I’ve been a subscriber to John Sevigny’s blog Gone City for awhile now. He’s a photographer who is currently traveling up and down Mexico and South America, touring his exhibition of photographs featuring unflinching images of prostitutes in some of Mexico’s roughest brothels.
Whether you’re interested in the art or not, Sevigny’s account of his crazy journey is worth reading, especially his recent post describing a stop in Zacatecas.
We stayed up late talking about Cecil Taylor, Saltillo’s legendary Hombre Electronico, and the omnipresent highway, the only goddess we know, who projects herself on the back of your eyelids when you try to sleep.
Fortune comes and goes for traveling musicians and artists, as it does for gamblers, boxers, and bullfighters for that matter. One week there is money, fine restaurants with sharp-dressed waiters, and money for luxury items (like photographic film). The next week you’re a step removed from sleeping under a bridge with the real, weather-hardened hobos, huddled around burning piles of garbage.
There is an undeniable gypsy, rock star, proud highway romance to all of it; splinters of glorious starlight overhead, and stone cold pavement, brick, asphalt or cobblestone under your feet (whether you’re indoors or out).
Buses that stop at strange little restaurants in towns you’ve never heard of; and stark, single-bulb hotel rooms where like last night, we huddled together, some spontaneous brotherhood, seeking shelter from the wilderness of streets, highways, time that races forward or stands still; depression; loneliness; and wild bliss inherited from every high-seas pirate, trucker and wandering tribe that came before us.
via Gone City: Road Diary, Best of Times – An American Gypsy in Mexico.
Poetry. Check out the link to Sevigny’s blog above for more.
Image Credit: John Sevigny
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