Dec. 18th, 2007

Old Mexico

Dec. 18th, 2007 07:34 am
monk222: (Noir Detective)

MORELIA, Mexico — Mexico’s country music stars are being killed at an alarming rate — 13 in the past year and a half, three already in December — in a trend that has gone hand in hand with the surge in violence between drug gangs here.

-- James C. McKinley for The New York Times

This is the sort of violence we associate with the rap music world. You know something is wrong when even country music life is this wild. It also brings home how far Mexico remains from being a true First World country, and that it probably never will become one.

xXx

Old Mexico

Dec. 18th, 2007 07:34 am
monk222: (Noir Detective)

MORELIA, Mexico — Mexico’s country music stars are being killed at an alarming rate — 13 in the past year and a half, three already in December — in a trend that has gone hand in hand with the surge in violence between drug gangs here.

-- James C. McKinley for The New York Times

This is the sort of violence we associate with the rap music world. You know something is wrong when even country music life is this wild. It also brings home how far Mexico remains from being a true First World country, and that it probably never will become one.

xXx

Feral Love

Dec. 18th, 2007 04:54 pm
monk222: (Lone Wolf)

Ah, there they are.

I lay the food and fresh water on the patio, and immediately upon my returning inside, the cats emerge from the brush across the yard. They don't run; not even Salty runs anymore. They stretch and take a leisurely stroll to their dinner.

Seeing them come is my modest joy. I know they do not come for my beauty nor my witty company. They will not stand my touch. It is all about the food. If only they didn't have to see and deal with me at all, if only the food would come like manna from the heavens.

xXx

Feral Love

Dec. 18th, 2007 04:54 pm
monk222: (Lone Wolf)

Ah, there they are.

I lay the food and fresh water on the patio, and immediately upon my returning inside, the cats emerge from the brush across the yard. They don't run; not even Salty runs anymore. They stretch and take a leisurely stroll to their dinner.

Seeing them come is my modest joy. I know they do not come for my beauty nor my witty company. They will not stand my touch. It is all about the food. If only they didn't have to see and deal with me at all, if only the food would come like manna from the heavens.

xXx

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