down hominess

2008-06-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

i watched from the upper decks as the ship pulled snug against the dock and spewed forth its complement of bloated travelers into the gold rush town turned fishing village turned tourist claptrap. i finished my coffee and wandered down to the gangway.

first, its typical of anyplace in the world where there are more visitors than residents. a hundred or so shops, selling all the usual junk; t-shirts and mass-produced 'artisan' carvings out of wood and bone, brilliant 'rare' ammolite jewelery hauled out of north africa by the truckload, shot glasses emblazoned with local images, et cetera. most of it making the pacific rim trek via southeast asia for north american consumption.

i did not enter any of these places.

the place itself is rather picturesque, i have to admit. nestled between mountain and sea, its not hard for me to imagine why a person might want to cut ties from wherever they were and live out their lives here.

after an hour or so on walk-about, i found myself on the other end of town in a small independent bookstore.

the first thing to catch my interest was in native history:

"there is nothing gentle about killing animals for food, whether pulling a twenty-five year old halibut from the sea by hook and gaff, slamming a cow on the head in a slaughterhouse, or slitting a pig's throat. it is bloody, messy, up-to-your-elbows work. people either do it themselves - typically, indigenous people like the pribilovians, subsistence farmers, and hunters - or have others do it for them. and those accustomed to picking up their meat in the supermarket are often appalled by the act of killing... a total of sixty seals were killed that july morning. the harvest crew worked past noon in the field, trucked the bags of fresh seal meat back to the village, and delivered them to people's homes."
~ summer macleish, excerpted from "seven words for wind", epicenter press 1997

next, over to poetry, where i passed on a large tome by bukowski thinking that i really didn't need his grit and negativity right now. instead, this:
Like the word,
I, too, carve something new
from space. Racing tides,
advancing limitations, or
the shelf-life of some exotic dream.
Time, deposited on my hands
can leave intentions thin
as a fragile web of silt
evenly split and left by the ebb,
or rich in texture as a woman
caught in a flood wave, clothes
clinging to bosom and belly.
~ mary lou sanelli, excerpted from 'lineage', empty bowl press 1985

on then to philosophy:
"Defeat sits in a chair staring at the grey doves on the porch. He holds his hand underneath his heart, fingers curled tightly into themselves, glued together in a paralyzed rage. He is unwilling to go forward and unable to let go. He is not blind or deaf, but it is unclear who he sees or what he hears. He had a stroke six years ago and sleeps most of the day. In response to questions he answers yes or no interchangeably. Speech has lost all meaning."
~ j. ruth gendler, 'the book of qualities', harper perennial 1988

feeling as i must leave before buying too many more books i head to the counter where the proprietor asks if i'm off a ship. 'yes', says i. she says that i don't look the type, which i tend to agree. we talk of portland and powell's and reedie trustifarians. i feel at home, or close enough so, in an outpost so far from where i curl next to the fireplace.

if you're ever in ketchikan alaska and you're looking for a book that you just won't find in the gift shops or borders, or just want to chew the fat with some good folk, i recommend a visit to parnassus books. they're at number 5 creek street, past the candle shop doorway and up the stairs you can't see from the sidewalk. it's good beans.

22 january - back to buenos aires, back to the us

2008-01-28T17:15:00.000-08:00

a restless night at the giramondo hostel in a shared bunk room with brandy, jason, tam, and two strangers. the noises of the room, the street, and the lumpy bed had me twisting in my sheets most of the night. at one point, kids on the street throwing stones and whooping caused me to close the outer windows even in the heat of the night.

the ceiling fan, <...phiw-phiw-phiw...>.

these last few days have me in my vacation endgame, its hard for me to think of anything but homeward. i believe buenos aires has been difficult for us all, the being forced together now for an extended period. i am having desires to flight off for any minutes at a time that i can to have to myself.

mar de las pampas was not the awe-striking paradise on earth sort of place as much as a family get away for the middle and upper classes of buenos aires province. some nice resorts and such.

i never could get rallied up late enough for the discotech experience. the one night we tried got rained out in a torrential thunderstorm after trying to get indian food. the restaurant, had the word 'india' in its name and some architectural accouterments that lent to the idea of indian food, so we gave it a try. unfortunately, the restaurant had nothing to do with indian food at all; ham and cheese, pasta, and steaks. the normal argentine menu. of course.

the night ended in the downpour with tam, bethany, and myself running to the car through the monsoon style rains and backed-up sewers. tam and i made the best of it though, laughing all the way.

much of the week was whiled away in our small grassy yard, drinking cocktails and playing scrabble, or on the beach, swimming in the ocean, reading under our beach umbrellas. one day, traveling to pinamar, a much larger city to the north, returning to cook in our little kitchen. then friday, my birthday, shopping for our evening feast and then getting drunk around the parilla substituting for a fire pit. saturday, renting atv's and burning sand down to the lighthouse south of town. sunday, a quiet day with goodbyes to sierra, bethany, and justin. monday, the long drive to buenos aires, drinks with justin and sierra, and goodbyes again. a late night walk down florida avenue and to the bunks for the restless sleep.

it didn't suck. for sure.

still, i am left with a feeling of doing it better, somehow.

_________________________________

23 january

we spend the last day walking the cemetery of buenos aires, a veritable who's who of argentine history and culture. everyone from facundo to evita is here. rich, famous, or just connected. very cool.

a quick lunch then to the fine arts museum, followed by wandering around the puerto madero and visiting the historic fragata sarmiento sailing ship until time to go to the airport.

the long flight to d.c. the long wait in d.c. the long flight home, where erin picks us up at the airport and then deposits us at my house. 8:30pm, jan 24.

its 33°F and dark, cold winter. we pitch our luggage to the floor and head out for thai food.

14 january - mar de las pampas

2008-01-27T10:06:00.000-08:00

we've been on the beach for a few days now, this being our fourth. trundled down (rather, up and over the dune, and then down) to the surf for a morning swim. at 07:30 my traveling companions are quite asleep though the sun is a good thirty degrees into the sky already. the beach is populated by joggers, wanderers, dog walkers. i swim, stretch, sit, and contemplate the future warren.

oh. what. to. do.
____________________________________

15 january, tuesday

awake before dawn and forced myself out of bed to see the sun rising over the southern atlantic. groped my clothes on and stumbled over the dune to throw myself to the ground and wait it out.

as the sky becomes shades lighter, a group of seven later-teenagers run out of the brush about 300 yards to my left. one strips to his underwear and is soon in the break whooping and hollering. the other two boys in the group quickly follow suit while the girls take several moments, a confrence, a recon, and a deliberation before three of them strips down and head for the surf. the seventh stays clothed and with camera, shooting them all in the pre-dawn joy display. frolicking. indeed.

there are a few high clouds and the sky is the powder blue of the argentine flag. as the clouds turn pink and the kids dry themselves, the horizon is hidden. obscured by low fog many miles out to sea, the sun's appearance delayed by a half hour or so, ultimately showing itself first as a thin fingernail sliver of light. rising quickly and brilliantly over the ocean, it fills its disk. glinting light plays over the water with the gulls and cranes. lighting the sky and obscuring the stars.

i return to the cabana, shower the sand of of my body, and fall back into bed.
_______________________

19 january

from orion's feet proceed eight fists with an outstretched arm in the direction of his sword to the southern cross.

if not recognized at once, verify by following then the long leg of la croix a thumb's width to musca alpha and beta, forming a sort of fish-hook or making an anchor of the crux.

(fishermen and crosses. go figure.)

anyway, what latitude makes all the difference. in more northern climes the earth shoves her pregnant belly in the way.

of course, old and familiar ursa (ma and cub) are on the other side of the planet for me today. out of sight, but never out of mind.

i would like to think that someday i might think of this place and that crux. where ever that i may be and still count eight fists down, perhaps even into the earth's core, to see those stars yet again.

7 january - el chalten to buenos aires

2008-01-26T15:16:00.000-08:00

early rise and hoof our gear over to the hostel calafete where we booked our next night. shuttle to the bus station, then the 5.5 hour bus ride to el chalten.

chalten is a remote village on the north entrace to the glacier park and we had glowing reports of the hikes in and around the area. the swede's recommendations at the puerto madryn hostel sealed the deal. we had to go, if only for a day trip.

the road to chalten was paved for a bit on each end, making the middle part of the journey a long and rocky pace across the glacial plain. this is what adds the hours to the not very distant 120km drive, i thought.

the geology of the place is amazing at every turn and crest; first reminding me of the north american west, dry and hard, then turning west around lake viedma becoming much like the run from jackson hole wyoming into yellowstone... except... except at the western origin of the lake viedma is a colossal glacier flowing down from the andes.

the bus dropped us at the ranger station in el chatlen for a quick orientation by the ranger (pack it in, pack it out. don't get lost. etc.), then we had a quick lunch before wandering off on our hike. we managed to get up to a couple of decent lookouts and viewpoints before the weather turned to wet with driving wind straight from the mountain fitz roy.

returning to town for coffee drinks while waiting for our bus back to calafete. then, having arrived at that place, a meal, then bi-lingual scrabble with a pair of women (one from holland and the other argentine). they played spanish words while we played english ones.
____________________________

10 january - thursday

where to start? the inner journey or the outer one? toss the coin, tails says 'outer'. so, i'll work backwards.

i sit this morning at the cafe la nina de oro on the corner of fray saint maria de oro and avenida sante fe in buenos aires, argentina. it is a mildly muggy morning and somewhat overcast after last night's thunderstorms. but also, and for the same reason, the city feels a bit cleaner.

it is about 10am and ave santa fe is an eight lane thouroughfare teaming with people attending to their morning business. hundreds of taxis and city busses jockey for position. pedestrians beware. it all tends to set me on edge, or perhaps it is the cafe con leche working through my veins.

i am in the pallermo, a barrio rather large. a working class neighborhood full of ten and fifteen story apartments with ground floor business fronts. our hostel sits a half block down sm de oro, behind my left shoulder. the din and hum of engines and mutterings of spanish by passersby sets me apart and observer.

the people, as you meet them on the streets, are brusk. it is not rudeness, it is the demeanor and sense of preservation borne of any high density population center. aware, but unwilling to be caught caring too much.

i slept well last night for the most part, waking only once to chug water and try and sooth my cigarette ripped throat. we keep the air conditioner on in the room blasting full 24/7. the days have been in the 100 degrees F range and about 80% humidity. the semi-tropical heat is great for plants and sweating out all of you clothes.

picked up laundry from the cleaners. there is a bit of paradise in a soapy smelling shirt. truth.

we came in a little late last night, a not terrible 1:30am, but i was stripped of energy after the day's adventures. a fine japanese meal at a place by the name of moshiemoshie. ultra hip and extra tasty after two weeks of beef and cheese, ham and cheese, criossant and coffee.

the late afternoon was disposed of exploring the museum of latin american art, a modern art must see here in Bs As. the walk there took us through the japanese gardens, an attempt at quiet reflection in the bustling traffic near the newberry airport. quite nice with koi ponds filled with hundreds of the gaping fishes. this bit of photo-op serenity was just as required having been moved to tears at the museo evita, a walk-through tribute to the social revolution and the instigating woman, eva peron. her wardrobe displayed in glass case boxes.

moved to tears. there's been a bit much of that the past twenty hours or so. julie called and maxwell is sick. oh, poor kitty. damn, and double damn. i've missed you so, and now you're to be gone forever. little pink paws.

January 5

2008-01-09T04:21:00.000-08:00

(i've now returned home, and have to backdate the entries.)

__________________________________________

the past day and a half involved almost all travel. fourteen hours overnight to rio gallegos and a six hour layover before the next six on a bus bound for el calafete. rio gallegos is the central transportation hub for the region; anyone going anywhere to or from tiera del fuego, chile, calafete, any of the inland or coastal routes come through here. i have never seen so many people in a small bus station.

the town itself was an unremarkable business center and port. we lunched and tried to arrange the evenings accomodations via the interweb since we would be arriving at calafete in the wee hours.

unsuccessful, we did arrive at calafete with no reservations and humped our packs around to several hostels (closed) and hotels (full), finally landing at the hotel cerro cristal for a room with a split bed and a well needed sleep.

out and about calafete in the morning and afternoon hours. it is a small mountain town at the southern gateway to the glacier parks. the place reminds me of tahoe without the hummers.

there are a great many travelers from all over the world here and i am feeling the bite of lost opportunities. earlier encountering a late twentysomething woman at the hostel traveling on an open ended ticket after finishing her masters degree. i am beating myself over spending the last year in portland with no job, no ambition, and no prospects. in many ways, perhaps a big pot ó lost opportunities.

...and then, to finally be here in this natural wonderland and only two days to explore it! sacrilege! blasphemy!

in any case, we sit in the streetside cafes and stroll the shops, whiling away the hours in the southern sun. it is not bad, really, and tam wonders why i spend so much time in a state of dissatisfaction. i suppose i am my own worst critic.

-------------------------------

6 january

we made the 80km trek to glacier moreno in the morning clouds, minor off and on drizzling. on the way up, we got the economic low down from our english speaking guide.

ten years ago, calafete was a small and occasionally traveled mountain village frequented by the hardiest of travelers. winter population 900, summer population 6000. then a federal president elected from the area and a current president from rio gallegos began a series of economic development projects for the region; roads, waterworks, airports, etc.

today there is a year-round resident population of 9000 and they are expecting 20k in the next five years. it is an economic and tourism boon, there is no wonder why everyone here is smiling.

to the park (argentine entrance fee of eight pesos waived due to national holiday, foreign nationals pay $40).

the glacier was increadible. tam and i walked the grounds and viewpoints with terminal grins across our faces. a wall of ice spanning nearly a full kilometer across its face and winding twenty-five kilometers up into the andes. the glacier moreno has the interesting characteristic of creating an ice dam across two lakes and periodically collapsing on its retreat as the water pressure on one side blows the dam out in a cataclysmic affair. we happend to be there as the passage was closed, the water on the southern arm of the lake some 6 meters below normal.

we stood and watched from the hills above as great sections of ice shed off of the monstrosity, crashing into the lake with furious cacophany. the ice then rolling slowly, tumbling in the water to find equalibrium. the sounds of the place are increadible. cracking and popping, explosions in the distance echoing up the valley. i wish to describe it as unearthly, but of course the pallet of sound is entirely of this earth. the sounds of battle, seemingly... crack, pow, groan. an ongoing conflageration between elements and physics. mass, pressure, inertia. water, sky, rock. temperature. gravity wins, retaining title of master. creator and destroyer.

i have returned to calafete to a streetside cafe having just had a beer and a cou-ple of empanadas. a van just went by, blasting its stereo. a couple of large home stereo speakers strapped to the roof. strange.

almost the end of the world

2008-01-04T08:32:00.000-08:00

rode a tour bus down the coast. first, to trelew then on to rawson and the port there for a guided boat excursion to see a bit of Commerson´s Dolphins. these little ones are about 5 or 6 feet in length and have a striking black and white coloring not unlike the mighty orca. they behave somewhat like playful dogs around our boat; come over to check us out, follow for a while, then swim off. very cute and amazing to watch darting through the water, breaking out of the waves, and snorting at us through their blowholes.

continuing on to punta tombo where a clan of some one million magellin penguins make their summer habitat. penguin facts: they return to the same nest to mate if they hgad a sucessful mating season last year, they can also go gay, they sneeze, they see and swim well in the water but are nearly blind and waddle on the land, and are very much fun to watch.

went out this morning to garner some coin of the land without much success. my visa and debit cards both have been hijacked in the past month and i do not have a working PIN. i went first to the banco national only to be told that the french bank was the only one to perform a cash advance on a credit card. banco frances then tells me that, no, they don´t do that either. maybe in buenos aires, only. not here, or in the rest of argentina.

i feel sick, absolutely distraught.

here, in a foreign place, no cash, and no access to cash. i returned to tam and the hostel in near panic.

we brainstromed on the problem and then ultimately calling the card company, had a new PIN arranged for then and there. problem solved. off to the bank again.

due to some sort of monetary policies, individual ATM transactions in argentina are limeted to $320 pesos. that translated to about us$106.

four -transactions- later, i am a much happier camper.

--------------

sitting in a pub for lunch.

note that 90% of all argentine menus are exactly the same: ham & cheese sandwiches, french fries, pizza, beer (two kinds), wine, and maybe cocktails. sometimes hamburgers.

not much for the traveling vegan.

-----------------

jan 3 - (argentina means "no")

much of yesterday became a frustrating wild goose chase from one end of the business district and back again. the missions we put ourselves to as mundane as buying shoelaces to important as securing airline tix from the end of the world back to buenos aires.

all became epic in their scale to confound and confuse in this background of foriegn landscape.

communication was not the problem, suprisingly. rather, the issue became that we could just not do the thing we wanted to do. shoelaces? si, go to the kiosk. kiosk - no shoelaces - go to the shoestore. shoestore - closed. airline reservations? yes, but can you come back in half an hour? and only if you are residing in argentina. and, no, not on the days you want. internets? yes, but we take too long.

as it turned out, running this gauntlet of impossible tasks left no time in the day for the things we actually wanted to do, and we eventually surrendered to the situation, settling in for a fine evening meal at the restaurant picador where tam ate fish out of the sheer boredom of pizza and pasta dishes.

our major chores undone, we slip off to bed, procrastinated into the next day. we must leave puerto madryn somehow.

it is amazing anything gets done here at all. seriously. when your morning hours are from 9 to noon and it takes one full hour to complete one (yes, one) transaction for a pair of seats on an airplane... well, you begin to see the frustrations borne of this comedy begin. the conversations ultimately end with them agreeing with you that they know exactly what you want but the answer is simply "no". we don´t do it that way.

in any case, we got it done. leaving puerto madryn this afternoon bound for rio gallego, an overnight affiar of about 14 hours in a bus. did i mention that argentina is big? hopefully we get a bus to el calafate upon arrival and have several days there to settle in. unfortunately, time is getting short before we have to return to buenos aires and we will not make usuaia, tiera del fuego.

its the "almost the end of the world" trip.

should old acquaintance be forgotten

2008-01-03T03:13:00.000-08:00

the cabbie took us indirectly to the bus station after circumnavigating a group of six hundred or so kids spilling out of the discotech at seven in the morning. we rolled into the station at 6:10 by my watch and 7:10 by the deskclerk´s with no bus in sight, the ticket window closed. what to do but wait?

so we wait.

the sun is rising, rather, well up in the sky by this time, and its a beautious and fine morning as the wind blows through the palm fronds. other travelers are hanging around muttering about the time change and there is a subdued confusion about. we sit in the sun as feral dogs wander about begging for attention. the pace slows considerably. to a crawl.

after a while, the ticket window opens. i show the man mine.
"okay?" i ask.
"si, es okay." says he.

i go back to our perch and wait some more. an hour passes. we are again to our wits end by this point as it is well past 7:20 on my watch, and presumably 8:20 on the deskclerk´s.

i search my phrasebook and compose the sentence, "¿el autobus esta retrasado?", which i pose to the man in the ticketbooth.

"si, es retrasao." says he.

it´s delayed. no problemo. saga, over. next adventure, puerto madryn.

-------------------

we spilled out of the bus and made our way to the hostel El Gualicho which turned out to be a great multi-cultural stay with friendly and helpful staff. a bit on the spendy side at 130pesos for a double (we´ve been getting rates around 90 pesos). we tried to cook up a veggie stir fry, but could only come up with a couple of peppers and onions at the market. ending up with instant soup thing and champagne. down to the beach, then back for social hour with the collected travelers before retiring to bed.

the next day, we strolled all around the immediate area of the the hostel, then moved to the hostel La Tosca, just two blocks away and 30 pesos cheaper. tried to go to the bank (closed for new year´s eve), walked the pier, and had siesta. the sun is on the way down, time to change into the long pants and head out onto the town.

taking your vegan girlfriend out on the town on new years eve in argentina sounds a lot easier than it actually is. first, we tried to make our own food, but the markets had all closed. then we tried restaurants, but none served an ala carte menu, only the special buffet on account of the holiday. special buffets heavy on the meat and cheese and not much else.

the argentine new year consists of big family dinners and not so much of the going out we experience in the states. we went back to the hostel and rang in the hour with a shot of vodka. salut!

the fireworks were wicked cool, and walking the streets and seeing the families gatheredhad me a bit homesick and recalling the ghosts of new year´s eves past.

next, penguins.

aiming for puerto madryn

2008-01-02T02:57:00.000-08:00

dec. 29

we left bahia blanca in the wee hours of saturday morning (3am wake up for a 4:40 bus) after spending our last day there wandering the plazas and shops. our afternoon to early evening was occupied by a three hour long conversation with juan carlos, the gay hairdresser of bahia blanca. juan had aquired a limited english and between his english and our poor pitiful spanish, we whiled away the daylight over cocktails and cigarettes, discussing his and our travels. when asked where we were going next, we said viedma. juan about fell out of his chair. "why?" he exclaimed, "there is nothing there!"

i then had to try to explain that it was okay that there was nothing there. i kind of like going to places where there is nothing but people living their normal lives.

weary of the mishmash of spanglish, we excused ourselves and mosied back to the hotel, picking up a bottle of red on the way. tam and i jockied the wooden slat shade to our room´s veranda with a chair so we could sit outside and drink that bottle.

three a.m. came awful early.

------------------

the bus ride to viedma was not long and we exited the station at about seven something in the morning, tickets in hand for the next day´s bus to puerto madryn. viedma is the provincial capital and sits across the river negro from carmen de patagones. the riverside parks on both sides of the river filled with people picnicing and swimming, but both towns absolutely dead otherwise on a saturday. we cooled our feet in the river, had an early meal, and then heads to the pillows for the again early bus appointment the next morning.

------------------

the ticket said 07:10

we figured we should be in the lobby calling for a taxi by 6:15. as it turned out, i was an early riser and we were asking for our taxi right at 6:00, according to my watch.

why "according to my watch"?

what happened next became a frantic and anxiety rising exchange of guestures and broken spanish. first, the desk clerk told us in slow and articulate spanish a bunch of words that we did not know, except the part that sounded like "son seite" and "taxi". we figured she might be trying to tell us that we could not get a taxi until 7:00, which ment a very close call to making our bus! oh, no!

i then tried to explain that our bus was at 7:10 and we really needed to get to the bus station before that and was there anything she could do? she said no, so i tried again with different and grander guestulations. she said no, and then started showing me her watch and motioning with her finger around the clock face one hour, saying a lot of words i did not understand, and ending with english, "all of argentina".

oh. no. oh no!! some sort of daylight savings thing had occured overnight. it was not that a taxi was coming at 7:00.

it was 7:00 right now!

bahia blanca, thursday dec. 27

2008-01-02T02:35:00.000-08:00

we dressed for the eighty degree early afternoon weather and head out for a bit of lunch at a resaurant adjacent to the plaza rividavia. the food is amazingly good and the total with our cocktails fits the budget rather nicely. back to the room for siesta, then out into the evening where we find a nice bistro set in a second floor balcony overlooking the street. later, walking through the plaza we encounter a native (indigineous) band playing traditional instruments over a roy orbinson track blasting out of a gas powered p.a.

wander further, and we find a plaza filled with families and clans gathered for ice cream and conversation, a cafe to satisfy the carne (me) and the vegitariano (her), a nice cocktail made of very sweet limon juice, vodka, and 7up over ice.

back to the hotel and again sleep is calling our names. it is summer here, the windows are open, i am barefoot, and the market on the corner is selling fresh cherries. perhaps in the morning i will buy some. buenos noches.

dec. 28 friday

hell of a night of non-sleep and then finally comatose around 2am. snapped awake again at 7:30; shave, shower, and the walk around the nieghborhood to the internet cafe, to the produce shop on the corner to negotiate some cherries, before returning to find tam still asleep in the room.

i sit now on the veranda smoking and waiting. the morning triffic on the street getting into its full swing. most of the shops open between 8 and 10. a horse drawn trailer just went by mixed in with all the cars and scooters, collectiong scrap metal off of the sidewalks.

the pace of life here is not leisurely, but certainly lacking that sense of urgency that permeates the American Dream as we tend to understand it. something like: morning hours 10 to 2, siesta, afternoon hours 4 to 8, evening meal at about 10pm.

not a bad way to do it. at all.

far and away, part 3

2008-01-01T01:56:00.000-08:00

what transpired was a rocking and rolling, uncomfortable, loud, dark, cold journey across the argentine steppeland that set our wits to each end and our patience to zero. sleep, if any were to come, occured in twenty minute segments interrupted by more loud dirty gloom.

finally, the sun begain to rise in the eastern sky. this would be over soon.

the morning lumber over the cattle and hay fields of the pampas took multiple lifetimes. at every frequent stop we had to wonder in this was yet our destination. the answer, no, just as frequent at the train´s squeeling brakes.

sleep, frustrating.
conversation, acidic.

this would be over soon.

as we each broke and alternately consoled each other, finally taking solace in our shared misery, the train arrived at bahia blanca.

we packed our bags over the twenty minute hike to arrive at the hotel residencial del sur where the room ran double the price given in the guidebook. my god, a warm shower never felt so good.

far and away, part 2

2007-12-28T09:56:00.000-08:00

let me back up a little bit and rejoin the story.

when i was first planning this leg of our adventure, i came across the website for the railroad company ferrobaires that runs the set of track south. after determining the schedule, i figured that the overnight trek would be ideal for us, allowing sleep after the nearly twenty-four hours of airline transport.

i found out the sleeper car was not available, but we decided that the photos of the pullman cars looked comfortable enough to go ahead with the plan. when we arrived at the station, we were told that there were no seats on the pullman cars, or no pullman cars. our choices were classe primera or classe tourista. we went with primera.

first impressions upon entering the vintage 1950s coach:
electric fixtures torn out and dangling wires.
nogahide seats ripped, cut, and torn.
jagged holes in the walls where luggage hooks had long since been absent.
steel doors that don´t quite close.
loose paneling.
grafitti.

the briefly entertained notion of getting off the train then and there quickly disolved against the realities of walking out into the street of buenos aires after dark, not knowing the language or where we might go to lay our heads through the night. we settled in for the long trip through the night.

"settled in" being an entirely optimistic statement.

the train delayed there for some thirty minutes before setting off, rocking and clanking into the setting sun. i would describe the scene out of our window except for the fact that the thick brown dusting of dirt on either side made the exterior world a fuzzy mass of blurred shapes of color, alternating lightness and darkness.

my first thoughts that came to mind were of the quantification of our relative safety. the dome lighting running the length of the car had only half the fixtures working and of those that were, emitted the light of a 40 watt bulb when the train was at full speed. this was rare. at the regular speed the bulbs pushed about 15 watts. would i be robbbed at knifepoint by banditos, stabbed and tossed into the brambles that grew trackside?

far and away, part 1

2007-12-28T03:10:00.000-08:00

dec. 25 - 9pm eastern
awoke well before dawn to a quick shower, eating what might go to rot in the fridge, and then hop a taxi to portland international. tam was slow to rise, but once out of bed was a trooper against my oh-so-early alarm. we boarded and flew without incident.

the girl next to me traveling to virginia for the holidays lives a couple of blocks from my old duplex on everett. artist, keeping it together, working on her masters degree. she joins us in a round of scrabble in which we both beat her handily.

ran into dwan at pdx. she´s on her way to india. she was actually on our flight to d.c. before connecting to a flight to switserland and then onward.

just goes to show how small portland really is.

sitting now in dulles int´l waiting for our somewhat delayed flight.

i note that i am anxious in a lot of ways, but not as i was a over a year ago when making the trip to spain. now, i am wondering if i am ´doing the right things´whereas last year i was caught up in the the ´leaving my old life behind´thing with much sadness involved. today, it is almost all fear with only tinges of grief. what will happen to me? where am i going? what will i do? will i be happy? fed? secure? the plane leaves in a few minutes and tam looks at me expectantly. am i doing the right things? is this what we need? questions.

dec. 26 - arrived buenos aires about 10:30 local time. once through customs and the money changers, we taxied to the estacion constitucion where the taxi driver told us to ´be careful´. indeed, this train station sits at the terminus of rail lines extending into the southern suburbs, and judging by the teaming masses of humans clinging to every habitable surface of the commuter trains leaving the station, places fairly low on the economic scale.

we were able to purchase tickets for bahia blanca and had about six hours to burn before the train. tam brilliantly suggested we take the subway (subte) to the central city and have a decent lunch. we hopped on the next train to av de mayo and found a german pub immediately upon exiting the underground.

good food and a litre of beer later (and tam very proud f herself in finding a vegan meal on her first attempt), we walked the several blocks east to the Plaza de Mayo which sits just behind the Casa Rosada (pink house), the office of the president.

the plaza de mayo has become the de facto starting point of all sorts of rallies and protests since the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo began their silent march in demand for full accounting of the dirty war´s Dissapeared. the casa rosada´s balconies being the place where the perons and others spoke platitutes and passionately to throngs of argentines in the square below. the mothers still make their way arounf the square every thursday at 3:30.

today, there were no mothers, but the police were gearing up for some sort of worker´s rally. rows of cops in riot gear were forming and large crowd control vehicles were taking positions around the plaza. the areas adjacent to the casa rosada were ringed with riot fencing and television crews were jockying for prime parking spaces with thier satillite vans.

at least the protests go off on schedule. i´ll get to the trains in a bit.

we returned to the estacion constitucion along with half a million other folks at about 5:30. tam braved the informacion booth to ascertain the track our train was supposed to be on. after waiting some time, we boarded our coach, anxious to be away from the city and a good night´s sleep on the overnight trek. i was disillusioned in a matter of seconds.

Arrived

2007-12-27T12:24:00.000-08:00

Walking and talking in Bahia Blanca. We are alive and safe. More to come.

Cheers,
w

getting a hard-on for jesus

2007-12-24T12:28:00.000-08:00

i was sitting in the passenger seat of the van in the parking lot of a mexican grocery. night. the sky was overcast and the conversation mundane. i looked though the window to the sky and a billowing cone of cloud was descending out of the cover. lit from the city lights it came ever forward at us, then taking on a chromium-plated appearance. closer and closer until it could not be denied that this finger of god was pointed directly at me.

as soon as i entertained the notion that it was in fact a finger of god, the energies of the thing barreled down and through the glass and into my chest. waves of energy flowed directly to my heart muscle then scattering as through a prism out into the bone and sinew of the rest of my body. i levitated out of my seat and into a relaxed rigor mortis. my arms outstretched into the symbol of the christ's cruxifixion. as reason fell into suspension of disbelief, the cells of my body became charged and excited, increasing in intensity as each iota of doubt crashed. my whole body vibrated into multiple orgasms, my penis rock hard for jesus.

i awoke, flabbergasted, tingling and exhausted.

i dressed, made coffee. went out on the stoop for a cigarette, where crow sat above and laughed, cackling at my dumbfoundedness.

hey santa, get you groove on!

2007-12-10T09:57:00.001-08:00

photos from portland's santacon are in the gallery or just click here.

ho.

thank you!

2007-12-07T09:06:00.000-08:00

thanks to all the folks who came down for my reading/release party at Grendel's Coffee House last night. i became overwhelmed at more than one point at the beauty and grace of your presence. special thanks to ZigZag for reading her powerful work and helping set a framework around the evening. my utmost gratitude to Space Pirate Tam for all her support and work in making the event happen!

love and sprockets,
~w

good night

2007-11-02T09:03:00.000-07:00

"try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations."
~the meaning of life, [monty python]

i woke up this morning fighting off the daybreak in preference for the dreamstates. there, i found the march fourth marching band, a train, a bus, a mission (i am completely unsure of the mission, but positive that it was of a beneficial nature), superhero strengths in the face of certain doom, cataclysmic destruction upon the innocent by the ignorant, pure love in the face of fear, and the absolute certainty that i could do nothing about any of it but try to make it better. and we did, together.

i turned into my lovers' arms, awakening and became a fragment of the whole. a mere part of the deus ex machina. a cog in bliss. love. beautiful and meaningless. perfect.

the day proceeded. things were said. ideas were proffered. plans discussed. some soothsaying attempted.

in the evening i found my way to the home of one, kind to me and lost in sorrow. i surrendered understanding in hopes of adding bulk to her ramparts against the cutting edges. i doubt my successes. i doubt my resolve. i doubt my existance, my meaning, my effectiveness, my anything.

i doubt. all.

later, mirth. a whirlwind of do-se-do with a warrior, though i doubt he sees himself as such. we drink and revel in our past mistakes, offering feeble attempts at solutions. soul.u.tions.

now, i weep as i come to it, sleep.
now, for me, if only for want of the dream-
of certainty-
of absoluteness.

alchemy

2007-10-19T04:54:00.000-07:00

water collected, the rippling surface throwing up reflections of a streetlamp.
a poor substitute for the moon, but what else am i going to do in portland's october night?
one might turn the eye inward and imploy memory to the task. i find it takes a little of both.

then how much of this thing called love is nostalgia?
there is heat in those lips whispering to my inner ear.
though, i must confess to bogart and bergman and the accompanying orchestral surges.
or perhaps it was juliet -
'give me my romeo; and, when he shall die,
take him and cut him out in little stars,
and he will make the face of heaven so fine...'

so herald the algebra of hearts' contignations that one may find the moon in streetlamps, dreams in a glance.
passion to breastplate. breath to tremor.

understanding the dead and compassion for the living

2007-07-25T14:27:00.000-07:00

last week i found myself contemplating the middle-ness of the summer and the fact that i had not done much traveling… or any of the things i had set out for myself as potential activities this year.

it’s not as if i have a job or any commitments to be anywhere for anyone but myself, and i wanted to get out and about and see some scenes. so i made myself a little itinerary. south down the left coast, east to the dry inland sea, and into the high desert. figured to get some coastal photographs, volcanic formations, and a couple of ghost towns to round out my trip. one week.

i also felt like i needed to get away from town for a bit, to work some things out in my head. i’ll get to those things bye and bye, but suffice it to say that the excursion began to take on the form of another one of these damn pilgrimages or quests. never mind that i am well aware that wherever i go, there i am. it seemed important to seek, even though i was not entirely certain of what i was looking for. i have not been very happy with myself, my place in life, or the world.

i set off on a monday afternoon with an unreliable notion that i actually did not want to do this thing, and was now only moving on the inertia of the fact that i had told some people that i was doing it, and set out to make that a true statement.

a sought out bit that needed sorting was an idea that i had arrived at in my post-divorce gnashing and weirdness, that i ought to embark upon a journey of self-discovery. a fact-finding mission, of sorts, to see what it was that warren was supposed to be doing for the rest of his life. or at least, the next couple of years. since this has not happened yet, i figured that perhaps this is an opportunity.

one of the hang ups has been the recurring nightmare that none of this (and please, for the sake of imparting the seriousness of this particular thought, i will repeat it), none of this – was supposed to be. as far as i am concerned, my life ended in 2004 when the burning man killed me. i was supposed to be married, with a career, and a house, and a plan, and more. and i was. for a long time. in a real and very tangible way, the burning man experience and its social webs took that life that i had, and made it untenable. the value in this execution has yet to be determined.

so, i wended my way into the indian casino where it’s looking very much like bat country, only with a steady stream of fat old white people feeding dollar bills into slot machines instead of conventioneers. i make my way to the bar for dinner and several stiff tequila drinks before making my hustle at the poker tables. i’m done in an hour or so, and its back to the hotel for a sleepless night and the cohen’s fargo on syndicated cable television. “haya, whatcha got there? arby’s? oh, yeah.” bat country. for sure.

in the morning i hit out on the road after a half hour of thinking i really should just go on home. what am i trying to prove anyway? i’ve been through this all before, haven’t i? as it turned out, i pointed the truck away from home. clutch-shift-gas. away.

another recurring thought process has me stymied as well. this is the “déjà vu but without you” syndrome. literally, ‘already seen’. having been coupled and lived in the same area for so long, i am hounded by the ghosts of memory no matter which way i turn. any road, town, shop, park i turn towards has the imprint of julie upon it. the artifacts of our life surround me in the rimrock of eastern oregon, the seafoam of the pacific, and the bricks of downtown portland. maybe i am weak, but the truth is that there is a constant reminder everywhere of when we were doing such and such a thing, how her hair was cut then, and how her face shown in sun/starlight at that time. these are not bad thoughts per se; they don’t make me feel badly. i often feel gratitude for those events and memories. the point is that it pulls me out of the now. a lot.

the reason i mention that bit at all is because of this next bit.

i’m cruising the 101 hiway southbound, stopping every so often at the lookouts and capes. taking photos here and there of spectacular views and tidepools and kelpbeds all the while wishing tamara was with me, interspersed with the déjà vu but without julie notions. i feel… not guilty, but something else. i feel sad, lonely, and apart. i want to go home. at first i am thinking that maybe it’s the years of coupledom training in me. i would rather be traveling with a partner. it’s not so much that i feel alone (though i am), but as i process the feeling into its base, the why occurs to me: though the things i am seeing and doing are cool and interesting to me, the experience is as empty and thin as an a-team plot without someone to share it with.

“the deepest need of man, then, is to overcome his separateness, to leave the prison of his aloneness. the absolute failure to achieve this aim means insanity, because the panic of complete isolation can only be overcome by such a radical withdrawal from the world outside that the feeling of separation disappears – because the world outside, from which one is separated, has disappeared.” –[erich fromm, the theory of love]

when i am out in the world, i am confronted with my solitariness. when i am at home, the world either disappears as i fold into myself and become more insane, or i am connected with my lover and community and contented. i recognize this. fully.

fromm goes on to say that one way humans attempt to obliterate the barrier of separateness is through orgiastic states triggered by sex, drugs, or alcohol. again, an experience thin as a bottle of whiskey in a motel 6 room. again, i recognize this. fully.

my eyes had grown heavy and my belly empty, so i stopped at a park for a picnic lunch and naptime. its a beautiful lakeside affair on one side, and i picked grassy a spot under some poplar. on the other side is the sand and the ocean.

earlier, i mentioned that the burning man destroyed my life. i say this not as an accusation or indictment of the experience, but rather to point out that the experience became a focal point of forces, feelings, and decisions that made the life i had been living untenable in the face of the circus. i quote ray bradbury on this matter:
“...i was not embarassed at circuses. some people are. circuses are loud, vulgar, and smell in the sun. by the time people are fourteen or fifteen, they have been divested of their loves, their ancient and intuitive tastes, one by one, until when they reach maturity there is no fun left, no zest, no gusto, no flavor. others have criticized, and they have critizied themselves, into embarassment. when the circus pulls in at five of a dark cold summer morn, and the calliope sounds, they do not rise and run, they turn in their sleep, and life passes by."

one morning on dawn patrol, i was having a conversation with heather baker. she was asking about my family, my youth, from whence i came. i answered and she said in all earnestness, “oh, so you’re white trash.” i had not considered it, rather, i actually did not think so. my family roots in the agrarian american dream of cornfields and milk cows. my grandparents were fully middle class, riding the post-war boon. a nurse, a meat-cutter, a teacher, a master carpenter. democrats. union folk.

true enough, my youth was marked by the lean means of my father’s g.i. salary, and i felt poor in grade school wearing the hand me downs from my older cousins, but ‘white trash’ did not fit any more than ‘hippie’ or ‘silver spoon’. we worked, and knew the value of work.

in the years preceding my exposure to the circus i had become discontented with my work insomuch as i felt that my work was unappreciated and ineffectual in a corporate culture resistant to change. my task was change and process improvement and i had hit a barrier of management style more interested in short-term band-aids to meet production goals than long-term overhauls to a system that allowed inefficiencies. additionally, i could see clearly where the value of my work went directly to the shareholder’s dream and less to my own. my life, it seemed, was slipping away one paycheck at a time.

add to that, the feeling of absolute emptiness and aloneness i felt in the months preceding and especially the long hours after my first burn precipitated by the first time my spouse had ever uttered the word divorce. how could my life stand again in the face of it? i was embarrassed of it. my work and everything i had done up to that point, became a sham; useless, painful, and utterly empty. begin the quest of the orgiastic state.

i rose from my nap knowing i was unable to continue. i must hotfoot home. forget the long winding roads, find the interstate. post-haste.

my depression and isolation follows many roots. my lack of work, rather than freeing me has compounded my state. if i was ineffectual in my career, i have certainly become all the more so without one. i should be working on my dream. well… what is it?

i remember growing up and making dried apples on sheets laid out in the summer sun. pressing cider and canning pickled squash. cutting and stacking wood for winter. stocking the barn with hay. the true value of work. tangible. visible. this has a lot of appeal to me.

high desert and redrock. places on earth that appear painted by god’s hand without interference of mankind. open skies unobscured by city lights and full of stars. this has a lot of appeal to me. i want to die under the milky way.

but also, every bit of it feels to me to be empty and thin without someone to share it with.

i returned home a little over twenty-four hours from when i left to find my front door not just unlocked, but wide open. i’ve seen this before. “déjà vu, but without you”. the time we were robbed of it all. years of material artifacts stolen or destroyed. in a panic, i rushed in to find everything as i had left it, just as i had left the door open. i suddenly remember stepping over the threshold with my hands full of luggage, telling myself to return and lock the door. i did not. i feel fortunate that no unscrupulous person had come down the street last night, particularly in light of the attempted burglary across the street two weeks ago.

i’d like to live someplace where i can leave the doors unlocked. this has a lot of appeal to me.

it’s not the circus, but then again, the circus only appeals to me when i feel alone.

insulated

2007-06-07T11:43:00.000-07:00

gone is the winding path
through the garden.
the tall trees which used to sway in the wind-
felled.

these things which were so pleasant to me
(such joy)
to share,
became foundations for the ramparts.
the keep.

faith and the death of love. ch-ch-ch-changes.

2007-04-21T11:39:00.000-07:00

faith has been on my mind a lot lately for a lot of different reasons... or so i thought. i think this is where its all been going or going on about.

*****
star'd crossed heaven,
relentlessly reeling.
i'd crash the sky.
i would
crash the sky.
______________

the certainty of my belief was beyond reproach. it was as if a religion. i had faith. i needed no proof, rather, the veracity of love was there, in the eyes as only i could see, as only i was shown. trusted, let in, able. this was my faith.

the thing about faith, and the thing you may never understand as a non-believer, is the power found in that solitary understanding. there is no question. there is no doubt. there is no uncertainty. there is no fear.

there is nothing any person can say or do, or anything that could possibly happen to unravel that thing, except yourself and the object of your certainty.

my faith became undone. i am still troubled about this. i had talked myself out of it, banished it away, or simply stopped looking... why on earth a person would do this? it's a stunning question even now. it has something to do with the elasticity of the mortal coil, it is about energy and change and motion. i had written thousands of words during this period to try and understand the elusive quality of why, and yet i can study for hours and it slips away still in a fog of unknowing.

nevertheless, gradually, my certainty became mere notions of understanding. very weak. it became a cardhouse of principled stances. it became instead; hope desire wish want.

all of that certainty washed away just as the soot of doused ashes bleed black into the earth in a rainstorm.

this is how you kill love. just stop believing.

------------------------

bowie:
i still don't know what i was waiting for
and my time was running wild
a million dead-end streets
every time i thought i'd got it made
it seemed the taste was not so sweet

the epicene coup

2007-01-31T10:21:00.000-08:00

perhaps i have given offense.
the winds have pushed to 'bout.
must i obsecrate?
as god is my witness,
i thought turkeys could fly.

bomb them with pillows

2007-01-23T07:05:00.000-08:00

"just keep it over there in the north korea area." she said.

i replied, "no, no. you don't understand. it's not an area. the right foot IS north korea."

"whatever. i don't trust it."

"all we are saying is, give peace a chance."

"i don't know what its going to do."

"well, you gotta have a little trust. i mean, look. the toes are vibrant and moving around. i think they're taking over."

"mmmm, okay" she said, moving her leg up over mine. "i guess that's not so bad."

"yeah... but that's france. the left foot."

"oops! i can't tell!"

+++++++++

i woke at five-thirty and got my clothes on.

"where are you going at 5:30 in the morning?" she said, engulfed in the pillows.

"home." i said. "where do you go at 5:30 in the morning?"

she chuckled a bit, said i was strange. i bid my adieu, walked out into the morning chill.

who the fuck thinks of this?

2007-01-16T00:52:00.000-08:00

sometimes, i look around and wonder just how in the fuck i got here. i mean, the last thing i remember was driving down the I-5 and telling her about the times that i'd had sex with men. that was, what, 2000? i look up at the calendar and it says 2007, but i mean... man... what the fuck? where am i?

i asked, 'what if david lynch made a film of a p.k. dick story starring parker posey?' the answer, the motherfucking answer, my friends, is '2004'.

i look around and where the hell am i? the last thing i remember was driving around southeast looking at her in the passenger seat, pink hair. that was when? feburary? no no no.. new years. it was new years.

i can't tell what came first or last. is there a last? the last thing i remember that was true was sitting on some rocks in the high desert of utah. that was when? yesterday?

i can't tell what was the last thing, or if there was a last thing. i fell asleep one night, and now i am here and everything is different. there was an argument of sorts. nightmarish. i don't believe a fucking word of it. who set that up? bullshit.

the last thing i remember was i was sitting quietly watching her.

the last thing i remember, it was just yesterday, i think. we were sitting and talking about the future. i was taking notes so as to not forget. the future, we wrote, shall consist of these primary things.

where are those things now, huh?

its a clusterfuck for sure. there is no solution, only more questions. like, how in the hell did this happen in january? can it really be like this?

hrrrm.

i never thought of this.

never.

so this i say to you, you pundits of powerful positive thoughts. the school of 'thoughts create reality'...

i never thought of this.

so, who did? who in the fuck thinks of this? i've got some words for you, fuckface. its not bad, overall. theres just the pure shock and horror of the not being and the not having and the not reality... once you're over that (or at least develop the emotional tolerance to ignore that briney fucker), its not sucking.

what it is, is this;
everything i ever thought
everything i ever believed
everything i ever wanted
everything i ever hoped

vapor.

come at me now, looking for answers, solace. beware the smirk on my face, its not malice or intended harm... its... knowlege.

answers. ha! you want fucking answers? welcome to the goddamn family. we gots some answers for you. they won't fit your paradigm, no matter what it is.

nothing.
everything.

okay, this is going nowhere.

try some more:

~when i was about 9 years old, we were living on ten acres of farmland outside of...

nah.

~she got out of the passenger side and popped the back door. she slid into the seat before i even had opened mine...

ugh.

~slammed on the brakes. shaking. furious. i said, 'those are MY FRIENDS...'

phuut.

oh. woe. is. me.

you ask me what i want.

seriously? what i want is

another. one more. do it again. do it over and over until its done right. do it until there is no more tears or reason for them. do it until there are no promises broken. no secrets.

because this, this thing here...

i can't even see where i begin. i can't tell if this was intended, or a crazy dream, but i keep waking up lost and disoriented.

this is why i wake at first light.
this is why i run outside to see the sun rise.
this is why i need to see wy'east, there.

i don't know where i am, but i do know where i am from and that... that thing there... is real.

what's real?

and now, some creative non-fiction

2007-01-10T06:06:00.000-08:00

in the dream she was arguing with me, egging me on and making faces. she wanted to know where i was going, what i was going to do, who i was going to be, who was going with me.

i said, 'look, the things you're asking me... i just don't know. what i do know is that my life starts and ends with me. i've traveled, i've stayed. i've worked, and i've fucked off. i've been doing this thing for as long as i can remember, and i'm pretty damn good at it. i've done psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, and psychotropics. i've studied the religions and sciences of man. i've stood under stars and looked under rocks and into the sea. i've looked under every nook, cranny, and crevase. the questions you're asking don't have answers.'

she curled up her lips into a smile like she used to make, hugged me.

i awoke. maybe its selfish to say so, but its true. what i do know is my life starts and ends with me. i don't know where i am going, what i am going to do, who i am going to be, who will be there with me.

she said i can have intention, but not plans.

my life starts and ends with me. maybe i'll hang around a little while afterward, as long as your memories permit, but i rather expect to be out and not answering the phone when i do go.

i awoke in my dream, and she took my hand and held it against my heart.

i said, 'i've done things. i've cut wood and bucked hay. i've grown pigs for slaughter, and rabbits for show, and then eaten them. i've worked until i couldn't keep my eyes open. i've stood on mountaintops and wondered. i've practiced twelve steps, ten commandments, and statistical feedback controls. i've imagined every god and daemon imaginable. i've cowered in darkness and wished to die. i've sat on worlds and in universes that don't exist. i've cried, screamed, whimpered, writhed. i've loved and been loved. i've laughed, smiled, and choked. i've been on steamships, submarines, automobiles, and spaceships. i've hurt and been hurt. i've cursed the ground, sky, and heavens. i think the human species is doomed, insomuch as all species are doomed to evolve or die. save the planet? heck, save the human. the planet will live on long after we're gone. the exoskeletons get it next.'

she said i made a good face and i wondered if that was then my epitaph. "here lies warren. he made a good face."

i awoke in my dream, and the world remained out of balance. the push/pull of the moon generated the tides, and the heat of the sun melted glaciers. lightning started fires. tectonic plates moved. i feel warm, content. ease.

'balance', i said, 'is a false idol. the natural world doesn't exist in balance, and i'm not certain we should attempt it.'

i awoke from my dream. put on some clothes. walk down the stairs and open the door. i fish a cigarette from the pack, my fingers feel tight and rough. spark. flame. inhale. it's pre-dawn raining and cold, another northwest winter.

i think i'd like to dance a bit.