The Philosopher Red Stimulates my Reptilian Core

達磨 Dharma-Zen Painting-

達磨 Dharma-Zen Painting- (Photo credit: hira3)

Great…I finally get home, and I have had to make a strategic move back to the Ghost Hotel.  I’ve heard rumors of three gringos in town, very white-toned skin, wearing dark blue pants, serious expressions, and asking questions – which is bad form in a community of refugees from the “real” world – too many with too much to lose from answering questions.  Then, there’s that terrifying AA of American Airlines on the patch sewed onto the breast of the trio’s equally dark blue jackets.  I think this has something to do with my outburst in O’Hare after being delayed three times, missing a connection, and being re-routed to Chicago where thunderstorms had us grounded for three hours.  Look…I really had nothing to do with the disappearance of that snaggly woman at the Missed Flights/Distressed Passenger counter.

Any Way…I thought I could sit this out in peace here with the Philosopher Red at the Ghost Hotel, but he wasn’t around, only a dozen or so empty Impeial beer bottles and a messy pile of clippings from magazines to even suggest he had been here in the last month or so since I’ve been gone.  The clippings of word combinations were a bit disturbing, since I lean toward gallows humor and conspiracy theories.  Here’s what I found:

Sometimes, coming home can be a battle in itself.

TE ESPARA (you wait, in Spanish)

Black Magic


Stay Comfortable, Stay Connected

No more business as usual

Donde estan los ninos?  (Where are your children, in Spanish)

Robotic revolution

Heroes among us

Prefiere sus reuniones cara a cara a las 7:30 (you want to meet face-to-face at 7:30, in Spanish) with the “7” inked out, and a “9” scribbled above it.

Brilliance.  Proximity.  It’s all Here


A Costa Rica Wilson

While sifting through this debris I noticed a few marks on the fence Red and I put up to discourage any outside examination of our life in the Ghost Hotel.

Lifting a candle up to the marks I found this.  Wilson…  Yes, Wilson in Costa Rica.

I was getting the fear.

The more optimistic types – those who don’t know the history of the Philosopher Red – might take these clippings for an exercise in found poetry…the image for an innocent blot left after a day of painting – but I do know his history.

Now, I’m not sure about anything any longer, but the purpose for these clippings, and the paint blot?

I’ve  watched enough television cop shows to know the beginning of a ransom note, or a warning to the Rude Red Dude’s perceived enemies when I see one.


pilsen girl

pilsen girl (Photo credit: w rollins)

A young surf bum on a stool at a beach club bar (or, an apparently young surf bum) with an Australian  accent, leaned into me and whispered, “They hijacked an Imperial truck two days ago,” to me while I was yelling – I mean asking – the local Pilsen Girl why the only cold beer they had was Pilsen.

Imperial is the “Beer of Costa Rica” as the advertising says.

Just then the local miriachi band started playing Hotel California for the 137th time since I’ve been here, but there were no tourists paying them, and the singer was  staring directly at me.  The rest of the musicians were looking at their instruments, the ground, the palm trees, anywhere but at me.  Something in that Reptilian core of my brain began to itch…the fight or flight center which has always served me well.

The Aussie beach bum slipped me a local magazine called The Howler, opened it to the editor’s page, and said, “I’d read this if I were you.”  He left immediately, without finishing his Pilsen.  I did too.

It seems that some researchers have been snooping around, trying to connect the way children learn language with the way baby birds learn to make bird calls.  One of their bodies was found in the estuary of Las Baulus National Park, the favorite dumping ground for Nicaraguan and Columbian – I’ve got to go.  I’ll explain later, when I can…if I can.


17 thoughts on “The Philosopher Red Stimulates my Reptilian Core

  1. Seyi sandra says:

    This is good, especially the ghost hotel, I can do scary! 🙂

  2. jannatwrites says:

    Ah, the joys of airline travel. Makes never traveling away from home sound better and better!

  3. tocksin says:

    Hypnotically induced writing; writing induced Hypnotically.

  4. Okay. So, here is where a couple of the immortal bananas that you mentioned in your last post would come in handy. I hear they do wonders for someone who might be “. . . getting the fear.” Eat a couple of engineered bananas every day and you will turn into a mush brain zombie like the others. I guarantee will feel nothing — you will know nothing. 🙂

    • coyotero2112 says:

      A contributor to ‘the fear,” no doubt. What was as scary was the lemons and limes – dry, juice-less, taste-less, and useless, I’m thinking. Such a dramatic difference to buy pineapples off the back of a farmer’s truck again…I have to sniff the bottom to see how good they are, since the whole corner smells of ripe fruit. I’ve been in and out of the U.S. for years, and can’t imagine how I would survive there now. I know this is a favorite subject of yours, and I’ve urged the wife to make our first video on what we eat here…from shopping to preparation. We’ll see…have to get her away from sunsets and sand.

  5. Aha, The Philosopher Red is AWOL. I felt all murky when I read this post – especially the beginning with the Mysterious Strangers in the dark blue outfits with AA on them. Not to be confused with Hello my name is The Red Man and I’m a Treat-a-holic. We were also comforted by the picture of the Ghost Hotel and trying to imagine your aunt’s expression when she surveys her new living quarters. Yikes!!

    • coyotero2112 says:

      Shhhh…if she saw the condo I live in for what her car payment and phone costs her, well, I’d have to get Chihuahuas to guard the ramparts. The Ghost Hotel is a carefully crafted ruse to keep all family and faux friends from writing, “…since you’ve got a spare bedroom, and we’ve got hw kids home for two weeks with nothing to do. How about we…” and meaning it. I thought letting everyone know I have a half-mad, psycodelic bug munching, excommunicted Bhuddist monk inhabiting my cerebral cortex would convince them I was unsafe company, but you know how people can get.

  6. Sounds like another one of those Amygdala hijackings.

    Love “I was getting the fear.” Reminds me of “…taking the vapors.”

    Welcome back. If you are.

    • coyotero2112 says:

      Thanks for the comment. Yes, I am diagnosed with “the fear” about as often as Victorian Age women were diagnosed with the vapors. It’s an easy out to any rational explanation. There’s a pill for everything, though.

  7. mrs fringe says:

    Welcome Home, Philosopher Red, so nice to hear from you. 😀 I only hope Imperial is better than Presidente (beer of the Dominican Republic).
    LOVE the photo of the ghost hotel, beautiful.

    • coyotero2112 says:

      Imperial is pretty good, if you’re into beer. Germans started the company, and it they still operate by the Munich Brewing Laws. The Dom Rep is too close to Haiti for anything to look, smell, or taste good. I have no idea where Red is…although I feel a twitching in my cerebral cortex…kind of like a lab frog coming to life under the knife.

  8. jerwayne2013 says:

    picture of the ghost hotel is pretty scary..wouldn’t go there at night–just sayin tehe

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