De que me hablas?

I see cats walking along Sixth Avenue. And I wonder, don't these cats have a home? They look clean, well fed, well cared for. What are they doing out this time of night? Then you think, all the dogs are at home. They would never go out by themselves like that.

So what are cats thinking about? Dogs seem easy to understand. They know where home is. They know they shouldn't just go out like that, by themselves. They know who number one is. They don't do this cat thing, go out at night like that, crossing the street in a way that seems very chance-y, like, how did they manage to do that without getting hit by a car?

I guess you can tell by now that I've always had cats, and never had a dog. And maybe that's why where I'm at right now makes more sense than I understand. It's like I was telling Ricky about Bob Dylan. He doesn't really understand how smart he is. And it freaks him out.

I went to see Natalia La Fourcade and she is like a cat.


I'm not sure if anybody there really understood the magic that was going on around them. I certainly didn't. I don't even remember when the last full moon was. Many moons have passed, indeed. Natalia was clear evidence of some kind of prodigy vibration. How gallant of her to deviate from the standard Mexican rock path. Yeah, sure Control was right there with her. The melody was what I was missin'.

I woke up dreaming
Coquís was screamin'
Straight marriage amendment
Pretty turquoise pendant


I forgot about this weird dreamy outside-Carlitos photo. It seems to represent the general blurriness of our times. El amor sin mentiras es imposible. But so is amor in general. That's why it's so cool.

Really there are only a few truths you can really count on. El amor, la muerte, and suspension bridges.