To those that have been woven into my thread: Many condolences, apologies, and shots of your most adoring poison. If you have found any significant amount of redemption in the blight that is my presence, it would be to my uttermost surprise and joy. You are martyrs, all of you; I love you eternally for it. This planet is overpopulated; let's push all the stupid people off the edges. (I have
just been informed the planet is, in fact, a sphere.) I need a serious re-working of my master plan. I will update accordingly as soon as time permits. In the meantime and in-between time, even in the in-betwixt time, feast upon the sordid details (written by a friend wishing only to be known as Escobar the Inca) of a wandering gypsy that scratches upon the surface of things (or what else is a scribe, but a monkey with a stick?) for the purpose of perhaps, hopefully, adding even a single fraction of a dimension to our decidedly three dimensional perceptions of the cosmos:
Born in Colombia, (way, way down south of the Mason-Dixon Line) the child named Juan Diaz was smuggled into New York City in the year 1979. Perhaps evading law enforcement, for the life of this child (now a young man) is surely a crime, his mother (having left his father, from whom Juan inherited his talents as a draftsmen, because he refused to admit that Miami Vice was a horrible television program) moved frequently, randomly, and apparently with the intention of making his mind mush (Staten Island? Commack, Long Island? Queens is understandable, but Commack?). At the age of 16 his mother was found and imprisoned (the child escaped posing as a landscaper) and he fled to Colombia where he lived among his paternal relatives, without attending school, for over a year, when the time was ripe for return. He eluded detection by making his way back to New York through a series of brilliant counter-moves, first by living in the No Man's Land between Stamford and Bridgeport, Connecticut, then by serving three years in the Army. He's been back in New York for a little over two years and must leave again in order to remain off the radar. He dreams of becoming a film-maker to one day document something that has nothing at all to do with his personal experiences. I expect a postcard soon.
quixoticdon at hotmail dot com