I’m asked:

What is my favorite place in the world?

Where is my favorite place to go in this world?

I answer:

It is

to places






are overthrown.

I thought Mexico was going to be this kind of place.

In August 2009, Mexico decriminalized the possession of up to five grams of cannabis.

Starting in 2015, the Mexican Supreme Court has issued five rulings stating that cannabis prohibition is unconstitutional, due to “the right to the free development of the personality,” as guaranteed by the Mexican Constitution.

The 2018  Supreme Court decision said cannabis, “can be used for rituals, for recreational use, for medical use, at work, for scientific investigations. For any adult use and that it cannot be penalized.”

As per Mexican law, the fifth ruling, the October 31, 2018 ruling, possesses the force of law, binding all judges in the country to follow the Supreme Court’s decision.

Cannabis was de facto decriminalized.

After the 2018 ruling anyone could get their charges thrown out for cannabis possession, use or cultivation.

However, a formal change of the law—which would be the only way to properly legalize cannabis, making it possible to sell it out in the open,

tax and regulate it

—needs to come from the legislative branch.

Following the decisive ruling, the Mexican Supreme Court gave lawmakers until Thursday, Oct. 24, 2019, to establish the exact guidelines of recreational marijuana’s legalization.

I made plans to be in Tijuana when cannabis was to be formally legalized

to party

to celebrate

the overthrow


a prohibition,

the overthrow

of an oppression.

And yet,

it was not to be.

In October the Mexican Senate was granted an extension by the Mexican Supreme Court to April 30, 2020,

to formalize the legalization of cannabis.

When I first came to Todos Santos,

Baja California South,

in January 2018,

for the

Tropic of Cancer Concert Series

it seemed like I had come

to the right place.

The music festival is permeated with the smell of burning weed,

people smoke in the street,

people smoke in all the venues where the music festival is held.

I was at the music festival in January 2018,

and then again in January 2019,

as the guest

of my good friend

the big (6 ft 6 inches)

big soul-ed

the song writer/poet

the musician


Daniel Eduardo Rodriguez,


formerly of the band

‘Elephant Revival.’

D-ro is a friend of 20 years.

We both come from the vicinity of Norwich

in Southeastern Connecticut.

When asked how we know each other,

we both say,

“I grew up with this kid.”

I am much older than D-ro,

and yet,

this is true.

D-ro performing at the 

Tropic of Cancer

in 2018

was a last minute thing.

It followed the sudden

break-up of

Elephant Revival.

He and I being at the festival was because of

Steve Poltz.

He is best known for his collaborations with singer Jewel, especially the 1996 single,

“You Were Meant for Me”

which reached number 2

on the charts

in the US.

Steve’s shows are




of life.

But it soon became clear that the

Tropic of Cancer

was not

a place






have been overthrown.

The music festival

is the tyranny,

of Joe Firstman,

front man

of the


To Joe,

The Tropic of Cancer

is his private

musical country club.

The special license

to freely

smoke cannabis,

is a thing that is only allowed

to Joe Firstman’s

country club.

He was glad

to include


in his country club.

As for me

– not so much.

Joe is a millionaire.

I have had to learn

how to live

with little.

I live from


to month

on Social Security.

I can not afford

to pay

to get into music festivals.


being that kind of





immediately wanted

to black ball me

from his country club.

He has never lost an opportunity

to call me a bum.

I respect

and admire

Joe Firstman


The Cordovas

as musical artists.

I am totally on their

musical wavelength.

That wavelength

of old school

Southern Rock



Grateful Dead


I respect

and admire

the Cordova band members

as people.

And yet,

as for Joe –

not so much.

Joe alternates


being an


charming dude,

and being




bat-shit crazy,


I’ve mostly got to see

the mean,


bat-shit crazy




Steve Poltz

have a history

of performing together.

Steve opened for Elephant Revival

and played with them,

a couple of times

at Red Rocks.

D-ro and Steve

have toured together.

They wanted to play together,

at their favorite coffee place

in Todos Santos,

the Taller 17.

They asked Joe if it would

be ahite.


because he knew Joe,



Joe was drinking



like an animal.

He was totally in

a mean,


bat-shit crazy,


kind of place.

It seemed like he was going

to punch


in the face.

He growled,

“Don’t even think about it.”

And yet,

next day


and D-ro

y yo

were at

Playa Tortuga.


Todos Santos

is in the Northern Range

of the

very endangered



Black Sea Turtles’


Most of the eggs they lay

in nests in the sand,

in winter,

would not hatch

if they were not incubated.

Sea turtle eggs

are collected

and incubated

in a green house

at this beach.

The new-born turtles

are nurtured.

And when

they are ready

they are brought

to the ocean

and released.


November 15

– March 30

at sunset

the hatchlings

are released.

People go to

Playa de Tortugas

to witness this.

Playing with


and Steve

at Playa de Tortugas

before an audience

of about 50 people

and about

100 baby turtles

was the height

of my musical career

(if you can call it that).

I played harmonicas

and I sang.

And I looked into the eyes of the baby turtles,

when they arrived

at the sea.

It felt like,

in a modest way,

a tyrant,

a tyranny,

a prohibition,

an oppression

was being overthrown.

I left the festival when

D-ro left the festival.

And I didn’t come back

until January 2019

when D-ro returned.

Again D-ro was welcomed.

And again,

not so much

for me.

Yet, because of D-ro I was given the same wrist band that the musicians were given,

I was given the same access

as the performers.

It was killing Joe.

But he felt

he had to do this.

He made it clear

that I was crashing

his party


he didn’t like it.


I was loving

the music festival.

I was loving

how gringo

and Latin American



into each other.

I made friends with festival


And when D-ro

left the festival

to go to his next gig,

I remained.

I saw the range of Joe’s

musical talent.

He is an amazingly

talented dude.

And yet,

I saw that he was one year

further along

in being

a mean,


bat-shit crazy


A pall was cast

on the festival

when Joe


Young Alex

in the face.

Alex is a gringo kid

who spoke Spanish

worked at the

Hotel California

and did

a lot of heavy lifting

in making the festival happen.

It was ugly.

I remained in Todos Santos

after the festival.

Joe let me know

that he considered

all of Todos Santos

to be

his country club.

He made it clear

that my presence in Todos Santos

was me

continuing to crash

his party.

He wanted me


But I wasn’t going.

Just like the baby turtles

when they reached

the sea,

I knew I was in

the right place

for me

to be.

I set up my tent

at ‘El Litro Trailer Park,’

which is the right place for me

to set up my tent.

And I set up my office

at La Morena,

which was definitely


the right place

for me

to be.

La Morena is where


and the


hang out.

La Morena is where

much of the

music festival happens.

During the music festival

people are freely

smoking weed there.

After the music festival


and the


and people

in Joe’s

country club

continue to

freely smoke weed there.

I continued to freely smoke weed there.

I would get breakfast

and iced coffee

and spend a lot of time there

working on my laptop.

The employees at

La Morena

thought I was in

Joe’s country club.

They welcomed me.

Joe was enraged

that I was

hanging at

La Morena.

He called D-ro

to bitterly complain.

When D-ro

asked me

about Joe’s call,

I went to Carlos

the main bartender,

and asked him

if it was ahite

for me

to be

at La Morena.

Carlos still thought I was

in Joe’s country club.

He told me

I was

very welcome

at La Morena.

Joe was furious

that I continued


at La Morena.

He told his

good friend

Erik Castellanos,

the owner of

La Morena,


I was not

in his country club,

and he didn’t want

to see me



I was smoking weed

in the Morena,

like I had 

many times before.

Erik sat down

at my table,

and asked


I was out of my fucking mind.

He said


was illegal

in Mexico.

He said that he

was going

to call the cops.

He called me

a bum

in that special way






will call you

a bum.

He continued

on these themes

at length.

I wasn’t officially

kicked out of

La Morena.

And yet,

it was really ugly.

There were

a fair number of people

in the restaurant/bar.

It seemed like Erik

had rehearsed

this public


of me.

I finished my iced coffee

packed up my laptop

and shook the dust

of La Morena

off my feet.

And I found

that the right place

for me

to set up

my office

in Todos Santos


the Cafelix.

I remained in

Todos Santos

until April.


and the Cordovas

left in March.

But every time

I saw Joe

he was drunk

and belligerent.

I returned

to Todos Santos

in the middle of December.

And when


and the Cordovas


towards the end

of December,

I could see

that Joe


one year

further along

in being

a mean,


bat-shit crazy



D-ro didn’t play

Tropic of Cancer

in 2020.

He was touring

with his good friend

Chadwick Stokes

front-man for the bands

Dispatch and State Radio.

Steve was going to play

the festival.

But he was going to do

a surgical strike.

He was going

to fly in

do the

opening show

and next day

fly out.


with Joe’s

drunken malice,

I had come to love

the Tropic of Cancer.

I asked Steve

if I could be his guest.

When Steve’s manager

called to make arrangements

for me to be Steve’s guest

he got Joe.

Joe said,

he was busy,

and hung up.

Steve’s manager

who I once


was a friend,

wrote an angry e-mail,

and called me a bum.

Steve offered

to give me his

wrist band

to get entry

into the festival.

But I knew

that if I showed up

at the festival

with Steve’s


there would be blood.

I heard the music

of the festival


in the distance,

at El Litro Trailer Park,

– a black balled outcast.

And yet,

after the festival,

because I so loved

the music

of the


I would risk

Joe’s drunken malice,

to listen to them

when they played

La Morena

every Saturday night.

I would stand

in the street

and smoke weed

in my bat,

in my pipe

that looks

like a cigarette

(the way I’ve been smoking weed since I’ve been fifteen).

And I was not the only one

who was smoking weed

in front of the Morena.

The Cordovas left

Todos Santos

in early March.

I was glad

nobody got kilt.


Looking back at it,

I realize

how stupid I was being,

but I got into

this habit

of smoking weed

on the west side,

the sea-ward side

of the

Hotel California,

before walking back

to the trailer park

at night.

The wide boulevard

beside the hotel

is like a movie set

a location of a film.

I would sit on the curve

and even though

you can’t

quite see

the ocean,

you can see the sky

over the ocean,

the sky that would have a brightening Venus,

and the moon,

a sky that had already

become so clear

(because of the world’s

covid-19 shut down)

it had

a new color.

I wasn’t paying attention.

I didn’t see

the municipal police truck,

with five police

(including the driver)

until it was

in front of me.

They were on me.

There hands were

in my pockets

where I had stashed

a pill-bottle

that had

about a half gram of weed,

my pipe

that looked like a cigarette

and my lighter.

The biggest

ugliest cop,

told me,

I was in a heap of trouble.

I told him

I was doing nothing

that was illegal.

I told him

I had less than five grams.

The biggest,



in the Todos Santos

Municipal Police Force

bent down

and put his face

inches from mine.

He asked,

what did a

pinche gringo,

like me,

know about

the laws

of the Republic of Mexico.

I assured him,

I knew about this.


The Commandante

stepped forward.

He was a fit dude

about 50 years-old,

and there was

no doubt,

he was

The Commandante.

He said,

it definitely wasn’t legal

for me

to be smoking on the streets

of Todos Santos.

He gave the order

for my arrest.

My wallet

with my passport

and money,

my pipe

that looked like a cigarette

my pill bottle

with half a gram of weed,

my lighter,

my backpack

with my laptop

and a box with seven harmonicas.

was taken.


were produced.

An argument ensued

about whether my hands

should be cuffed

in front,

or in back.

The Commandante


what was wrong with them.

He said

give the old man

some respect.

My hands were cuffed

in front of me.

Then there was a debate

about whether

I should be put in back of the truck

or allowed

to ride in the cab.


The Commandante

asked what was wrong with them.

I was allowed to ride in the cab.

When I was brought

to the police station,

my wallet was returned,

and I was thrown


a dirty,


no doubt



jail cell.

The toilet

was overflowing.

There was shit

smeared on the walls.

It seemed

like the toilet broke

years ago.

When my wallet was taken

it had 1,400 pesos (about $70).

When it was returned it had 500 (about $25).

I was in that shit-hole

for about an hour.


The Commandante

came to my cell.

He started out

by telling me

that this was not

the United State,

he said


was illegal

in Mexico.


I said

with complete


that it wasn’t.

Then he again said

that it definitely wasn’t legal

to smoke

on the streets 

of Todos Santos.

I apologized,

said I wouldn’t do it again

(what I meant,


was that

I would never be caught again).

Then our conversation

got weird.

He noted,

that I was

a 65-year old man,

(actually 65-and-a-half)

and yet,

I was acting

like a child.

He then

called me a bum.

But he called me a bum

like my Jewish mother

would call me

a bum.

He was talking about

life’s formalities,

the expectations

of society

in Mexico

in Latin America.

He was talking about

how I wasn’t


society’s expectations

of me.

I am older


The Commandante.


he was



I listened

with respect

and a theatrical contriteness,

the same way

I would listen

to my mother.

I wanted to


The Commandante

the same way I would

answer my mother.

I wanted to

tell him


I didn’t feel

I was here

to fulfill

the expectations of other.

I wanted to tell him,

that a lifetime

was too short,

too precious,

to be doing that.

But instead

I remained



He told me

to act my age.

And then

he left me in




no doubt



for another hour.

When he returned,

he asked me

how he could help me.

At first, I though

I was mis-translating.

At first,

I thought he was trying to

extort the 500 pesos

that remained in my wallet.

I told him that I wasn’t

a pinche rico gringo.

I told him

that I lived


to month

on social security.

I told him

I really couldn’t afford this.

I told him

this was really hard on me.

He left the cell block

and returned

with the 500 peso note,

that had been in my wallet,

and handed it

to me.

I starred at it


And then

I was left

in that



no doubt



of a jail cell

for another half-hour.

When I was released

from the jail,

by a young cop,

I was told to sign

at the bottom

of a document.

The cop held his hand

over the document

making it impossible

to read it.

I grabbed the ticket pad

and pulled it away from the cop

and read it.

It was a ticket

for smoking cannabis

in public.

I signed the ticket.

Then I was told

to get the fuck out.

I took my time

re-packing my backpack.

When you are arrested in Mexico,

of course,

the police are going to do

this chicken-shit




The police took

a light backpacking shirt,

that I had for fifteen years.

They took

my knife,

my flashlight,

my earphones.

I was again told

to get

the fuck

out of the police station.

I told them

I wasn’t leaving


my pipe,

that looks like a cigarette,

my lighter,

and my weed

was returned.

The cop


my pipe,

my lighter,

and then

he started handing me

my pill bottle

with about

half a gram

of weed.

When I reached for it,

he pulled it back

and laughed.

I walked to the door,

turned around

raised my fist

into the air

and declared,

“Es legal.”

And I took the street again.





by the police

happens a lot

in Mexico.

On Christmas Day 2017,

I was in La Paz.

I was crossing a street

when a

Baja California South

state police truck

pulled in front of me,

grazing my left arm.

The two


state cops

were on me.

They had been watching me,

for awhile.

They had seen me


out of my pipe

that looked like a cigarette,

on the malecon,

the promenade

on the La Paz


They had figured out

I wasn’t smoking tobacco.

And yet,

at that moment

I was just following

an old Jewish tradition.

I was walking

to a Chinese Restaurant,

on Christmas.

They told me

to empty my pockets.

But I knew that if I

emptied my pockets,

my pill bottle

with about

three grams of weed

and my pipe

that looked like a cigarette

would be taken.

I refused to empty my pockets.

I just took out a 500 peso note

(about $30 back then),

and threw it at them

making no attempt

to conceal

my contempt

my disgust

my anger

my loathing.

One of the cops

pulled out his pistol,

an old Beretta 9 mm


and showed it to me.

He said he had to use his pistol

all the time.

He said he was always

risking his life,

and yet,

he couldn’t feed his family

with what he was paid.

I don’t own a gun.

But I know guns.

I looked at it closely.

It was,

no doubt,

a well-worn gun,

a gunfighter’s gun,

that had been fired

a lot.

It smelled like

it was fired recently.

I told him

that the Mexican Police

should organize.

I told him

that the police

should demand wages

that would allow them

to take care

of their families,

so they wouldn’t have

to rob

and extort

the people.

The cop thought about this.

Then he made this gesture,

he shrugged


his palm up hands

in this gesture

of utter



and said




I had seen/heard this before.

And every time I heard it

I wanted to cry,

(sometimes I have).

About three weeks

after first being arrested

in Todos Santos,

I was walking back

to the trailer park,

around 10 p.m.

on a Friday night

when I heard

the police truck

swooping down on me.

This time there were four

Todos Santos Municipal Police,

(different ones then those who

arrested me before).

They pushed me

against the truck.

There hands were

in my pockets.

They took

my pill bottle

with about two grams of weed,

they took my pipe

that looks like a cigarette,

they took my lighter,

they took my backpack

with my laptop,

and my harmonicas.

The cop in charge

was a little guy

with a little man complex,

that he wore on his sleeve.

He was a little thug

in a uniform.

He told me

that I

was in a heap of trouble.

I told him

I was doing nothing illegal.

I told him

he was the one

being a criminal.

I told him I had less than five grams.

He asked me if I had

a medical permit.

He asked me if I had a document

that authorized me

to transport weed.

I told him

he was full of shit.

And then he made the

first threat.

The threat to have me deported.

The little thug

didn’t like the way

I was talking to him.

I shouldn’t have been talking to him,

like that.


I couldn’t help myself,

I was angry.

The little thug

wanted to make this

more than theft

more than extortion.

He wanted

to make me scared.

I was thrown in the back

of the truck.

And the little thug

rode in the back

with me.

I denounced him

as a thief

an extortionist

as an enemy

a predator

on his own people.

He said,

“keep on talking,


you are going to get your ass


When we got to the police station,

he put his hands on me.

It was one time

too many.

I  threw his hands

off of me,

and got into position

for whatever was

to come.

We starred

at each other,

and then

he backed down.

When we went into the police station

There was a young tenante (lieutenant)

of police in command.

He asked me,

in a pleasant



“How I was doing?”

I answered,

“No bueno.”

There was the same desk sergeant

who was there

three weeks ago.

He recognized me.

Told the tenante

I had been there


The tenante

asked me

if I had been arrested before.

I confessed that I had.

He said that I could be deported.

I didn’t believe him.

The little thug

took all the money I had in my wallet.

And counted it,

out loud.

There was about 5,500 pesos

(about $220).

My money and my wallet,

but not my passport

was handed back to me.

The tenante told me

that if I gave him

2,000 pesos

I could be

on my way.

I asked him

why I should do that,

I hadn’t done anything illegal.

He said I needed

a medical permit,

He said I needed

a permit

to transport cannabis.

I said,

with complete assurance,

that he was full of shit.

He then picked up the telephone.

He said he was going to call

the immigration office

in La Paz,

and my ass would

be deported

next day.

I didn’t believe him.

It was 10:30 p.m.

on a Friday night.

I gestured that he should


The little thug

pushed me

through the door

that led

to the cell block.

The cell that I had been in,

three weeks before,


held three young

Mexican guys.

They weren’t rich,

but they weren’t poor.

They looked like



that were being tortured by a cat.

I was put in the next jail


which was also

a dirty,


no doubt

pathogen laden

shit hole.

I was kept there

for about fifteen minutes.

Then the little thug came

and took me to the

tenante’s office.

The tenante was sitting

behind his desk.

He told me to take a seat.

He told me I wasn’t in Colorado.

He told me again

that I needed

a medical permit,

a permit to transport cannabis.

I was about to say


but I caught myself.

In that



no doubt



of a jail cell.

I had collected


I had calmed down.

The tenante said,

I had been arrested twice

in the past three weeks.

He said I had dis-respected

the Mexican police.

He said I had dis-respected

the laws

of the Republic of Mexico.

Then he started talking

about baseball.

He said,

I had two strikes.

And if I got

another strike,

I would be



I assured him

I had nothing

but respect

for the Mexican Police,

for the Republic of Mexico

for the laws

of the Republic of Mexico.

I assured him,

I would fully comply

with the laws of Mexico.

The tenante said,

he didn’t believe me.

He said,

he believed

I was still going to pretend

I was in Colorado.

He said,

he was sure

I was going to be

arrested again.

And if I was arrested

three times,

he assured me

I was going to be deported.


There is a history of gringos

being deported

from Todos Santos.

Peter Buck,

former R.E.M. guitarist,

in 2012 created the Todos Santos Music Festival.

(Buck had bought a house in Todos Santos in 2008.)

He loved Todos Santos.

And Todos Santos

loved him.

The highlight of the Todos Santos Music Festival

was a free concert

in the church plaza

that was attended

by more than 4,000.

Peter Buck

and his music festival


the Palapa Society,

an education organization,

that provides

world-class education

to Todos Santos’ youth.

After Hurricane Odile swept through

in 2014

concert proceeds that year helped residents rebuild.

And then Peter Buck

joined in the good fight.

The fight against




There is only one beach in Todos Santos

Punto Lobos

(also known as

fishermen’s beach)

where it is

safe to swim,

where fishermen can safely get

their boats

in and out

of the ocean.

The Tres Santos Development

was about

the dispossessing

of the fisherman

of their working waterfront.

It was about dispossessing

the town’s people

of their beach,

of their aquifer

which provides

all the town’s water.

Tres Santos was about


4,472 palacios

for the dirty, stinking rich.

It was

authoritarian oppression,

it was billionaire kleptocracy.

It involved Black Creek Group, a Colorado-based company,

Colorado State University

of Fort Collins,

played a big-role

in this oppression.

It did

the ‘green-washing’.

It told

the big lie.

It said Tres Santos

would be good

for the environment.

Tres Santos


Jerónimo Gerard Rivero,

the brother-in-law of

the disgraced

stinking corrupt

former president of Mexico

Carlos Salinas de Gortari.

It involved

violent confrontations


the fishermen


town’s people


the pinche policia.


On the last day

of the 2016

Todos Santos Music Festival,

January 23,

the free concert happened.

The concert included

Mike Mills (R.E.M.),

John Paul Jones (Led Zeppelin)

Death Cab for Cutie

and La Santa Cecilia.

Hundreds of people

marched into

the church plaza

to rally for the fishermen

and protest

The Tres Santos Project.

Buck got on stage

and said,

What’s gone on in this town for the past two years is a fucking crime.

“This town is not owned by crooked politicians,

sleazy developers…

“This is your town.

Every one of you people has a say in this town.

So everybody

wake up!

This is your town,

take it back!”

The retaliation was swift.

On January 27th,

four days after the concert,

Buck had to leave Mexico

after being threatened with deportation

for violating article 33 of Mexico’s constitution,

which prohibits the involvement of foreigners in national politics.

There was no music festival in 2017.

In 2018 the first

Tropic of Cancer



briefly returned

to Todos Santos

in January 2019,

days before

The Tropic of Cancer,

and performed

with Joseph Arthur

(Fistful of Mercy

and RNDM).

Buck has made it clear

that he is not affiliated

in any way

with the

Tropic of Cancer.

On June 12, 2019,

Buck wrote,

“I’d like to state for the record that I don’t know Joe Firstman well,

and that his Tropic of Cancer festival has nothing to do with me.”

And perhaps,

Buck knows


well enough.

Perhaps he knows that

Joe is

a mean,


bat-shit crazy



The good fight

that Buck

had joined in


The Tres Santos Development

was stopped.




were overthrown.


The tenante

went to great lenghts

to assure me

that he could have me


He wanted 1,000 pesos.

I again explained that

I wasn’t

a pinche, rico gringo.

I again explained

that I lived


to month

on social security.

The tenante asked,

how much money

could I give.

I said 500 pesos.

The tenente

paced the room.

He went outside

and paced outside.

He returned to his office

sat down,

and as if

he was granting me

an incredible favor

he said

he would accept

my 500 pesos.

I handed it to him.

I watched him put it

in his uniform

shirt pocket.

And I was unable to hide

my disgust,



The tenente saw this expression.

He wagged his finger at me,

and said,

there you go again,


that you are

in Colorado.


I took my case

to the pueblo.

When I was greeted

by the people

of the pueblo

of Todos Santos,

when they asked,

‘que  honda?’

‘que tal’?

‘como estas?’

‘que pasa?”

I would answer

‘No bueno.’

I would answer:

‘la pinche policia



(Not good,

the asshole police are fucking with me).

I’d tell my story.

Most times the town’s people

would make the gesture,






But some people

got pissed off.

They said

they knew

officers, people in charge

of the police,

and would let them know

about my situation.

I was

eventually told

 that the police


no longer

fuck with me.

And yet,

I was

just walking.


I heard the police truck

swooping down on me.


there were hands in my pockets.

Again my backpack

was rifled.

Again I was frisked.

But the pinche policia

did not find

the joint

in my sock.

Last night,

I was walking home

to the trailerpark.

The police were on me.

They pushed me against the truck.

Their hands were in my pocket.

They took my wallet.

They frisked me.

They tore my backpack apart.

They found nothing.

I had nothing.

There were 440 pesos in my wallet.

When it was returned it had 40.


On April 17, 2000

because of covid-19,

the deadline for

the official legalization

of cannabis

was extended

from April 30

to December 15, 2020.


I am out-of-here.


Todos Santos has been the

right place for me to be.

It has been

a harbor

in these

strange days

that have


the world.

But now

I am going

to the next

right place

for me

to be.


And I’m not coming back.


I’m not coming back

to Mexico,

to Todos Santos


Peter Buck

takes back his music festival.

I am not coming back

until the pinche Mexican Policia


being criminals.

I am not coming back

until the prohibition

is definitively


I’m not coming back


the weed in Mexico

is every bit

as fine

as the weed

in Colorado.

I’m not coming back






are overthrown.


This is unlikely.


And yet,


Quien Sabe?





Sam Libby

Sam Libby (a.k.a. Rabbi SchmuDawg) currently resides in Terranas, Dominican Republic and is completing a collection of Central American stories entitled 'The Gonzo/Kukalcan Papers', to be published in spring 2021.

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