Category: Biography Publisher: Consult Logic
Type: Non-Fiction
Copyright: June 1,
Alcoholism to recovery to relapse and the adventures in between
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.” -- Friedrich Nietzsche
The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief II – Renaissance
This is a story for anyone that has stared into the abyss.
It took about a year of trying and failing before the Mexican pulled himself out of the abyss. Then after seven years of sobriety, one... not so fine day, he picked up a drink again. If you thought that been a mercenary was an adventure(see the monsters in The Chronicles I) the story that follows is a record of even stranger adventures and travels, interesting people, some good, some bad and some downright evil. The Mexican picks up a new nickname, Gypsy, as he never stays too long in one place, roaming the Southern tip of Africa as the cards are dealt.
So, saddle up and take a ride, with The Mexican Horse Thief, if you dare.
Excerpt
We had a cat from the house behind us that used to come and hassle the marmoset, and this bugged me for some time. One day a couple of my friends and I were sitting in the lounge, drinking. The marmoset was on the patio, just outside the French doors. We had a small courtyard with a white wall around it; you could see the path the cat always took by the mud smears on that wall and on the back wall where it jumped back into its own house. I must have been thinking about this subconsciously, because that day, with no real thought, I stood up, swaying slightly as we had been drinking all day, and shouted at the cat on the patio. I had also taken out my .357. The cat took its normal route home and as it jumped the second wall, I fired one shot. This caused my drunken mates to jump, the women to complain and cry and my girlfriend to throw a fit.
Once everything had settled down, and we could continue drinking like “normal, civilised human beans”, my mates all started saying I had missed. To this I had only one comment: ‘One shot, one kill.’
A few days, or perhaps a week later, the gardener from the cat’s house was on the garage roof, just above and behind the second wall’s cat marks, with a hosepipe and a yard broom. The smell was very bad. Charmaine asked him what was up there and he replied, ‘Nee Missus, ‘n dooie kat.’ (No Madam, a dead cat.) What can I say ... that .357 was accurate and threw a mean punch.
This book has been eight years in the making. It is mostly a jumble of thoughts written down in old spiral notebooks and hidden in the bottom drawer underneath various manuals for software packages and hardware long since turned obsolete.
AVAILABLE TODAY 2012!
PRESS RELEASE, June 1, 2009
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