I found Tres Bocas today.
After all of these years! It has been right under my pierced nostrils all along.
And just like I have always suspected – as I have somehow always really known in my heart of hearts – Tres Bocas? Total sham, baby. Take my advice and do not waste any of your precious time on this one.
It was this afternoon and the weather was cool and I was walking down Travis Street when I heard them. I heard Tres Bocas, I mean. (NOTE: For those Canadians among you, “tres bocas” means “three mouths”.)
I heard them and I knew. Immediately, I knew. How did I know? It must have been the echo or else it might have been the tone or maybe it was some ephemeral quality for which English has not developed a suitable word at all.
These are the voices which many cultures have heard and for which every culture has turned to some other language or other tongue when the time for naming has come. Sounds like these can’t be known by any designation ordinary as your mother tongue! No, you’ve gotta look elsewhere, turn to something more exotic… even if your mother tongue is otherwise pretty darn exotic in and of itself.
Will you look at this? My story has already gotten derailed somehow. Here I am, having already wasted years trying to find Tres Bocas and now it’s turned out to be an utter sham and I am not even going to salvage a decent story from it as a consolation prize.
To hell with it. Let’s keep moving.
This afternoon, then. The voices were coming from inside of a parking garage. You know, that one under the Houston Club, over there on Rusk? I tracked the voices to there – no easy feat in and of itself! – and I walked into the garage and I heard what sounded like three Eastern European polyphonic choirs singing… in unison.
This is what they were singing:
At that same moment, a valet danced down a ramp right near me. He was a valet and he was old, but he was happy and he was dancing and he was, you know, snapping his fingers and what have you. Happy valet sorts of things.
I ran up to him. The valet looked surprised. He did not say anything, but his name tag read: “ARTHUR S.”
I said, “Arthur S.! What did those voices say?”
Arthur S. said, “What voices?”
I said, “The ones just now. You know: Three Eastern European polyphonic choirs singing in unison? Sang ‘DANIELLE’?”
Arthur S. said, “Oh! Those voices? They said ‘DANIELLE’.”
The conversation was going nowhere. But I was not to be discouraged. After all, I was used to conversations that went nowhere. I once lived with an attorney for eight years. I said this: “And who is Danielle, Arthur S.?”
And Arthur S., why, he sort of stopped and he thought real deep-like for a moment or two. Then he smiled again. He said, “Only Danielle I ever known was my high school sweetheart, Danielle Nicole Trotter. Why, she-”…
I was already off and running. I grabbed another random passing valet. This one did not dance, but he wore a name tag that read, “LEON R.”
I pulled Leon R. to the ramp and shoved him up it. “Go on up the ramp, Leon!” I said, “Go up the ramp and we’ll hear what the voices say!”
Now, you might think if a stranger ran up to you screaming about voices and told you to run up a car ramp that you might be hesitant to do it. You’d be wrong, though, because people tend to do what they are told to do, no matter how crazy the order might seem.
Hey, you! Yes, YOU. Keep reading!
Anyway, Leon R. ran to the top of the ramp, and he’d no sooner set foot at the top when what sounded like three Eastern European polyphonic choirs sang out in unison. They sang this:
At this, I screamed. The substance of what I screamed escapes me just now, but whatever it was was probably not very important anyway. What I do remember is that I screamed, I jumped around a lot, and I hooted and I hollered and at the very second Leon R. got back down the ramp, I said, “My turn!” and I ran up and…
Well, maybe I do need to go back a little bit further, after all. I need to go back, on the off-chance that there are those among you who are not altogether familiar with the long and rich history of Tres Bocas. I assume it is possible that not everyone knows…
|Beneficiary of a scam.|
Of course, the first – and still the most celebrated – account of Tres Bocas in history comes to us from the historian Nicolaus of Damascus in approximately 42 B.C. Nicolaus writes of a strange trip embarked upon by then-Roman co-consul Mark Antony to Atlantis. Although some mainstream historians consider the story to be spurious, I believe that Mark Antony actually traveled to the Texas Gulf Coast, and here is why:
Nicolaus writes that while in Atlantis, Mark Antony came to a great swamp where there were many flying bloodsuckers (Houston? Houston?), and while in the very midst of this humidity and muck, Antony heard demon voices. Furthermore, Nicolaus reports that the demon voices sang this:
Upon hearing the demons, Mark Antony immediately returned to Tarsus and summoned his future lover, Cleopatra. Something is also mentioned of the relationship ending somewhat badly later on down the line.
Now jump forward a few centuries. Now farther. Jump forward to the story of Chief White Oak’s so-called Singing Crows. Forward, to Ponce de Leon’s swamp angels (which reportedly sing out, “¡JUANA DE LOS APOSTOLES COVADONGA CONTRERAS!”
Forward, to 1968, when a very young and very drunk George Walker Bush lies semi-conscious in the streets of downtown Houston and hears God shouting the mysterious phrase, “CONDOLEEZZA!”
According to the noted Bush biography, “I Really Tried Hard,” Bush at first believes the voice to be just another alcohol-induced hallucination. Only much later does he decide he’s misheard the voice. “I thought it said ‘Condoleezza’,” Bush is reported as saying. “Only later on, I realized what it actually said was, ‘I want you to be President!’ Those two things sound a lot alike when you’re that drunk.”
|Too late, Rosario Dawson discovers |
Now jump forward again. Forward to 2009, when the National Enquirer reports that, on a short promotional trip to Houston, actress Rosario Dawson steps out of her car at an undisclosed Houston parking garage and hears voices singing, “KATY ANDERS!”
Tragically, Dawson dismisses the voices, making the awful, awful fate that befalls her in 2015 all the less surprising, frankly, in future retrospect…
These have been my leads. I have found historical account after historical account after historical account like this. Buckets of them. All of them virtually identical: Texas Gulf Coast. Tres Bocas. Singing out the name of your true love. Your inevitable soul mate. Light of your life.
I’ve just never known where to look. Where to listen.
But that all changed today.
It changed. First there were the voices, and then there was Arthur S., and then there was Leon R., and then I myself ran up that parking garage ramp to hear…
How about “Bella”? There are tons of girls being named Bella these days, and that would give me a few years to grow up myself while my soul mate was somewhere out there, inching towards the age of consent.
“Regina Pastula de las Muertos y Cigarillos?”
But no. There was nothing.
Not a sound. I was in downtown Houston on a weekday and there was nothing to be heard but the notable LACK of any sound.
And the silence made me furious. The silence made me steam. I leapt up and down like Daffy Duck on steroids. I yelled things that I dare not repeat in mixed company. I showed the pavement both of my middle fingers while Arthur S. and Leon R., stared on, rather dumbfounded, I should think.
And it was only then that I heard it.
I heard laughter.
It started off a bit like Vincent Price at the end of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” if only Vincent Price had sounded more like three Eastern European polyphonic choirs singing in unison. But it kept building.
Tres Bocas? They were laughing at me. At me!
So you see what I mean, right? Total sham, baby. Tell me: What kind of imbecile would I have to be to give any credence at all to the opinions of some random voices singing out of the ground in the middle of downtown Houston?
I tell you, Tres Bocas is a sham. A lie repeated once too often. This myth is busted. It’s like the Loch Ness Monster or Shangri-La or Ringo Starr or the G-spot. Just a child’s fairy tale.
Ask anybody out there. They’ll tell you the truth: Katy Anders is not going to die unloved and alone.
Hey... Are you sure you didn’t just hear somebody singing, “ROSARIO”? Really? Are you sure? Because I thought I did…
YES! YES! I Completely understand!ReplyDelete
As my fingers slid off the curb, my cheap sunglasses reviled a sharp dressed man covered in Rio Grande mud. He declared that yes indeed, Rosario did the fandango with Tres Hombres at the brothel in La Grange, Tejas. Then the sweetest sound... Leila singing while grinding the tube snake boogie... ZZZZZZZs
BTW - I so want to type like a piano player in a whore house...
People say I type like Schroeder from the "Peanuts" comic strip.Delete
I mean, people who have never met each other all seem to agree on this, completely independently.
I want to be the person charged with transcribing the goings-on at a whorehouse. You know, like a court reporter, but different? A brothel reporter. "Can we check the transcript on that one, John?"
Good morning and thanks for the belly laugh. The mental image you have created has sent me off into the uncharted waters of wayward tangent...Delete
have a good one
I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress...
"just the tip"Delete
That phrase sounds like a guy's bargaining position...Delete
Crap Katy...I wanted to hear about the dolphins...jf...URL contains illegal characters. Maybe the dolphins could help out on the battery problem mentioned in a later post. (oooow My bad?)Delete
It sort of sounds like dolphins are jerks.Delete
It's enough to make me want to go out and buy cans of tuna that are NOT dolphin-safe. Let the tuna nets get the bastards before they rape again!
Katy. It appears that you are now entering Stage Six of a broken love. Stage Six is a state usually only reached by repeat offenders, and rarely by one so young as you.ReplyDelete
Stage Six is what I, based upon my personal experiences, call the Hallucinations Stage. Las Tres Bocas is the initial phase of Stage Six wherein you think you hear voices name your muse in historical methodology.
But beware and cautious of this phase, Phase One of Stage Six, as it has proven to be my unraveling several times. Remember studying the Greek Sirens? You know, that chorus of luscious and overripe nekid babes with the enchanting, alluring voices? It is their spirits which inhabit your head during Phase One of Stage Six. It is their task to lure you into crashing your vessel upon Love's jagged rocks and sink you more deeply into morosity.
Is morosity an actual word? Whenever I hit Stage Six I counter these hallucinations with healthy doses of mind re-altering substances washed down with copious quantities of Carta Blanca beer--the Official Beer of Stage Six- Phase One.
My theory to beat Stage Six is something akin to two negatives making it right. Or in Poker terms, "I'll see your Greek Sirens and raise you one oil-slicked Rosario Dawson with heaving breast, a stripper-to-be named Bella aka "Porsche", and a basketful of memories named Dana."
I have three words of advice here: Plug-in vibrator. It won't make you feel stupid and you won't be driving to 7/11 at 3 am for batteries.
You must be coming at this from the other direction.Delete
Your Stage Six sounds a lot like Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell.
Couple things, though:
1) I have always assumed that every event in my life is directly connected with the Great Events of the past and the future. When I tripped over that curb in 2003, it cause the 1929 Great Depression.
2) I fear that plug-in vibrators would increase my chance of electrocution. I don't want to be found dead like that, and I really don't want to cause another stock market crash!
"Remember studying the Greek Sirens? You know, that chorus of luscious and overripe nekid babes with the enchanting, alluring voices?... It is their task to lure you into crashing your vessel upon Love's jagged rocks and sink you more deeply into morosity."Delete
That's basically what I told her on Google+.
Maybe I'm just too complex for a few amateur voices in a parking garage to figure out!Delete
I don't think there's going to be a crash. Or rather, if there were going to be a love-related crash, it would have already happened.
I DO like music, though. I've been sitting around listening to those Sirens for years now...
After reading the part about "Bella", I couldn't shake the image of you tracking all the Bellas recently born, with giant maps on your wall with string going from tack to tack and multiple countdown clocks marking when each of them will turn 18.ReplyDelete
If a person hears Tres Bocas calling out his/her own name, hypothetically of course, does that make that person incredibly narcissistic?
Also, for your viewing pleasure, I recommend the Rosario Dawson dancing on the roof scene in Clerks 2.
It does make the person a narcissist. And that is what makes this blog post so unrealistic: Clearly, I should have heard my own name!Delete
And maybe turned into a flower (A flower?)...
I haven't seen "Clerks 2"... If it has a good Rosario scene, it might be worth sitting through all of Kevin Smith's fart jokes.
I doubt your sources and your eyebrows.ReplyDelete
We fact check EVERYTHING that goes onto this page. We uphold the highest of journalistic standards. We ask the questions that other blogs are afraid to ask.Delete
And we won't pretend we don't know what is going on when you approach Tres Bocas and they sing the name of the family dog at you...
I never heard voices in any of the parking garages in Houston. Clearly they are not near the John Brown convention center nor the 4 Seasons. Way too commercial for a phenomena like that. You may run into Rosario Dawson there, which would be a really good find.ReplyDelete
You can find magic in the most unexpected places sometimes.Delete
Have I ever mentioned that I met my ex in the comments section of FoxNews.com?
That might be a bad example, actually, since she (like Fox) both apparently just tells whoever is in front of her what she thinks they want to hear.
Wait! I am playing the part of a well-adjusted ex this week. Let me try again...
Fox news? Yipes! The only time I listen to Fox news is while waiting to get my oil changed at Kwik Kar. Happily they are pretty ... kiwk!Delete
Playing the well adjusted ex is a time honored tradition from the school of thought that says fake it until you make it. Another school of thought says sit in a car outside their house at 3 am with night vision binoculars. I am glad you choose the high road, this week
I can't imagine anything more soul-killing than watching cable news. I'm glad I've largely cured myself of that.Delete
I went in search of Tres Bocas and all I found was Tres Leche. Not complaining mind you but it is all I found.Delete
"KATY ANDERS, MYTH BUSTER", this post should`ve been called "KATY ANDERS, GORGEOUS SEXPOT", thats a stunning picture of you little darlin`.ReplyDelete
Shhh! I'm trying to keep the whole "sexpot" thing secret!Delete
fuckin rosario, how you mock us with yr heaving tatas.ReplyDelete
thanks for the tit-trap lady.
i am now hypnotized by like or more elements of entertainment and confusion.
"Entertainment and confusion" sounds like my mission statement around here!Delete
Katy, do you remember how Jeanette Goldstein tried to hide the fact that she was a gorgeous sexpot in "Aliens" (1986) but she couldn`t simply because she was a gorgeous sexpot. How then do you expect to hide the fact that you`re a gorgeous sexpot ?, when you`re a gorgeous sexpot my dear you`re a gorgeous sexpot, if you try to hide it you`ll just become even more gorgeous ! ! !.ReplyDelete
I always sort of thought that woman was just portraying a lesbian in Aliens.Delete
i hear voices. but they're not as entertaining as this.ReplyDelete
Usually, the voices that I hear sound like Wilford Brimley and Morgan Freeman arguing over who gets to narrate my life.
The voices singing to me have a New Zealand dialect and shout names of local food chains that I'm to avoid. Now, you're telling me I have to travel all the way to Texas to hear the utterance of a name?ReplyDelete
Is everyone who reads my blog schizophrenic?Delete
It's not my fault Tres Bocas are in Texas. They were here long before me. It's sort of like the island on "LOST", only it makes more sense.
Jerviase Brooke Hamster probably is but i`m not sure about the others.ReplyDelete
Ha..ha..ha..Jervaise Brooke Hamster even spelt his own name wrong in that previous com-girl-t where he pretended to be Eddie Lydecker, that rodent is such a silly bastard.ReplyDelete
Someday, the comments to this blog are going to be used against you in a competency hearing...Delete
I could visualize it all.ReplyDelete
And duh...I could have told you that!
The important thing to keep in mind is that EVERY WORD OF IT IS TRUE. I don't just make crazy stuff up around here. It's all heavily researched journalism.
This week, anyway.
Very well done! That is hard work! You done good!Delete
I just wish I could manage to knock one of these out every four days. What a wonderful world THAT would be!Delete
Katy, i`m competent enough to still be madly in love with Heather O`Rourke almost 25 years after the bird snuffed it, do i really need to be any more competent than that with regards to anything ! ?.ReplyDelete
Katy, whenever i leave a com-girl-t on this site its literally like you`re sitting on my lap without your clothes on, even though we live 5000 miles apart ! ! !.ReplyDelete