| Look, Listen,
Feel: Medicina Natural en Ol' Mexico |
| A Gonzo
Travelogue
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| Literally
translated, "El Centro De Desarollo De Medicina Natural" means "A Scary
Looking Wood Shack On The Outskirts Of Town Where A Scarier Looking 'Doctor'
Sits Barefoot On The Dirt Floor Of A Room With Tattered And Anatomically
Indecent Posters Of Miscellaneous Body Parts And Is Surrounded By A Dozen
Burning Candles Whilst His Assistant Runs Repeatedly To THE BIG VAT OF
THICK GREEN STUFF That Is Clinically Guaranteed To Heal Anything That May
Ail You."
Traveling without
my Modern Spanish Phrase Book, I understood the sign to read, "A
On The Of A Doctor On The Of A With And Of And To The Of That is Guaranteed
To Heal Anything That May Ail You." So I went inside. |
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| Watching the
spider crawl across the ceiling was the first indication I should have
grabbed my clothes, prayed reverently to the God Of Hot Dripping Wax and
gone home to find solace with a dry tortilla and several hours of Zamfir
- Master of the Pan Flute. Instead, I lie there in my shiny-white-skin
glory, wearing pin-stripe boxer shorts and calf-length black socks. Pulled
up to my knees.The Doc entered quietly. Beaten Tanned Leather was the color
of his skin.
His face, a
topographical study of rolling hills and soft valleys and sharp ridges,
was all knowing. His huge fat hands hung at his side, waiting. The whites
of his eyes were layered with confusing red lines that neither started
nor stopped where you thought they should. His mane of thick black hair
was a perfect mix of Early Elvis and string cheese. And when he went
to shake my already trembling hand, the Doc’s smile revealed a fascinating
arrangement of silver that must have been the work of a frustrated sculptor,
who also happened to be a dentist. The power of his extended hand stunted
my already struggling Spanish, so when I heard him grumble "authentic tribal
relaxation technique" I smiled. So did the Doc. |
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| Returning
just moments later with a small canister of Mystery Oil, the Doc made his
way to the base of the operating table and ran his fingers along the sides
of my legs. The oil was warm and smelled funny. Real funny. Then he started
to breath heavy. Or I started to breath heavy. SOMEBODY WAS BREATHING
HEAVY. Maintaining his concentration, the Doc ran an oil-saturated
thumb up and down the sides of my legs several times. He did the same to
my abdomen. Then, in an all out assault on the Hyperventilating Goofy Bearded
Guy From New Jersey, the Doc arched his back and using both of his Nine
Pound Hands, he tried to push my chest THROUGH the operating table.
Moments later,
while waiting for my thorax to regain structure and for my breathing to
normalize, he moved to my arms. Just as my body was functioning normally,
he reached for my neck. Now I admit, the rest of the Authentic Tribal Relaxation
Technique is a bit fuzzy. |
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Offshore
Resources Gallery
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| But, just
before the Happy Little Purple Monsters started showing slow motion infrared
videos of my life as a child, I recall the Doc using one hand to administer
2000 pounds of thumb pressure on what I think is commonly referred to as
the Carotid Artery, while his other hand reverted to the old schoolyard
technique of pulling hair. Mine.
When the Doc
saw I was at the height of relaxation (read: just shy of Code Blue),
his grip subsided.
Quietly, he
whispered in my ear “Take a deep breath and rest.“ Then he pulled the sheet
up OVER my face and walked out of the room.
In a recent
Letter to the Editor, Jt writes:
"wow, it's
pretty tough to be back here. i mean, i dig san francisco, but it's hard
to relate to people...their conversations and all the (explicative deleted)
associated with living here. not a complaint, just an observation. still
looking for some freelance writing so i can refill the bank account and
split. soon, i hope. |
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| The picture
is me and a buddy in tlalixtac de cabrera, mexico. he's a painter. and
a crazy one. this is in his kitchen. his wife's father is a manufacturer
of mezcal, that's what all those big glass jars are on the shelves. they
would put fruit and coffees and stuff in for different flavors. madness.
and all very abstract."
Another
Gonzo Travelogue by Jt Click
Here
Contact
author John Torrente Click
Here |
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