Monday, May 19, 2008

Meredith the Seamstress (a la Edward Gorey)

Meredith was deaf. She went deaf when she was six years old during a mild case of yellow fever. While she lay in bed that year, she learned to sew. Meredith was quick and precise and by the age of seven she became the town’s seamstress, replacing Francis’s reputation of being “good with her hands.”

One Spring day she decided to take a leisure walk down the train track. The refreshing smell of the blooming flowers, soft sun, and a couple hand salutes from her fellow townspeoples made her feel confident and content. The train track hadn’t been in service since the time of her grandfathers. She was thinking about the legend of the ghost train and how she might sew it along the hem of a blanket.

The next day Meredith was found dead on the train track. The doctor's biopsy concluded that she had been hit by a train. Meredith must not have heard nor felt the train approaching. Some members of the town were heartbroken and suggested she have an open coffin but be draped in her unfinished sewing pieces. Several invitees took the occasion to purchase new clothes. While Meredith's mother felt the coffin garment was in bad taste, others commented that it was symbolic of her unfinished talent.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

make a floor


a fun way to waste time if you like tiles and wasting time like me. the designs come from "hydraulic tiles" which were produced in western europe in the mid 19th century. nowadays you can find the treaded originals in w. european and latin american interiors.

if you´re still interested, these photos of actual floors tiled in hydraulic tiles are incredible.




Tuesday, May 06, 2008

city + creativity + dissent

http://theinfluencers.org/

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

miércoles

no me he olvidado que hoy es su día libre
como si fuera su cumpleaños semanal
su día de libre
el día que dormía una hora más
y tomaba un desayuno más lento
de tostadas y cigarrillos.

Friday, April 11, 2008

antología poética popular

amigos:

una página bonita, poesía con sus canciones correspondientes:


http://antologiapoeticamultimedia.blogspot.com

("aceituneros" y "era un niño que soñaba" son algunas de mis preferidas.)

xoxo
m

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

public documentation of 13 beautiful days

13 days in a land of:

10 million strangers (in order of company)
eva megias (and her housemates)
migue angel
jaume and his friends
joan
rebecca
teo
gabriel
zach
andrés
ramón
dorian
albert
juanfer
eva durall
lourdes
david
frequent thoughts of those i see and don´t see anymore
50 million public spaces
gatwick airport
bus to victoria station
back and forth between victoria bus and train station and 3 burger kings
underground to brixton
bus to 38 moorish road
soho
bricklane
hamstead
oxford street
"the city"
el prat
carrer clavell 1-7
ferreteria
travessera de dalt
plaça lesseps (a concrete disaster)
passeig de gràcia
fotoprix
plaza de cataluña
plaza rovira
plaza de la revolución
plaza de la concordia
fontana
jaume I
alfonso X
raval
paralel
gotic
gràcia
les corts
maria cristina
l´illa
metro (new cars)
nit bus (new buses)
barceloneta
john lennon airport
south hunter street
where the streets change their name every block
lime street train station
university of liverpool
bond street
hope street
everyman´s theatre
10 thousand small drinks eats
la bombeta
buenas migas
supersol
consum
equinox
iztli (burrito)
horno foix
chocolat
el macareno
quincey´s cuisine
union coffee
uncle sam´s
geisha
beigels
sainsburys
100 billion educational cultural-social constellations (bang!)
scannerfm
reggae music
bbc
converse allstars, 70s boots, and pencil-tight pants
goodbye Cine París, a new hole in the historic quarter-- now the multinational inditex has completely colonized portal de l´àngel, recently razing the street´s last historical-cultural center
joan´s new paintings
post-it city exhibit
a late night cell phone affair
fingersmith
la central
the flat new and clean facultad de geografía historia y filosofía in front of the CCCB
the flat new and clean buildings that have gone up on the Rambla del Raval
tightening restrictions on bike use in barcelona
la casa del llibre
laie
helsinki´s distance master program
martirio (maría isabel quiñones)
fucking amal
bonnie and clyde
violence in american films on northwest airlines
fnac
beatles
theatrical interpretation of edward gorey´s "doubtful guest"
regina, canada
"2"
ghetto
10 thousand smells
car and motorcycle exhaust
cigarette smoke
hash smoke
sewage
fresh bread
cleaning chemicals on marble floors and storefront sidewalk
olive oil
pastry shop
mildew
pine
b.o.
wool blankets that were stored in new wood cabinets
tanned leather
laundry detergent
grease from jamón serrano
faint pee of english bathrooms
refined rubber of shoe stores
metal of coins
fried croquetas

Monday, February 25, 2008

the floating island

Last night I dreamt I was searching for a floating island. I found out that it is Small, Flat, Moss-covered, and Meanders off the coast near a swimming pond. If anyone has any other clues, please let me know.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

pigs can fly


bailey reaches the peak of stone mountain (atlanta)

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

untitled

thick mute

thick silence

thick white

thick cold

thick distance

Sunday, January 27, 2008

the tree house

i finally found a magical place in Grinnell. it's faded-kelly-green, warm, soft, comfortable, secluded, and cradles around you. and it's drenched in natural sunshine. from this little refuge i have a panoramic view over the leafless lifeless winter trees and blue sky.

to be continued when i have my camera...

Thursday, January 24, 2008

swimming pigs, unexpected goodbyes, attacking animals, and ringing phones

night after night of terrible dreams and no time to work them through!

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

al sur

Foggy cloud of PASTEL COLORS cover the unpleasant.
Time on Pause. Some things remind me of the Mediterranean in late winter -- waking up to a bright blue sky cradled in sunshine-illuminated walls; Tibio, Warm thick carpet and stucco tiles feel nice on barefeet; Dry cool sand and refreshing piney-woodsy smell.
Lots of memories of last Spring, Of the Cafeteria, Of sand walks, Of ice cream, Of watching tv, Of house colors, Of Spanish Bingo. But things are calmer this time. Yes, remember that. Silence. Wondering how you are. Foggy cloud -- Sleepiness, Little white pill, Bad dreams at night, Trying to think "realistically" (similar to the realities in the novels El cuarto de atrás and Esos cielos).

News flash: happy new year, 2008 in review, war, an assassination, and a shot tiger.
Time for bed.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

amigos amics friends amici

you know i don't celebrate christmas but the spirit of gratitude from all the people who take time to decorate everything with cheesy green and red smiley things in order to cheer us up has gotten into me and i want to give thanks to all my friends. to you who are reading this, to those who don't read english, and those who simply don't read. for your ears, eyes, time, company, care, love, thoughts, and imperfections. is there anything better on earth than good friends? shouldn't the biggest holiday of the year be Friendsmas? i love you all very much and with out you all i would be much worse off. i hope we are friends forever. i am infinitely grateful. Merry Everything, and thank you.

xoxo
megan

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

gracias esther

Saturday, December 15, 2007

gremlins in my stomach

Part I:


I don’t want the gremlins god damnit
just swallow us god damnit
don’t try to throw us up
don’t open your mouth
don’t make a fucking noise

We’ll digest,
just be patient.


Part II:


dear heavenly father or mother, if it be in accordance with your will, i pray for your guidance in releasing the gremlins from my stomach because they don´t seem to want to go away, they´re bothering me, they´re like suffocating me, making it hard to breathe, and at night when i turn the lights off i swear i can feel them fighting and hear them bickering and

I told you not to say a fucking word!

I'm sorry, it wouldn't have happened in person...

Where's your patience?!

It doesn't matter anymore...

(notice ellipsis)

Thursday, December 06, 2007

The Story of Smallville

Part 1: Smallville

The day is gray in the tiny town of Smallville, also known as the town of "Chestnut", not because they produce chestnuts (the climate in Smallville is much too dry and bitter-cold to cultivate chestnuts), but rather because, from afar, the brown rowhouses clustered together on top of this frozen hill resemble a chestnut, or so they say, for I can´t tell you for sure, as I am blind since birth.

You may wonder, then, how do I know that today the sky is gray?

And if you are so curious to ask, besides commending your curiousity, I´ll also respond. When the sky is gray I can feel it. The loose part on my upper-arms begins to tingle, and I experience unpleasant thoughts.

Monday, November 26, 2007

where will we go

Saturday, November 10, 2007

43 seconds

[8:52:01 PM] megan says: quiero un te pero no tengo limon
[8:52:07 PM] megan says: quiero tus abrazos pero no tengo a ti
[8:52:16 PM] megan says: quiero
[8:52:17 PM] megan says: quiero
[8:52:18 PM] megan says: quiero
[8:52:19 PM] megan says: quiero
[8:52:26 PM] megan says: meterme la cabeza en el microhondas
[8:52:34 PM] megan says: e infectarme de cancer
[8:52:44 PM] megan says: y tener la cabeza zumbzumb

Thursday, October 25, 2007

bared walls

dear friends, i'm posting another piece directly from my thesis in hope of feedback. please let me know your thoughts. also, if you see any ways the text could be syntactically or semantically improved, please let me know.
xoxo
megan

"In the following chapters we will look at more real-life cases of gentrification, ones that are represented in fictional films and novels. In the meantime, I would like to deviate the topic over to a new spectacle in Barcelona’s postmodern cityscape resulting from gentrification: bared walls. Unlike those bared walls that remain standing after a war, these bared walls have been carefully undressed. Flipped inside out, they don’t bother to hide their intimate parts. Kitchen tiles, children’s scribbles, sutured pipes, a bathroom cabinet, a division between the bathroom and kitchen, a peeling sheet of wallpaper, and maybe a dangling rock-star poster… all temporarily frozen in time, exposed to the sun and rain, made visible to the public, adopted by strangers, its new and indifferent family. Once interior, heated, echoing someone’s private thoughts, words, and gestures... [photos _, _, __, and _] (Interestingly enough, these bared walls have also become a canvas for resistance. When we talk about resistance (page _), we will see two more images of bared walls (page _).)"




















and this last photo was taken by Ernest Pignon:

Monday, July 30, 2007

reviving the city, idea under construction

hello, i'm posting this from my dissertation to see if posting it will sharpen my attention and generate any helpful ideas from a reader or two. so please send me your reaction/thoughts if you're reading this. i suppose it doesn't really make sense without providing some background, but i don't have time right now. maybe later. sorry if this sounds stuck up, but that's what higher ed is all about. i'll take it down or better explain it later. thank you in advance!

Andreas Huyssen in his academic book Present Pasts: Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory talks about “the explosion of memory discourses at the end of the twentieth century” (__). The tendency in nearly all of the academic scholarship that has been published in the last two decades on historic memory is to advocate a need for recuperating the memory and history what has been lost to past dictatorships, wars, exile. While I agree with him that “memory discourses are absolutely essential to imagine the future and to regain a strong temporal and spatial grounding of life and the imagination in a media and consumer society that increasingly voids temporality and collapses space” (__). I also see the politically and emotionally stalling and depressing nostalgia it produces this makes me wonder: when will the process of recuperating historical memory complete? When a certain quota of monuments that commemorate marginalized subjects in the center of the city has been fulfilled? When utopia is achieved? What is needed to demystify and defragmentize urban history? These are important questions if we want to alleviate the pain of us urban-nostalgics and increase a more humanitarian historical consciousness in theory and practice. Perhaps the only solution lies in the hypothetical? Now I’d like to share a hypothetical scenario that has been tickling my imagination for a couple years now. What if nothing was ever destroyed in the city? Let us use our imagination to rewind Barcelona for a moment. Imagine if the turn-of-the-century textile factories returned to the Raval and the SEAT factory to Poble Nou, if the cheap desarrollismo construction in the periphery remained, if Franco’s equestrian statues returned to the plazas, if the shabby barracas reappeared along the coast, if the trolleys began retracing their routes from Gràcia to the Plaça de Catalunya, if in the Eixample still glimmering with beautiful modernist buildings but next to them grazed pigs and sheep and the wheat that preceded it, if the medieval walls went back up around the historic quarter, and so did the medieval synagogue on Call street, and if the streets were dirt, cobblestone and slick asphalt at the same time, and the Greek and Phoenician tombstones rose to the surface? Many questions occur to me. For example, by what names would we call the streets? Would there be unemployment? What would happen with places whose function is out-dated, such as dirt roads and the Roman cloacae? With so much ethnic architectural diversity would there be more social tolerance? How long would the farm animals survive in the Eixample? Why is this scenario confined to the hypothetical realm to begin with? Because there’s not enough space in Barcelona or any European city. The city would have had extended lengthwise running itself into the sea and mountains. But what if space were unlimited or in more abundance like in American cities? So much monumental and abolished history would be disclosed and on top of each other. It’s a hypothetical translation of Benjamin’s/Klee’s angel, the ultimate palimpsest, loads and loads of historical residues accumulated before us. Architects, students of art history, architectural preservationists, sociologists, and tourists would have a ball with their notepads and cameras. Not only that, but, returning to the topic of this chapter, could one still critique censorship, fragmentation, and mystification of history/memory if all its material references reappeared in public space? What would we learn about history? How would the state redefine cultural heritage (patrimonio cultural)? How would that time-intense scenario make us feel? Would we be able to emotionally take it--would we pass out or would we simply get used to it, developing an even thicker version of Simmel’s numbing blasé attitude to protect ourselves from the abundance of stimuli and surprises?

While the idea is fun to think about, in practical terms, I believe that the process of recuperating historical memory will be more so “complete” when authority stops exerting their hegemony over history, when memory is liberated to take it’s own organic narrative and duration. I suppose this could be reduced to our basic need for “belongingness” (Abraham Maslow). This need relies on ontological competition, the creation of enemies. With competition and enemies, memories of different political ideologies, different religions, different genders... will always be in conflict and one will continue to shade the other. If we could abolish the competitive instinct, then perhaps we would be able to strike a more peaceful balance with temporality (and our neighbors)!!


Help!




Sunday, July 22, 2007

starfish

I woke up this morning to find starfish all over my body.



Sunday, July 15, 2007

fun fact 3: 20 best metropolises to live in


The British urbanism magazine
Monocle set out to find the worlds best metropolises to live in, rating them by:

- quality of life
- crime and delinquency
- nightlife after 1am
- cultural options
- cleanliness
- nature areas
- quality of schools
- social tolerance
- quality and price of public transportation
- communication/information access (internet, phone...)
- hours of sun per year
- average outdoor temperature
- medical care

and in their July 2007 issue, the results were published:

1. Munich
2. Copenhagen
3. Zürich
4. Tokyo
5. Vienna
6. Helsinki
7. Sydney
8. Stockholm
9. Honolulu
10. Madrid
11. Melbourne
12. Montreal
13. Barcelona
14. Kyoto
15. Vancouver
16. Auckland
17. Singapore
18. Hamburg
19. Paris
20. Ginebra


Should some other factor have been considered? Maybe "courtesy to strangers"? (Or maybe that fits into "social tolerance"? Although I think they measure social tolerance by the amount of gay bars...) Or perhaps something to do with the price and quality of housing? Maybe that's "quality of life"? I never liked the "quality of life" factor because it's so vague. Bush once said that we can't join the Kyoto pact because it would affect our "quality of life." Anyway, for more info about the city report: http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/06/18/arts/rmon1munich.php

Saturday, July 14, 2007

null dull

Gray like immobile

Nothingness like gray

Repetition like nothingness

Nothingness like impossibilities/impotence

Silence of nothingness

Unfulfillness like infinite

Repeat

Friday, July 06, 2007

centuries of waiting


NPR
, July 6, 2007:
“In the last two months, 125 mexicans died of heat stroke trying to cross the border”

El país, July 5, 2007: “Un alud sepulta un autobús lleno de pasajeros en México”

Charlotte Observer, June 30, 2007:
Monterrey is flooded; at least 20 dead


waiting


waiting


waiting


Now I know what it must feel like for those cinematic women who waited helplessly for news of their beloveds miles away fighting some war. Looking out the window, fiddling with a hem, rereading the newspaper, mumbling to the maid to recheck to see if the mailman is anywhere near, hoping the sleepy feeling will come soon, staring motionless while the imagination runs wild...


but nowadays war is Voluntary
and Waiting isn't!


...





































Johannes Vermeer, 1654


Wednesday, June 20, 2007

musac en león

A new big and expensive building I like:
MUSAC: El museo de arte contemporáneo de Castilla y León
in León, Spain. Architects: Mansilla + Tuñón.





Se han ido

para México. ¿Qué será de ellas?

They packed their clothes
They packed their maps
Anxiety in one bag, Apathy in another
They packed their materials to make puppets.

And they left their watches here with me.
¿Qué será de ellas?

On the other side of the border
the magic trunk will open

and in front of the kitsch church
kitsch puppets will be born
to blow their horn
to the nosey kids in the streets
and the skinny dog with drippy teats
to the sun when it glows
and the dirt between their toes
¿Qué será de ellas?

confiscation, flat tires
contamination, dead batteries
coyotes, heat strokes
thieves, lost directions.

¿Qué será de ellas?!







Sunday, April 15, 2007

Lili, on and off screen

childish french accordion music of Lili ("hi Lili hi Lili hi lo hi lo..."), 1953 but could be today, right now

I’m a problem

The abnormal one

The one who annoys, pesada

Treated nicely like the retard

Watching the movie through clogged wells of hot gooey balls

'Keep away from me.

Do you have to be so close?'

Oh just shoot me in the back with your laser stare

That way it will appear accidental

Flat chalky vintage colors

Sometimes dazzling

Typical naïve innocent young girl

What good does it do to be naïve and innocent?

in a typical insensitive sexually-hungry reality

that devours

she’s sitting behind me

and my writing is motivated by the assumed laser-stare on my back

two grey lasers, zoom zoom

but she’s not really looking at my back

rather the TV, or nothing (asleep)

and without the lasers?

Why not just be devoured

Could it be so bad?

We will never know until we try

But everything will be all better

Like when someone has died

or someone has cheated

ah it was just a joke

or a dream, or a movie, or a puppet show

If sadness was as simple as Lili makes it appear

A grey blouse and a solemn face

the final credits.


"A song of love is a sad song,
Hi lili, hi lili, hi lo.
A song of love is a song of woe.
Don't ask me how I know.
A song of love is a sad song,
For I have loved and it's so.
I sit at the window and watch the rain,
Hi lili, hi lili, hi lo.
Tomorrow I'll probably love again.
Hi lili, hi lili, hi lo..........."



Friday, March 30, 2007

situation 2

Welcome back to writing, we haven´t seen you in many months.

It has been over a year since I last participated in a Situation.

A night of flourescent lights, stench, and mood swings from different souls
"te duele la espalda fuck it a mí me duele todo el alma"

with a stiff back and a sensitive chest
I set my alarm for 7:15am
I silently said "goodnight" and
laid down on my stomach and my melancholic thoughts quickly turned into fog.

I dreamt something quite boring
I was playing soccer with some kids
but instead of a ball we were kicking a red poker chip
and instead of a field of green grass were were playing indoors on thin grey carpet
I don´t know why I bothered playing
my back hurt, no one was on my team, and the kids were much more agile than me
Then I lightly kicked the chip with my right foot
Raaaaaaaaa
The crowd roared and cheered!
Raaaaaaaaa!
I must of marked a goal!?
then I realized that it was 7:15am
the Raaaaaaaaa! was the static of my alarm clock
an unexisting radio station set on full volume.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

And I came to my conscious
I was to help Marta with an unorganized, unlikely-feasible, bus project
The ghastly night before, the fluorescent studio lights
When I got on my feet would my back hurt?
Would we make history, a fool out of ourselves, or a police record????

I was to be the driver, la chófer, of Pepe's large van.
In Spanish, I was to ask the 18 freshman of Spanish 232
1) what country they were going to illegally immigrate to and
2)
what type of work they hoped to do in the foreign country.
Then I was to drive around the block, picking up groups of students.
Marta was going to do the explaining: a simulated illegal immigration experience.
And she was going to record the event with a small video camera.
The catch: there were 20 of us total, and the van comfortably fits 10 human beings (regardless of legal status).

I was to wait in the van till she called me on my cell phone.
When she called I was to come out of the van and present myself as
la chófer to her students.

From the van I watched the class.
Marta standing, in that red fleece jacket, talking with her hands and
exaggerated facial expressions that I could recognize from a quarter-mile away.
Her students sitting around her on the cold dewy grass like sheep.

Then my phone rang.


To be continued...


Thursday, February 22, 2007

spatial tactics paper


If you're bored and would like to browse a piece of my thesis, a friend of mine (Eva Megias) has posted the only decent part of my thesis on her photography website:
http://www.laneutral.com/servicios/serv_ooo.html (Scroll all the way down the page). Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

xoxo


Wednesday, October 11, 2006

unlearning numbers II


"Researchers estimated that as a result of the war, about 655,000 people in a country of about 27 million have died above the number expected to have died without war, Bernham said. that means 2.5 percent of the Iraqi population has died because of the invasion and ensuing strife, he said.

At a White House news conference Bush said, "I don't consider it a credible report. Neither does General (George) Casey (top U.S. commander in Iraq) and neither do Iraqi officials."

Casey, at a separate Pentagon briefing, said he had not seen the study but the 650,000 number "seems way, way beyond any number that I have seen. I've not seen a number higher than 50,000. And so I don't give it that much credibility at all."

Bush said, "I do know that a lot of innocent people have died, and that troubles me. And it grieves me." But he called the study's methodology "pretty well discredited." Last December, Bush estimated 30,000 Iraqis had died in the war.

Iraqi government spokesman Ali al-Dabbagh told Reuters, "The report is unbelievable. These numbers are exaggerated and not precise." Iraqi government officials put the total Iraqi death toll since the war started at 40,000."

--"Study sees 655,000 Iraqi war deaths; Bush disputes" (Reuters, 11 October 2006)


A slow conversation between Ferdinand and Marianne in a car. Ferdinand, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, is calmly driving. It is night. We know they're in the city because of the colored lights that repetively flash over the windshield. A line from the radio breaks the silence:

Radio: Garrison massacred by the Viet Cong who lost 115 men.

Marianne: Awful, isn't it? So anonymous...

Fernindand: What is?

Marianne: They say "115 guerrillas" and it doesn't mean a thing to us.

[Pause]

Marianne: Yet each one is a man, and we don't even know who he is. We don't know if he loves his wife, if he has kids, if he prefers movies or plays. We don't know anything. All they say is "115 killed." It's like photographs. They've always fascinated me. You see a snapshot of a guy with a caption underneath. He was a coward maybe, or a nice guy. But at the time when it was taken no one can say exactly when he was thinking about. His wife? His mistress? The past? The future? A basketball game? Nobody will ever know.

Ferdinand: That's life for you.

Marianne: Yes...that's what makes me sad: life is so different from books. I wish it were the same: clear logical organized... Only it isn't.

Ferdinand: Yes it is... a lot more than people think.

Marianne: No, it isn't, Pierrot.

[Pause.]

Ferdinand: My name's Ferdinand.

-- Pierrot le fou, 1965, director Jean-Luc Godard.






Wednesday, September 27, 2006

un cortitometraje de veraneo

some of my happiest solo moments were the fortunate weekends when after the midday meal i would take a bike out and go riding through the little towns around fontclara...

the air was so fresh!

i recently discovered a very-easy movie making program on my computer called ¨windows movie maker¨ and in about 30 minutes i put together this 1-minute piece of clips i shot with a digital camera in 2005.

if you could have been there!

PS- a friend recommended i change the title from "fontclara en bici" to "siesta" or "nap time." those titles would suggest contrast and explain the absence of people, but "fontclara en bici" is more simple and carefree, what i felt when i was riding... what do you think?
i suppose it´s irrelevant in the greater scheme of things...

Monday, August 14, 2006

come walk with me

to walk with me: click on the picture below, zoom in,
come close to the computer screen, and scroll right




Sunday, August 06, 2006

30 minute break

I was hungry this evening but my stomach was bloated
in the grey-tan old quarter
I walked down one street

and then another
short breaths
(faint pee-garbage smell)

looking for something cheap to eat, not sweet, not another bocadillo
I came across a free exhibit
I went in, it was dark, empty, damp, old vaulted ceilings, large squared rocks
I looked at some video exhibits
probably done by young artists
I didn’t really understand the messages
I picked up their corresponding pamphlets
and walked back outside
LIGHT
across the street I spotted the Islamic pastisseria
I didn’t know if they would have non-sweet stuff or not
rows of different kinds of honey-dripping baklava filled the shop-front window
It looked like inside they had some non-sweet stuff
so I went in and purchased a frosted custard cream thing
and a pack of Lebanese pita bread
and a large curry chicken fritter.
3,50€
I gave the smiley curly-beard man a 5€ bill having forgotten that I had coins
“shukaran” I said, and he smiled
I wondered if he understood my Arabic
I wondered if his long beard meant he was extra religious
like “jamón extra” (supposedly a superior type of pre-packaged ham)
I walked out
headed back to my study place

on the narrow sidwalk
opened up the plastic bag of pita bread
opened up the oil-stained paper bag of the large curry chicken fritter
and wrapped the bread around it.
Yummm it was good,

it was white meat
not too spicy
I stopped.


I thought…


I could eat this for dinner too…


...

I turned around
headed back to the Islamic pastesseria
“¿me puede poner uno más de esos de pollo?”

(“can you put me one more of those of chicken?”)
it was a different guy (also with a long curly beard) he gave it to me
I put it in my plastic bag
I said “shukaran” and gave him 1€
I don’t think he understood me
I left and headed toward my study place
then on the left, on a façade, I saw something I could put in my thesis
there was some graffiti, and among it a Nike symbol
but instead of Nike it said “BCN” (Barcelona)
(a lot has been written about Barcelona becoming an international brand)
with the non-fritter hand

I got out my digital camera
took a picture
put the camera back in its case
back in the plastic bag
and headed back to the study place.


that´s all. in any case it was an enjoyable break.

Update: I returned to the ¨Pastisseria Islámica¨ the other day and learned that the shopowners are not Arabic but Pakistani and that thank you in Pakistani is ¨shukria.¨...(I think).




Sunday, July 30, 2006

children´s poem or hallmark card in need of a drawing

imagine

a

giraffe

whose

spots

are

fall

leaves

and

one

fell

off

i

miss




Monday, July 17, 2006

in the raval a la nit or ________________ (2 spatial tactics)

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Garden City, S. Carolina May 25 2006 or some other time and place

Monday, June 05, 2006

the comedia





HA HA HA
look at yourself
a tiny part in an never-ending comedia
what clever props
what intense drama
what goofy masks
who are you trying to fool
are you trying to make me laugh?
why don't you spare yourself the petty
if you only knew
what came before you
and what is to come
HA HA HA


[repeat]

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Dream 4: the vital blue, or, the alluring sea

Early this morning i dreamt that i had gotten off a plane or train and i was leaving the station which was right in front of the sea or ocean. (This was a mute dream, no sound, all visual and physical.) I remember looking out at the sea/ocean, seeing how dark-blue almost black it appeared. From the calmness and soft sun, i would guess it was early morning, like 8am. I watched a hard-plastic wind-operated jet ski go by. Next scene, for some reason, i was in the water with my clothes on, it was warm, my eyes were not being blinded by the sun or burned by the