Sam Paul - Why I Committed Suicide

It’s still bitterly cold here at night. The wind off the Pacific on both sides is pretty intrusive. I think the cold water in my ears is making me come down with a cold, but it might just be the inhalation of saltwater wreaking havoc on my sinuses and grinding against my skin. We both slept in the car (again), no biggie, and I lit a giant fire to cook some food and get little stinky warmth before we huddled in the car and listened to the great roar of the ocean.

Yes, I’m definitely getting a little bit of a cold, nothing major though. I am man, I am tough. GRRR! The drive is getting even more spectacular because the farther we go south, the more we see signs of a completely different culture becoming evident. The mountains are treacherous and the highway has huge potholes hidden in the black road. Especially ominous curves are often marked with shrines of the Virgin Mary or dotted with flowers and crosses to remember the people who died on particularly bad sections of this road. Sober reminders of the dead, but beautiful in an eerie way.

We are now glimpsing views of long white sand beaches, straight out of a postcard, with crystal blue water that looks so inviting. We stopped to swim at one nice looking beach where there were a lot of parked RV’s and touristas everywhere, crazily thinking that maybe this crowded beach might be better than what we’ve already seen. It wasn’t anything special though, just crowded. We took a picture and left pretty quickly, I had a really weird feeling that someone might break into our car there.

We smoked the last of my pot and got into a deeply buoyant philosophical discussion about life, love, mountain shrines and all the rusted out remains of cars that are everywhere along the highway now. That’s a major difference between the U.S. and here; nobody gets their cars towed to a mechanic when they break down. Sometime during the night people rape cars parked along the highway of every usable part and by usable part, I mean that every tiny screw, knob or bolt is entirely stripped off the car until all that’s left is a crumbling skeleton of rust. The presence of so much symbolic death just serves to remind us we are alive. It’s poetically beautiful in a Morrissey sort of way. We stopped and took a picture of ourselves (auto timer!) leaning out the window and waving bottles of liquor in a decrepit VW van, pretending to be baracho. Why is it I know the word for “drunk” but can’t remember “salsa”? I have a feeling a car left on this highway overnight wouldn’t be much to speak of the next day.

I finally got to drive while Jenifer took a nap. I smoked the absolute last bit of my pot and drove about 90 miles an hour across the Mexican plains. You can’t see the water from the road in most places but I can always smell it and it was amazing to be driving through sunbeams as they pierced the thick dark clouds rolling in off the ocean. The visual beauty of the scenery, the thrill of letting Jenifer’s car open up full throttle without any fear of police and being able to reach and caress the sleeping beauty next to me gave me such a good feeling of fulfillment and happiness. I was alone with my brooding thoughts, feeling groovily stoned, listening to “Licensed to Ill” on the stereo, singing along, driving fast and free. Very pleasurable. Jenifer woke up after while and got mad that I was drivingso fast, which I can understand, but the damage was done. The appreciation of the moment uplifted my sprits and rejuvenated my love, maybe I can learn to share that. If I can absorb it, shouldn’t I also be able to project people’s energy?

After a rather unpleasant argument brought on by mutual fatigue, Jenifer and I finally got to the specific part of the coast where the grey whales swim in for the season.

We can both be very stubborn sometimes. We were all set to check into an expensive motel (no mud!) that would also provide the tourist boat out to the best sites to see the whales when Jenifer started talking to the clerk in Spanish and found out the whales are a week late this year. After 2000 miles of driving they’re late?! Dammit! The clerk specifically told us in broken English “The whales, they are slow” enunciating his words slowly as if to infer that when they are swimming by Mexico they just sort of go along with the whole lackadaisical Mexican siesta groove thing. I supposed when they pass by L.A. they put on dark sunglasses too.

I can respect the whales for being late, but it’s still disappointing and frustrating, especially after driving into town with clouds of anger around us. There were a bunch of fucking German families milling around with all their fancy German explorer clothes and German RV’s. Since we don’t have a week to mill around we said “fuck it” and burnt out of town, leaving any bad feeling with the krauts behind us.

I really wanted to see those whales. After seeing Star Trek IV, I though maybe they might have something to say if I was willing to listen.

“This we know: The earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.”

We realized that we didn’t want to drive all the way down the coast to Cabo after missing the whales so we’re heading back up through wonderful Mexico and enjoying the sights just as much the second time around. We stopped at an area where there were all sorts of huge smooth boulders interspersed with lots of tall, skinny cacti. My perverted side thought it looked like lots of giant boobs with little dark green penises between them. It would have made a perfect location for an old black & white western if not for the spray painted murals on the largest rocks facing the road professing generations of love for Maria and Paco, Hernandez and Vasquez, the PRI political party etc. etc. We took the time to climb around, explore and play. Jenifer got naked for a little while, stretching her lanky body across the top of a huge rock that curved upwards, gently lifting her up and making her back arch as if she was having a subtle continuing orgasm. I polished off some Tecates and took pictures but when I tried to take a sexy picture of Jenifer naked on the sun heated rock she was too sly and slick.

We splurged in the evening and ate a great big Mexican feast at a restaurant with a jungle atmosphere in the small town. I ordered a margarita with my food, just because I could, but Jenifer and the waiter made fun of me in Spanish because there were two sizes of margarita, a “chica” and a “grande” or some shit, and I ordered the “chica” because I didn’t want to get plastered. Plus I drank all those beers earlier and I always forget how the rhyme goes. Is it “beer before liquor, never sicker” or “liquor after beer, never fear”, I can never remember? Anyway, I’m glad I got the small size because it was the worst fucking margarita I’ve ever had. I think the waiter just poured straight tequila in a glass and added some green food coloring, but I finished every drop, more because they made fun of me than anything. Yuck. The food turned out to be great but I think mine had some rogue Mexican parasite in it that didn’t agree with my stomach. Outside of town I made Jenifer stop the car and proceeded to projectile vomit all over the place, much to Jenifer’s delight. I got a sort of malicious sympathy from her with numerous references to the “chica” margarita, but I felt like I was going to die.

After numerous stops we wound up just sleeping in the car by the side of the road, fearful of banditos, but by then I was too sick to care.

“She told me and then I discovered it for myself’