RICK CASTRO: DIARY- 4/26/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/26/2020

What is your definition of Manifest destiny?

For me it’s a negative historic term for the Anglo-European settler expansion throughout the newly discovered, (their term) continent of American was deemed justified and inevitable. This creed allowed them to feel superior, have a supposed god on their side, take over an existing population of indigenous people, and promote capitalism. 

A day or so ago I was on my last leg, literally. I was down to my last $, feeling eviction in LA was imminent, and down to my last gigabyte with $0 to purchase more, thus ending my new forced virtual life. After texting and begging everyone I know, I send a text to my younger cousin Minguini, (not his real name). The text: “ could I park in your drive way and possibly access WiFi up here?” His immediate response, “Sure cousin come right over.”  “You’re here in the high desert?” I exclaim. “Just got in last night,” he replies. My cousin Minguini, (not his real name) is the fourth child of my uncle Ruben Villagrana, Bee’s youngest brother. 

The history; Living in Boyle Heights circa 1930s, the Villagranas were very poor. Their mother, Lupe Villagrana, (my grandmother)  died of “consumption,” ( an outdated term used for many aliments from tuberculosis to  venereal disease) soon after young Ruben was diagnosed with tuberculosis and was sent to TB camp. This is how they treated infectious diseases during the depression. He begging his father not to send him, but they had no choice, it was mandatory. Because of the quarantine he wasn’t allowed to attend his mother’s funeral. Ruben felt like they didn’t want him. Bee told me how traumatic it was for her youngest brother to leave his family.

As an adult, Ruben became a social worker in East Los Angeles. He was popular in the community, able to moderate and talk with anybody from council members to gang bangers. Everyone in the family liked uncle Ruben, including me. Whenever there was a problem Ruben was called to help moderate, or just listen to our problems. All of my uncles, and my father, had private one-on-one conversations with Uncle Ruben. His calm demeanor soothed everybody. 

It also caused him hidden stress. At the young age of fifty, uncle Ruben died of a massive heart attack. His wife Sylvia found him lying by the bedside after his morning jog. She pleaded with him, “Ruben! please, please don’t leave me.” He was already dead. Ruben was the first in our family to pass. This event devastated my family.

 Before the funeral, my father comes to me in tears asking forgiveness for the way he treated me for being gay. He says to me, “I didn’t understand.” During the funeral Bee cried inconsolably. I never left her side. This may seem morbidly superficial, but she looked absolutely beautiful. Like Elisabeth Taylor if she went to a funeral during Butterfield 8.

I remember being at the gravesite in Rose Hills Memorial Park. Ruben’s widow and four children sitting all in black in comatose shock. When I went to give my condolences they all brighten up and we hugged. Auntie Sylvia said to me,” I didn’t want this to be any sadder than it has to be. Ruben always loved Mariachi music, so I hired Mariachis to play.” And with that the band broke into a happy song. The contrast of the cheery music and the devastation of our loss, brought everybody to tears with smiles on our faces.

 “Ricky, please don’t be a stranger. Come visit me," Sylvia said to me. I told her I would, but never did. Within a few months my father forgetting his conversation with me went back to his usual distance and denial. 

Back to the present, I am driving up the dirt road, (same road as Bee’s cabin) to my cousin Minguini’s, (not his real name) cabin. Turns out it’s a mobile home. I had never been. It is palatial and comfortable, and wow what a view! There sits my auntie Sylvia working on a puzzle. One of those puzzles that takes weeks to finish, even if you work on it every day. Minguini makes me tea! Sylvia shows me photos of our family that I have never seen, she says, “Would you be offended  if I ask you to wear gloves?”. This because I might’ve been infected. My entire visit observed six feet social distancing.  My cousin then puts on his giant plasma screen TV the original footage of his parents wedding in East Los Angeles circa 1959. It is amazing!  We chat the entire morning, then Minguini gives me cables & VCR to hook up, and my own private room, (shed) so I may come onto his property and access WiFi whenever I need. He gives me a key to his gate, (he’d also previously brought me food).

the view from cousin minguni's, (not his real name) property

As he loads up his mother and her sweet dog into his truck. I tell my auntie Sylvia, “ It took me a longtime to get up here and visit you, but I finally did.” She replies,” i’m happy you've rediscovered your parents cabin, and you are healthy. I was so worried when my son told me you were ill.” They leave back to the harshness of Los Angeles. 

After Ruben Villagrana died, his family; wife, three sons, and one daughter became and stayed melancholy. Sylvia never remarried. The oldest son Joe; sweet, but sad, has an alcohol problem. The daughter “Sister”; gentle and kind, she became a teacher and had a beautiful daughter out of wedlock. She is always alone. The middle son John-Raymond; lost touch with reality. He never got over the death of his father. The youngest son Minguini; (not his real name) worked hard and became a successful representative for the Guitar Center in Hollywood. The kindness and generosity that was our uncle Ruben lives within my cousin’s melancholia. Minguini, (not his real name)  wants to prevent any more tragedy. He wants to save someone grief.  We all know the greatness of their collective loss. There’s no need to bring it up.

My parents are in the later stages of Alzheimer's, they cannot help me. My sister is immersed in a codependent Christian cult marriage after the death of her first husband of fifty-five years, she cannot, or will not help me. My brother is a self-absorbed narcissist, (like a Mexican Trumpworld) he would never help me. My younger cousin Minguini, (not his real name) wants to do everything he can to help me. He is my personal angel savior, This is My Manifest destiny.

So this is how the world will end.

copyright- rick castro- 4/2020

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RICK CASTRO: DIARY-425/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/25/2020

Last night I dreamt of mendacity. In my dream I’m an adult/child still living with my parents in Monterey Park, CA. I want something from my brother’s room, but fear prevents me. Even though my father is the head of the household, my brother calls all the shots. This, is as it’s always been, even as children. After all, he is named Alfred junior after my father Alfred senior, and he is the favorite son.
I wonder if this is the case in all families. Do parents unconsciously or consciously choose whom they like?

Standing on a chair in front of Al Jr’s bedroom door, I slowly creak the door open as to not cause notice. I am slithering my arm through the narrow passage at a feeble attempt to find whatever it was I thought I need from the forbidden room. A slight lurch of my chair causes the door to swing open to reveal my father in his swim shorts, circa 1960.  We are both shocked to see each other. “What is it you want?,” my father questions. Forgetting what that was, I ask, “Why are you in Al’ jr’s room in your bathing suit?,” I step in the room revealing not only my father, but my mother also in her bathing suit. They are both in an adjoining sunroom between my bedroom and my brother’s bedroom. “I never knew there was a sunroom between our rooms?” I exclaim. Since I had never been in my bros bedroom in my entire life, this is news to me. Apparently there’s an entry way between both our bedroom closets. Mine is sealed off similar to Rosemary Woodhouse’s closet was from the Castevet's apartment in the film, Rosemary’s Baby. 

“Occasionally we use the sunroom whenever Al jr is not here,” my mother nonchalantly replies. “Oh wow!, I excitedly say, I can’t wait to access it from my room and use it myself.” “Your room has already been loaned out to Al’s fire department buddy, replies my father as unattached as possible. “What?, I am in shock, you rented out my room?!” “we didn’t rent it out, says my father, Al jr., loaned it out to his buddy, because you were no longer around.”

Throwing my arms up I scream bloody murder for being completely dismissed and ignored. Their response is to dismiss and ignore me. They go back to the hidden sunroom to sunbathe. I look into the sunny room, and see attached my room has been completely redecorated for the new tenet; a Laura Ashley version of the bedroom of Brick & Maggie from Cat On A Hot Tin Roof.

I wake up with heart palpitations. It’s a distressing way to start the day

The history is, I moved out of the family home the second I turned eighteen, within weeks my room was transferred into a sewing room, later a room for the new grandchild, my bro’s daughter. Everything in my former room was tossed without acknowledgment that they might’ve been things I cherished. Over the years every trace of me removed like I was ever more than a tenet. In the meantime, medals, awards and photos of me bro as fire chief line the mantels and walls as homage to the chosen sun, I mean son. Additional adornments added when his daughter was born. Now a shrine to the both of them, and briefly his wife of their short-lived marriage.

The only reason I have access to the luxury of Bee’s cabin is that both my parents are in the later stages of Alzheimer’s dementia, 
and I was able to wrangle a set of keys from my sister, right before she remarried a controlling religious fanatic.

They only reason I haven’t been “evicted”, is because they’re afraid to haul me away, once I told them I thought I had the plague. That and my bro is stuck in one of his many homes in Hawaii, unable to get a flight. It seems flashing an ex-fire captain badge does little during a pandemic. The only reason I am here is my determination to live my own life as I want, not their version of who I should be.
I wake up from a dream of mendacity to the reality of it.

So this is how the world will end.

copyright- rick castro- 4/2020

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RICK CASTRO: DIARY-4/21/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/21/2020

According to Joy Behar (The View) it takes five positive thoughts to counter-act one negative thought…… Ok I’m doomed.

I’m thinking the plague mass, (my term for COVID19 pandemic) will play out the way nature always has, survival of the fittest. I don’t mean in a callus way where all old people or people with suppressed immune systems will succumb. I mean the dumbest! When I reluctantly look at the news, the airwaves are beseeched with images and live footage of these people, (and I use that term generously) out protesting, with guns no less, their supposed right to go out in public unmasked, ungloved and prance about as they please. They claim they want to go back to work… Have you seen the images of these “protesters?” THEY DON’T WORK.  Where does one work who looks like a Soldier of Fortune, Pepe the Frog survivalist?… besides Breitbart, which I’m sure doesn’t pay. 

Does Alex Jones work? I thought he was bankrupt for the SandyHook debacle he fronted. He still owes Leonard Pozner,

( father of  murdered Sandy Hook child) and David Hogg, (shooting survivor at Stoneman Douglas) $126k for calling them “crisis actors.”

We know Betsy DeVos doesn’t work. She doesn’t have to. She’s off beveraging on one of her ten yachts, with her, (closeted)  Blackwater brother, Erik Prince. Lady DeVos is much too busy making lives miserable for students by saddling them with life long debt, and bringing the bar of Ameirkkkan education as low as her IQ.  I bring up these two names because they’ve been connected with helping organize or fund these anti-StayHome protests. All sanctioned by Trumpworld in his narcissistic, Dr. Strangelove-esque tweets!

The realities of life during plague in Amerikkka are staggering. Everyday things now take considerable navigation. There are endless subtle enacted rules put out by Trumpworld now appearing in rapid effect. As example this new REAL ID. what is the real point? When one applies for drivers license they already have to prove citizenship, legal status, any criminal activity. What does this new provision actually do? Why is it necessary?  Apparently if you don’t have it, you can no longer take domestic flights, visit a federal courthouse, or federal building. So after October 2020 you will need an ID to show ID. 

Trumpworld Gestapo William Barr, ( I removed the title Attorney General) today said he supports legal action against states that continue to impose strict social distancing rules.

What kind of fuckin alternative reality are we living in? This bullshit is beyond Orwell, bordering on JG Ballard! You know like his novel, Crash, where a society is obsessed with car accidents and it becomes a pleasure. 

 And what the fuck are all these tutorials about a supposed future vaccine for COVID19 including human microchip insertion? Isn’t that what they do to pets  so they don’t get lost?  Do you know who has always promoted human microchipping since eternity? Satan!

As far as LAy, (like lay there) where are all these provisions that were supposedly provided by Mayor Eric Garrett and other “liberal politicians,” ie: real estate moguls. Where/when are they being enforced and protected, like evictions.

I’m finding it stressful being back in LA… what a difference a month makes… Imagine what it will be like in a year! I’m so glad I’ll be back in the comfort and serenity of the high desert and Bee’s cabin soon. Oh wait… that’s my neighbor.

So that’s seven negative thoughts I rambled on about today, (eight if you include my neighbor in the high desert) according to Joy Behar I now have to write about forty positive thoughts….....  I’ll do that tomorrow.

So this is how the world will end.

copyright- rick castro- 4/2020

rick castro: my neighbor in the high desert

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RICK CASTRO: DIARY- 4/19/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/19/2020

I’ve realized Bee’s cabin and the high desert are romantic. It’s all about romance.

Everything here is still, there are no complications, no interference. It exists on its own with little to no help from the outside world. 

Yes, they’ve added modifications and additions to the structure and landscaping, (which I think is a mistake) over the fifty-two year history, but she, (the cabin) doesn’t request or really need anything. As example I look at the abandoned homesteads in the area. There are many including my auntie Nicky’s palatial ski lodge, that lays dormant since she passed in the early 90s. The structure is intact, it looks like she closed the door one afternoon and never came back. Only because of the length of time would it need to be restored. Whomever eventually acquires the place, (her heirs have no interest) will need a great amount of $$ and TLC to bring her back to her former glory.

auntie nicky's abandon cabin

On the other hand, Bee’s cabin had been dormant for only six or so years. Last October was the first time I entered and began to clean her up. Because of the type of person I am, one who likes original, natural, old, kitsch and limited income, I didn’t modify the original soul, only enhance. When one leaves things the way they find them, it’s the karma equivalent of leaving as little carbon footprint as possible.

This becomes my creative drive, change nothing, groom or enhance what is already there. The result, so subtle it’s hardly noticed. 

Like nature it becomes perfect. 

The longevity and solitude of this structure created by my parents in another lifetime ago, gives me a break now to indulge in simple things. Corny things like watching old movies on dvd. Outdated, but sweet, romantic mainstream flicks, that I wouldn’t have wasted time with during my life in East Hollywood.  I was too busy being jaded and chasing dragons of many sorts. Money, success, fame, glamour, all the things, which I was never, and am not part of.

Life is all about timing isn’t it. Decisions made during one part of life, become reality at another point. Maybe this is one of the few perks of getting old. With this in mind, Bee’s cabin has allowed me to become romantic, or find romance, which for me hasn't been for many, many years. What is special about this place, at this time under the harsh circumstances of life during plague, is that I have found romance, with myself.

So this is how the world will end.

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RICK CASTRO: DIARY- 4/16/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/16/2020

I acquired many things today. Have you noticed when it pours it rains? Good & bad. When me luck is down, it’s down the tubes, 
one thing after another. Today I had good luck… Relatively speaking,  I mean as good as luck as one can have during a plague in quarantine, in the middle of a desert. With that in consideration, I had good luck. 

My PO box finally works, so I received a beautiful eye cup from my guardian angel, Iris. We named my eye cup, Sebastian. He’s so Victorian elegant. The most perfect, basic beautiful shape. Iris previously sent me Nour: the infrared heater. 

I finally received a check from a dear friend who has a heart of gold. The flip side, it’s a cashiers check and there’s only one bank, which I’m not a member, who will not cash it. I tried my luck and mailed back to my bank in Los Angeles in hopes they will accept.

You never know with institutions. They set their own rules. I often wondered how these entities would react if I,
the consumer/customer/buyer decided that I would set my own rules as I see fit. “Oh, sorry AT&T, I wasn’t happy with your service this month. Too many dropouts, so I will be sending partial payment to reflect this. It’s in my agreement.”  “Oh sorry DWP, the water wasn’t hot enough for me to safely wash my hands eighty times a day, so I will not be paying you this month. Again, these are my rules.”

I then went to Der Wienerschitzel for the first time since 1968, only because they have one here, (everything here is from 60s-70s- 80s) and now I know to not do that again. It’s amazing what Amerikkka considers food. 

I then found this really cute thrift Store, actually the only thrift store. It looked really cute until I read the sign…

Ok, if I avoid places around here because of my vehement disagreement with politics and religious beliefs, I will be going nowhere. Unfortunately this is GOD & TRUMPWORLD country here. Just up the street from Bee’s cabin there are two Trump flags on front yards. In East Hollywood I’ve never seen a Trump flag.. or a MAGA person. Here there’s an entire forest.

WIth trepidation I look around on the outside… Many baby strollers, dishes and lamps. I find a section of used DVDS. Bingo! I get little to no wifi here at Bee’s cabin. I can get a bunch of DVDs and watch on me old laptop from 2000- a black MacBook that weighs a ton.
I named it Pyewackett after my first black cat. There’s a limited selection and theme here… The Rapture, The Gospel According To God… Praise Be With Me & Aerobics. Slim pickings… Ok, I found a few outdated mainstream flicks I can watch again, “The Devil Wears Prada, Little Shop of Horrors, Ring-O, (original Japanese version of The Ring, this doesn’t seem very Christ-like?) and Agatha Christie’s Garden. I can’t wait to view that!. “Hullo,” I hear a soft voice next to me. A black lady with a turban and matching mask is standing there. “Good morning, I say, how much are these DVDs?” “Oh…… umm…… I have to ask Alice,” she quietly says. “Ok, I say… Go Ask Alice.”

I follow her into the Thrift Shop, and it is a jewel to behold. A cross between Antiques Road Show, Stanford & Son, and the Choc Shop. Also seems to be a doll museum. I love when old church lady’s collect dolls… It’s so Annabelle!

I’ve really hit pay dirt. Now I know where Bee acquired everything in her bedroom.

She has a black blender! If it works its mine. Look at all these furs… and teapots!… If I go down the tea pot rabbit hole, I will leave this place even more of a pauper than I already am. Turns out this cavernous treasure box has three Christian women who run the place, and an Australian Shepherd. Alice corrected me when I asked if it was a Border Collie. She kept going on and on what a good dog he is.  The entire time I kept trying to tell her the Australian Shepherd was peeing on the fur coats. I guess she couldn’t hear me because I’m not Christian. Christians only hear other Christians. I can confirm that by my sister. She never hears anything I say. I might as well be speaking in tongues. Forked. 

So this is how the world will end.

copyright-rick castro- 4/2020

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RICK CASTRO: DIARY-4/12/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/12/2020

I was depressed today, everyone cancelled on me, everyone who promised they would help flaked out. When I get hopeless like this, the best thing to do is go for a drive. I needed to make a grocery run anyway. Three weeks is a long time. I still have dry goods, but was running desperately low on produce. Because of the debacle in going to Hesperia, 

I decided to go the opposite way, so headed west on Pearblossom Hwy to a small town called Littlerock, (pop 1,300) known for its peanut brittle, and deep fried everything emporium, Charlie Brown Farms. I didn’t go there, too touristy, but did go to the Farmers Mart. They had everything I could wish for, apples, zucchini, coconut flour, Roma tomatoes, Brazilian nuts, home made chips, and Drano! Yes I’ve clogged Bee’s sink… 

Since I was in the area, I then drove to Palmdale, which I don’t recommend. Palmdale makes Hesperia look like Beverly Hills. That is one bleak, generic city. Let’s put it this way, if you like parolees and Meth, you’ll love Palmdale. As long as I was there, I figured I would do something grim. Have you heard about Gabriel Fernandez? He was the little boy who was murdered by his parents because they thought he was gay….. 

He was eight years old. It’s a very tragic depressing story, I wrote about it when it first happened- HERE- recently there was a doco about it on Netflix. His murder really affected me, as it did many of my GLBTQ friends. If Al & Bee were monsters that could’ve been me. 

I had read there was a mural painting as dedication so I wanted to see it in person. I have to tell you, I am very good at research and finding obscurities, but I could not find this fuckin mural to save my life.. I went up and down every street where it was supposed to be. I was even on the block where Gabriel met his horrific demise. The harder I tried, the more it eluded me. At one point I was almost sideswiped by a little red Mazda! The idea of me being in a hospital in Palmdale brought chills to my bones. The omens were telling me to give it up, and get out, so I did. 

I decided to visit something more cheery. . I drove to the neighboring city of Lancaster. 

I must say not much better than Palmdale, but were talking low bar all around…. What Lancaster does have are poppy fields! 
Yes, just like in the Wizard of Oz. The poppy is the state flower, and Lancaster harbors the most consistent bloom of poppies in California. I’m driving down HWY14, getting off at exit 44 as the map says, but then I’m lost… we’re talking a desolate area. The only thing around here is a prison. Prisons & Poppies. Suddenly in front of me is a cavalcade of bikers! Not a bunch of old hogs with prostate problems, no sireee, this group are lesbians… Dikes on Bikes! Guess where they were going? To the poppy fields!… So I followed them. Since the plague shut down everything in life, the poppy fields are also in quarantine, with a huge highway sign flashing POPPY RESERVE CLOSED.  The Dikes on Bikes make a U-turn getting back on HWY14. I wasn’t giving up so easy and kept going. As I got close to the reserve there indeed where rangers with masks blocking the entrance. This didn’t stop hordes of tourists from stomping on the poppies, taking photos with their baby’s and dogs, (unleashed) and sitting on the fuckin poppies to have a dumb picnic!… Where’s the Bad Witch of the West when you need her to put all these dullards to sleep? To get away, I took a left on an unassuming dirt road and found myself in self-isolation wonderland.

Now that I was in a good mood again, I thought I’d continue my adventure as I headed back. I had to past through the city of Lancaster so thought I would see if I could find the childhood home of a gay legend… Yes you heard me right… so I’m on my hunt… on the way look what I found! whatthefuckisthat? It looks like it used to be a doctors office, now outta business. I guess Dr. Seuss isn’t popular in methland. He’s more acidville. 

Here I am, closing in on my destination.. I’m now driving down an unassuming residential street in the middle of old Lancaster and… there it is! Guess who’s childhood home this is? Guess!…Think poppy fields…. give up? It's the home of the Gumm family, and little Francis Gumm, also known as JUDY GARLAND! As the rumor goes, daddy Gumm was having sex with young local boys one time too many, and was run outta Grand Rapids, Minn, so he moved his family to Lancaster, California and opened a theater. The rest is the history of how gay was created.

My last stop is California Historical Landmark #933.  

As a teenager I rode my 1970 Yamaha here many times, not knowing what it was. I just liked the look of the ruins and found it peaceful. A few years ago I was surfing online for obscurities and found an image that I recognized. The ruins of Llano del Rio Collective. The history; Job Harriman was a natural leader. In 1900 he was the Vice Presidential candidate for the socialist party, (which lost to McKinleye) then ran for mayor of Los Angeles, twice, also lost, so hightailed it up to Pearblossom HWY, purchasing 9000 acres of land that became known as Llano. His dream was to start a socialist colony here, close to where is now Bee’s cabin! As you can imagine the community failed. I mean look at poor Bernie. Amerikkkans simply don’t understand socialism. All that remains of this once socialist utopia that drew the likes of writer Aldous Huxley no less, are these haunting stone pillars. It was my fave place to chill and smoke a doobie… Hay, that gives me an idea!

So this is how the world will end.

copyright-rick castro- 4/2020

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