March 14. A blue ball.
Santiago still. The museum at the Moneda, near the government seat has an interesting interior but the current exhibitions are not interesting enough to lure us inside. Instead, the swimming pool we saw the day before is much more attractive. The hot day makes me lazy and I played in the water with a small …
March 12. El Café.
Good day, writing. The apartment didn’t have an airconditioning but that didn’t bother me. I wrote on this very experimental travel writing thing, associating freely words and thoughts I don’t believe in. Where did this writing take place? I try to remember. It was a round table in a kitchenette, a glass table you can …
March 8.
Making the concepts of death and peace converge, how’s that for universal religion?
In the Mapuche village near San Martin de los Andes a child held the barrier for the tourists. We walked around; the people had conserved some aspects of their traditional lifestyle. A girl herded some sheep. I photographed some goats. Their …
Febrauary 25. São Paolo.
The sheer size of this city. I arrived dreaming weird dreams on the heavily airconditioned coach I took. All kinds of people live in those dreams, they assume each other’s roles and exchange them like I don’t know what. They say sentences laden with meaning, sentences leave their mouths and fizzle out against my eardrums. …
February 24. Sunrise ,Sunset.
And it’s all so simple: just meet that person who has the same difference. O, stop it. Stop the abstractions and start something creamy, thick, moldy, liquid, crooked, crumbled, something smelling of steaming fresh asphalt, like pulpy orange juice, like boiling fat, something cobalt blue covered in colophony and eucalyptus honey, something Schostakovitschly brasslike, bulky, …
