| Greetings, faithful readers, and
welcome to this very special edition of Stik
Mann's OtherSpokane. A very special
edition, I say, because, after a prolonged
absence, I, your humble narrator, once again walk
the downtown streets of one of the most wonderful
cities on Planet Earth. To those naysayers who
would exclude Spokane from that coveted
collection of locations, I say, let them spend a
few days on the back streets of Mexico
City, as did I and my son, James.
Not many hours would pass before those anti-Spookalooans
would long for the sweet smell of burning Idaho
farmlands, instead of the noxious, black cloud of
smog that rolls over that Mexican metropolis like
the storms of the American Dustbowl.
How soon before they lust for a taste of honey
from the Spokane aquifer -- to drink directly
from a pipe in their own home -- fresh agua,
devoid of brown goo and microscopic
nasties that endow one with the ability
to poop through screen doors.
How long before they desire to walk in a
spring rain that doesn't burn their skin and
leave their clothes streaked with soot, to plop
their posterior on an ergonomically-correct
toilet seat, to walk in the park without being
randomly stopped and searched by teenage
soldiers with machine guns.
Spokane, I kneel and kiss
your lead-contaminated river shores; I
yield to your politicians who probably
have never had anyone killed; I salute
your business leaders who may have cooked a book
or two but never cooked a competitor in boiling
burrito grease.
Mexico, I love your miles of secluded beaches,
your ancient ruins and your colonial cities, your
cobblestone streets, your steaming jungles, vast
deserts, staggering vistas and your beautiful
people. Into your brown arms I
shall surely return -- Mexico, my mistress, my
secret love...
But...Spokane -- you're
my gal.
[Editor's note: Please click the above link to
print out a copyrighted copy of your very own
Stik Mann's OtherSpokane "Spokane --
you're my gal" promotion poster.]
Many thanks to those who wrote kind words
about Issue 14 (or is it
15?), my story about our UFO sighting
in the Yuma Desert, and how it metaphysically
related, in a roundabout manner, to our excursion
into Mexico.
What I've been doing since I've returned:
I've been working (though not very hard) on
the La Busca homepage,
where I'm collecting James' and my writings,
artwork and photos from our southern
journey and the Yuma Desert aftermath. New
additions include The
Border Crossing, as well as James' Dream, and Harold Republic, a
story by James. I'll soon be posting "Encounter
with Rebels," photos from Morelia,
Michoacan, where we attended a rally hosted by
none other then the famous (infamous?) Zapatista
rebel leader/poet/surrealist Subcomandante
Marcos. A story will follow if I can
find my notes.
I've also included three chapters of a book I
started writing about my trip to Mexico in the winter
of '99. I stopped writing it because,
well, I got interested in something else. But, I
plan on using them in an upcoming project.
I experienced an unusual, two-week flurry of creative
energy, where I constructed many art
pieces from the boxes of treasure/junk I brought
back from the excursion. One reader -- who had
attended one of my earlier gallery shows -- asked
why I don't sell my artwork from the website.
Simply put, that would make this a commercial
site, and would cost more. But, I suppose I could
post photos of the work -- then,
if anyone wants to "talk art" we could,
maybe, have a cup of coffee or a beer or
something.
When I turned thirty, I decided to be a
writer. When I turned forty, I decided
to be an artist. Now, with fifty
a mere half-decade away, it's time to start
thinking about my next questionable, major life
move. Ever since the Judy
Rogers' Sarcastic Pantyraid 2000, where I was
severely inspired by the guitar playing of
friends dEWD and Phopaw, I have dusted off the
six-string left by an ex-girlfriend and have been
spending many hours plucking the cat gut.
Whether or not this will be the Fifties
Twist, I don't know. But if so, its
evolution will be documented on the Sarcastic Applause homepage.
And lastly, I immediately returned to my
beloved, low paying job as cook at The
Big Buffet Sign on Third Street.
Wonderful co-workers, a fun atmosphere, beautiful
young girls, food everywhere you look -- and
still, there are those of you who would say I
have no fringe benefits. (And, of course, let's
not forget that they let me disappear for months
at a time and still welcome me back with open
arms.) Stop in sometime and say hello. No doggie
bags, please.
Still hungry? Go to Stik Mann's
WebFinds for Issue 16.
Next issue: Forth of July,
perhaps?
|
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