I’m Going Nomad

Hey there folks,

It’s been quite the spell hasn’t it? I have half a dozen veritable excuses I could use to satiate my claims of inadequacy, but in truth, none of them really matter. The fact is I’ve been neglecting my poor blog in favor of the tenuous here and now – and, shame, that just isn’t my proper style. What sort of wandering vagabond am I if I can scarcely keep a blog updated, eh?

Things have been quite tumultuous on my end, what, with the moving back to Lovington, taking up residence as a local English teacher, and trying to juggle my new work schedule, academic career, and personal Life all in one go. And here I thought I had mastered time management. Joke’s on me, because time is a fictional concept and you cannot master fiction.

Despite my faults (which exist purely because of my own machinations), I am acclimating well to things I reason. Forsooth, I heartily enjoy teaching English – that should’ve been a given considering my penchant for arguing and being a pompous ass when it comes to literature and opinions. And Lord knows if you’ve ever argued with me I don’t back down in the face of Reason too readily.

Yet my writing Life has certainly taken a most severe blow within these past few months. To be fair (which it isn’t), moving back to Lovington was a burden. But that was accomplished in little over a week (thanks, Po – you’re the best). And acclimating myself to the new teaching gig has been rather touch and go at times. Just when I feel I get the hang of things, the local Umbridge brings the thunder and I’m back to drowning in a heap of acronyms, paperwork, and children with banal questions. Yes, you put your goddamned name on every assignment; stop asking.

Even as I write this post, I am unsure of its completion. And if you’re reading this, hot damn, that means I finally finished a fucking draft for the first time in months. True, my personal journal is stained heavily in fountain pen ink (with my distinctive script), but it is indeed a far cry from keeping up with my blog. I’m paying for this damned thing, right, so I might as well write something worthy of note.

And here we are, for something has compelled me to write tonight, or rather, some people.

A couple weeks ago, a Camino Comrade of mine happened to be in the area on account of business. And by in the area I mean within two hours of me, which, as any red-or-green blooded New Mexican will attest, is close by. Despite it being a school night (still getting used to that again) and having a slew of grading, lesson plans, and my own academics to fret over, I saddled up after classes let out and made my way to the grand city of Andrews, Tejas. Despite my reluctance to ever visit that dread land of faux-Cowboys e’er again, this woman was well worth the voyage.

And so the two of us – having last met back in April in Missouri – dined over steak fingers and Cokes (no booze; damned dry city) and caught one another up on the shenanigans we’ve been up to since attending hospitalero training way back when. And I must say, how delightfully refreshing it was to simply spend a couple hours with an old friend. Truth, we had only spent about a week together in person, but Camino, as we all know, is simply like that: making eternal friends can take as little as a chance buen camino.

We sat in her car, chain smoking and bullshitting, reminiscing about this and that, and speaking of our desires to once more rejoin the Way and how we planned on achieving that. We spoke of our mutual comrades with whom we had both visited this past year, of our singular encounters with others from our hospitalero group, and the significant moments in our respective Lives from encounter the last.

She remarked upon the blog, how she really enjoyed my “sermon” to the Presbyterian flock of yesteryear, and I recall beaming with pride in the darkened vehicle, the ember of my cigarette dangling from my lip the only tell-tale sign of warmth across my face. Though my biggest critic and always downplaying praise, it touched me to know I had made an impact.

“You should write an anthology,” she said. “I think you’d be great at it.”

I’d be damned if I said my heart wasn’t aflutter at that kind suggestion.

Forsooth, comrades, there is something to be said in the mere innocence of it all. To simply sit there in plumes of smoke, watching the night sky take shape as the sun sets, and speaking from one soul to another. As I drove the hour and a half back to my new lodgings, how I wished I could merely keep driving and continue the great journey ever onward, to forever seek out such companionship and understanding, to keep the high.

Stephanie, I am eternally in your debt for shaking me awake. For reminding me that my Life isn’t meant to be forever in one place tied down to any single notion of reality. For indeed, reality is what we determine it to be.

And my reality has always been on the road.

But that moment of friendly bliss was soon swallowed whole by the new Life I had crafted about myself. Schooling is no joke – my evenings are oft dedicated to keeping ahead of my classes. My days are entirely devoted to my newfound charges – they may curse my name and workload at the present but I’ve hope for the future. And my personal Life – that damnable thing I can never quite put right – goes through the motions of ups and downs.

As a dark cloud swallows the sun in the encroaching storm, so too was my brief moment with Stephanie in danger of being eclipsed by my own machinations of realistic defeatism.

Yet Fate, comrades, had yet to abandon me completely.

Today, as my red pen flew across scores of comma splices and words in need of capitalization, my phone chirped the familiar sound of a message received. And there, though she didn’t know it at the time, came a familiar face with some much-needed words of encouragement.

“Hey Bruno!” she began. “Miss your posts!”

My dear Stacey – how powerfully wrought were these simple words.

We chatted for a bit – apparently, I may be considered a Subject Matter Expert on all things Grado (adding that to the resume) – about her upcoming writing responsibilities and the Gathering of Pilgrims outside Atlanta next month. Although I didn’t tell her at the time (indeed, I wasn’t quite so sure of it myself initially), her innocent comment had knocked something loose. It reminded me of my brief dinner with Stephanie, of the potential I had to actually put pen to paper and write.

To write, dammit.

That inspiration. That nugget of wisdom. The kernel of truth. Whatever euphemism you need, whatever you call it, to begin writing. And to write in earnest. And here we are now, dear reader, a full 1000 words later, writing about things that may seem trivial to the casual observer, but which mean oh so much to me and my flying fingers and racing pen.

Perhaps it’s the copious amounts of booze I’ve ingested. Maybe the plentiful amount of cigarettes smoked. Or the thought that tomorrow I could very well be hungover in a highly stressful job but without a single care to my name. Maybe the reverberating sounds of angry Finnish death metal within my addled skull. Whatever it is – whatever name we wish to call it – some cobwebs have been batted away, the dust scoured clean, and the writer once more unleashed unto himself.

Indulge me, comrades, for your Nomad has returned.

In parting, may I recite my absolute favorite bit of Passion Proof Power, a casual reminder that I am my own Fate, and that no matter what: I am fucking crazy, but I am free.

I Am
You Are
No One’s Slave
No Man or God They Have Made

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Not What You Expected

My body was quivering with anticipation. This is it, I thought, it’s finally happening. Oh, how I had been dreaming about it for hours! Days, even! My lust for this moment had maddened me beyond reason. Ah, it had been so long I had almost forgotten what was in store for me.

Pleasure. Incomprehensible pleasure.

We were alone, just the two of us. Private. Secluded. The way it ought to have been. Perfect. Just us. We could take our time, really enjoy one another without intrusion. That’s the downside of Camino – rare are the moments where two can be alone for very long. Always had to be quick. Stupid quick; no time for passion.

But not this time. No, I had all the time in the world. This would not be quick. Everything would be enjoyed. Everything would be supped and savored. We would be locked in that embrace until the heat finally escaped us.

And that meant plenty of time.

We started slowly – didn’t want to use up all the passionate heat right off the bat. I let my hair down; always more fun with the hair down. But within moments I was dripping with sweat. Maybe it was a little too hot?

We turned it down, just a notch, just a bit slower. All the time in the world; no one would bother us here. Savor this, I thought, savor every moment.

That warm embrace, ah! How I felt it across my entire body. Slightly painful (still too hot?) against my bare back, but oddly comforting against my equally bare chest. Wet hair clung to my face; such passion! Can’t even see through the madness I was losing myself to; perfect! Everything around us was slick with perspiration, the air almost suffocating in our steamy embrace, but we carried on. I’ll clean up later.

I quivered throughout the entire session. That touch! Such fire racing throughout my body. Again and again I felt it, as if a million droplets of warmth were being thrown against my body. It had been far too long since I’ve tasted this, felt this, lived this!

Steam. I could see it now. I looked past – only for a moment – and gazed at my hand.

Yes, steam. Our passion had literally created steam rising from my bare skin. Incredible. The warm vapor was everywhere. I looked about but could scarcely see anything, such was the density. Incredible.

How I relished every moment. How I never wanted it to end.

But I felt it.

The briefest signal that things were coming to a climax; I must finish soon. Finish while the passionate heat still existed.

I moved quickly, hands racing here and there, ensuring no spot was left, that everything between us had been touched upon during our time together. Steam rose from my body, but I still raced. Time was running out after all.

With a cry of satisfaction, I allowed myself to finish. I gasped for breath; how could it have ended in such a manner? There’s never enough time, I thought. How I wish I could just enjoy this forever.

I turned the shower off, the last droplets of lukewarm water dripping against my face. When the temperature changes, you know it’s time. But after almost 36 hours without a shower, well, I could spend a little extra time in there, no?

Fuck, I love showers.

In the middle of traveling to a new location in Spanish territory folks; first shower since leaving Grado. I’ll report back once I’m set up in my new digs.

Thanks for reading; hope you got a laugh out of it.

Master of Two Worlds

Hey there folks,

Forgive my lack of posts and updates for the bulk of my time is devoted to the pilgrims at the albergue here in Grado. Plenty of time to jot down thoughts in my journal, but bangin’ out a bitchin’ blog post is much more difficult. I’m not even mad; this gig is such a welcome chapter of my Life. And soon, my Life will change yet again for the better. I go from one happy moment to the next – yes, Life is good.

DSCF0647
Boom; headshot.

But you didn’t come here to read about how much I’m enjoying Life and brimming with excitement for Our future. If you’ll allow me, curious reader, let me tell you about being a hospitalero.

Continue reading “Master of Two Worlds”

Camino Famous (Live in Grado!)

Hey there folks,

Do forgive my lack of posts and updates as of late. It’s been a very busy week for me and I’m only now adjusting to a schedule that forces me to write in my rare moments of leisure.

And what sort of schedule might this be, you ask to no one in particular (save maybe your lone cat or blow-up sex doll). One might also wonder why you’re always speaking in italics, dear reader.

Why, silly bitch! My schedule as a hospitalero in the beautiful city of Grado, Spain People’s Republic of Asturias, of course!

I’ve been on location now for four days and will finish out the month at the brand new albergue (can’t miss it). It’s a busy ordeal, lemme tell you, with the pilgrims and the building to care for, but gods, I enjoy this stuff. Not much time to write, but somehow I manage.

You rarely have time to yourself as a hospitalero; few things, comrades, are more gratifying than this type of volunteer work. Lemme a’splain.

Now with more old lesbian doppelganger
Now with more old lesbian doppelganger

But let’s backtrack a bit here, eh? We’ve a few days to catch up with one another after all.

Continue reading “Camino Famous (Live in Grado!)”

Go and Hide in a Hole if You Wish

Hey there folks,

As a Catholic, I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to believe in nor acknowledge without offending the Almighty, His angels and saints, and my many good Catholic friends. Do forgive me, for I’m just a mere (im)mortal with his sporadic outbursts of piety coupled with extreme heathenism. For you see, dear reader, I do firmly believe in Fate and that things happen for a reason: whether we realize the reason or not is irrelevant. Free will, to me, is an expressed illusion, for our Fate has already been woven – we simply follow the thread through our own labyrinth.

For reference, view the first 25 seconds or so.

Forgive me, Catholic friends, for citing Odin as a skald to live by.

So, enough heathen outbursts; meat and potatoes, eh?

Continue reading “Go and Hide in a Hole if You Wish”