Another Book Recommendation

I am a member of the small-but-prevelant fraternity of dissatisfied, lost, and otherwise intemperate white guys who found solace and a sort of home in the Mexican-inflected culture of the Southwest. Not that I'm pretending to an ethnic identity (which is slippery anyway) that isn't my own. But I'm one of those guys who knows the old Spanish name for everything South of Wyoming and West of Oklahoma. And I revere the deserts and mountains of the West as a place of thinking, doing, and quiet living. So I recommend the exquisite (and hard to follow, stream-of-consciousness, crazy brilliance) "Blues for Cannibals" by white-guy-in-the-Sonoran-Desert, Charles Bowden. There's colorful characters and coral philosophy and the great praise due to a fine garden of herbs in the desert.
An Excerpt:

"I say nothing because I know what she knew. I know she has been to the dark country I have only peered into from the edges, the place where the food sits flat and empty on the tongue, whether the dead never die but neither do they ever really live, the place where sensation becomes elctroshock, where morning never begins a new day. A place worse than the room of the blue mist, a place blocked off from the river of blood, a bone garden without desire, and there is no torch song or memeory of such a time."