Las Cruces, NM/Dec. 14, 2009
Juke boxes.
They’re a “warm fuzzy,” no matter how you cut it.
No?
I just wanna dance. It’s the holidays.
Time to dance. And stare at the wall (and the Web) and have luxurious long lunches (and personally enriching) with good friends, now, in the rush of my life, long overlooked.
I’m in New Mexico and there’s a lot of land here, still. Lots of space to dance, and write and spin and dream…in New Mexico, lots of space to scream at the sky and to yell, “No mas el mundo, basta!”
I’ve had enough of our fine little social nightmare. Time to dance to my own tune, and the rhythm of the planet. Warming or Cooling there’s still rhythm Mr. Gore, remember? You save the Polar Bears.
I’m saving myself.
Many people I know are heading to the four corners of the earth right now, seeking rejuvenation as they scurry and drop into the airports, and as they whip out that Visa card (oh boy, can’t wait to hear about the misery in the first week of the January billing cycle).
Me?
I’ll be that guy out there on the horizon line standing behind the tripod doing wolf calls at the moon.
YEEEEOOOOOOOOW!
Baile. Baile.
Baile en Nuevo Mexico.
El Ritmo. Feel the rhythm of the planet.
Baile in New Mexico.
Juke.
