Overnight, but after many days of consideration, I decided to cancel the Tennessee Williams 100th Birthday Party Celebration. He doesn´t need it, and I won´t have the time or money in time to do it right.
I am tempted to blame Jim Wilson – after all, he’s the one who more brilliantly than any other got me to believe he would help me with doctor’s attention for my wound, a roof over my head, and a laptop of ANY description that would connect me to the internet, and hence, make it possible for me to plan.
If you look at what Jim DID help me with (see last post), it was a few meals, some gasoline, and an oil change. He made sure not to help me with the tire replacement, which I have to have to drive to the border to renew my visas for me and my Pontiac Vibe.
You see, for my adversaries, discrediting me in any way is the name of the game since they are entirely unable to find significant fault with what I say, and so, the TW 100th Birthday Celebration was actually torpedoed by the fact that it is too intertwined with high-power politics and I have failed to wrap that up in time to then make and raise money and make the celebration as good as it should be.
But I HAVE wrapped the politics up, even if I comment on it occassionally. We’ll have a big party for the birthday, but with local people. Maybe some others will congregate here then too: actors, film and theater people, literate readers. If they do, then I can coordinate that info and we can interconnect and throw some last minute parties with simple catering – or even take over a beach. Who knows?
I do not like announcing this in this manner to people who signed on in the beginning, like Mercedes at La Cuiza, Michael at River Café, and Abelardo at La Palapa. And there have been many more of you who have offered your assistance and enthusiastic support, but at this time, I must fold up that project with the intention of doing a 101th Birthday Celebration.
National and International politics will have clarified a bit by then, and I will understand this Mexican System that I now must work within. I’ve been resolutely stubborn about that. I also need to build bridges with my family members – at least most of them. And God knows I need to make some money, and that’s something I look forward to. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire.
Just two quick follow-up notes on my story:
Dr. John Mabrey Crouch kicked me out of his plant nursery several days ago, claiming he was so broke he had to close his office (where he normally also sleeps) and move to the nursery. But after I moved out, I asked him why he seemed to be so upset lately, and he said it was because I – Scott – wasn`t taking my medicine, and couldn´t I “just reach in my pocket and pop one?”
True, I had carried them religiously for two months, in case I felt I needed one, but a week ago, I simply threw them out. Now I wish I had them to have them analyzed. I feel certain they must be poison of some kind that would leave no trace.
Then, yesterday, Dr. Crouch texted me this message: “MAKE ME MAD. I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP.” I texted back: “1. You are already mad. 2. That makes 2 of us.”
I'm still winding down with Jim Wilson -- privately.
Scott
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