YEAR

I want you to understand who I am. I haven't the energy to be a poet right now. It is the last day of the year. I own four houses and no mortgages. The Argument known as America died sometime mid-year. No one is budging. It is a stalemate and I am leaving. I have been self-deporting for the last two years. 

I am looking to buy a fifth house in Mexico where I can live when it snows and when it doesn't snow. An American tourist was shot on the street in Guerrero yesterday by drug men. Guerrero means "war maker." An innocent gamer was shot in his own home in Kansas City by policeman yesterday, victim of a prank. Five deputies were shot in Colorado today by a disgruntled husband. I don't care why. 

I feel safe everywhere. My fear gene was sanded away during a religious childhood. That same childhood turned me into a pacifist. Spending six months in Cook County Jail during the 1960s helped, too. I never feared. No one came close to harming me. Maybe I'm wrong on pacifism. I will take my chances. Maybe I'm wrong for leaving the country. It is my choice. It is my answer to the Argument. I have faith. I will tell you about my sons later. 

I haven't the mind to be a poet right now. I repeat myself. Someone called me an old white man recently. Two people called me a racist. One called me a racist because I greeted him by saying "hola." He was Latino. I had just come back from teaching in Guatemala for a month. I had been speaking Spanish for a month. I said "Hola." He said that was racist. I met him on Grindr. That is another story. Maybe I will tell that story later. Maybe I will tell those stories later, although they are many and it is unlikely you would want to hear them. 

I boast. I go to my therapist to boast. It's his job to listen to me boast. He doesn't mind. I'm not as smart as a lot of people. Smart people voted for Jill Stein. There are white supremacists and there are intellectual supremacists. They all suffer from the same malady. They think it is important that they are better or smarter than other people. That is one thing I don't think. I don't ever boast about being better to my therapist. My boasts are indistinguishable from my apologies. Jim Carrey says he doesn't exist. I don't either.

I have three sons. The world isn't worth worrying about right now. We will all die. I give money to anyone on the street who asks for it. I gave a dollar to a barefooted black young guy in downtown Los Angeles. He complained about the prostitutes. He was hard to understand. My hearing may be going. I walked to the house in Venice Beach where I lived when I was an aspiring hippy. That was also in the 1960s. The man who lives there now rides a bicycle. This is my year-end letter. I am not hung up on the 1960s any more. Today is also interesting.

My son Henry is careening down Hollywood Boulevard flashing a deck of cards. He is a magician. He smokes. Lee died. Lee is Henry's mother. She died 19 months ago. Nineteen months accounts for 1/29th of our time together. I will have to live to the age of 92 to have lived as many years without her as with her. Even then, she would have been with me half my life. That sentence uses the conditional perfect tense, I guess. I had to look it up. In Spanish, one would say ella habría estado conmigo la mitad de mi vida. Lee wasn't perfect. Neither was I. Possibly we were perfect together though.

My son Ernie got married. He is most like me. He has my genes. My son Myles doesn't have my genes. We usually get along. He lives close and I see him often. He is young. I want him to be healthy. I don't want to have to take care of him when he is older and I live in Mexico. I am selfish that way. I want all my children to take care of themselves. That was my job, probably. 

I don't want to travel the world or grandchildren. I've seen the world. I want to live in Mexico and Guatemala. I know people. That is enough. I might like to go to Portugal, if there is a cheap flight. I fly cheaply. I flew to South America twice for $200 round trip. I fly to New York for $50. It just happens.

The Samsung smart watch I bought in Medellin, Colombia, told me it is time to get on my feet. I have been sitting for 50 minutes. I don't think digital technology is any worse than a bicycle. They used to call the bicycle a devil's tool, too. We will all die.

The church I was raised in used to be filled with the salt of the earth. That's what we called ourselves behind our backs. Energy never dies. The salt has lost its savor. It is a dead sea. I am leaving.

That is my letter for 2017. I have five blogs or more. I have an unpublished blog that holds my secrets. My therapist suggested it. My children may find it when I die. I won't care at that point. I wonder if they will. If Lee were still alive, I would have her read this before I publish it. She always knew. I miss her. If I never see another car chase or space battle at the movies, I'll die happy. I should have been an artist/actor/urologist. Choose one. I only hate lies. Sometimes I lie.

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