I’m not crying, you’re crying. Actually, I’m writing in floods of tears on a dead platform to an audience of no-one.
All is clearly well.

It is of course all a question of luck, thinking of all the money I’ve frittered on the lottery brings that home to me now, not my vacation in Mexico. Of course, this isn’t strictly a vacation. Days are floating by, aided by altitude. My hemoglobin count must be through the roof. Which is more than can be said for some! I tell that to the bricklayers who I work with for the day. Vacations are all about experiences these days, you see? I’ve got concrete in my hair and I paid for the privileged. My work is less demanding in Scotland which is why I pay to graft here. I’m sure they understand. It certainly seems to make everyone laugh as I leave for the day. Actually, I’m not sure they understand. My Spanish is tedious to me and them.

But returning to one of the multiple matters at hand, this isn’t a holiday, is it? It’s serious. Deadly serious. Like in a Vonnegut world, the seriousness dial has slipped to deadly. No-one is having fun. For example, my beloved Mrs. Hummels’ father is here and he’s dying of cancer. Exactly. Really that is what I’m here to write about, to process. But the interesting thing is that all of this is happening in our world, right now, in Mexico.

Back in Scotland, where my old gran is, it’s dark and cold. How’s about’s that for luck! Incidentally, my old grans’ hemoglobin count is low so she needed an oil change. It was that or a week in a work camp in Bolivia so we opted for new blood. Again incidentally, Mrs Hummels, (never) known affectionately as ‘The Mrs.’ is serious about a sprog. A wean. And so am I. So in the world where we are, everything is happening. So much of everything with space for so much more, and more on top of that! What luck! Apparently she needs to get on the Folic Acid and I need to lay off the drugs for a while, so it might not be so immediate. Perhaps one of us will be successful and in a humorous incident, my ‘acid’ gets mixed up with hers! With hilarious consequences! Of course, I’ve not actually taken acid, not that I’d be against it. But you see what I’m going for? Hmmm.

If any of this resembles Kurt Vonnegut then I can only doth my cap. Not that I’d wear a cap for fear of looking like more of a gringo than I already do. You see I’m ball deep in ‘Slapstick’ right now and it has become obvious to me that we all live on one of his worlds. Whether we like it or not… what luck! Slapstick is one such world but mainly it’s an absurdist tract on grief, growing up, siblings and all of that. Unless you understand, you won’t understand. It’s like Spanish or brick-laying vault technique…

You see there’s a llave (that’s Spanish for key), and the key to Slapstick is a prologue putting all the pieces together. Giving context to the gibberish. Even Vonnegut runs out of steam with Slapstick, the story fizzles out but it’s not the important part. The deciphered text at the start is what this book is all about and it’s special in ways that more oblique books struggle to be. For example, Of Mice and Men which I finished on the way over here. (Ain’t I a clever little boy) requires no key but only because your pushing on an open door with well lubed hinges on a warm afternoon, in a hurry. You know whats going to happen, we all do.

Similarly, in a few weeks I’ll be back at work soon myself. In the dark, in the cold. Pushing on the rusty doors of a shipping container in the cold rain. Two weeks today. That’s what will happen. And in that time, like in a Kurt Vonnegut world, time itself will thaw. Time will thaw for two weeks and then for some will remain frozen. And then, with almost certainty, it’ll freeze/thaw again and nothing will pass and I’ll be at work as if nothing ever happened. What luck.

Except something did happen, we’re visiting, half a world away, in Mexico. You wouldn’t choose it. What luck. And, we all know what is going to happen, of course. But we come because that is what people do, despite all the literary devices to hand. Turn down the seriousness dial, freeze time. It won’t help. Of course, there’s a pool here and we can use the car and watch films. But that doesn’t really make up for anything.

There’s a woman here to clean and cook. You could be her. What luck you’re not, I suppose. And everything here will get you. The spiders and snakes and earthquakes and kidnappers and police. But, we’re on a hill with an olive tree. I rolled an olive down the hill with glee earlier before I realised that there’s a woman who works here will have to come and brush up the olives. There are other hills elsewhere, with olive trees, with bombs dropping on them. Maybe i was helping out by rolling the olive down the hill, it did nestle away in the grass, thank god. Off the driveway , thank Christ. It’ll decompose, with luck.

The sun is up now and its the next day. I duly paid my subscription and am sat waiting. A thing we do over in Scotland, pay the full whack and wait it out. Watching rainy Scottish Football when in sunny Mexico tells you all you need to know. But then, time has frozen momentarily, for me at least.

We had to go shopping for cheap artisanal goods. Not because we’re scumbags taking advantage of the cheap goods and labour, no! The truth is, I’m afraid to wear one of my new t-shirts, do nothing. Of course, it’s ethically produced and looks good but it’s too near the bone and its too close to home. That’s what we do here, that’s all he can do.

Anyway, today we walked through the part of town where tourists don’t go, I suppose that makes us locals? Though, we had to run in tactical formations. Just like elsewhere, some other time, some other place. Snaking sideways through the underpass.

I’ve returned to ‘Snake Sideways’ repeatedly and the night we had out, it’s more cherished now than before. (See what I did there. It was bad:)) Just me and Mrs Hummels dancing through the rain. Incidentally, we followed that night up with a night out soon after full of drink and coke and pills with the monster. I tried Ketamine for the first time be’gad. And Do Nothing still stands up. Told you I wouldn’t say no to Acid.

The world changing again has been an unexpected legitimation of Do Nothing in fact, who undoubtedly are good beyond my previous reckoning. Apologies to them. I gave them a bit of a half-arsed review last time but now I just finished listening to Snake Sideways and I’m crying. Well played lads, good game.
This could prove a a clarion call for a revolutionary musical medium better than spotify. But it won’t, now isn’t the time even though Spotify must fall. This noodling could go on forever. But it won’t. Remember that. Everything is borrowed. Another excellent song I’ve returned to. I sound like Mark Corrigan again. I think the genius of Snake Sideways is that it needs the key. And I’ve listened to it repeatedly here, in Mexico, at a time like this. And it will always be imbued with now for me, whether I like it or not! Like Black Midi, when we were here 4 years ago. Who cares! (See also, Blur – Avalon, which was our summer and we saw Blur and was happy but is now here with us too and talks about building and being overcome and we’re here with an Architect.)

And anyway, it’s not just Mexico, it’s San Miguel de Allende! One of Mexico’s top destinations! So we’re sat in the sun. Semi arid and at mild altitude. With a pool. Waiting. It’s a mexican thing too, I’ve discovered. What else have you got to do? Someone has to do it! Of course, technically I’m vacationing and that’s a privilege reserved for very few. And I’m one. Hows about’s that for luck. Hah! Huh.

But here, there’s no key. No llave (Spanish – Key), for any of it. In this instance it’s better an open door than trying to unlock the the thing. Emotionally speaking, of course. If you unlock any of this it will only get worse. I act normally and do my own dishes and try and fix the car key but I’m not sure how to act around the gated compounds workers. I wave as I tan relentlessly and brush crisp crumbs from my thickly matted chest hair. It doesn’t feel right. Try as I might.

So, I’ve got sound cancelling headphones on, much better! And, I’m listening to David Bowies’ Black Star again for the first time in years. That’s my key. It’s brutal.
It’s brutal by the pool.

Of course, we just missed the hurricane and suffered a few days of warm rain. What luck.

As I said, the world seems to have shifted violently on its axis since we got here. Bombs are dropping and the wi-fi isn’t working. What luck.

Time has frozen for all but some.
In the gated compound where we live for now, time is variable, outside time is constant.
Across the world it has shifted.

There’s nothing we can do, about any of it; the time, the bombs, the cancer, the luck.
So we’re sat by the pool.
I’m learning your mum jokes in Spanish so I can amuse my bricky friends I’ve hired.
I’m arbitrarily exercising incessantly to make use of the altitude.

Tanning. Reading. Chess.
A real holiday, except it’s not.

Gym, Spanish, Read, Write; the old mantra, of a forgotten being.
Learn the clarinet. Que mas.

Of course, now the tv doesn’t work and now the cars broken down.
And he’s dying.
And bombs are dropping.
And I’m writing this in tears.

I’m not crying, you’re crying. What a shit modern witticism. We should all be crying. What a fucking state of affairs! What fucking luck!

But here, I am writing again. Like I mean it, baby.
And in floods of tears too… what luck.
Baby!

So what else can we do, visit the supermarket and buy a nice cake.
Joke about the weather.
Sit by the pool. There is so much.
Gym, Spanish, Read, Write.
Enough for so many lifetimes.
A hurricane of life times.
A bombsworth of lifetimes.
An infanstsworth of lifetimes!

What luck!