Never Met Rafa Saavedra – TJ Times and Existence – Tap Tuesday Helps to Ponder Writer’s Block

I don’t know much about Rafa Saavedra except what I’ve heard from people and the quotes that float around in la city. I’ve written snippets of his work here and there. I’m reading some right now.

He died before my TJ times.

He is considered a legend of Tijuana writing.

A master of Spanglish.

Somewhat of a philosopher genius of Tijuana.

I wonder what it would have been like to meet him. An odd feeling tells me he wouldn’t take a liking to me.

This city has many faces. We all see something different.

It’s undecipherable. The experience is vastly different from anyone that lives and breathes this city.


There’s a quote of Rafa Saavedra in the new Border Psycho taproom in downtown Tijuana. And no. It’s not Tijuana Makes Me Happy.

I wonder how he would feel about that. I wonder how he would feel about what Tijuana is now. It’s been 6+ years since his death… I basically arrived when he ceased to exist. And I’ve seen this city go through a turmoil of changes. I barely even recognize this city as the one that it once was. I don’t know if I’ll recognize this city next year.

From what I know, he was a simple man that liked beer, cigarettes, and coffee. The usual ones. Not all the new 2017 hipster bullshit that I love so much. He was nice to everyone. He never pretended to be much more than just himself. He loved Tijuana more than anyone else ever could.


My time of daily blogging is coming to an end.

My time in Tijuana is still a mystery.

Yes.

I think of moving out from time to time.

Sometimes I think San Diego… but I could never… knowing what Tijuana has, it would be insanely to try to live in San Diego.


Minneapolis.

With my old friends. They need more Mexicans over there. And better writers.

But fuck the winter.


Denver.

Almost no friends, just a couple people that I’ve hung out that I would like to call friends, but barely know them. Not in love with the city. Just enjoy visiting.

Also.

Fuck the winter.


LA.

HAH! Same as San Diego. And FUCKKKKKK THAT. My years in LA are done.


Houston.

HAH!

Yeah right. That’s not going to happen either.


Seattle.

Yes. I love Seattle. Only been there once, but I thoroughly loved every second of it. I felt drugged by that city. Everything was catered to me. I would love to survive there.

But fuck the winter.

The “rain” which is really just drizzle. I wouldn’t mind.


Central Mexico.

There’s nothing for me.

Nothing for a pocho.


Southern Mexico.

Probably when I’m older and have money. Probably not.


Vancouver.

Nah.

Fuck that place. It also has winter.


Montreal.

Lovely Montreal. And Quebec. It felt like things were catered to my liking. I could do it.

But I’m not Canadian.

Also. Winter.


Tijuana.

A city for pochos by pochos and a crazy unexpected diversity of a little bit of everything.

A city of rejects.

A city of addicts.

A city of robbers and lovers.


I circle back to Tijuana.

What about a real job?

I think from time to time to apply for jobs again. That’s what I did yesterday for a while. And I probably will be wasting my time looking for a job, well knowing that I don’t really want to do it. That I want to continue freelance writing. Giving tours. Taking pictures. And playing music.


The job now is just to believe in myself.

How fucking cheesy.

Believe in yourself.

Picture of Michael Jordan flying through the air to dunk a basketball.


I thought I wanted to be a pro-basketball player when I was a kid.

HAH!


But now… now… is just keep on writing. Trying to sell me as a photographer. And get some gigs as a musician. Get tours.


There are hundreds in the city and the world that just do one of the above (and many are mediocre on it). They survive. They survive more than fine.


Old Tijuana pic. I want to go out with my camera. An adventure.


I should be working.

But sigh…


Yesterday, I forced myself to work. And work I did. I ended up typing over 500 words…. problem is.

I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like where I was going with it.

I didn’t like that it was getting long for the sake of being long without saying much.

It also felt like I was writing an article about how an article got created.

Nope.

I stopped.

Thought about it a lot.

And threw it in the trash.


Yes. It’s the article about Haitians.

I might still figure out a way to rescue it. Make it a short article. Because going long was a bad idea.


But for now. Wrinkled and in the trash. Just some text that I might work on later. Or it might never see the light of day. Like many of my texts.


I still have unfinished travel stories. Unfinished character stories.

Drafts and drafts of stuff that I tell myself I’ll work on.

Then never do.

Just word vomit.


Once the word vomit is gone… I will have no choice. No more the easy way, just write whatever the fuck you want and hit publish.

I wish it was that easy.

If word vomit gave me $50 per day… I wouldn’t really even have to work again.

Just word vomit.

And ideally… it could happen.


Instead of all of that, I pitched the main editor what I really want to work on. A feature story for the end of the year or the beginning of the next. Hopefully, he says yes. Because that’s what I am inspired to work on…

To get a query rejected on something that you really want to work on… That’s like losing the war before the battle started.


So today…

Today is life pondering day. Aka, Tap Tuesday.

Yep. Beer.


Yesterday, after giving up and feeling bad for myself because I gave up… I went to grab a beer at Nelson and watch NFL.

I barely sat down when I felt a pat on my shoulder.

It was Bobby.

What a surprise.

Bobby is always a nice surprise.

We talk video games, music, and life in general.

But mostly video games and music.


After drinking just one beer with him, we decided to go grab some tacos varios and come to my apartment to play Smash Bros. and other games.

We played video games until almost 1 am.

And it went quick.

Really quick. He took a bunch of selfies in my Zelda game. Breath of the Wild is so beautiful still. Going back to it for sure.

I think we started playing at 7 pm and it was suddenly past midnight. I called him an Uber. And went to bed.


Had a weird night. Woke up before dawn. Went to sleep on the couch. Woke up again to go back to my bed and sleep a bit more.


Already sent emails. Did some workout. Breakfast. I have to call a few places today. Do more workout. Do them calls. And tap Tuesday.


Oh yeah. I have a photo shoot to take care off before the middle of next week. Most likely taking care of 80% of it or more on Thursday. It should be fun and I’ll get to meet cool people. Just the calling them to tell them about pictures is the part that fucking sucks.

Let’s see what happens.

No responses so far to my emails. I’ll have to use the phone.


Funny. I was reading about Rafa Saavedra in a bunch of random pages and I found this.

Rafa is the second from left to right.

And all the way to the left. My friend, great poet, and writer, Omar Pimienta.

Every time I see him, conversations flow from everything. Talking to him a bit now. Hopefully, I can grab a beer with him soon.

And with Chad Deal. Hopefully, with him this Thursday.


TJ times and existence.

 

 

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