington and Jefferson owned slaves. Owning slaves at that time in our history is no different than Brownsville residents hiring Mexican women to take care of their children and their homes and paying them slave wages.
"As to his leaving the Union for the Confederacy even though he was born in Connecticut and died in New York, Brownsville had left the Union and to do business you had to be a Confederate in order to survive. Chuck was no different in his thinking than my decision to leave the Democratic Party for the Republican Party. I could not survive politically as a Democrat and only as a Republican could I become your president.
"Chuck would have never been a multi-millionaire if he had remained a citizen of the USA. I know that as a businessman you have to make tough decisions and I respect Chuck for thinking outside the box.
"As to the Civil War, you have to remember that there were good people of both sides. Bobby Lee, Stonewall Jackson and Jefferson Davis were great patriots during the Mexican-American War. If it weren't for them and other fine Southerners, California, among other states, would still be a part of Mexico. Just like Chuck turned a chunk of Mexican land into America, Lee and his comrades helped fulfill our Manifest Destiny calling as we stretched our boundaries from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean.
"I recently read that Brownsville removed its memorial to Jefferson Davis. I shouldn't be surprised that a Democratic town would spit on our country's past. 'Tiny' Trey Mendez would never make it in the big time. I wouldn't be astonished if he decided to replace July Fourth with Juneteenth. I have no doubts that the South will rise again in spite of all these black and brown troublemakers who want to undermine our heritage by destroying our heroes and substituting them with the likes of Martin Luther King and Cesar Chavez.
"I hear that there are rabblerousers in Brownsville who want to desecrate Chuck's fine reputation and many outstanding contributions to the community by razing his home and stripping a middle school of his name. For those who believe that he should be punished for being a slaveholder and a traitor, I say you can't let a few trees blind you to the forest.
"In his later years he released his slaves and he was genuinely apologetic for switching sides during the Civil War. Chuck died a proud American. I find it very disturbing that anyone would challenge Chuck's impeccable reputation. Brownsville is a better place thanks to the efforts of Chuck Stillman."
Friday, June 19, 2020
RACIST, BIGOT FOUNDED BROWNSVILLE
Brownsville was founded by a bigoted, racist, traitorous slaveholder. His name was Charles "White Is Right" Stillman.
"Judas was jealous of this son-of-a-bitch," said Maclovio O'Malley, la Voz de los Vatos. "Stillman made millions selling out the Union to the Confederacy while the poor apostle only pocketed 30 pieces of silver.
"Did Stillman attend lynchings of Mexican-Americans?" posed O'Malley. "We don't know, but we do know that he stole thousands of acres from the rightful Mexican owners. He is the original Donald Trump. Money was his religion although pussy was his passion as illustrated by the disgusting reminder of his whorehouse that sits in front of the federal courthouse.
"When the Civil War was over, Stillman was still urging the Confederates to fight in order to protect a white's right to own a black person. As a result, we had the last battle of that terrible conflict fought between Brownsville and Port Isabel after Lee had already surrendered to Grant at Appomattox while the avaricious Stillman allegedly collected a pretty penny shipping one last load across the river to Matamoros.
"As an ignorant citizenry we don't realize that we epitomize the Confederacy with a racist history that commences with Stillman establishing the city on land that he had stolen to a past city commissioner using 'nigger' to describe two African-American female lawyers.
"And you would think the BISD had more sense except we have been observing over the last several decades that the district has no sense at all," continued O'Malley. "We have a superintendent who was run out of his last job and after less than a half year at the helm, we assure him a third of a million dollars for turning incompetence into an art.
"With this kind of leadership, we shouldn't be surprised that the BISD would honor a bigoted, racist, traitorous slaveholder by naming a school after him. I find it ironic that for decades we wouldn't allow African-Americans to attend our public schools, but our leaders have no qualms about paying homage to an individual who treated African-American like dogs.
"Just like we need to honor Barack Obama on the site desecrated by Jefferson Davis, we need to change Charles Stillman Middle School to Martin Luther King Middle School. The Confederacy is dead. It's time we pledged allegiance to Old Glory and joined the Union. Let Harlingen honor Stillman. We aren't the home of the KKK. We owe our patriotism to the USA and we don't want racists and traitors associated with our community."
"Judas was jealous of this son-of-a-bitch," said Maclovio O'Malley, la Voz de los Vatos. "Stillman made millions selling out the Union to the Confederacy while the poor apostle only pocketed 30 pieces of silver.
"Did Stillman attend lynchings of Mexican-Americans?" posed O'Malley. "We don't know, but we do know that he stole thousands of acres from the rightful Mexican owners. He is the original Donald Trump. Money was his religion although pussy was his passion as illustrated by the disgusting reminder of his whorehouse that sits in front of the federal courthouse.
"When the Civil War was over, Stillman was still urging the Confederates to fight in order to protect a white's right to own a black person. As a result, we had the last battle of that terrible conflict fought between Brownsville and Port Isabel after Lee had already surrendered to Grant at Appomattox while the avaricious Stillman allegedly collected a pretty penny shipping one last load across the river to Matamoros.
"As an ignorant citizenry we don't realize that we epitomize the Confederacy with a racist history that commences with Stillman establishing the city on land that he had stolen to a past city commissioner using 'nigger' to describe two African-American female lawyers.
"And you would think the BISD had more sense except we have been observing over the last several decades that the district has no sense at all," continued O'Malley. "We have a superintendent who was run out of his last job and after less than a half year at the helm, we assure him a third of a million dollars for turning incompetence into an art.
"With this kind of leadership, we shouldn't be surprised that the BISD would honor a bigoted, racist, traitorous slaveholder by naming a school after him. I find it ironic that for decades we wouldn't allow African-Americans to attend our public schools, but our leaders have no qualms about paying homage to an individual who treated African-American like dogs.
"Just like we need to honor Barack Obama on the site desecrated by Jefferson Davis, we need to change Charles Stillman Middle School to Martin Luther King Middle School. The Confederacy is dead. It's time we pledged allegiance to Old Glory and joined the Union. Let Harlingen honor Stillman. We aren't the home of the KKK. We owe our patriotism to the USA and we don't want racists and traitors associated with our community."
GRASS COVERS OLD BATTLEFIELD
PHILIP COWEN: "Let the grass grow and let it cover the space where the symbol of inequity stood. It will grow over this past, not to erase it, but to end the the pain once and for all. Now we have a clear view of Putegnat Elementary, one of our Blue Ribbon schools. We no longer have to shield our children from the message expressed before the removal. We also don't have to explain why it was ever put there."
(EDITOR'S NOTE: BISD Trustee Philip Cowen is right. The removal of Confederate President Jefferson Davis was long overdue. The City Commission deserves a round of applause for its 7-0 vote, even half-witted Jessica Tetreau-Kalifa who didn't know there was a Civil War and nodding Joel Munguia who stayed awake long enough to mutter a response echoed the unanimous vote. More impressively, the municipality acted immediately and donated the pile of rocks to the City of Harlingen, which will prominently display the debris in that community's much-treasured KKK Museum. But the easy part has been accomplished. The time has come to look at ourselves in the mirror and clean house. Abel Pelon Moreno, an outspoken critic of Border City political shenanigans, wrote this retort to Cowen's Facebook post: "I have read extensively the history of Brownsville. If I were to let the citizens of Brownsville know the truth about Charles Stillman, they would storm down Washington Street and burn down his house. But since he is an Anglo-American, the unvarnished truth about him and his legacy in Brownsville are only spoken in dark library corners. How come there is not any protest over the atrocious crimes Stillman executed against Mexicans and in some cases against Native-Americans? Stillman committed blatant crimes in South Texas. Yet, everybody turns a blind eye." Cowen is a brave man when he castigates Davis, an outsider and easy target, but will he and the rest of the BISD trustees turn cowards when the district is forced to face is own racist past when among other eugenic misdeeds it chose to place Stillman on a pedestal by naming a school after him? He was a slaveholder, he was a racist, he stole millions of acres of land from Mexican families, he ignored the lynchings of Mexican-Americans, he betrayed his Yankee roots by abandoning the Union for the Confederacy, a decision that resulted in his becoming a multi-millionaire transporting cotton south and arms north, and he prevented the railroad from extending south to Brownsville from Corpus Christi in order to maintain a transportation monopoly with his steamship business. There are also stories of murders and rapes attributed to him. Nobody messed with Stillman and his good ol' boys Richard King and Miflin Kenedy because they were dangerous men whose rapacity was matched only by their treachery. At The McHale Report we have sent the famed investigative duo, the Baker Boys, to Stillman Middle School to determine if there is a display dedicated to him and if the myth about him is perpetuated by the school district or if Stillman, the monster, is exposed. We are willing to bet the BISD's $550 million annual budget that the founder's fairy tale brushes aside the many transgressions he committed against humanity. As impossible as it may sound, Donald Trump is a altar boy, figuratively speaking, compared to the pedophile Stillman. If Davis epitomized evil, then Stillman was the devil himself. We are in the middle of a bloodless revolution. Will the BISD turn a new page and tell the unbiased story or will Cowen and his colleagues force us to read the yellowing pages of a fabricated history?)
(EDITOR'S NOTE: BISD Trustee Philip Cowen is right. The removal of Confederate President Jefferson Davis was long overdue. The City Commission deserves a round of applause for its 7-0 vote, even half-witted Jessica Tetreau-Kalifa who didn't know there was a Civil War and nodding Joel Munguia who stayed awake long enough to mutter a response echoed the unanimous vote. More impressively, the municipality acted immediately and donated the pile of rocks to the City of Harlingen, which will prominently display the debris in that community's much-treasured KKK Museum. But the easy part has been accomplished. The time has come to look at ourselves in the mirror and clean house. Abel Pelon Moreno, an outspoken critic of Border City political shenanigans, wrote this retort to Cowen's Facebook post: "I have read extensively the history of Brownsville. If I were to let the citizens of Brownsville know the truth about Charles Stillman, they would storm down Washington Street and burn down his house. But since he is an Anglo-American, the unvarnished truth about him and his legacy in Brownsville are only spoken in dark library corners. How come there is not any protest over the atrocious crimes Stillman executed against Mexicans and in some cases against Native-Americans? Stillman committed blatant crimes in South Texas. Yet, everybody turns a blind eye." Cowen is a brave man when he castigates Davis, an outsider and easy target, but will he and the rest of the BISD trustees turn cowards when the district is forced to face is own racist past when among other eugenic misdeeds it chose to place Stillman on a pedestal by naming a school after him? He was a slaveholder, he was a racist, he stole millions of acres of land from Mexican families, he ignored the lynchings of Mexican-Americans, he betrayed his Yankee roots by abandoning the Union for the Confederacy, a decision that resulted in his becoming a multi-millionaire transporting cotton south and arms north, and he prevented the railroad from extending south to Brownsville from Corpus Christi in order to maintain a transportation monopoly with his steamship business. There are also stories of murders and rapes attributed to him. Nobody messed with Stillman and his good ol' boys Richard King and Miflin Kenedy because they were dangerous men whose rapacity was matched only by their treachery. At The McHale Report we have sent the famed investigative duo, the Baker Boys, to Stillman Middle School to determine if there is a display dedicated to him and if the myth about him is perpetuated by the school district or if Stillman, the monster, is exposed. We are willing to bet the BISD's $550 million annual budget that the founder's fairy tale brushes aside the many transgressions he committed against humanity. As impossible as it may sound, Donald Trump is a altar boy, figuratively speaking, compared to the pedophile Stillman. If Davis epitomized evil, then Stillman was the devil himself. We are in the middle of a bloodless revolution. Will the BISD turn a new page and tell the unbiased story or will Cowen and his colleagues force us to read the yellowing pages of a fabricated history?)
THE TIME FOR OUTRAGE IS UPON US
The reopening of businesses has caused COVID-19 to spike and now these same businesses are shutting their doors as the plague rages. The first cases to afflict the area owed their roots to Rancho Viejo, the wealthy enclave a few miles west of Brownsville where the white and brown residents have no racial conflicts since both groups are rich. Several of their children traveled to Spain when the pandemic was beginning to strike that country and these privileged kids returned from their expensive vacations infected.
The same twenty-somethings find themselves responsible for the present COVID-19 scourge. When the governor, another Trump trumpeteer, announced that there would be no law enforcement for refusing to wear a mask or maintain social distancing, Brownsville's youth interpreted that pronouncement as a signal that normalcy had return and in their thirst for alcohol, drugs and sex rationalized Coronavirus as just another conspiracy by the industrial-military complex for lack of a better scapegoat. They packed the clubs that are now closed.
Jack O'Connell, the great unpublished novelist, and Mort Heinman, Brownsville's only uncircumcised Jew, hook up every Friday evening for dinner and drinks. Sometimes family and sometimes friends accompany them, but the fresh outbreak, or more accurately the arrival of Coronavirus in all its glory to the border, has filled the usual company with paranoia.
La Scala, a pizza joint on Palm Boulevard near downtown, never has has much business as it specializes in take-out, but the interior is spacious and dark and lends itself to that mafioso ambience that is so appealing in the movies where offers are made that can't be refused. Management, besides serving a variety of other Italian dishes at a reasonable price, doesn't charge for corkage. O'Connell and Heinman call the joint the best deal in town, particularly when they plan to finish two bottles tonight, a Malbec and a Rioja.
"It's you and me this fine summer evening with a cool breeze blowing off the gulf," says Jack. "The less people I see, the less people I want to see. There's the wife, maybe a piece of ass or two on the side, and that's it. The days of wine and roses are over although I can say I don't miss the roses. In fact, I hate them when I have to buy a dozen each Valentine's Day so the old lady doesn't complain that her colleagues received such beautiful bouquets and she didn't get anything."
"Then I'm going to deduce that you won't be attending Trump's rally in Tulsa tomorrow night," jabs Mort. "I hear it's going to be a real celebration with more than 120,000 dead and the numbers still climbing and enough hotspots throughout the nation that might help Trump realize his 200,000 goal by the time of the election. He'll probably tell his rabid Republicans that he wishes more Democrats would have attended, but, sadly, they are all dead."
"His white cops have killed a few black men the last few weeks, so he's probably right. The idiot can't possibly win in November. Even Republicans are forming political action groups to defeat him. We are so sick of Trump turning the White House into the Theater of the Absurd. I believe that a wave of disgust is going to rise and turn into a tsunami that washes him away. The motherfucker should have to walk the plank for his innumerable transgressions against humanity. I'm sure you read the news that the City voted to remove the Jefferson Davis monument and by the next day it was gone. Some racist splashed white paint on a mural dedicated to one of the African-Americans killed by the cops recently, but the artist told the newspaper that the attack on his work has inspired him to repair the damage and render his final product even more artistic."
"We didn't think it was going to take this long to win the Civil War, but the time has come for the 'good' whites to finally teach the 'bad' whites that their days of hatred based on color, gender, creed and sexual orientation have ended. And besides knocking their traitorous generals from their pedestals, we're going to topple their democratic dictator who believes he is king and intends to create a dynasty with his spoiled children."
O'Connell, a product of Buffalo, New York, and Heinman, born and raised in Miami, Florida, took jobs as teachers in the public school more than four decades ago. They never planned calling Brownsville home, but time flew and they made their bed here. In fact, they have had to remake their beds several times, but that's the price writers and thinkers pay. They take chances and when their gambles backfire, they produce their best prose.
"I never like to wish ill on anyone, but stupidity, particularly when it jeopardizes the well-being of the innocents, deserves its just punishment," opines Jack. "Like shit attracting flies, Trump will charm his cockroaches--nothing but white trash--and they will be filling the air with their spittle which they will mistake for hallelujahs. If there is a God, in the same manner he punished the Egyptians for refusing to liberate the Jews, he'll reduce these Neo-Nazis to a physical state that not even Job could endure. And as to the infectious Trump, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see him attached to a ventilator for the next four months and forced to inhale his own hot air."
"Tulsa is learning that Trump isn't doing the community any favors. In Miami there were always Jew haters, but I never experienced any physical violence. As to African-Americans, I never heard of any lynchings, so we don't know the extent of their suffering under white rule, but we accept with little knowledge of the details that it was pervasive. Because of Trump, Tulsa finds itself under the historical microscope and we're learning that in 1921 whites swept through the black neighborhoods and in an unexplained rage other than racial hatred killed approximately 300 blacks. At the same time these same whites were erecting monuments to their Confederate traitors, they were digging graves for scores of blacks. The time for disgust is over. The time for outrage is upon us. We cannot lose in November. The South and their sympathizers must be defeated once and for all."
The same twenty-somethings find themselves responsible for the present COVID-19 scourge. When the governor, another Trump trumpeteer, announced that there would be no law enforcement for refusing to wear a mask or maintain social distancing, Brownsville's youth interpreted that pronouncement as a signal that normalcy had return and in their thirst for alcohol, drugs and sex rationalized Coronavirus as just another conspiracy by the industrial-military complex for lack of a better scapegoat. They packed the clubs that are now closed.
Jack O'Connell, the great unpublished novelist, and Mort Heinman, Brownsville's only uncircumcised Jew, hook up every Friday evening for dinner and drinks. Sometimes family and sometimes friends accompany them, but the fresh outbreak, or more accurately the arrival of Coronavirus in all its glory to the border, has filled the usual company with paranoia.
La Scala, a pizza joint on Palm Boulevard near downtown, never has has much business as it specializes in take-out, but the interior is spacious and dark and lends itself to that mafioso ambience that is so appealing in the movies where offers are made that can't be refused. Management, besides serving a variety of other Italian dishes at a reasonable price, doesn't charge for corkage. O'Connell and Heinman call the joint the best deal in town, particularly when they plan to finish two bottles tonight, a Malbec and a Rioja.
"It's you and me this fine summer evening with a cool breeze blowing off the gulf," says Jack. "The less people I see, the less people I want to see. There's the wife, maybe a piece of ass or two on the side, and that's it. The days of wine and roses are over although I can say I don't miss the roses. In fact, I hate them when I have to buy a dozen each Valentine's Day so the old lady doesn't complain that her colleagues received such beautiful bouquets and she didn't get anything."
"Then I'm going to deduce that you won't be attending Trump's rally in Tulsa tomorrow night," jabs Mort. "I hear it's going to be a real celebration with more than 120,000 dead and the numbers still climbing and enough hotspots throughout the nation that might help Trump realize his 200,000 goal by the time of the election. He'll probably tell his rabid Republicans that he wishes more Democrats would have attended, but, sadly, they are all dead."
"His white cops have killed a few black men the last few weeks, so he's probably right. The idiot can't possibly win in November. Even Republicans are forming political action groups to defeat him. We are so sick of Trump turning the White House into the Theater of the Absurd. I believe that a wave of disgust is going to rise and turn into a tsunami that washes him away. The motherfucker should have to walk the plank for his innumerable transgressions against humanity. I'm sure you read the news that the City voted to remove the Jefferson Davis monument and by the next day it was gone. Some racist splashed white paint on a mural dedicated to one of the African-Americans killed by the cops recently, but the artist told the newspaper that the attack on his work has inspired him to repair the damage and render his final product even more artistic."
"We didn't think it was going to take this long to win the Civil War, but the time has come for the 'good' whites to finally teach the 'bad' whites that their days of hatred based on color, gender, creed and sexual orientation have ended. And besides knocking their traitorous generals from their pedestals, we're going to topple their democratic dictator who believes he is king and intends to create a dynasty with his spoiled children."
O'Connell, a product of Buffalo, New York, and Heinman, born and raised in Miami, Florida, took jobs as teachers in the public school more than four decades ago. They never planned calling Brownsville home, but time flew and they made their bed here. In fact, they have had to remake their beds several times, but that's the price writers and thinkers pay. They take chances and when their gambles backfire, they produce their best prose.
"I never like to wish ill on anyone, but stupidity, particularly when it jeopardizes the well-being of the innocents, deserves its just punishment," opines Jack. "Like shit attracting flies, Trump will charm his cockroaches--nothing but white trash--and they will be filling the air with their spittle which they will mistake for hallelujahs. If there is a God, in the same manner he punished the Egyptians for refusing to liberate the Jews, he'll reduce these Neo-Nazis to a physical state that not even Job could endure. And as to the infectious Trump, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see him attached to a ventilator for the next four months and forced to inhale his own hot air."
"Tulsa is learning that Trump isn't doing the community any favors. In Miami there were always Jew haters, but I never experienced any physical violence. As to African-Americans, I never heard of any lynchings, so we don't know the extent of their suffering under white rule, but we accept with little knowledge of the details that it was pervasive. Because of Trump, Tulsa finds itself under the historical microscope and we're learning that in 1921 whites swept through the black neighborhoods and in an unexplained rage other than racial hatred killed approximately 300 blacks. At the same time these same whites were erecting monuments to their Confederate traitors, they were digging graves for scores of blacks. The time for disgust is over. The time for outrage is upon us. We cannot lose in November. The South and their sympathizers must be defeated once and for all."
Thursday, June 18, 2020
THE PHOTOS...
I'm sitting in my hotel room listening to bossa nova while the air-conditioner purrs. I am alone. In my heart of hearts I know that everything is destined to end badly and sadly. Nevertheless, artists require dark edges in order to carve out their visions. (Will all my writings be lost?)
I am staring at three photos, the last three photos I have of my sons. As part of leaving as much as I could behind too make myself as light as possible for the final ascent, I filled two large manila envelopes with pictures that I split between the two oldest and the baby. Two of the photos are of the older two taken approximately 25 years ago and only minutes apart.
In the first they are sitting on a couch with their hair slicked back and attired in ties. In the second they are standing in the garage with their backs to the camera and their arms around each other. Carlos, the bigger of the two, has his arm draped over Joaquin's shoulder while Joaquin has his arm wrapped around his brother's waist. The last time I talked to their mother I started yelling at her. It is all so terrible, so merciless, so final. Those two little boys have long since passed into the penumbra. Like my father's grave, there are only searing memories.
The third picture shows Michael with his hands deep in his pockets. He is eleven and this photo was a school picture taken a few years ago. That little boy hasn't disappeared totally, but he is fading. Michael McHale. What a beautiful name! When I used to collect him at his daycare, the children would be playing outside. I would exit the back door and call, "Donde esta mi hijo bonito?"
My three boys have a profound love for each other. The tears are streaming down my face as I shake my head in frustration. Three failed marriages. But the children stay said a South Texas legend who had mas o menos 30 kids.
"Every one asks me if I had them con la misma," he would tell his audiences. "Yes, I had all of them con la misma." He would pause for a few seconds while every one would be shaking his or her head that he had had this many kids with the same woman when he would add, "Con la misma verga!"
Besides an unfathomable and incomprehensible love, it is humor that steels you to the end.
My father, who slumped to his demise over a two-year period as every step forward was met by three steps backward, was sitting in his chair six months before his death surrounded by well-wishers at a family and friends gathering when someone asked, "How are you feeling, Jerry?"
My mother was standing at his side. He gripped the inside of one of her thighs and responded, "I'm feeling pretty good right now."
MY DADDY'S LAST WORDS...
Maclovio O'Malley sat across from Max Maxwell at Cobbleheads. They were waiting for the Doc Scully Blues Band to start playing. Maclovio took another drink from his beer and continued.
"Both my parents had been married previously, but I was their only child from this marriage. They had been divorced three years, but he kept trying to win her back. They would have short reconciliations, but suddenly they would stop seeing each other.
"With each succeeding failure, my father would become angrier and angrier. There were times when I was staying with him that he would start beating the wall and screaming with fury. Then he would grab me and hug me. He would apologize, but he said I needed to know the truth."
"What was the truth, compadre?" asked Maxwell.
"'Your mother is destroying our family because she wants to be naked with other men!' he would say. 'Your mother was with lots of men before we married and she was forever bragging about her lovers.'"
"How old were you?"
"The last time I saw him, I was thirteen."
"Did you love him?"
"I loved him very much. He taught me everything I know from sports to music, from Spanish to poetry."
"What did he do?"
"He owned a shrimp boat. He was raised in Port Isabel and came from a family of shrimpers. He would tell me that I had Cajun blood, black blood, brown blood and white blood running through my veins. He gave me my first guitar. He taught me to play the blues and country. He would tell me that he had no regrets except for one: He wished someone had put a guitar in his hands at a young age and he had become a professional musician."
"What did your mother do?"
"She was a teacher."
"A shrimper and a teacher. That's not a common union."
"My father was a self-educated man. He read for hours when he was shrimping. He loved literature and he knew everything about history."
"Did you love your mother?"
"Very much, but she was always busy. At the end of their relationship my father was insulting and I wouldn't talk to him for weeks, but he would appear at the door and for a while everything would be normal. He and my mom would resume their ties, but they would unwind and I would find myself exiled to my bedroom picking the guitar. My mother would fume for weeks because my father would call her every name in the book. She would cry that no husband had a right to talk to his wife in that matter.
"What happened in the end?"
"The tension between my folks was growing again. We had made plans for dinner, but I told him that I had a test in the morning and I was too tired. He slammed the phone. Thirty minutes later he knocked at the front door. He called me outside and said that he was through with the bullshit. He said my mother had deprived him of me because she wanted to be naked with other men. That was his favorite refrain: 'Your mother wants to be naked with other men!' He said that he was ending all contact with me since my mother didn't want the family together and these decisions had repercussions. 'Only a whore would destroy a family because the lust for other men was more important than the love for family. And never forget: Your mother is a puta!' He gave me a kiss on the forehead and I never saw or heard from him again."
"Where did he go?"
"He moved back to Port Isabel. He would send my mother child support, but he would never remember me on my birthday or at Christmas. I couldn't believe that he could eliminate me from his life so completely, but he did."
"Why do you think he abandoned you as he did?"
"I reminded him too much of my mother. He would say that as much as he loved me and wanted to be with me, he couldn't bear the thought that my mother was most likely with another man. In order to deal with the love he had for her, he had to cut the two of us out of his life in order to survive psychologically."
"What happened to him?"
"I learned many years later that he married a young girl and had a baby with her. He never had a chance to know the child. He drowned two years after our last meeting during a storm in the gulf. They never found his body."
"Is your mother living?"
"She's retired and living in San Antonio."
"Did she remarry?"
"She married a couple of times, but I never had anything to do with her husbands. My father said that I would be a traitor if I accepted any other man besides him in my life. I promised I would never betray him."
Doc took the stage. The blues seemed appropriate.
THE BIRTH OF AN ARTIST
I will never forget as an altar boy
catching our parish priest masturbating after mass
as he finished off the last of Jesus's blood
or Virginia Cherry, my first-grade teacher,
who would bend over my desk to help me with my math problems,
but whose huge boobs hanging like ripe fruit from the lowest limbs
had me debating that great philosophical question:
"What is the difference between apples and oranges?"
I will continue to pursue the transcendent questions
of the day in quest of the truth.
Unlike most who are permanently scarred by traumatic events,
I was robbed of my innocence at a young age
and I couldn't be more thankful.
These mesmerizing events were my genesis as an artist.
Wednesday, June 17, 2020
CHARLES STILLMAN
Estanislao Contreras, the controversial poet of Chicano Fuck Songs, and Maclovio O'Malley, la Voz de los Vatos, sat on the deck at Cobbleheads. According to an unreliable rumor, the City had asked the establishment's owner Joe "Trump is a Tramp" Kenney if he would want the Jefferson Davis rock placed at the entrance of his bar & grill.
Kenney stammered that he was a product of Democratic Philadelphia and that there was no room on his premises for this religious right racist. And for that matter, if the perverted president took a seat in his dining room, he would personally escort this redneck prick into the oncoming traffic on Central Boulevard.
"I've always respected Joe although he won't let me recite my poetry on his stage," said Estanislao. "He has many positive qualities, but he doesn't appreciate my art."
"Not everyone shares your vision, Stan," replied Maclovio. "You break the rules and the vast majority of people need rules to give direction to their lives. You take away their rules and they are lost."
"I know one thing we have to take away."
"And what's that, vato?"
"The City did its part in eliminating the Jefferson Davis mound of manure. He was a slaveholder and a traitor. Can't we think for ourselves or do we have to have a white cop murdering a black man to raise our consciousness? Biden said that 10% to 15% of the people in the United States aren't worth a fuck. I would put that number closer to 30%."
"I would put that number closer to 63 million," said Maclovio. "That's the number of pendejos who voted for that cocksucker who has done nothing but turn our country into crap with his ignorance and arrogance. I hope we can get rid of that bastard in November."
"You know who the BISD needs to eliminate?"
"Everyone!"
"You have a point there, bro, but we can only eliminate the culprits one by one. The BISD christened a school after Charles Stillman. He was a disgrace to the human race."
"Are you talking about the founder of Brownsville? You can't do that."
"He was worse than Jefferson Davis. He was Brownsville's first slaveholder. Unlike Davis who was from Mississippi, which as a part of the Confederacy and he remained loyal to his state, Stillman was a Connecticut Yankee who betrayed the U.S.A. He was such a scurvy devil, he sold out our country for money. He was shipping cotton south through Matamoros and moving armaments north to the Confederate army."
"Did he support lynching blacks?"
"No, but he had no qualms supporting the Texas Rangers who lynched scores of Mexicans. And if you were a live Mexican with land, he resorted to the Texas courts to steal millions of acres from the original Mexican owners to build his kingdom. And though there isn't any evidence to presently support the accusation, he sent his wife back east early in their marriage and there is a sentiment that he cheated on her more times than Trump has no his wenches. He was so powerful that he could murder with impunity, but I have no doubts that he could not only grab women by their pussies, but he would rape them as well. We renovated his whore house and now it stands in front of the federal courthouse. Stillman was an authentic piece of excrement, but we still honor him even though I can hear St. Peter telling him, 'Do not pass GO. You are going directly for eternity to that burning hell ho'!'"
"Would you blame Stillman's karma for Brownsville's designation as the Third World Capital of the United States?"
"Good futures are not built on bad pasts. Until the BISD renames Stillman Middle School to Cortina Middle School or another name that reflects our heritage, the spirit of Jefferson Davis and his rebels will continue to haunt our tortured town."
Kenney stammered that he was a product of Democratic Philadelphia and that there was no room on his premises for this religious right racist. And for that matter, if the perverted president took a seat in his dining room, he would personally escort this redneck prick into the oncoming traffic on Central Boulevard.
"I've always respected Joe although he won't let me recite my poetry on his stage," said Estanislao. "He has many positive qualities, but he doesn't appreciate my art."
"Not everyone shares your vision, Stan," replied Maclovio. "You break the rules and the vast majority of people need rules to give direction to their lives. You take away their rules and they are lost."
"I know one thing we have to take away."
"And what's that, vato?"
"The City did its part in eliminating the Jefferson Davis mound of manure. He was a slaveholder and a traitor. Can't we think for ourselves or do we have to have a white cop murdering a black man to raise our consciousness? Biden said that 10% to 15% of the people in the United States aren't worth a fuck. I would put that number closer to 30%."
"I would put that number closer to 63 million," said Maclovio. "That's the number of pendejos who voted for that cocksucker who has done nothing but turn our country into crap with his ignorance and arrogance. I hope we can get rid of that bastard in November."
"You know who the BISD needs to eliminate?"
"Everyone!"
"You have a point there, bro, but we can only eliminate the culprits one by one. The BISD christened a school after Charles Stillman. He was a disgrace to the human race."
"Are you talking about the founder of Brownsville? You can't do that."
"He was worse than Jefferson Davis. He was Brownsville's first slaveholder. Unlike Davis who was from Mississippi, which as a part of the Confederacy and he remained loyal to his state, Stillman was a Connecticut Yankee who betrayed the U.S.A. He was such a scurvy devil, he sold out our country for money. He was shipping cotton south through Matamoros and moving armaments north to the Confederate army."
"Did he support lynching blacks?"
"No, but he had no qualms supporting the Texas Rangers who lynched scores of Mexicans. And if you were a live Mexican with land, he resorted to the Texas courts to steal millions of acres from the original Mexican owners to build his kingdom. And though there isn't any evidence to presently support the accusation, he sent his wife back east early in their marriage and there is a sentiment that he cheated on her more times than Trump has no his wenches. He was so powerful that he could murder with impunity, but I have no doubts that he could not only grab women by their pussies, but he would rape them as well. We renovated his whore house and now it stands in front of the federal courthouse. Stillman was an authentic piece of excrement, but we still honor him even though I can hear St. Peter telling him, 'Do not pass GO. You are going directly for eternity to that burning hell ho'!'"
"Would you blame Stillman's karma for Brownsville's designation as the Third World Capital of the United States?"
"Good futures are not built on bad pasts. Until the BISD renames Stillman Middle School to Cortina Middle School or another name that reflects our heritage, the spirit of Jefferson Davis and his rebels will continue to haunt our tortured town."
NURITH
We have a Platonic infatuation.
What does that mean?
It means when I see you again
in a nice joint,
a smile will come to my face
and a flash of light
will flit through my eyes.
And with an equally smiling face
embracing the spontaneous moment,
I will bend to the side
and kiss you on the cheek.
What does that mean?
It means when I see you again
in a nice joint,
a smile will come to my face
and a flash of light
will flit through my eyes.
And with an equally smiling face
embracing the spontaneous moment,
I will bend to the side
and kiss you on the cheek.
FIRST AND TEN
My son loves football. He is an eighth grader at Manzano. Nothing excites me more than watching him make a great catch or take a double reverse for 30 yards or seeing him as a corner tackle a back behind the line of scrimmage for a loss.
Football is a myth. It is totally USA. He lives the myth. He is no different than my son who chases the musical myth for the last decade in Austin as a musician. Just win, baby. Just win!
I believe that when you are dead, you are dead. Sports is my religion and my son is my apostle. God bless Catholicism. Sin and sin and sin and in the end ask for forgiveness.
We are swept along the river until we are deposited in the gulf. In a dream last night I had missed Christmas because I had gotten drunk at somebody's else house. I had to leave because several of the revelers wanted to beat me.
When I arrived home my siblings were children. My youngest sister was showing me her tea set. My mother wanted to know if I had been drinking. My father, although he didn't look like him, walked into the living room, pointed a gun at my forehead and fired.
"I've shot my son," he said.
LIE LOW
I stood at the foot
of the mountain
and gazed skyward.
I bent my neck
as far back as I could.
Clouds engulfed the peak.
I had neither the desire
nor the drive
to climb to the top.
Even if I succeeded
in scaling those heights,
I knew that in the end
it would not be worth the effort.
I turned and looked
in the opposite direction.
A grassless and treeless plain
stretched toward the horizon
and disappeared in the distance.
If I started walking,
where would I be going?
And would I ever arrive there?
If I did arrive there,
would I be satisfied
that I had made
the right choice?
I was caught
between a rock
and a hard place.
I sat down.
It seemed to be
the logical deduction
based on the absurdity
of my circumstances.
She had brought me here
with only this advice:
"Lie low."
Monday, June 15, 2020
COVID-19 UPDATE
The McHale Report sent the Baker Boys, the famed investigative team, to ascertain COVID-19's current status. Billy, the more talkative of the twins, presented managing editor Scott Steinbeck with the latest daily chart.
"The numbers remain ominous," he commenced. "We have well over two million cases and 118,000 deaths nationally, 90,000 cases and 2,000 deaths in Texas and more than 1,100 cases and 44 deaths in Cameron County. In the state and county cases are spiking. There were almost 2,000 new cases in Texas yesterday and 57 new cases in Cameron County. These are dramatic increases."
"What are the causes of these grave stats?" asked Steinbeck.
"It begins at the top," answered the Private Eye. "Our perverted president can't handle evidence if it doesn't coincide with his fictional reality. News is a hoax. Facts are false. And people, no different than Germans following Hitler, take him at his word and act accordingly."
"Are you saying he in no better than a Nazi?"
"Outside the sad truth that he is the Neo-Nazi movement's honorary fuhrer, he flaunts his careless behavior that can only exacerbate the contagion. He doesn't wear a mask; he disdains social distancing; and he wants to hold campaign rallies packed to the rafters with his rednecks."
"How does his behavior filter down to us?"
"My brother and I took a tour this weekend to observe for ourselves if our fellow citizens were taking Coronavirus seriously. They aren't. We drove to the Island and stopped at Louie's Backyard. The joint was packed with families and people of all ages and nobody was wearing a mask. I couldn't believe my eyes. In my cursory view these individuals appeared to be educated and they were ignoring the most basic precautions."
"Where else did you go?" pursued Steinbeck.
"On our return from the Island, we stopped at The Broken Sprocket. You would have thought it was a graduation reunion. Again, nobody was wearing masks and handshakes, kisses and hugs were the rule rather than the exception."
"Did you venture across the border?"
"No, but I'm seeing a chick from Matamoros. I haven't seen her in two weeks. The city is in lockdown. The authorities are so desperate to get the virus under control that motorists can only drive on certain days based on their license plates. She told me that the populace is taking the threat seriously, but living conditions are Third-World for thousands and everyone is fearing the worst."
"Mayor Mendez is pulling out his hair because he can't believe that his fellow denizens are living high on the hog as if they were on vacation, but the numbers of positive results are skyrocketing," lamented Steinbeck. "Are we seeing any fallout from the flourishing figures?"
"There are some terrible rumors sizzling at Texas Roadhouse that have found their way onto Facebook and the blogs," answered Billy. "There are employees who reportedly work even though they are suffering from flu-like symptoms and remain on the job until the county proves they are COVID-19 infected. And that damn joint is always packed."
"Are there other worrisome observations that you have noted?"
"Both Chili's and Adolios have closed temporarily," replied Billy. "Officially, they have declared they are disinfecting their restaurants, which leads me to believe they are not reporting to the public that they have experienced positive cases."
"Wow! Anything else?"
"Max Maxwell, at his computer when he was discovered dead with his head resting on the keyboard, was writing that the BISD had closed down its summer athletic activities until the middle of July."
"I was talking to Doctor Polyphemous Pangloss and you would think he was a mummy he has himself so tightly wrapped. He says that we are underestimating that there is a worst case scenario waiting to ambush us. We aren't only cutting our own throats if we persist in rejecting common sense in our approach to this deadly plague, but with no vaccine and no adequate testing, we are wading into unchartered waters filled with bloodthirsty sharks anticipating a human feeding frenzy."
"I spoke with a number of physicians and they all agreed that we're playing with fire, but with a president who grabs pussy whenever the urge deranges him and brags he could kill anyone he wants on Fifth Avenue with impunity, we could soon find ourselves in the middle of a conflagration with a frenzied Trump dousing the flames in gas as part of his strategy to extinguish the fire."
"The numbers remain ominous," he commenced. "We have well over two million cases and 118,000 deaths nationally, 90,000 cases and 2,000 deaths in Texas and more than 1,100 cases and 44 deaths in Cameron County. In the state and county cases are spiking. There were almost 2,000 new cases in Texas yesterday and 57 new cases in Cameron County. These are dramatic increases."
"What are the causes of these grave stats?" asked Steinbeck.
"It begins at the top," answered the Private Eye. "Our perverted president can't handle evidence if it doesn't coincide with his fictional reality. News is a hoax. Facts are false. And people, no different than Germans following Hitler, take him at his word and act accordingly."
"Are you saying he in no better than a Nazi?"
"Outside the sad truth that he is the Neo-Nazi movement's honorary fuhrer, he flaunts his careless behavior that can only exacerbate the contagion. He doesn't wear a mask; he disdains social distancing; and he wants to hold campaign rallies packed to the rafters with his rednecks."
"How does his behavior filter down to us?"
"My brother and I took a tour this weekend to observe for ourselves if our fellow citizens were taking Coronavirus seriously. They aren't. We drove to the Island and stopped at Louie's Backyard. The joint was packed with families and people of all ages and nobody was wearing a mask. I couldn't believe my eyes. In my cursory view these individuals appeared to be educated and they were ignoring the most basic precautions."
"Where else did you go?" pursued Steinbeck.
"On our return from the Island, we stopped at The Broken Sprocket. You would have thought it was a graduation reunion. Again, nobody was wearing masks and handshakes, kisses and hugs were the rule rather than the exception."
"Did you venture across the border?"
"No, but I'm seeing a chick from Matamoros. I haven't seen her in two weeks. The city is in lockdown. The authorities are so desperate to get the virus under control that motorists can only drive on certain days based on their license plates. She told me that the populace is taking the threat seriously, but living conditions are Third-World for thousands and everyone is fearing the worst."
"Mayor Mendez is pulling out his hair because he can't believe that his fellow denizens are living high on the hog as if they were on vacation, but the numbers of positive results are skyrocketing," lamented Steinbeck. "Are we seeing any fallout from the flourishing figures?"
"There are some terrible rumors sizzling at Texas Roadhouse that have found their way onto Facebook and the blogs," answered Billy. "There are employees who reportedly work even though they are suffering from flu-like symptoms and remain on the job until the county proves they are COVID-19 infected. And that damn joint is always packed."
"Are there other worrisome observations that you have noted?"
"Both Chili's and Adolios have closed temporarily," replied Billy. "Officially, they have declared they are disinfecting their restaurants, which leads me to believe they are not reporting to the public that they have experienced positive cases."
"Wow! Anything else?"
"Max Maxwell, at his computer when he was discovered dead with his head resting on the keyboard, was writing that the BISD had closed down its summer athletic activities until the middle of July."
"I was talking to Doctor Polyphemous Pangloss and you would think he was a mummy he has himself so tightly wrapped. He says that we are underestimating that there is a worst case scenario waiting to ambush us. We aren't only cutting our own throats if we persist in rejecting common sense in our approach to this deadly plague, but with no vaccine and no adequate testing, we are wading into unchartered waters filled with bloodthirsty sharks anticipating a human feeding frenzy."
"I spoke with a number of physicians and they all agreed that we're playing with fire, but with a president who grabs pussy whenever the urge deranges him and brags he could kill anyone he wants on Fifth Avenue with impunity, we could soon find ourselves in the middle of a conflagration with a frenzied Trump dousing the flames in gas as part of his strategy to extinguish the fire."
Sunday, June 14, 2020
DONALD TALKS TO MELANIA ON FIRST DATE
"Do you like to kiss?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to fuck?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to fuck?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to have your tits fondled?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to have your tits sucked?"
"Yes."
"Are your nipples sensitive?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to have your nipples pinched?"
"Yes, but gently."
"Do you like to have your tits fondled?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to have your tits sucked?"
"Yes."
"Are your nipples sensitive?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to have your nipples pinched?"
"Yes, but gently."
"Do you like anal sex?"
"No."
"Do you like a man to poke his finger up your ass?"
"No."
"Do you like to suck dick?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you like to swallow cum?"
"No."
"Do you like a man to cum on your face?"
"No."
"Do you like to sixty-nine?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you like to get screwed dog-style?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to be on top?"
"Yes."
"Do you like your clit massaged?"
"Yes."
"Do you like being fingered?"
"Yes."
"Do you like your clit massaged?"
"Yes."
"Do you like being fingered?"
"Yes."
"Do you like your pussy eaten?"
"Yes."
"Is it easy or difficult for you to have an orgasm?"
"Depends on the guy. Some guys are good, some guys aren't."
"Do you tell a guy what you want or do you let him dictate the moment?"
"Depends. First time, I usually go with the flow. Once I know him better, I express my likes and dislikes."
"Are you able to have multiple orgasms?"
"Are you able to have multiple orgasms?"
"One is the norm and two is the limit. If the guy is good, I'll have an orgasm when he eats me and a second when he fucks me."
"Do like for a guy to cum in you?"
"Yes."
"How often do you desire sex?"
"I can go months without it, but if I'm in a relationship, two or three times a week works."
"Do you have to like the guy in order to have sex or can it be one of those Las Vegas weekends?"
"I have been on the receiving end of a few one-night stands, but I have to be attracted both mentally and physically to the guy if the sex is going to be regular."
"Are you comfortable in a relationship based on friends with benefits."
"Like one-night stands, I have had a few, but they never endure. The urge fades fast."
"How many guys have you fucked or have you lost count?"
"If you gave me enough time I could give you an exact number, but I estimate between ten and fifteen."
"Do you like dirty talk during sex?"
"If the guy has a gift for gab, his words can excite me."
"You're getting me hot, Melania. Would you like to be the first lady in my life?"
"Maybe."
"Besides fantasizing about you, I have been fantasizing about being President of the United States. Would you vote for me."
"No!"
I THINK OF YOU
I write
and I think of you.
I play the guitar
and I think of you.
I hit the weights
and I think of you.
I sit in the sauna
and I think of you.
I study my Portuguese
and I think of you.
I imagine myself in Argentina
and I think of you.
I drink a beer at the bar
and I think of you.
I take a shower
and I think of you.
I look at my aging face
and I think of you.
I watch my son play football
and I think of you.
I hit tennis balls
and I think of you.
I smoke a joint with my compadre
and I think of you.
I go for an evening walk
and I think of you.
I lie in bed at night
and I think of you.
And when I am dead,
I will be thinking of you.
IT WAS A NIGHT OF BLOOD
It was a night of blood.
From the graves rose the rotting bodies. They had defied the laws of nature. As a part of their punishment, they were ordered to collect the living beings who had deceived as they had deceived. They took no prisoners. There was not a white sheet anywhere that wasn't covered in blood.
The innocents closed their eyes in horror. They never knew that their fathers or their mothers or their husbands or their wives or their children were capable of such heinous behavior. They averted glancing behind them, so they wouldn't be turned into salt. From Sodom and Gomorrah they ran and never looked back at those loved ones whose hearts had been ripped out of them.
I was one of the few condemned to pay for his transgression who managed to escape, but as I live my life on the fringes, I am covered with scars and I have wounds that never stop bleeding.
I would have been better off if I had been slaughtered like all the rest, but unlike the others who had delivered themselves to decadence because they had forsaken their souls, I had never surrendered and had kept a hope that I might still be saved. I had seen a light before the darkness had descended upon us and I was drawn to its purity.
I had never known purity in my life. From my earliest memories there had been alcohol, drugs and sex. There was no peace. There was only the cheap thrill to maintain one's sordid passage from day to day.
On the day of the apocalypse, I was following the light, which saved me from that frightful fate. But as I distanced myself from the carnage behind me, the light disappeared.
I have sought refuge in a solitary existence. I eat lightly, I walk miles each day and I slowly breathe in and out. And each night before I collapse into my troubled sleep, I search the skies for the light. And it's never there. I will die alone. My skeleton will vanish in the enveloping foliage.
From the graves rose the rotting bodies. They had defied the laws of nature. As a part of their punishment, they were ordered to collect the living beings who had deceived as they had deceived. They took no prisoners. There was not a white sheet anywhere that wasn't covered in blood.
The innocents closed their eyes in horror. They never knew that their fathers or their mothers or their husbands or their wives or their children were capable of such heinous behavior. They averted glancing behind them, so they wouldn't be turned into salt. From Sodom and Gomorrah they ran and never looked back at those loved ones whose hearts had been ripped out of them.
I was one of the few condemned to pay for his transgression who managed to escape, but as I live my life on the fringes, I am covered with scars and I have wounds that never stop bleeding.
I would have been better off if I had been slaughtered like all the rest, but unlike the others who had delivered themselves to decadence because they had forsaken their souls, I had never surrendered and had kept a hope that I might still be saved. I had seen a light before the darkness had descended upon us and I was drawn to its purity.
I had never known purity in my life. From my earliest memories there had been alcohol, drugs and sex. There was no peace. There was only the cheap thrill to maintain one's sordid passage from day to day.
On the day of the apocalypse, I was following the light, which saved me from that frightful fate. But as I distanced myself from the carnage behind me, the light disappeared.
I have sought refuge in a solitary existence. I eat lightly, I walk miles each day and I slowly breathe in and out. And each night before I collapse into my troubled sleep, I search the skies for the light. And it's never there. I will die alone. My skeleton will vanish in the enveloping foliage.
TEMPERATURE UPDATE
I love the cold.
It makes me bold.
I slip two fingers into your fold.
In your mine I have discovered gold.
Only you I wish to hold.
After you God discarded the mold.
In your arms I am no longer old.
To you my soul I've sold.
It makes me bold.
I slip two fingers into your fold.
In your mine I have discovered gold.
Only you I wish to hold.
After you God discarded the mold.
In your arms I am no longer old.
To you my soul I've sold.
Be discreet I am told.
WRITERS MEAT AT BERTHA'S
Writers Jack O'Connell and Estanislao Contreras met for breakfast at Bertha's. The world's great unknown author ordered pozole while the poet of Chicano Fuck Songs remained faithful to his huevos rancheros.
Jack: What is the latest in your meaningless life?
Estanislao: It's Thanksgiving and the summer is finally behind us. I checked the temperature and it is going to be in the mid-seventies all week. I grow so tired of that merciless, relentless and searing summer sun.
Jack: What are you going to do for Thanksgiving?
Estanislao: Dr. Tony Zavaleta invited me to his house for dinner. I bring a bottle of wine and vegetate over the traditional meal. And you?
Jack: Since the break-up of my family several years ago, I skip most holidays. It will be just another day. The most I do is send my kids money at Christmas and their birthdays.
Estanislao: You're not one of those lost souls who gets emotional and suicidal during these festive times remembering your joyful upbringing and dealing with your present reality, bro?
Jack: It's neither here nor there, compadre. I live one day at a time. My biggest concern is greeting each morning in the best of health. Then I float through the rest of the day like a ghost. I dedicate myself to feeling good and keeping my mind empty.
Estanislao: How does an empty mind create literature?
Jack: An empty mind and an empty screen are like two negatives producing a positive. You become a jazz musician and let it flow. You delve into your subconscious and the ideas and scenarios take shape on their own. And you? What's cooking today?
Estanislao: After this breakfast digests, I'll go to Gold's. I hurt my back yesterday hitting the weights too hard. I'll sit in the sauna, swim laps and then relax in the jacuzzi. It's a bitch trying to get young and handsome again.
Jack: And then it's a bitch when the bitches look right through you.
Estanislao: When I look at myself in the mirror, I can understand the reasons. How did we get old so fast?
Jack: We didn't die. Do you want to get together later for drinks?
Estanislao: I would, but I have my youngest son for the weekend. He's in track right now and wants his hair braided so when he's dashing down the stretch he'll look good. His only goal in life is looking good.
Jack: Sounds like his old man.
Estanislao: He has much more to work with unlike myself. Tonight we'll go to the Hanna football game. His Manzano eighth grade team won the championship and part of looking good is being a stud football player.
Jack: What does he play?
Estanislao: End and corner.
Jack: Does he have any talent?
Estanislao: He has good hands, he has the fearless attitude of a Marine and he's fast. He won the 200 meter last year in the city championship track meet and his two relay teams also finished first. I wanted him to stick with his golf and swim for physical development, but he's crazy about football. He imagines himself one of those white slots in the NFL.
Jack: Bertha's has to be one of the best breakfast spots in town.
Estanislao: You've got that right, bro. Put your wallet away. You got it last time.
Jack: What is the latest in your meaningless life?
Estanislao: It's Thanksgiving and the summer is finally behind us. I checked the temperature and it is going to be in the mid-seventies all week. I grow so tired of that merciless, relentless and searing summer sun.
Jack: What are you going to do for Thanksgiving?
Estanislao: Dr. Tony Zavaleta invited me to his house for dinner. I bring a bottle of wine and vegetate over the traditional meal. And you?
Jack: Since the break-up of my family several years ago, I skip most holidays. It will be just another day. The most I do is send my kids money at Christmas and their birthdays.
Estanislao: You're not one of those lost souls who gets emotional and suicidal during these festive times remembering your joyful upbringing and dealing with your present reality, bro?
Jack: It's neither here nor there, compadre. I live one day at a time. My biggest concern is greeting each morning in the best of health. Then I float through the rest of the day like a ghost. I dedicate myself to feeling good and keeping my mind empty.
Estanislao: How does an empty mind create literature?
Jack: An empty mind and an empty screen are like two negatives producing a positive. You become a jazz musician and let it flow. You delve into your subconscious and the ideas and scenarios take shape on their own. And you? What's cooking today?
Estanislao: After this breakfast digests, I'll go to Gold's. I hurt my back yesterday hitting the weights too hard. I'll sit in the sauna, swim laps and then relax in the jacuzzi. It's a bitch trying to get young and handsome again.
Jack: And then it's a bitch when the bitches look right through you.
Estanislao: When I look at myself in the mirror, I can understand the reasons. How did we get old so fast?
Jack: We didn't die. Do you want to get together later for drinks?
Estanislao: I would, but I have my youngest son for the weekend. He's in track right now and wants his hair braided so when he's dashing down the stretch he'll look good. His only goal in life is looking good.
Jack: Sounds like his old man.
Estanislao: He has much more to work with unlike myself. Tonight we'll go to the Hanna football game. His Manzano eighth grade team won the championship and part of looking good is being a stud football player.
Jack: What does he play?
Estanislao: End and corner.
Jack: Does he have any talent?
Estanislao: He has good hands, he has the fearless attitude of a Marine and he's fast. He won the 200 meter last year in the city championship track meet and his two relay teams also finished first. I wanted him to stick with his golf and swim for physical development, but he's crazy about football. He imagines himself one of those white slots in the NFL.
Jack: Bertha's has to be one of the best breakfast spots in town.
Estanislao: You've got that right, bro. Put your wallet away. You got it last time.
ODE TO JESSICA
Did anyone go to the town hall?
A few. That's all.
Cinderella didn't have her White Trash ball.
I sure hope Carlos Garcia heeds the call.
That gal ain't no doll.
Pat Ahumada says she's going to fall.
For a bimbo she sure has lots of gall.
She's only good for spending money at the mall.
Jessica hangs over the city like a pall.
Her brain is small.
She doesn't stand tall.
Around her Trump should build a wall.
The voters will be telling her, "Good-bye, y'all."
PURAS PAPAS CON HUEVOS
Don: You've lost it, Doc.
Doc: As long as I have my wallet filled with cash and credit cards with thousands in their accounts and I can still breathe deeply, I haven't lost it.
Don: You're like The Brownsville Herald. You aren't relevant. Nobody reads you. Nobody takes anything you say seriously. You write rumors, puerile poems and senseless stories. You don't have your mojo anymore. Somebody said you've stopped smoking dope. Border swag was always your inspiration. Nobody sees you downtown anymore. What happened to Brownsville's last standing bohemian?
Doc: I don't get around much anymore and I'm not smoking dope or drinking wine with the same reckless abandon as I once did. As a result of succumbing to less vices as I have in the past, I don't take that last bus downtown to revel with the buddies, but I'm still pounding the keys in order to satiate my muse.
Don: You don't have the same fire anymore. The Herald's Steve Clark is kicking your ass. The Brownsville Republic's /DP-M has reduced you to an unimaginative hack. El Rrun Rrun's Juan Montoya cranks out one scoop after another. The Brownsville Voice's Bobby Wightman-Cervantes suppurates with passion. The Brownsville Observer's Jim Barton has found new life with a new lady. You're not writing shit. Are you suffering from a mental constipation?
Doc: I'll have to admit that there's solid competition in the Brownsville news world and the days have long since disappeared when I was the only voice in the wilderness, but I'm not as prominent as I once was because I'm surrounded by outstanding talent whom I do my best to promote in order to provide the public with a variety of sources so that average Jose can make informed and educated choices and decisions.
Don: That's not you, Doc. Are you saying that you are no more than an editor sitting at your desk proofreading other writers' copy? How many times has /DP-M reproved you for skating instead of scrutinizing? You were once a heavyweight. Now you're a lightweight. You were renown for packing a punch. You would be lucky today to defeat that Southmost pest Roman Perez in a pillow fight. You're a 98-pound weakling when you were once Kid Lonas, the reigning champion of Brownsville's journalistic world. Have the passing years turned you into a has-been who at best can only aspire to being a wannabe?
Doc: My back hurts. My belly is expanding. My skin is flabby. Wrinkles line my face. Hair grows out my ears and nose, but my head is turning bald. I need Viagra to fuck. I need pain killers to walk. I need pills to keep from dropping dead of a heart attack. I need Aleve so I can loosen my fingers to play the guitar. I'll be 68 in a few weeks. I can't jog a quarter mile without my knees swelling. I can't see the tennis ball anymore, let alone hit it. I shoot baskets at Gold's gym and every shot is an air ball. I sit down to pen a piece and the most I can achieve is this bullshit I'm spewing right now.
Don: You are a sorry fuck, Doc. You used to be a somebody. Now you're like Pat Ahumada and Ernie Hernandez and Carlos Elizondo and the rest of the motley characters you have castigated over the years: You're a nobody.
Doc: You're right and your wrong, my ancient amigo. I have always been a nobody because I have never desired being a somebody. I've taken one day at a time and I have let the chips fall where they may. And if you want to know the truth: Never have I taken one day at a time more than I do now and never have I enjoyed life more than I am enjoying it now except for my goddamn back. It's all out of our hands, compadre.
Don: Puros huevos con chorizo?
Doc: Puros huevos con chorizo, compadre.
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS
Growing up playing sports,
you not only wanted to master the game,
but you wanted to be the best.
While these twin goals can be noble motivators,
they can also lead to huge disappointments and frustrations.
Rather than applauding the talents and abilities you have,
you have this urge to surrender.
Nevertheless, if you are lucky, you never lose the desire,
no matter how misguided, to be great.
And its not ego driven.
It's an aesthetic appreciation for achievement.
Saturday, June 13, 2020
MY MASTER NEVER ATTENDS MASS
"In order to see must you watch or in order to watch must you see?" he posited.
I gave him a puzzled look and he whacked me over the head with his paddle.
"Do you understand?" he bellowed.
"Yes, I understand," I stammered because I didn't want him to whack me again.
But he struck me and screamed, "How can you understand what you can't understand?"
I thought for a moment.
"The brown dog pees on the red fire hydrant," I ventured.
"What?" he queried in a more measured voice.
"The brown dog pees on the red fire hydrant," I replied with increased confidence.
He gave me the paddle.
"Strike me! You are finally on the road to enlightenment."
None of it makes any sense to me, but it's not suppose to make any sense I'm told by my fellow Buddhist disciples. I have convinced myself that I am neither alive nor dead. I am part of an eternal moment. When I am with my sons, I should relish that I am with my sons. When I am drinking wine, I should relish that I am drinking wine. When I am making love, I should relish that I am making love.
My master has informed me that I should embrace pain. He says that it brings the moment into a sharper focus. I don't know if I desire such clarity. In fact, I am abandoning awareness. It does nothing but awake me to my ignorance. When I am in this state of mind, my master nods his approval.
A VISION THAT IS NEW
There is a dynamic in this community that is new.
And it is time to sweep away those perceptions that are not true.
District I requires more than ever a vision that is new.
Over the next four months I intend to share that vision with you.
It is time that our community receive its just due.
My mother was raised in Matamoros and my father is a Jew.
As a result of my roots I bring to the table a fresh view.
We must rise as many and show Brownsville that we are not few.
As I go knocking from door to door I will repeat until my face turns blue:
We are a proud people and we need a vision that is new.
JESSICA
It's the price you pay
for being a public figure,
but in Jessica's case,
if Art doesn't stop her
from gorging herself on flour tortillas
when she isn't spewing tonterias,
she won't have a figure.
When God said ignorance,
Jessica thought He said intelligence
and He filled her empty head
with a dead rat instead.
President Donald Trump
twittered from his bed:
twittered from his bed:
"I'm repulsed by that rump!"
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