Humble Filth
The Simple Happiness (reposted w/o permission from friend Bruno (yes, like Bruno Mars.))

We woke up early, paid the bill and soon were on the road. El Cuco is a beautiful deserted beach and the hostel is more like a luxury resort, with chairs in the sand, private waves and premium service. The difference is that the dormitory costs only ten dollars a night and is so calm that after two nights Kyan and me got tired of looking at each other and decided to leave, he was going south towards Nicaragua, and me to El Tunco, north of El Salvador. As the coffee was expensive at the hostel we decided to eat something in the village about 4km away, where we also would catch the bus to San Miguel. Talking about four kilometers doesn´t seem that much, but on a dirt road dry, dusty, with a hot sun burning your head, hungry and with a backpack in your back is not very fun. We hoped to get a ride as in the last days, but for some reason the “traffic gods” wanted that morning all cars followed the opposite direction while only motorbikes come in the one we walked. This reminded me a passage in On the Road when Sal Paradise is hitchhiking with a buddy and a car stops but it may take only one. The “buddy” doesn´t think twice and jump in, wearing a shirt that Sal had lent him in a cold night. I told Kyan that I would do the same with the next bike and run away forever with the ten dollars he lent me this morning. We had no time to laugh. Soon a blue pick-up stopped, the music was so loud that I couldn´t hear what the young driver said, but it didn´t matter, we throw the bags in the trunk and jumped in. I looked Kyan and saw the same joy, with the wind in our face to cool off the heat and the sweat of the walk, that simple and fast ride, which lasted no more than three minutes, it was a unique and ephemeral moment of happiness.

From El Tunco, El Salvador

No Rest in Familiar Places

Such a sensitive menace worked me.  I’m without

A weekend. Leave!  Leave that busted Moment stolen.  

The grift is a gift, like taffeta backlit. Wives and daughters,

Mothers and fathers deserve love, laughs and tender Hearts.  

Broken and crippled babies breathe life into weeping willows,

Primrose sunset trash. Prompt circumstance leads me

To belie that the rat’s got my song, aloft in electric lady

Land, left late nights and welcome

Stress.  Stress.

Accepted, adorned

And placed on a pedestal with the rest of the riches,  

Gold coins and glamorous gems placed with grace

And intent.  Transfuse my blood and conduct

This gluttonous exchange.  A diet of too much sugar,

Too much fault.   High in fat and fabrication.  Never

Been accused of never being aloof.  I built these promise

Calloused hands, man’s man.  I built these blues sweating

South. I broke these ears to music and mouth.  A friend

Is a friend, twenty or one, making a stand.

There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It’s a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die. Who knows? If there is in fact, a heaven and a hell, all we know for sure is that hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix — a clean well lighted place full of sunshine and bromides and fast cars where almost everybody seems vaguely happy, except those who know in their hearts what is missing… And being driven slowly and quietly into the kind of terminal craziness that comes with finally understanding that the one thing you want is not there. Missing. Back-ordered. No tengo. Vaya con dios. Grow up! Small is better. Take what you can get…
Hunter S. Thompson

passing the time in Havana


passing the time in Havana



"Natural Ice, fun for the whole family."

"Natural Ice, fun for the whole family."