5/21/08

rooster crow nose bleed. Dreams of being a secret agent on the run from the military. Don’t remember details except bungee-ing up a cliff face and climbing into a school window—taking off my top layer of cloths and walking into class—but a young blonde crew cut soldier in civilian dress follows me. There were many other short little episodes like this, all night long. Remember hiding and asking mom for help. always being chased.

Pioneer growth

little black dog— black

dirty poodle-- tits

with little baby hanging

replicas low

bungling along sagging

in & out of her legs dry

bouncing off each other wrinkled

bound to Mother’s milk heat

natural love

just like a woman I saw

her pup clasped tight to her belly—

two of diamonds—going to

make a friend today

Yesterday visited Alicia Falco in their shop in town. Vilcabamba T-shirts, organic coffee, panella,…a little tacky souvenir style but she is very kind and alert. I asked her if she had some time to talk and she said yes, right now. I explained my project, she immediately told me about Jorge Mendieta—“He has a lot of knowledge.” Jorge works as a gardener & in construction at the new Hacienda San Jauquin—Jorge is now making good money and has a car—things in Vilcabamba sure are changing—prices are going up—we have lawn mowers when we used to just tie the horses up and let them graze till the grass was perfect, or grab a machete, now there are washing machines—I used to be the only person in Vilcabamba with one—it was customary in Europe.

Everywhere was more plants, more green, everywhere huge trees—all cut down to make wider roads for cars—I’ve seen it change in the last 18 years—they pave the roads for cars, “improving” they say—but there is no room for people—they forgot about the people—leaving only these narrow pedestrian paths—so people still walk in the road, but with the cars! Cut so many trees.

People used to ride their pigs in the street—dirt & mud roads—maybe disgusting but picturesque. And the three new antennas! We tried to explain that they destroy our view—to explain about the visual impact the towers make. But most people wanted them built. Pacifitel, Porta, Movistar. cell phones sold so quickly. You see people with donkeys and cellular. You understand, is to laugh. The phone provoke loss of time. You look at the phone and not thinking—my sons are saying “mommy why don’t we have a phone, our friends have a phone, we want a phone”—But I say, we are not like everybody else—we are different. It works against the personality of a boy.

I read an article about how dating has changed. It used to be that if a boy liked a girl—first maybe he’d be nervous, give her a gift or something, then maybe he would say something to her—and eventually he’d tell her he loved her. Now it is all by phone—there’s no more person to person—its all messages typing messages, phone interrupts conversations, no respect for the person you are talking with—One time a taxi driver stop and pullover to answer phone—he respected his passangers—It was a nice surprise. And they expect you to have internet at home & check it everyday.

But there are some good things that come from the gringos—they pay for the land—and the land that was deforested for cows is reforested—

The gringos help reforestation and using native trees—they build big houses and want nice trees around. The gringos come and buy large tracts of land—then sell different pieces to other gringos making lot of work for locals. Locals are well paid—new jobs like gardener, carpenter—help building construction—these jobs never existed before—

Alicia tells me

Martha has a video

—nice—very nice

To see the old people alive

And walking the streets of

Vilcabamba—

Rotting fruit, horse dung, fresh

Breeze—green mountains

Mandango—male—yang

Waranga—female—yin

Met the priest—Wednesday to Saturday—he’s in town. Agreeable to my project but told me to study my Spanish—When I said “vida interior” he repeated me—in shock—He wrote some information about a person to speak with at the college about genealogies—I saw he was busy looking at a pickup truck magazine. He was a young thick muscular guy—priest. Funny how friendly people say my Spanish is good & people with bad attitudes tell me to go work on my Spanish.

lenguas de fuego

aparecieron sobre

ellos; y se llenaron

todos del Espiritu

Santo

woman cutting long

blades of grass—

a pile on the side

of the road—middle

of nowhere—why did

she choose that spot?

I approach after a moment

hesitation—explain myself—

I said “otro tiempo quieres hablar?”

“Ya- otro dia, otro tiempo”

A sour look on her face—

Grace & Don didn’t’ meet

Her when they celebrated

Vilcabamba’s positive spirit

She resumed her

Work. Red dress with white

Poka dots & glasses

encountered a beautiful girl who runs the office at the base of Mandango. I asked her if she knew myths about Mandango & she said no but the owner would (owner of the mountain?) – she had a little boy trailing and crying after her—her son? She said the owner works at the school & would return around 2:30 everyday. I wrote out a note in Spanish about my “tema” or theme or subject—“Psicogeografia” I asked her if she understood & she nodded.

climbing Mandango

In the distance snare

drums pop rattle, trumpets

declare the day—school

must be practicing.

practicing in irregular

bursts—polycacophonas

blaring trumpets & snares

repeating the same

phrase over & over—

playfully—must be

children—listening as I climb

sacred—tree valley

irregular like fireworks—

or “just hitched” tin cans

jangle

now heavy bass drum—

punctuated by silence—

of chainsaws & tourbus

groans—all seems

to be the annunciation

heralding my climb—

divine work it is to

climb a mountain

overgrown grass licks

my (inner) knees

& calves

neon orange

butter(fly) wings (with black tips & lemon yellow dots)

flies buzz

circle round me—

(circle round me thrice) tiny

white butter flies—

dried up dung mounds—

lemon yellow butterfly—

nabokov heaven.

wire (wilco?) trees with

white fungus blotches

little hairy blue flowers

and the two white crosses

call from the peaks—

sudden—a brown

bull is behind me

Ay! I’ve got a red

backpack perfect

target I move on

mock calm & quick—

I come to a grove—

large mud puddles of bull shit

phantasies of being

gored—there is

a giant Black Bull

over on one end

of the grove feeding—

tail flapping pleasantly

I move on

I am the boy that can enjoy

Invisibility

Dip under Barbed wire

fence— ultraviolet green

stalks

fine white hairs

--new wooden cross

top of Mandango!

hard climb— near

death

just a skull in the

landscape—

Butterflies flies flying

insects of all hues

frolic about the peak

of Mandango

covered in sweat &

seeds, bugs baby

wasps cling

nature tries to incorporate

me—this is what

vitality is—resistance

so that the outside

can’t completely penetrate

& integrate the inside—

but a little transgression

is necessary too from

time to time—what

is sex?

purple blue, lavender

flowers

orange fungus

on the rocks

covered in beggar’s ticks

Hi Cris

I’m in Rome and it was fun to get yr email from another world. Seems to me like your doing real well. You’ve got something to bite on, something concrete and unfolding (ie real “fieldwork”, the love of discovery, putting things together, with yourself very much part of the puzzle too). What’s your living situation like? Do a lot of tourists swing by? I like your idea of disenchantment and reenchantment very much. Make sure you work on a basic political economy as well as all the other stuff—what are the different sort of jobs, what’s the class structure like, town and country, a rough census with espec focus of the spread of ages and male/female. The Notary will probably have the figures. You need to be “in” with a few nice of helpful people who live there who can serve as your guides.

mick

I spoke with Teresa— she & Gabriel were singing Dakota songs last night. When I asked her how they learned them—she said that 7 years ago she changed her life—she became a shaman. Yesterday her and Gabriel took San Pedro and they hiked around the trails singing and doing “work”, as she put it—I was stuck by this and stood in the kitchen looking out over the Rumi Wilco grounds & mountains—feeling & repressing impulses to ask her if I could take San Pedro with her—Remembering my fear of sickness, my dying dream but yet strong sense that if things were a little different I could become a healer. Finally I turned and asked her if she knew how to heal with her hands, “si papi” she said pausing from wiping the stove top. Wanting to say so much but all that came out was “can I interview you?” “si papi, of course.”

F.U.C.K.= Fornification Under the Consent of the King

polyamory

Why do I always feel like I’m waiting for something and some moments I see from above like in a novel time stands still and the moment bleeds into eternity?

1) Psychogeography—bond between self & nature, myths, mountains, rivers

2) Inner Experience—memory, story, dream, phantasy, desire

3) Spectacle—image of Vilcabamba vs. contradictions (garbage dump, deforestation.