Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Aftermath

So the party was fantastic. Thanks to all the Canadians who showed up, haha. We danced, we drank, we had good fun. I painted peoples fingernails black to make sure all had paid and took down names and said ridiculous things only a non native Spanish speaker can get away with. Oh it was grand. Can´t wait to get back to Van and do it with the homies. But Vancouver is looking a bit further away despite the snow that has already begun to fall up at Whis. That´s right bitches, I´m watching it. Once the base is good yall know I´ll be home, hahahaa.

I read some poetry in Spanish. The people liked it. I was scared and I shook in the cold steel chair and when I was done I had to run away for a moment just to calm myself with some grape juice. Now its sunny out and I have job offers in Montevideo and I´m printing pictures for a portfolio and working on the hostel that I will be coming back to work at next year. This place will be sweet in time. I´ll upload some more photos later today or tomorrow. This computer is such a piece I wont even bother trying to upload for fear of losing all my photos.

If anyone wants to come visit me in beautiful Montevideo lemme know. Summer is just beginning and the appeal of the beach is growing daily. We got some surfboards and some thumbs so I think an adventure to the waves is in order. More on that later this week. Isabel and Chelsea, friends from UBC studying in Chile stopped by randomly for the party, catching some fine Montevidean weather and taking advantage of the free theater week thats going on here right now. They said the theater sucked. I guess there´s a reason why its free.

I have a little poem/story to share as well. I wrote it back in Argentina but I figured nows a good time for someone...its kind of a dream sequence and it jumps a lot. So it kinda sucks and needs a lot of editing. But I like everything better raw.

Loose lips left lingering kisses on rose red cheeks, burning with passion like a midday rainstorm. A pleasant disruption from the normalized monotony of another day, the rain washed the sin from our hair. Each drop falling hard and finding its way to my scalp. Each kiss pressed hard to your heart. You said to me, soaked in rain, that to drink the drops cleansed you "inside out," like the rain did to the streets, sweeping away the shit that would otherwise sit stagnet in the gutter waiting to be washed. I said each day the rain renewed me, left me feeling like a clean street, ready to be beat down again and again; defeated daily.
So we fell like rain everyday into the oceans of eachothers bodies, the vast unknown awaiting exploration. When the clouds refused to drain their spirits on our own we took time to wander in the parks around the city. I plucked flowers, purple lavender and poppies, their modest scents agreed with ours and and drove me wild as they mingled, made me only want your more. Alone at night I dreampt with you, connected in the ether where a million minds wandered simultaneously.

The first time I remember touching something in a dream I awoke immediatly. It took me years to hone my mind to give in to itself, to control its startling. I had dreamed with all my senses since youth, but smell came first and most naturally and most pleasantly , without effort. And it was here, now in the ether, that your first drew yourself to me. At least that is the story I believe myself to have dreamed.

It was quiet in the city. Taxis broke the morning mist, tracking exhaust in their breeze. And people walked in the streets visibly exhaling breaths that lingered before fleeting. The certain smell of coming rain rose slow and silently from the asphalt. Its unmistakable scent I recognized immediatly with ease. Throughout the day I waited for the rain to cleanse the masses and at noon the fog had risen and the sky was vanishing, covered quickly by a thousand clouds full of all but mystery. The future can be told in clouds if only you can dream. And so I did and rain it poured until the streets became like streams. All the while I watched the scene unfold still waiting patiently for another certain scent to drift into my lucid dream.

I remember the fresh summer scent of lilacs licking my nose as I studied your naked body next to mine. A cool draft blew in through a broken window pane delivering me something: heaven scent. I lied to you and told you I could not see the scars that marred your back, your perfect skin. I knew that you would never see them even with the aid of a mirror. You lied and said you loved me. Still today I´m unsure whos lie was worse.
New breezes brought boquets to your balcony where we sat reading eachothers poetry and body language. I could have written a book on lies alone. "Close your eyes and zou´re alone. You´re far away but you´re at home. Anywhere you go, you know I´m with you, no, you know." My ironic lyric tickled you, I saw it in your face and in your bigest tells of all: the fanning of your fingers, your desprate need for some embrace. I alway hesitated but I also always give more than I take so when your insecurities surfaced I tried to build you up with grace. And what I got still tortures my senses in the middle of some nights. Your scent moves like a nightengale, it is silent but it is bright, it flies through my mind but vanishes faster than the speed of light. Into the ether that surrounds us all again.

Blood rushed out of the stormdrain, tracing back accross some sidewalk, and into my body mouth, face, skull. Belly flopped I´m rising higher, faster than an elevator, screaming forty floors until I slow and finally, find my feet. Each step taken away is taken like it´s been done before. As if I knew what was to happen before I opened the window. Before I closed the door. Before I hit the button. Before I closed the door. Before I turned the car off. Before, before before.
Death on pavement lets an odor go. The life we live while in the air is all we care to know.
Don´t tell me that the future is faster or that I am already old, you know that what we "know" is what we "know," becasue we have been told. But tell yourself a lie, "yes you are young," and see if it will hold, you know we only know just what we know because we have been told. I don´t believe myself, you know I´m certain I´ll die before I´m "old." But please remember that no matter what, no one mans words are gold. We all die no matter if we´re "old."

Confused like a hot tap gushing cold. I am lost in a place that I don´t even know. I want to push it, open the tap a little more, but it runs away like ice melts in your palm. And I remember back when I was young how ice hissed in my Coke before it cracked and left me sitting there so wattered down at home. But now just doesn´t that time fade into space or to another realm, replacing things to be replaced, replacing time itself? Why don´t the clocks keep ticking on their own time, why do they need our help? Our hands are all the same. We can shake them, we can shout, we can casue alarms so harmless and can also be so loud. Without our hands or eyes or heads our hearts would hardly have a place to go, someone to see, you see time makes us feel so proud. Because! We made it and believe it so much without a doubt. If time was gone what would we care about?

Having a hard time finding my way into the ether, its not the drink, I got no drugs, so I know it´s not neither. I haven´t lied in days, no that´s a lie, I haven´t lied since yesterday, well here it is I´m wide awake and still the ether that I know is here is weak.
I´m swimming through an ocean of ice, there are hot waves that break through, but each stroke is a fight. You are drowning but I can´t do a thing. When I dive down to get you I freeze up and then I see bubbles. You´re breathing just fine. I hate that you´re wasting my time. Like a fisherman fishing with no hooks just line, I wrap you up thinking you´re mine. But you slip away into seaweed and ryhme, "You. You don´t have a clue. You´ve got bait and a line, but you got no hook."
Well what do you want me to do? I´m drowning just trying to listen to you. I will wash up on the beach white with sand. You will never see me again. I promise. Now that´s a good plan.

Underwater, underground is filled with space and silent sounds. The bubbles carry breaths away with air and empty space. Sinking faster throught the dirt, the well is wishing deeper things like fairytales so timeless they have never even been told. So swift water rushed from our bodies and our minds. They together all at once remind us we are one. The dirt we eat is time we take, is food our only sustinance? Does conversation nourish us or are words, as people, fake? Now floating faster winds awake, my eyes are open as the sea is great. How much water can a wish displace if dreams take me to outerspace? Reality, eternity: they fight but they are both for me.

Once I rose from the ashes spit from a furnace into the navy blue sky. I sweat, sheets twisted at my feet, mattress soaked in the shape of a body. Into the atmosphere I becasue, finding myself and in a trillion places. At once I was lost and found. At once I was hot and cold. At once I was everywhere and nowhere as my ashes covered the ground.
You swept the walk in your garden. I fell into the rows of fruits and flowers, giving my dry flesh to the earth. What did not land in the planters was treated like dirt: swept up, removed, and forgotten. At least you were clean.
You took a sip of water. The falling ash agitated your throat, made your voice raspy and rough. And I couldn´t find all of me in your garden, nor in your body, though I took a look just to see.
On the ocean I fell and was carried to beaches when I soon turned into sand. Each wave brought new pieces and parts into being, before long the tides returned me to the sea. The trade windsnpulled me apart as I sailed on their swift currents. Warm breezes brought me into port cities where people came and went. Into rivers I fell and was delivered to soil or lakes or deltas or the mouths of fish. It were the fish that helped me return to myself in a night, I thought impossibly. Some fisherman caught me. They sold and they bought me until again all ended up in the sea. Eventually everything finds itself somewhere, that somewhere for me was the sea.

Pause. There she is. Her eyes already own me. Her spirit intertwines with mine. But it´s not like that´s never happened before. It´s always been this way. I´ll come back and get you even if you don´t want me. I gotta fight myself before I take you on. I know I´m right, I know we´re wrong.
You say something I´d rather not hear and I reply, "I think you´re pretty when you´re quiet," and so it goes. And you are not beautiful at night, but when the lights are on you turn me on, like them, if that´s alright. I think it´s alright. And you say, you say that you don´t lie, but I can see straight through your eyes, you´re wrong, I´m right. You lie, you lie.

Ah, wow. That is brutal.. Yea, I know I skipped 9. It wasn´t that good anyways, hahahaha. There is a lot more but in time it will come. It all comes back to the city and it is beautiful like all you people.

And tomorrow I will post photos and maybe a journal entry if I feel up to the task. THanks for reading all my bs :)))


Friday, September 25, 2009


I just wanna go home or at least just find some place I don´t feel so alone. But with my friends and family (and things that are so familiar to me) I can´t seem to bend the boundaries restricting me from everything, eternity, infinity. Not that immortality is something that I want to touch or even get to know (that much). Fuck responsibility , we´re animals, we need to be alive right now and find some food some blood or warm skin we call love and love and love and love.

So here I sit in front of a glowing screen that seperates me from reality. It´s lost in space. The light´s surreal and so devouring and tames my time I´ve saved so diligently. But what are we doing here. Why are you here? I think I don´t know, but really I don´t want to. I don´t want to think or write or breathe. I don´t want to come or stay or leave or even find another place to be. I just need mountains and the sea. I just need dirt and food to eat. I just need friends and family. I just need strangers in the street. I just need something endlessly. I just need decisons made for me. I just need something endlessly.

Some say I´m something that I´m not. Some say that this should bother me. I could run away or turn around or put another person down or refuse to smile for a week or laugh or kiss you when we greet. But with a world so full of us I rather lets us love. I´d rather not spend my precious time wating it on hate. I´d rather let us love.

I´m here and hungry cooking something I will give away. It not that I don´t want to eat I just know my friend, you´re starving. I see it in your hollow face and in the skin stretched tight over your ribcage. And in your mind you think its fine but time tells another fate.

Time tells us when to pause and when to play. Time tells us not to wait. Time says a million seconds can´t amount to much but time is so cliché. Infinity exists right now as it does after mortality. There´s nothing quite so grand as death in one´s own mind but in reality its grave. There is nobody watching me but still I can´t escape their gaze.

I want to push away, away. Away to other days.


Wednesday, September 23, 2009


Primero de la tierra y despues de amor. Buenas temas.

La tormenta viene con presión, gritando!
"Por que te ensucias la tierra?
De donde eres, quien representas!?"
Le dije soy yo en palabras verdaderas.
Me gusta la tierra como me gustan madres.

Durmiendo contigo en tu cama.
Exploré tu piel, explorar tu alma.
Todavia adentro pensar en mi cabeza,
la infinidad de tu belleza.

Son simples. Como yo.


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

A little something from everywhere

We're having a party on the 27th of September if anyone wants to come. It's going to be off the hook. Got a couple of bands a poet and a contemporary dance troupe coming in from Buenos Aires, along with the usual Montevidean suspects. Should be a good time. You are all invited. And you can crash at the house. Hope to see some Norteamericanos show up, hahahaha.

I've been writing very basic Spanish poetry. Sometimes in English poems can get a little out of hand. I am enjoying the simplicity of basic words and very honest sentences. I think these poems are great because they are so straightforward and understandable. Sometimes poems are difficult to understand, difficult to get a solid feeling out of. Sometimes poems are just words with little meaning behind them, just words. After reading some poems to friends here I realized how childish they must sound to a native Spanish speaker. Hemingway believed that writing simply allowed for the truest sentences to emerge. I am with him. I'll post some once I've gotten them grammatically reworked. For now the simple words are complicated by grammatical madness.
Even simpler than poems are pictures. One unified statement, no periods or commas, just one thought to put out there. Here are four (an extra one for Mayss :P )
Cool things:

Alejandro, Adolfo, and Balduena subdue a formidable oponent before surgery. The other horses in the background look on awaiting the same fate. Great demonstration of teamwork as it takes three or four guys to take down a pony. For an old man Balduena works quick. But no one can tackle a horse quite like Ale, crazy gaucho. Adolfo just likes to talk them into tranquility and is quite good at it, being the head horseman on the ranch.

Sariel takes a break from being extreme. Bluebird day with a meter of fresh the night before made for some powdery dreams. Some people were saying we got the best day in five years. Add two for one lift tickets to the goodness and you get some very happy skiers. Valle Nevado, Chile. (ps- Ski Washington sticker, represent!!)

Sunset on the rambla. Todo el mundo (literally, everyone) shows up on the rambla when it's nice out. Sam and I joined the happy throngs of locals, passing by the skate park and palm trees that line the riverfront on bicycle one night. In the summer there are open air beach dance parties that take place every Saturday night. It's just now starting to get warm here, so I'm looking forward to staying a little longer to fully enjoy life here. Montevideo, Uruguay.

I thought it was fitting to follow a photo of a sunset in Uruguay with some stars from the jungle in Ecuador. There are SOOOOOO many. Totally rearranged for someone from the northern hemisphere, but just as enticing. The stars down here shine hard. Now that I'm in Montevideo I can see only a few stars from my rooftop (and Venus :) which is nice but nothing compared to the infinity on display in the lightless jungle, highland Peru, or Argentine campo.

I am torn as to where I should go next, if I should go anywhere. If I go home the dream ends and a new one begins. If I backpack to Peru I will be on the road again, away from the comforts of one of South America's nicest cities. If I do that I'll hit Paraguay and Bolivia before getting to Peru and undoubtedly encounter some serious adventure (which is always fun ;)

I have no idea what I want to do besides something tomorrow. Help a brother out and give me some suggestions, por favors.

Until next time,


ps- if you want settings for the shots ask :) None of my photos are altered by photoshop or nothing. Just light and a camera.

Monday, September 14, 2009

The Pad in Montevideo

Here's a little photo tour of the place I'm living in Montevideo. The cross streets are Calle Andes and Calle Soriano if you wanna google map that biz. Check out the photos of the Plaza Independencia if you do...

The front door opens up onto Calle Andes, just two blocks from the main drag, 18 de Julio. After you climb the marble staircase you arrive in the core of the house beneath a glass roof. Sorry there's no pics of that yet but there will be soon...

This is the living room. We got the sheepskins on the floor, one lightbulb, a bass, an amp, and a digereedoo. Everything you truely need in a living room. Oh, and juggling clubs. When I get back home I'm investing in a set. This is where we all chill out, eat dinner, read, write, what have you.
Toilet flower pot. Very cool.
This is Alvaro. After you walk up the spiral staricase (hells ya) you can continue on up to the roof. Alvaro is a wicked guitarist. Here he gives me a good blessing on my journey to the roof.

Sam's ascent. This rickety ladder could use some help. You pop out of the house onto the roof from here.

This little glass roof thing slides like its big brother that covers what at one time was an open air courtyard in the house. I think its a cute little replica. It stays closed to keep rain out.

This is the view of my roof! How interesting. You can see the big glass roof to the left of Noelia, my Zaragozan friend here in Montevideo.

Palacio Salvo peeks out from behind one of the many 1970 concrete box apartment buildings that provide ample contrast between true beauty and pure ugliness. THis shot was taken as Sam and I were exploring our block by rooftop. We got about five or six buildings out until we hit a dead end. Good fun and a cool perspective.
Coming back down from the roof. If you look in top of this shot you can see the glass roof. Pretty rad. You used to be able to open it from the inside of the house with a hand crank. Today everything is gone. I think the previous tenants were evicted. Everything of any use is gone. No doorknobs, lightbulbs, shutters, toilet seats, nothing. Pretty funny. I hope the place in Vancouver's at least got a toilet seat, lol.

The kitchen. Very small but perfect. We have everything we need to make food to eat. Gas stove kinda worries me when I enter the tiny room and it wreaks of gas like I might get blown up over some spaghetti and tomato sauce.

o this is the front of the house. The middle door is my room (with a balcony, chicka chicka yea). I'll post some more pictures of the guts of the house as I take them. Its a nice place that will someday make a great hostel. That's what Sebastian is trying to do: set up a hostel. Sam and I are just lucky we got in when we did because for the last four days I have been hearing from tons of people here (locals and visitors alike) that they can't find any place to stay. We got the room for 5,000 Uruguayan pesos which works out to about $108 USD for the month. Wicked wicked deal. Right down from the beach, three blocks from the Plaza Independencia, and on a street calm enough to cook asado in the middle of the road on Sundays. I may never leave, hahahaha. Sebastian says when I come back to visit (and next time I'm bringing some of the homies) we are good to crash there. I just can't wait to see it in a few months/years when its spiffed back up. It already vibes, but with some new paint it is going to be amazing.

I'll post some more pictures later of the ranch. Maybe just two a day or something. Let me know if it's too much...


Saturday, September 12, 2009

Three Today

So I decided this: I will try to upload a minimal number of photos per day so as to keep the blog actually interesting. Instead of more mass uploads I'll try and post two or three pictures a day that are all different. Today we got an art shot, a photo not of a person but of a thing, and then a portrait. Enjoy :)

Empty parking lot in San Telmo. Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Horse testicle. We watched four horses get those things pulled outta them. It hurt to watch. After the castrations we'd hang the balss up on the fence. At dinnertime there was some speculation over what we ate. Either way it was delicious. San Silvestre, Argy.

Ramiro and bro. Dureno, Ecuador. Gotta love Ramiro. He and I goofed around all the time, giving eachother shit and just having a good time. He studies in Quito with Hugo's brother, John, and some others at the Cofán Federation. Great kid. We were just cruising in the back of the truck on our way to Dureno. Just after this photo Ramiro laid down in the bed of the pickup and took a solid thirty minute nap. If you knew just how bumpy the roads are in the jungle you'd appreciate that, haha.

Thats all for now, folks!


Friday, September 11, 2009

Some more photos fun!

I couldn't stop there...here's some more. I have over 1000 shots so far on both my cameras. And two or three months still to go...shit, thats a lot of photos to go through...sorry about the order being not very orderly. These first few shots are from the first part of my trip in Ecuador. The ones towards the bottom are more from La Paz, Entre Rios, Argentina.

The first day we got into Zabalo I decided to go hunting with the guys. We were out eight hours. No food, no water, no nothing. Armed with just my cameras I followed them through the jungle as they tracked animals without success. I doubt I was any help. I swear animals can smell gringo. In the jungle there are no supermarkets, which is a bitch when you can't find any wild boar. We ended up with some birds for dinner.

This is Bolivar Lucitante, Hugo's dad. He is always smiling and is one of the kindest human beings I've ever encountered. Here he is napping off the afternoon showers. He is an awesome guide, best canoe driver in the world, and a mean fisherman, among other things...

This is Jonas. I took this picture while he scouted for river dolphins. The canoes are all fiberglass numbers made by the Cofán. They are called "ecocanoas" and they are very popular with tourguides and other river runners who prefer them over the old, not very sustainable wooden rigs that move much slower in the water. The trip to Zabalo tkaes twice as long in a dugout than in an ecocanoa. Super efficient, sustainable, and pretty darn sexy for a canoe lover.

Near some super secret lakes in the Amazon, Rio Aguarico. A beautiful friend.

On the way to said super secret lake the outboard motor got jammed with saw grass. It took all of our efforts for two hours or so to get us freed from the floating islands of reeds and into the actual lake where we could once again motor away. Note how little river you can actually see there.Camp Rambones (Rambo+Indiana Jones). This place was a high end tourist lodge until a few years back when it became unprofitable and was abandoned. Now the pink river dolphins take care of it as the jungle has begun to reclaim it. Bolivar, Hugo's dad, used to be hired to take tourists here. It was unreal. Everything was rotting, we set up camp inside the hollow buildings and took great care where we stepped. Marin fell through the boardwalk you see pictured here. Someone had to do it.

Death in the jungle. Piranha bones don't stay too meaty too long.

The way out of Lago Agrio (the frontier oil town in the jungle) to Quito (the high mountain capital of Ecuador) used to be hell. I remeber it taking nearly 12 hours or something ridiculous like that to get there last time I was there. One of the reasons it only takes 4 or so hours these days are because of these trucks. Moving oil away from the jungle more quickly means more money. The road out of Lago is amazing today. It is one of the best I've seen in South America. We had to stop the bus becasue a bridge was being repaired and that's when I snapped this shot. A few minutes later we were passing this truck (clearly labeled, "danger") on a blind turn going way too fast for me to want to look out the window. I'd hate to know who wins in a gmae of Bus vs. Oil Tanker though I take great solace in knowing the odds for Bus vs. Car are usually in my favor down here.
Piura, Peru. This is the day after Charles and I got into Peru. We had hell at the border and thought, "why don't we just buy a truck and drive to Argentina?" Luckily we didn't get a chance to make this owner what could have only been described as the lowest "lowball" offer ever know to man. We ended up bussing for the next 5 consecutive days until arriving in Argentina.

More photos from the ranch. Sorry about the abrupt transition.

This man here is an absolute legend. His name is Balduena. He can't read nor write but he can tell you where every single cow is on any given day, how many are on which parcels, and is fluent in horse. He has been working estancia San Silvestre for nearly 20 years and knows the land better than anyone else. He is 74 and still rides a horse every single day. He is retiring this year. He taught Charlie and I loads of bad words, and to him we gave, "suck my dick," and "freaky naughty." He was one of the best teachers I've ever had, and it wasn't cause he was easy. The man is made of leather, cooks a mean guiso, and has more badass in his blood than James Dean. Proof? He wakes up to a shot of caña- cane sugar liquor that tastes slightly worse than gasoline- every morning.

The Ranch. Gotta love a perfect sunset. Every day.

Charles getting freaky naughty on Jefferson. Oh wait, he's just eating again, hahahaha!!

Me on Crash during one of the best drives we had. Crash was crazy but we liked eachother. He just loved going fast, which is fun when you're chasing down a stray cow, but kinda sucks when you're in campo sucio with spiny shit surrounding you, cutting your arms, scratching your face, branches ripping your clothes, almost getting clotheslined, bleeding from head, horse running into tree at speeds I thought impossible on horseback. Get the picture? That was Crash.A good day to be a gaucho. Cattle in the corral. Horseback til sunset. Fresh water from the well.

No more for a while. Maybe I'll pull the shots off my dSLR, maybe not. I will for sure be uploading some shots of the house in Montevideo (and inevitably a handfull of others) in the next few days.

Until then,


Random Photos

I took all the photos off my little Nikon s620 (wicked camera, RIP). It kinda went swimming in the Amazon a few months ago. It worked for a solid month and a half longer after the dip, but now it has sadly passed on, leaving me lugging around my d50. Just aint the same. Little cameras are great for capturing quick moments, sketchy situations, and candids. The d50 awesome, my baby. But it's huge and frankly too much of a risk to lose. So I don't bring it out at night, which is a shame cause that's my favorite time to shoot!! ahhhhh, joder!! So here are some shots (if they upload) of places I've been over the past few months. I'll post as many as I can :))

The rive to Huaraz, Peru. Our driver and front seat passenger started drinking beers once we corssed the pass. This is how the Cordillera Blanca welcomes visitors. Nothing short of spectacular.

Arequipa,. Peru. This one is for all the homies back home getting the last of the summer on their skates. This guy was selling these old school decks that he painted himself. Mr. Bock, I wish I had more room in my pack for this deck cause it had your name written all over it.

Tacna, Peru. Ormeño bus company. This was our home for a little over 50 hours. We had three stops for food in 50 hours. Getting out of Peru was easy: "You you have any marijuana?" Nope. "Cocaine?" No, sir. "Pasa." Getting into Chile was harder. Like a four hour border wait where we couldn't even get the frisbee out of the bottom of the bus. Good thing I had the sack of hack in my little backpack :)

Somewhere in Chile. This is me on the bus. 8 days without bathing in transit will do that to you.

Estancia San Silvestre, La Paz, Entre Rios, Argentina. The illustious Carlos Arnaldo Marquez: gaucho, lady killer, and horse barber. After we trimmed up the horses we burned the hair. Survival tip: horse hair burns super easy.

Rio Paraná, La Paz, Entre Rios, Argentina. Estancia Beef owns a bunch of islands where there are an innumerable amount of cattle in addition to the few hundred on estancia San Silvestre. The people who live out on the islands use these small river boats to navigate the numerous waterways that split up the islands floating in the middle of the Rio Paraná. On Fridays they come into La Paz to find hard land and their familes. They often just leave their boats chilling in very photogenic locations.

San Silvestre. Taken while cooking asado on a full moon. Sexy sillohuette courtesy of Charles Cottingham. Moon and stars courtesy of the minimal light pollution La Paz generates.

El Campo, San Silvestre. Rear end of a cattle drive. Driving those suckers all the way accross the ranch aint easy. Gotta flush em out by yipping and hollering, make sure you don't lose any runaways, and then drive them all together to the corral where you gotta count em. If you're missing any you go do it again. If you got em all it feels like you're just won the best video game ever invented.

more to follow...

Monday, September 7, 2009

Wasting Time

Most everyone's going back to school to day. My friends here in Montevideo have all of the sudden disappeared into classrooms at early hours leaving me to do nearly nothing all day in this rain. But I got some good beans to spill :))

A lot has been happening here in the South. I decided to kick it here in Montevideo for probably longer than I should. But who's to say what I should or should not do. What's a good or bad idea. What's too much time or not enough.

The fact is that I just moved into a colonial mansion. Now I could leave it at that, and I really would, only it gets better. It's the same place where that wicked house party took place the other day (look below). There are six of us and soon to be a beautiful seventh. My roomates are as follow:

Alvaro, the guitarist/musician of the house (as if there's only one, HA!) He plays lead guitar in his reggae band, yeah, the same one that played the party. He busted out some Stevie Ray Vaughn shit the other night that blew my mind. Then he started laughin like it aint no thang. He straight tears it up and is always making sure everything is "todo tranqui," (totally chill).

We got Sebastian, the leader of the house. He is a master painter, bassist, and writer. He lives up the spiral staircase with his keyboard and surfboard among other boards. He speaks wicked english and is pretty well known throughout Montevideo. He's got master plans for the house. Tomorrow he wants to bust a hole in the wall, "to let in more light," into the living room. He's also going to be painting the place and preparing it for some hostel-like existence. It sounds fanfreakintastic.

Sebastian's father, Pepe, also resides with us. He is the resident poet, a master of the word, and has inspired me to take up writing poetry in Spanish. It is a challenge I readily accept. I have begun writing but it's hard. I just don't have the same vocabulary in Spanish that affords me the eloquence I so take for granted in English. I spoke to him about getting a weekly poetry session going and he sounded enthusiastic. Aron, if you are reading this (along with any of the other Boys House Poetry Session Readers), thanks for that ;) Anyways, Pepe cooked some guiso (stew) the other night and we had company and we all drank wine and shared music and conversation and were all happy together at once. It's that kind of place.

Luca is the other upstairs homie. He is from Germany and works for some NGO playing with kids and practicing his Spanish. He'll be here for the year.

Sam is my travelling buddy. We met up a week or so ago in Colonia before making the trip to Montevideo. We plan on saying for at least a month but really have no idea.He hooked me up with some NGO work and I actually have to run to a meeting wth the construction team right now. Thank god I'm in South America, I can show up at least an hour late and no one will think anything of it, hahaha.

We got a sweet roof, a balcony overlooking Calle Andes (three blocks from the Plaza Independencia), good company, and a future ahead of us. I head back from Pablo the photographer and hope to help him brush up his website and intern/work with him over the coming month(s). Furthermore I have been hanging out with some semipermenant residents of Che Lagarto, our former hostel, and thoroughly enjoy their company. I have found good inspiration here to write in Spanish and have been getting good practice speaking with a new friend, Noelia, a girl from Zaragoza, España.

Here's a little poem I wrote in Spanish. They will get better, don't worry, hahahaha

Tenía un sueño: tus ojos han visto a mios de verde,
les cambian azul.
Tus labios rojos me tocan suavamente,
tu pelo cayen en tu cara linda.

Off to the meeting. Tomorrow, beer with Pablo. You gotta love how sometimes everything lines up in your life. Literally the other night something AMAZING happened. I'd have to kill you if I told you. But the moral of the story is, the Moon amazes me. When it's full its effects fully feel me and I feel it.

A mi luna, me haces feliz.

Chao for now,


Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Just a Haiku?

As some of my friends know, I try to write everyday. Sometimes when I'm stuck I just write a haiku. The Japanese poem is a beautifully short, often spontaneous (for me) manifestation of creativity. At poetry readings I often start with one just to break the ice. When I feel uninspired I write one just to force myself to write. So simple: five, seven, five. Try it sometime...

You said to me once:
"The wind is but a whisper,
desire is loud."

Now perhaps a story if you're willing to follow...

You said in a winded whisper that "desire is louder," but I never believed until you screamed. As it is, it was wonderful but I should have asked more. But your heavy breath kept me silent for then. Then I was tired and the questions fell out of my head like "I love you" fell out of my mouth. Somedays passionate words fall out of style. Somedays they are all we have. Someday you will see me in a different light and know what I knew then was really true.

In such a short time we fall so far to places we only can feel without really understanding. I knew it the first time you kissed me without trying. When you were drawn to me despite my insolence. Despite my vain efforts to deny your company you knew I was faking; and as hard as you tried you couldn't, and that got to you and you had to be drawn to me and kiss my face and pretend for a minute to at least like me. And when we got beneath the stars and saw them shooting accross the sky we realized that we too, like the stars, could change direction. That's when I learned that you liked to be held close; like a candle in the dark; to your own face. Even if the light doesn't lend itself to your sights, it lends itself to you. So what if I burned you. You must have leaned in too far. I am never that bright, but I suppose I could burn. So you carry that scar like any other one you might have covered beneath your clothing, unrevealed, like you don't know you have it. I wish I could pretend half as well.

Now you're gone, thinking I've left you. Now you've only got the memory of lame cliches and other romantic tactics tacked onto my persona: like you know me. Like you think I use them all the time. You wish I did for your own sanity. But you forget I'm crazy and you forget for a moment that you like that about me. I wish you'd forget that we kissed in public that I held your hand that this night even ever existed that you had a "delete" key somewhere hidden within your mind. But that's what I'm in it for: your mind. Your wit your sarcasm your intelligence. I know it's there, I was immensly attracted to it, to you. But you nearly denied me. If only you were half as witty as I am ;)

So inpiration comes in different forms, in different ways. I wish I was as easy as a greek with a virgin muse. Unfortuneatly I need something more. Some kind of cosmic connection (what bullshit). Some kind of reality (however fake). Some kind of feeling (more than just warm skin). You think you can give me nothing but I take everything. You took it too, if only you'd realize this.

Twenty years and we'll see where life takes us. It will take me away before you can find you. That is some sort of weak gaurantee like, "dinner sometime this week," like, "I'll back you up," like, " I love you," even though it shouldn't be.

Is that weird that I just wrote that whole bit while listening to Rage Against the Machine? I might be a romantic but I still love me some good ol rock and roll...


ps- check it: this shit goes out to Kyle Baines, Mikel Bock, and Charles-Antoine Vallieres among others.





A little bit of Rage is only healthy. "Hungry people don't stay hungry for long"