Guadalupe Mountains National Park – Lincoln National Forest, NM
Tuesday 4/30
We set off for El Paso in the morning, our final Texas town, only to realize we would never make it. Slugger thirsted desperately and there were no watering holes for miles. We veered north, towards an expensive cocktail lounge. No water, but plenty of margaritas. Slugger sipped the overpriced, the dinosaurs jumped with delight, and we committed to the northern route. From the desert, we ascended into the mountains of Lincoln National Forest through CloudCraft, yet another town with ultimately no reason to exist. The trees quadrupled in abundance and diversity, and the grass, surprisingly, grew. Happy cows. We were happier for the cows, and we mooed over the hills to the desert on its other flank.
The town nestled between Lincoln National Forest and White Sands National Monument is mysteriously named The Fat Alamo. Like gaining weight, and the Alamo, Alamogordo is mysteriously alluring. Fatalamao drew us in with the church of the temple of the body, the planet of the fitness. Fit World, and it’s fountains of cleanliness held us there for sometime but, ultimately, the beautiful people of Alamogordo drew us like magnets. The attraction of the place is as powerful as it is inexplicable.
Alamogordo’s public library is fine. There’s a fire place and that’s fine. There’s wifi but it’s hard to connect to, that’s fine too. Beyond fine, is Frank R Douglas, it’s most righteous temporary inhabitant.
I’ve learned by now what happens when I leave Lukas alone in public. Lukas’ unmatched beauty lured a suitor of unmatched madness and though he slumped sadly upon my entrance, he ultimately entranced us both with his lewd rambling monologue.
Some words on F.R.D of F.R.D
Your hair’s too long kid. Isn’t this a military town? How old are you? See I used to have hair like that, down to my nipples, beautiful, thick.
I was the only hippy who never smoked dope. That’s how it is when you’re in the military. But now all this shit is fake see. That’s what happens when you get old. Your hair gets fake. But back in college I used to have hair hair like that. But that’s how it should be.
See you need to go wild when you’re young. Have all the freaky sex kid. When I was young, all these beautiful young couples, they wanted me to join in their pleasures, but now I’m sixty, and my hair’s fake, and no one answers my ads.
But we’re all women you know. Men are just fucked up women. I guess that means we’re all lesbos after all.
Ah, you’re from Texas. Yes. I know about Texans. I know Texans. Actually, when I was working as a tour guide in Germany I met a Texan woman. There was this small naked german boy, you see, And in Texas they don’t like seeing peenees, because they know Jesus doesn’t like to see peenees. So she went to the cops of course, as any Texan would, and said sir, that boys naked, and they said why yes he is, and she said but I can see his little peepee, and they said why yes you can, and she told them Jesus wouldn’t like that, and they told her it was too small to hurt her. She should go back to Texas. So that’s Texas. But you know that, being Texan. I bet you have a small penis huh?
I have a peace sign ring so that when I punch someone I’m saying peace be with them. And then it fades in a couple days. So is peace.
Well she’s beautiful isn’t she. Who does she look like? No, no, that’s not right. It’s Cleopatra, I think she’s Cleopatra.
We slithered away from our snake charmer still dazed and amazed, slipsliding to the grocery store. Frank’s mania whispered sourceless glee in our ears as we wandered the aisles. Chris the cashier got whiffs of the magic spilling out our ears and was magically manipulated into giving us 20 monopoly cards. We didn’t know what they were but we knew it was great honor, because he bent the knee to present them. We bent the knee in return. We took the cards. Little did we know, those cards would continue to fuel our mania for weeks to come.
We backtracked to what would be our home for the next several nights. Ascending the mountains and slinking along Steep Hill Road, we passed 19 hooves, 7 bear turds, 4 rib cages, and a single pelt. None of the aforementioned were attached to any living entity. Zazu’s words whispered in our ears as we set up tent in the elephant graveyard. You must never go there. Soon the wind picked up, endlessly flapping ears into each others mouths. We bailed to the car.
Though dark magic led us into slugger’s belly, it proved to be a cozy womb. We slept safe and snug and comfy. We haven’t attempted sleeping in the Slug since our first Walmart experience, which left too battered, too beat. This time, in the mountains, with the silence of solitude and the darkness of destitution, we slept like little potatoes in the warm ground. We found a new home and we take it with us, into the nights to come.
Van-ish 