Saturday, December 22, 2007

The Anti-Christ Mass

Religion for me is personal and subjective, it does not need to be hung from a crucifix, memorialized in Rome, participate in unholy wars or wear payot.

Modern day religion; anochronic, out of touch, restraining Mother Earth and human kind from breath taking spirituality and transcendence. If Jesus, Mohammad or Mose came back to earth they would be appalled! You could liken this to Norman Mailer's metaphor on NASA Rockets blowing spent jet fuel into space, disturbing the Angels highly tuned sensitivities.

My best Christmas memories are unconventional and have nothing to do with garlands, cozy fires and egg nog.

In December,1968,I went to Mexico with my parents. We were staying at the Las Hamacas Hotel on Acapulco Bay. In front of the hotel, on the bay, there was a small taco cafe that had a juke box with a few Gringo hits of the time. Psychedelic music; Doors, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Rolling Stones.

One Christmas Day, I met a Californian surfer dude and his younger sister, both my age, at the cafe. We shared a common interest, scoring some refer. We were told to look for a Beaner by the name of "Maestro Magico". The process of scoring was like a pagan ritual. When we found the Maestro, we scored a few fingers of "Gold".


We Three Kings went back to the Las Hamacas, hid in the toilet and turned on. It was my first time; we sat at the pool and threw small stones in, watching the water ripple outwards in a circular motion, each ripple a Sacred Madalla of life.

When we got bored with the pool we decided to go body surfing. We were 15, but the Beaners on the beach sold us all the Corona and Tequila we wanted. Corona was great in those days, comparable to German Beer in thickness. We were smashed in a seconds.

After the sunset, we went back to the Los Hamacus to crash. I passed out with my surfer friend’s sister in their room. We fumbled and managed to get it on somehow. I didn't know where her vagina was. Back then, tongue swallowing kissing, was the best thing happening.

Through the haze latter that night, I realized I missed Christmas dinner with my parents. When my mother got hold of me, she hammered out the "riot act" in triplets. She even smacked me a few times.

But I am going to tell you, that was the best Christmas on record for me. No church or crucifix, no cozy fire, no fat dinner, could make me as happy as the partying and virgin sacrifice I enjoyed that night.

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