A fruitcake* Zapata

nude

MUCHOS MEXICANOS, yours truly included, are incensed at this painting of my father as a raging queen astride a horse with a raging woodie.

That this exists is yet another example of corrupt Gringo culture and mindset filtering south of the border where most of us do not want it.

Shockingly, this painting is on exhibit in the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City where it has been the focus on plentiful protests. Good.

That it sits in the Palace of Fine Arts instead of a privately owned gallery, which would be bad enough, puts the government Seal of Approval on it, which is pathetic, but we have ignorant left-wing regimes now on both the federal level and in Mexico City too.

Sad.

In the same vein, Netflix has just released a Christmas special about a gay Jesus. All I can say to this is: Jesus!

* * * *

* Superlative fruitcakes are available at the Collin Street Bakery. I endorse those tasty things. Just keep them off horny horses.

What the Devil?

mexico
Hordes of Hondurans trying to invade Mexico — and then to the United States.
europe
Hordes of Mohammedans invading Europe.

WELL, IF THIS isn’t a fine how-do-you-do.

At top is a bridge this week at the Mexico-Guatemala border. Mobs of Hondurans hit the border on their mostly unobstructed journey to the United States.

Just below are mobs of Mohammedans invading Europe, mostly with the naive permission of the European Union, all in the name of fellowship and love, an abundance of which was left over from the stoned 1960s.

You can see from the second photo that the mob is mostly young men. I’m guessing most of the Honduran mob is young men too. Quite a few, no doubt, if history indicates anything, have youngsters in tow, related or not, to tug on the heartstrings of the clueless above the Rio Bravo.

Who is to blame in this hemisphere? That would be the U.S. government of both Republican and Democrat administrations going back decades, and their de facto open-border policies that have amounted to invitations to millions down south to just come on up. We’ll take you in.

Who is to blame in Europe? That would be the politically correct European Union that has embraced diversity and multiculturalism with a vengeance. The aftermath of the stoned 1960s also plays a large role in that situation.

Am I unsympathetic to these “migrants” as a whole? I am not. They come from parts of the world with defective, poorly functioning cultures going back centuries. They want a better life, sensibly, and they are hoofing it to better functioning, superior cultures, also going back centuries.

What is likely to be the end result? Will the invaded cultures be uplifted with these inundations of people with drastically different mindsets? Or will things go in the contrary direction? Put your money on the contrary direction, which is already blatantly obvious in much of Europe and the United States.

Some cultures function well. Others do precisely the opposite.

Well-functioning nations need to mind their borders effectively. The fact that well-functioning nations are the minority makes this even more essential.

Uprooting one’s roots

datura
At the top of the stairwell.

FOR THE FIRST decade after moving to Mexico I visited the United States once a year for a week or so. The primary motive was to see my mother.

The first three or four years I did it alone, flying. It was not until 2004 that my child bride had obtained a U.S. visitor visa. We then continued the trips, sometimes flying, other times driving. It’s a long way from our Mexican mountaintop to Atlanta, which is where my mother lived.

My mother died in January 2009 at age 90. After that, we’ve only been above the border once, a few months later, and that was to do paperwork related to my mother’s death. We went to San Antonio for that.

I have not visited my natal nation in nearly a decade. Instead I’ve remained down here in tumultuous Mexico and, oddly, life here has begun to seem normal. This is so even though I continue to equate Mexican life to Alice’s Wonderland.

This is because so many things here don’t make a lick of sense.

I almost never speak English, and I find myself forgetting English words on occasion. And though my Spanish is quite passable, I hardly would qualify as a Spanish professor. This occasionally leaves me dangling in a verbal limbo.

I find myself picking up Mexican habits. More and more, I respond “yes” to most queries. It’s easier that way. And doing something mañana instead of today leaves more relax time for today.

My driving habits cannot now be described as admirable.

One local habit I’ve not acquired and never will is epic, rampant, shameless lying.

I won’t be crossing the border again, ever. Everything I need can be found nearby. I watch America on the internet, and it looks disgraceful and sad. Walking the sidewalk here, on the other hand, I see people smiling.

With two exceptions, I have no relatives above the border. They all died except my sister and daughter. The first I do not like, and the second does not like me. I own no property in the United States.

I have no U.S. identification papers aside from my passport which I will not renew when it expires. Don’t know why I did it last time.

At this moment just past dawn, the church bell is slowly gonging down on the plaza, so someone died. It’s a mournful sound, but I feel pretty good about things in spite of having uprooted myself from the dirt from which I sprouted.

bones
On the stairwell landing, halfway down.