The Cave

Deep down the Juarez strip is a hole of a bar where a nightly trio plays through the common canon of old boleros. They reproduce the classics with a garage sale synthesizer, trumpet and a tab in alcohol. The singer croons for a sparse audience of lost Mexicans, a couple teenage Americans on a drunken romance escaped from the more popular bars on the strip, and a fat man who sits in a back corner most evenings staring into space or at dusty ceiling fan blades.

The American girl covers her boyfriend in lipstick and between each bout of sloppy affection she cakes a fresh layer of red to her lips. This is before the turf wars of the narcos when she lounged free to buy anything to get high, smiling at a mirror at the red smeared across her face. The two continue kissing, sipping blue colored drinks and beer.

Mexicans follow a myth to this town. It is as unreal as the river which separates two worlds. Pollution clings to the valley, filling the streets with stinging air for no other reason than geography, air pressure and prosperity. Until the unseen river flows from the hundred year flood, the Mexicans will watch the weeds grow in the ditch and Americans mind the fence. The populations bleed into one another despite the rust and sand and the water heeds the treaties in concrete canals.

King Dick Lucca sits in back, staring at ceiling fans. At times the blades are a blur but with great concentration, his eyes can track a single blade fixed in its unending cycle and everything but the blade and music disappear from his care. 



Chrysostom has a tattoo which wraps around her left ankle in two lines and reads, “To Pythius! thought Climacus of his cathartic plastic heart, but the Vision (that of Constantine) could not appear so bright. There, above Benno, in the massive corn is the one his heart yearns for, when Eberhard comes at last. He is solemn as February.”

Her right ankle simply reads, “Erasmus” in one line.

Amusement Park Rides

Amusement park rides glow shimmer and spin about, above the blowing sand. Stare at the stars and they will do the same in a dream. Taken for a beaten down sloven tramp, golden glitter female steals machined light carried on her bare skin, illuminating the dark flow. Granular bits wiz in patterns of emergence. They float along the ground and swirl in the air. Devils. The rides crank around at a dizzying rate and electric fields blast superheated bolts between the metal fence wire. The female leads space with her fingertips as if pushing the surface of water. Life in a belly. The passing amusement of the sparkling machines spin about in an usually vacant dirt paved parking lot. Light reflects off her skin like a life-size diorama viewed from the mountain in the middle of town, the illumination of Mexican mountains from theirs and American lamps. The sand grates every object in its wake, twisting in a lively mass. The rides crank around at a dizzying rate while the dry air sparks lightning from the metal fence. The river bends. God this is life.

Water From Comets

The brown haired floozy could breeze through the city on a calm summer evening because she had been on every sprawled out back-road and highway there. Windows down all the way, panty strings rimming the edge of her jeans. She hits on a small cigar and passes it this way, her idea of culture as if she were a beautiful Mexican with paints. She starts talking about last year and that job she had for a brief while. The span of her time in that job was brief but she went on about the fine details like the smells and lighting and her sense of self. For a while the drive is familiar. Superdrag is playing. Soon the heart-rate mellows and the pink haze of city lights are way in back. It is hardly noticeable when exactly the cd stops and the humming of the road takes over. Wordless song. The color of stars smear the sky spilling the water from comets on our faces.

Direction: Adeodatus and Felicity

When Felicity is killed, it is an extreme choreography of multitudes. She and Adeodatus are alone but their bodies and actions multiply forming a mass like a swarm moving lightly and heavily around this small act of killing. They form two Pike Squares. It is a ballet. It is not a synchronized multi camera trick. It is a mass of bodies stanced, attacking, countering, on the toes.