Palace in Graffiti/ Come to My Window

I have been in Mexico City for ten days now. I spent the last three months roadtripping America- which was incredible. That journey profoundly shifted me in certain ways. I was heading to the Pacific Northwest, but something, a lot of things, just clicked here. I think I’ve found my city- for now. 🇲🇽💫

How did I come to Mexico City in the first place? I wouldn’t have imagined I’d be here 6 months ago and now it’s the only place I really want to be right now.

I’m not really sure. Of course there’s the obvious, orange faced lunatic reasons, but it was something more primal. For the past two years my life has been calling me to live. To go and enjoy the splendors that this world has to offer.

Like most of us- I have worked for every dime, centavo, dollar I’ve earned. I am a mostly self-made man, moisturizers and diet shakes may say otherwise, but you get the gist. I don’t really have a safety net to return to and to me its worth the risk than never doing it at all. 

Once you get to the point of wanting to kill yourself because of your current life situations, jobs, oppressive conservatism, and vampiric best friends, it makes the setting forward a lot more appealing.

I, am now, exactly who and where I want to be and to become. ❤️🙏


It all still feels like a dream. Life lived in the throes of surreality, which is most often my own brand of reality. Give me dive bar or give me breath. Room to expand and be my own brand of weird with other gonzo weirdos. Patent pending.

I feel at one with the grit of realness. Pop plasticity, fake altar calls, the whole sham of American culture, rather society in general feels forced. Like we all know the absurdity of the rules we are making you stand in line for but that’s the traditional way to receive your coffee, to cast your vote, to receive your blessing from a shaman, a priest, a bartender. There all essentially the same thing. I could no longer abide America for so many reasons.

I’ve written, posts, blogs, journal after journal entry decrypting and decrying this civilization. I don’t abide your rules or regulations just for spite or a spurious, satanic, selfish rebellion. It’s that I abhor the patrilineal, Judeo-Christian, war-mongering machine that is America. There is so much beauty and so many amazing people there. The mountains will outlive us all. Nature is calling us all back to her. To keep account for the wages we’ve taken and raped away from Earth and her children of all species, genders, and kinds.

I’ve driven through this whole country but feel no closer to understanding it and I have not been able to figure out, at least geographically, why there appears to be a wide dearth between different factions in our country. Traveling America I see how beautiful and robust, teeming with extraordinary lives and landscapes.

I’ve also really seen how arbitrary a lot of laws or social conventions are.

We put borders and labels on things we want to keep out. Rousseau said we descended into sin when the first person decided to own something. There have been a lot of Christians owning people for centuries. Binding, shackling people in metaphorical and actual rusted chains. I bet you all of the money I’ll ever make that most of the religious figures, the lawmakers, parents, people in vestiges of power have either made some things illegal- like immigration, or marijuana, blowjobs, being gay, literally having fun at the beach, because they’ve either never tried them, been too afraid to try them, had some bad experience with something, or liked it so much that it would change their pink plastic perfect bored pedantic little lives. But there’s always a balance. You lash out at a child, a coworker, you get in a fight and cheat on your wife or husband, you denounce sodomy in the pulpit and are getting ridden like a steer in the Ballpit (great name for a gay bar? 😆)

Este ciudad tiene un ritimo. This city has a rhythm. That’s what I remember thinking my first few days in Mexico City, back in May. It’s what drew me back to her.

  • As I am I writing this in Mexico Parque, I hear the sounds of some evening drums beating outward. The heart beat of the Earth personified and extending outward ferverntly and in ryhtym. With purpose and clarity. These are drums of calling. bum bum da da da bum da da bum da da bum da da da da da da da bum. They are to keep the pace. Drums for the journey.

The reason for so much inner turmoil stemmedu from almost every part of my life in Texas. From the govt to the flat and monotonous landscape. The heat. The job. The superficiality.

The oppressive superiority of politicians, pompous Christians, family members, religious officials, people who have never even left the fucking country.

I may come to tire of Mexico City and/or run out of $ before I publish my first book. But it’s the kindness, hospitality, incredible although disparate exchange rate.

Every day is another adventure, no matter where you are at. But here in this complicated colonial city- I have not seen one fight or felt unsafe since once. Not saying those things are not occurring- Just I haven’t seen it. There are police officers on every corner near the more affluent areas of town. The police, overall, appear to be here to protect the people first while upholding the law- although I dealt w/ some semi-corrupt ones on my first day.

Mexico City is alive and life keeps calling us all forward- as a species, a planet, as a human being.

I’ve seen people dying in small Texas and southern towns. Dimming down their own brilliance, to keep the peace for others. Dimming down their own brilliance, to keep the peace for others. I did that too for a long time to make self-absorbed assholes happy. I’m so glad I broke free to be who I truly am.

I am an air sign. I am not the lungs but I am the air that blows through them. The wind, my companion, my sign, my essence. It’s time for an ancient and alive air to blow through me. I welcome it now. Bienviendo a Mexico. Bienviendo to the living. A Respectful remembrance of those who have come before us and those who left us, far too soon.

One response to “Palace in Graffiti/ Come to My Window”

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