https://youtu.be/Ye7FKc1JQe4?si=SsQpyJUV6fWp-k4G
One of my American best buddies is telling me to publish my travel memoirs so here's something... This is the guy in like late March 2005 we go up to the window at Fox News in Manhattan and I stick my head on the glass pane..... Just me and him, I'd just spent like a year in china.....
To answer your question, I didn't do much in Biloxi Mississippi. I entered with a bunch of Spanish speakers, some legal some without proper immigration paperwork, from Louisiana. Sharing a house together with whoever other Spanish speakers, which is a common thing amongst Spanish speakers in America: moving around together, sharing buses, cars, homes, food, etc. There were no cartel types there that I know of however shortly afterwards I ended up spending a couple weeks dishwashing in Florida with a coyote criminal Mexican guy, somewhat likeable I must say.
It's quite a cosy arrangement amongst the hispano parlantes all over America I reckon.
Our sharehouse in Biloxi was a short walk to the waterside (gulf of Mexico). I reckon Mississippi law requires all casinos to be floating not on dry land. The most amazing thing looking back, is that the nearest casino of this kind, was shortly afterwards destroyed by hurricane Katrina just a matter of weeks later and just a few weeks later I saw a photo of said casino, with it's unmistakable giant guitar neck. Snapped, in a Chinese newspaper in china near Beijing. Amazing. The very same place from a few weeks beforehand in Biloxi, making news in china, due to freak weather destruction.
Similar destructive weather just hit that part of China (Beijing 2023) where that kooky Biloxi casino photo was in the local newspaper.
Interesting.
So after my 'poodling' around, as my hostile sister Patricia would say. Also somewhat of a traveller, and bidding adieu to my coyote cartel friend. Roberto. I noted Roberto mentioned being detained by the FBI at one point and being told he was on their most wanted list. Hearing his stories of coordinating hundreds of people across the freezing deserts of the former Spanish territories of Mexico and Texas, two or three cell phones on hand, ICE helicopters circling overhead. A cartel truck driver on the Texan side of the border. Rocks to hide under to evade the helicopters. People freezing to death. Roberto, the ruthless shepherd, their fearless leader. He offered me a job for 100k per year weighing and packaging drugs, and probably pimping whores too. Biloxi seemed so far away at that moment. Sigh, it was all too much for the comfort lovin' poodle Benji. I waddled over to the airport in Florida, panting slightly in my poodle like way and paid a little extra for using cash to purchase a one way flight back to NYC.
My new roommate who has just moved in when I'd departed my beautiful and expensive home in Queens a month earlier for Biloxi and beyond (Florida, Polk County), Guadalupe, a first generation Texan woman from Mexican parents has divorced her military white guy husband and was feeling randy. I was sure I could help.
For some inexplicable reason, be it genetic defect, a dark and emotionally empty, poodle like soul, or whatever the reason was, the freedom of east coast America and the loving embrace of the maturely aged Guadalupe, some seven years older than my 29 years, did not seem enough to satisfy my urge to return from whence I had come, communist China.
I admit it never looked colder and more totalitarian than after an almost six months stay in impressive NYC including the four week southern sojourn just mentioned. Something magical about the southern American states can let my imprisoned and forgotten childhood Australian slow drawling accent roam free, even just for a moment at a corner store after putting up drywall in a cheap new fabricated house with the Hispanics, speaking Spanish all day. One of the guys with a real residency card in the pipeworks, unlike my fake one, is a steelworker and a shipbuilder. A slow drawling Australian accent is always well received in the southern states of America.
In Hong Kong I purchase a ticket for faraway Xinjiang. To visit a local ughur there that was my friend in Shandong two years before. I still feel tremendous freedom in myself and tremendous strength and potential in the Chinese who I had spent over a year with at this point. My ughur friend was from the spring time of 2004. I left his area flying to Paris and taking a slow train to Sofia Bulgaria at the end of spring 2004. Leaving behind the small town in Shandong which I found immensely pleasant. All the stories of human rights violations and tortured folks having their organs plundered never even entered my calculations any more than an IBM worker in 1940s America making punch cards destined for nazi Germany and Jewish extermination. Similarly I was unaware of the fate of my ughur friend. Our carefree soccer playing days with his religious Uyghur friends, he himself sceptical about religion, were a memory like a fable or dream, something that actually occurred but now seems dreamlike in my recollection. I made my future and current wife's acquaintance in Bulgaria at the tender age of 21. We go on a date but don't even head to first base. Somehow we end up marrying and having kids.
The internal freedom I felt, immense and unaware, barely self conscious, and the tremendous potential and power latent in the Chinese people are front and centre as I fly into Xinjiang from NYC in late August 2005, some eighteen years ago now. My ughur friend organises a local meal with many locals, including many mature, maternal age ughur women. He works in a water waste treatment centre, having graduated from college in Shandong. All of his colleagues are Chinese and he hates them, small wonder as they would all end up enslaving his people en masse in something akin to the Nazi German campaign against the Jews. Instead of starvation and beatings and swift and merciful death. They get electric zapping cattle prods by the train load and beatings and possibly less starvation, a similar amount of rape and beatings. Less immediate and swift death which they would prefer, and more incarceration and brainwashing from a hostile totalitarian Orwellian state. I leave the area after three weeks and fly to Beijing. My first manager there is a sexy Chinese woman and I just want to hump the shit out of her. She's telling me her father is a cop in Tibet so another psycho sadistic Chinese authoritarian guy no doubt. Thank God she leaves me as for some reason I'm not interested in screwing the pants off her even though my body wants it. The school is cold and sterile in a satellite city near Beijing. I leave the slightly privileged sixteen year old kids there and head for the south where the weather is warmer and the people of Guangdong hopefully more relaxed and human and likeable. Warmer.
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