Chapter Two: The Red Bricks Where I Got Beat

Arizona is on fire. The second largest in history and its only just begun. Uncontained. The smoke from a second fire blacks out the blue sky from mile marker 300 to mile marker 320. Outside of Benson is nothing but choke. We ride thru this with a chalky taste in our mouths and stories are told of the falling ash in Silver City.

            My night in Tucson was greeted by my mother, her husband and a saguaro skyline stay, deep in the mountains of Arizona. 4 pools and 30 dollar margaritas. No one seemed to notice and elevators were hard to use. The Beverly Hillbilly’s of the Southwest were royals once more.  Within the first 30 minutes of getting off the plane we encountered a wild pack of javelinas. We slowed to a stop. The road still empty. Midnight. No horns, less violence. Two parties passing in the night. Party!

            Entered and ended the last meal of the night at the Buckhorn Saloon, the paintings of naked women still there, some just replicas of what I had known. Boobs with class made now from tack. Saloon doors and mummified Indians took up different corners then they had before. I tried not to let it bother me. Who was I to stay the same. I had the best bowl of green chille stew I had eaten in years. A couple of whiskeys and a few chille cheese fries. Later I found myself at what used to be referred to as home more often. Swinging on a hammock 3 miles down a dirt road passed three gates with an outhouse for a bathroom and a shower in the kitchen. My 16 acres. I stared up at the stars and threw rocks into the dark. Waiting for the thickness to settle in.

            Morning was heuvos rancheros and a few hours putting down mesh wire flooring in the big house, still about 6 months out on its due date. Simpler Times Lager soon became the afternoon. Talks of technology, music, and success fell behind the peaceful heat of the land. More of a backdrop for the sunshine. More of a lifeline from the heat.

            Things have been quite so far, I can feel this trip sitting on its haunches waiting to pounce. It’s a little unsettling. Learning how to enjoy the naps before battle.

            Oliver, (my best childhood friend) has moved back into his mothers house.  She’s gone. As I pull up I see the same dilapidated red bricks that had housed my angst over 16 years ago. I listened to my first punk rock record here, started my first band here, watched my first porn here (me, Oliver, and Seth watching Shannon Tweed get naked and wondering who was gonna get weird first.)  I still know the phone number to this house by heart. And what the fuck! The cats still alive, 19 years old Jade steps out to greet me. She was just a young kitten last time I saw her. Oliver’s wife wants her to die already, I find people hold resentment when you live to long. Get up passed your age. I’m cheering for you Jade, you skinny underdog beneath the red bricks where I took my first beatings and made my first potato gun.

            Kaelin breastfeeds her baby at the bar, I eat chorizo, I sign an autograph on one of my records for a kid I’ve never met before named Ramone, he wants to take a picture with me but I give him my number instead and tell him to text me if he goes out later and maybe we can grab a beer.

            I look forward to laying the concrete floors for the house this week, a trip to Ari’s 180 acre ranch. Wild horses, cliff dwellings, fishing and hotsprings.

            Monday I am booked to play a show with my mom, I know she’s excited and I am too. I am using her band to back me up. A couple of highly skeptical brits and Jeff.

            Then its off to El Paso and Austin . Its 4:30 in the morning as I write this. As I try to keep up with myself on this journey. For better or worse I let the world read my diary in hopes that the honesty will redeem me somehow. Because love didn’t save me, and whiskey didn’t kill me. So what now? Just trying to get in the thick of it again. Off to South America to see if I can get a shaman to stab me. Patience I tell him. 2 days and 30 bowls of green chille later. My campaneros. What had Jade found to live for all those empty years in that house? After everything else had died and everyone had moved away. I think she never lost sight of the hunt. Her pile of mice confirms some of my suspicions. Senoir detective. With a spanish accent these days.