Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Helping hand from a friend?

Anguish, Angst, suffering... It's extremely personal.  Why people talk to others about their "problems", concerns...  Maybe there is someone out there who can respond in a way most desired by the person "talking".  Why share?  But we do.  And then it seems that we don't like what the other person says.  Silence causes vast misunderstandings.  There are so many levels of perspective... philosophies.  One can respond crassly, sarcastically, cynically.  If I am suicidal, probably the most logical response is, "Ross, why talk? why complain? Kill yourself..."  And that person would be correct.  A few years ago José Montaña presented me to a friend of his who was depressed and had a drug problem...  He had that problem when his parents were alive and had the problem when his parents left him the WILL at death... So now he is a semi-young adult depressed drug-addict with money...  José told me the story while I stood infront of the friend and asked me what I suggested... He told me the guy's history and his astrology.  And I said frankly, "Look, the money pays for the drugs... It's convenient.  If he wants to destroy himself, he has the money and the drugs.  But don't talk to me about helping him feel better.  Because he doesn't want that.  The feeling bad justifies the drug usage...  It's slow or semi-quick suicide.  So, if that's what he wants, then that's what I want for him... that he kill himself.  But don't ask me for helpful suggestions."

I don't know how to play chess, although my uncle had bought me an incredible hand sculpted chess set...  To this day I have little interest.  I've never bought a television in my life...  However I do love reading.  I've never tried selling my art and don't have those contacts within that unexistent circle of friends...  There are 100s of thousands of artists competing for the big buyers in this world...  Should I try and sell my paintings... should I waste the time and money for the usual?  I'm not a flashy and popular party type of modern person...  You know that a big part of selling your art is selling yourself...  If I had an exhibition, I wouldn't be able to fill the opening with my friends.  I don't play the game...  But I continue painting and thinking... WHO KNOWS?  But you can't resolve this problem, can you?

It's a shit.  That's what it is Billie...  

When you asked me for the friendship, the first thing I noticed on your profile is something to the tone that you were very spiritual.  I thought that was good enough.  Why do we reach out to others?  It's a strange "crap shoot"...  "Who knows?  Maybe we will connect in ways that will help us profoundly..."  But then basically nothing happens.  You live with your daughter.  I consider that very fortunate.  If Margarita dies, I will be here with no one... and possibly nothing... in a country with a social culture of friendships, culture, intellectualism, creativity, spirituality (or the lack there of..) that I despise.  But I left the U.S. almost 10 years ago.  It was probably the best thing I could have done for myself in my life.  But at a heavy cost of only having Margarita and myself...  But, if she dies before I die, I won't have a son or a daughter to fall back upon and I don't have a family in the U.S. for falling upon...  Decisions.  Concerns.  Worries...  Realities... Difficult realities.  

What I have is my faith.  And, yes, faith is a delicate fantasy basically dependent upon positive experience and positive moments.  But when you see all black or gray or everything is muddy?  What happens to that wonderful faith?  

What do you want to hear from me Billie?  You know I'm sincere.  Maybe you believe I understand and that's why you share with me...  

Why not write?  Why not write about the Earth Cracking and your skin cracking and your mind cracking...  Maybe you could find humor in your personal experience...  this is not sarcasm...  It could be relief.  You can go very far with it...  You can be perverted...  "We've entered into the second epic drought... Two months and not one drop of rain falling from the sky...  The earth is cracking, my mind is cracking...  I feel a tremor.  For a moment, I thought the earth was quaking as I noticed a bigger ravine infront of my the front door.  But, then I remembered that that ravine was there last week too...  My eyes burn from the heat.  I thought that maybe just possibly I was crying...  I lifted my hand to my eye to touch the tear, and only found salt cakes I offered to my neighbor's horse.  But the horse refused my offering...  Or maybe it was just too late.  The horse was dead.  It had dry roasted, but was still standing... until I patted it on one of its flanks and it just crumbled like a sand castle...  I wonder, 'am I dry roasting?' I would open up my veins and flee this convection oven.  But I worry about what I would find upon opening those veins...  what if they've become dry river beds?  I wonder, maybe the following not earth tremor will bring me to that horse's fate when I patted it on it's hind quarters?  What if I crumble to the earth too?  Sometimes I think about relaxing with my hand and my penis...  But my salivary glands have dried and I worry that my testicals have dried up like prunes and my penis has wilted and will drop with the slightest caress...  Yes, that's what a good drought can do for you my friend... it can make you morbosely creative and prolific.  Or it can just make you desperately cynical, frustrated and easily offended by someone who can't truly help you:-)

I guess...

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