Martedì, 16 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez at 07:14

Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez was his name. "I am Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez" is the way that he always introduced himself. His Cuban first name was pronounced "Jay-seus", but having the fortune of attending schools in a western country meant that he developed a nickname of "Gee Wiz".

Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. His pencil thin moustache, his aligator shoes, his outcrop of entangled locks that grew wildly on his scalp, also gave a healthy, hirsute covering to his back and chest.

In fact, one former girlfriend claimed to have shaved her name into his back. Maria Immaculata Teresa Cervantes got every letter on there. However, by morning the proof had been covered over by a new thicker growth. On hot summer days when Jesus removed his shirt, you could still make the faint curly outline of Maria.

He could dance. His favourite was the Tango as it was more physical than the Rhumba. The tango is about violence and power. One partner is guide and subjugates his partner into following. The tango is not about cooperation and a liberating freedom.

The tango is about dictatorship and oppression. And Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez loved it. He loved the physical violence associated with it. He loved its aggression. He loved the driving staccato of its beat.

And Silvia loved him.

It was the gold tooth that always worried me about Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. That and the gun that he kept in a holster strapped to his ankle.

Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez kept the devil on a leash, but it would soon escape and do more than bite the hand that fed it.

Mercoledì, 24 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez at 07:56

I pull out a wad of toilet paper from my pocket and blow my nose hard.

Q: "How do you make a tissue dance?"
A: "You blow a little boogie into it."

It's cold outside and I'm nursing a running nose. If I was in a better mood, I would have made some crack about having to chase after it. But not tonight.

My feet wade through watery pools. They splash unhappily on my way to buy tissues. A lady sees me use the toilet paper and looks quickly away as if I were a murderer. I bet she has used toilet paper before.

I could just disregard my nose and let it drip. "Oh, herro, can I havre a bottre of milk, a bag of orangges, the paper and ... ahhh ... oh, yeah ... and a box of tissues. By the whey, do you know how to make a trissure dance?"

"A trissure?"

"A trissure ... a tissue ... Oh, never mind."

It's cold tonight. Have I mentioned that?

To my right, I hear the sounds of a disturbance. Cans rattle. A weight slams into a wall. The city streets look away. The lights turn their glare away from the centre of the commotion. I can't see. The moon hides behind a cloud.

I look hard and focus on a couple of bodies. The bigger one, approaches the other, finds his range and strikes with force.

It's like a Japanese animated Manga film and the director has called action. I see a shadow thrown across a wall. Thhuuuump! It tries to get up and run, but a large,dark outline reaches out, grabs the shadow squeezing its throat. Zzzeeeeeugh! Teeth gnash.

The dominant shadow, it's outline bristling like cold steel, cocks back its arm and unleashes it into the slumped mass against the wall. A spray of black spots rush across the wall in fear. Swwwissshhh!

One of the nearby lights hears the danger and slowly revolves to get a better look. Its muted light shines across the scene. I see a pair of dangerous eyes glare back at the interruption. They are fire.

They belong to Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez.

The light moves its gaze in apology. Another punch. A boot. Uuurrrgh! A slumped heap lies quiet, as if sleeping.

Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his hands. I realise my nose is dripping and I apply my toilet paper to it.

"He will not trouble you again, m'amore." I hear him say.

From out of the shadows, comes a woman in a long overcoat that I recognise. The large collar hides her face. She rushes to him and falls into his arms harboured in his chest. Her lips reach up to his and they meet in a long kiss.

I see your face. The face of Silvia Rose.

The director shouts "cut".

Giovedì, 25 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez at 06:19

My name is Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. And I am a dancer. Sometimes I think God looks down from his heaven and wishes he could dance like me. Other dancers don't envy my dancing. They envy what it means.

It means sex.

To men it's the smell of sex. It gets into their nostrils and climbs inside, right in here, deep in here. If they can't release it they'll just burst.

To women it's about fulfillment. They see every thing in me that their man cannot provide. Success, power, smooth dance steps that drive you ever closer to submission.

I love the Tango. Pahhh to the Rhumba. The Tango is my dance. It is strong, physical, always demanding more from you. It's like driving a bed.

Silvia Rose loves the Rhumba. It's about freedom to her. You can see it in her eyes when she dances. You can feel it in her body. She is not there. She is not with me or with her husband.

She is a bird, free. When she is dancing, what you see is her soul.

You can see it, but you cannot touch it. Not even I, Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez can touch it.

But I will.

Martedì, 30 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez at 22:15

Today I placed a label on my penis. It said:

"May contain traces of Almonds, Brazil Nuts, Bunya Nuts, Caraway Seeds, Celery Seeds, Chestnuts, Chopped Nuts, Fennel Seeds, Hazelnuts, Linseeds, Macadamia Nuts, Peanuts, Pecan Nuts, Pine Nuts, Pistachio Nuts, Poppy Seed, Pumpkin Seeds, Sesame Seeds, Sunflower Seeds, Walnuts, Water Chestnuts and of course my very own nuts."

Venerdì, 07 Maggio, 2004 | Posted by Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez at 07:53

Sex is fantastic. You are in the realm of the Gods and you fear no one. You join together, slowly the pin is pushed down until you feel the explosion. Sometimes the explosion is full of dynamite, sometimes it is full of old dead nails and shit.

I look at it this way, how many explosions can you have in a lifetime? An explosion is an explosion.

You may want to get it if you can, because in the end you are still alone. You get up, put on your clothes, run that hair gel through your locks, take a long look in the mirror to make sure you're attractive for the next woman, and then you walk out the door.

Alone.

You want to give them a kiss goodbye. But you never do.

What are you going to do? It's Friday.

Domenica, 13 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Detective Stevens at 13:54

I am an early morning riser. It's hard in winter. Not only is everyone still asleep, but so is the day. It's still dark. And it's always cold. My normal routine is to get up, go down to the local 7Eleven, buy the paper, read it over coffee, then shower and head off to work.

I remember this particular morning. A new Korean family had just taken over the 7Eleven. I said hello as I entered the brightly lit premises. I picked up the paper and looked through the magazines. I particularly like PC Mags, and quickly ferret through the stand to see if any of my favorites have a new issue. I rarely buy one as it's hard to read at this time of the morning and I didn't have my glasses. It's actually a lot easier to see the scantily clad females that adorn the "girlie" magazines right next to the PC Mags.

I heard the little Korean lady laugh loudly following a comment from her husband. I happened to be the only person in the store. In these cases I always assume the person is laughing at me. She was probably laughing at the overweight, balding man in a badly fitting track suit walking up and down the aisles.

Okay, it was laughable. Why is it that the most unfit and overweight people across the entire world are the ones wearing track suits? As if the very act of wearing them will make them fit and trim. We're a sorry lot.

I went up to pay for my paper. The Korean lady smiled broadly. There wasn't a mean streak in her body.

But again I heard her laugh stab me from behind as I walked toward the door to exit the premises. There was one of those circular mirrors that distorts everything but provides a 180 degree view.

I had thought I was alone, but wasn't. In the reflection I saw a male, approximately 185 cm tall, black hair tied into a pony tail at the back. I could not see his face. As he walked down the aisle, I caught the glint of metal that peeked out from the leg bottom of his pants and strapped to his ankle.

I stepped outside. I waited patiently. There was no movement. There were no shadows that rushed across walls or towered over cowered bodies. Today's over lit environments prevent all the drama of a hollywood film noir.

After a few minutes, I decided to go back and see if everything was okay. I could see no one at the counter, but at this time of the morning I assumed that they were stacking shelves and talking about the fat, bald guy in the track suit. I looked around, but couldn't see anyone stacking anything.

I walked in carefully. I approached the counter area. A bank of security cameras that I could see in the adjoining room showed no movement. The only thing I could see was an open cash register and a trail of blood that was slowing making its way across the floor. It was taking its time. No hurry. There was no rush.

Life however, wasn't so accommodating. From where it once existed only a few minutes before, it had now disappeared. Made a convenient departure. Escaped, if you like. Disappeared like the person who had also been here.

That had been my first encounter with Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. That was a few years ago now, but I have recalled it recently when a new Korean family took over the 7Eleven. I heard the wife laugh. She was petite and with a warm face. It must have been that goddam track suit.