three cities

Casey made me waffles this morning before dropping me off at the airport. It was a nice, short visit, and I feel I could have stayed an extra day. Next time.

The flights are a banal blur. I can barely remember changing planes in Atlanta during my hour layover. I spent most of my time absorbed in the incredible “cannibalistic" revolutions which racked Mexico over a decade. There’s a huge tome about the city’s history written by a somewhat leftist American reporter from the tail end of the Beat generation, who wrote the book as he died slowly of cancer he’d picked up living here for decades. Its not 100% accurate, but, as in so many things, it’s the story that counts.

Actually, I want to see a movie of the revolution. Or a series of movies. You could easily make seven movies, two for each revolution. The characters are iconic, complex, duplicitous, fascinating, the action and scope is epic, and the US is always happy to step in directly with marines, and more covertly with support for coups, double crosses, and assassinations. The story of Mexico from the time of Aztecs seems to be that of an endless parade of bloodthirsty, greedy tyrants sprinkled with a few upstanding and courageous leaders, and an largely agrarian underclass which swung wildly from being ground to dust under the boots of the government and upper class to a roiling tide of totally unrestrained, anarchic destructive rebellion.

It’s way more interesting than some dwarf’s walking tour to find the magic elf earrings. Imagine the entire city turned out to see the entry of untrusted emperor, a feared horde of 100,000 field workers all in white enter the besieged city and proceed to drink hot chocolate, Pancho Villa sodomizing nuns, Emilio Zapata standing at the gates with his finger on the button to destroy the city, and turning away. It’s actually all too bitterly tragic. Really, the only winners in the Mexican Revolution(s) were the US and the leaders who managed to flee to Europe with a sizable portion of the national treasury.

Anyway, in St. Louis, I caught a metro to school and picked up my regalia (if you’re going to spend $100, which is a quarter of what I make a month, on a RENTAL, it’s not just a cap and a gown, you get fucking regalia). Picked up the keys to Alex’s apartment, where I’m spending the night, and walked over from the school. Its a good thing its close, because it was warm today.

Actually, St. Louis welcomed me back with a beautiful afternoon, a rendering perfect sky, and the fresh, lush greenery of late spring. St. Louis, and the US I’ve seen looks so clean and orderly and kempt in comparison with Mexico City.

St. Louis doesn’t feel like home anymore. That distinction departed with a certain woman on a flight to Germany. It’s more like the cities where my grandparents have lived for decades, I’m intimate with the city, and associate it with good experiences, but its just home. I really wonder if I’ll feel ‘home’ when I return to Mexico City.

Walked to pick up churches fried chicken for dinner with some sweet tea. I need to remember that St. Louis is actually more dangerous than Mexico City. There was actually a violent mugging last night just around the corner from where I am now sitting in Dew’s old apartment.

There is a certain nostalgic symmetry to returning to this apartment. Even before school started, when we first arrived, we came to a party at this apartment and got to know Dew, Alex, and a host of other characters we would spend a lot of time with over the coming years. We had a lot of drunken parties here, a lot of overly serious conversation out on the patio, lit only by the glow of the street lamps and cigarettes, a lot of wonderful meals. Our farewell party was here.

After Saori left for Germany and I moved out of the apartment, I stayed here for a few nights. When I drove out of St. Louis for what would be the last time, I left from this parking lot.