You.

fill me
like a drink its cup,

short prayer

a wooden Rosary
woven between my fingers
is a pistol
if I know how to hold it right.
and Tolerance is a wrecking ball
poised inside the heads of those
who actively support fake walls
in anticipation of tearing them down.
and Need is now a blind child
who has learned to see
with his hands
instead of his core.
and Righteousness -
a privilege.

9

on my head, the work of boars
gnashing
i don’t get much company

understand,
the wire demanded a surge
the feral need grew within
stories fed into the night

when you met me
I was wild and broken,
now I am wild and free

Tear away at what you’ve been taught
The clothes on your back
The words in your mouth

Learn from the absence of teachings
The skin on your bones
The air in your chest

Tear on,
Tear on.

21 years

(pulled from a larger manifesta)

... and I am by no means grown up. While I do have moments that account for (catastrophic) epiphany, and I further pursue my education both academically and expressively, I know that my views at this intersection may have a shelf-life, or may push me in directions I am completely unaware of at this point… but I have faith in the unknown. I trust myself and this relentless nagging to veer off into the unpaved, and come out (or perhaps even never) with newfound perception and conception. I have been met with a rare kind of love and crave to be thrown down from the highest moments of pity and pride, maybe even find myself vanished in throes of indefinite land and words of comfort. I demand it. I am not afraid to be undefined.
I am hungry for self-revolution.

I challenge the ‘me’ to demand all of my energy and spirit into a cause big enough to shatter myself. Dare ‘me’ to take on terms of humanity - contribute to the earth.


And then come help me breathe it.

to the mosquitoes in my room...

fucking RAAAHHHHHHHHH
you insolent little beggars

i have birthed bowel movements
more well-behaved than you


RAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

dogged verse

all that is wild in me calls out - "i am, i am"
and all that is bourgeois cries out - "common sense!"
and heaven and hell and humanity
are newspaper stories
riding on the heels of something
bigger



all that is free in me calls out - "i am, i am"
and still futher,
"i am!"

my

cracks have been fixed.

On Hospitality

something i wrote a little while back.
dont know why i never posted it




On Hospitality


When she plans to entertain
Jealousy can be quite the hostess.
Invitations from her
are usually written in first person
folded
and placed in an envelope to match.

When she plans to entertain
the guest list may seem
quite extensive.
Good friends like Sorrow and Fury
know her place well.
And although not welcome,
Truth may attend
sparingly.

But

what she may do
(on occasion)
is extend her invitation to
a
certain guest.


and when he arrives
in his full-bodied glory,
Jealousy
will even so quaintly
with tremulous glee
show Blindness
his seat
at the table.

i cant sleep

so ill write instead

stream of (un)conscious
unedited and quick
this is everything and nothing in my head:


inter- di-men-si- o -nal
practice after practice

and i could bite on
sand
for a while, now
and wouldnt you like to
rip
down those curtains
or maybe just listen
to that

i need to sleep


stand on the snouts of
rabid hounds
and go for the hunt

you freaking fool!

doesnt need a title.

Somewhere beneath a skyscape of LA fires and ashes, I know people who are barely beginning to learn the angles and bones of each others bodies. And here... within pockets of floors and clocks that are untied to (otherwise) worldly acknowledgment, there are walls becoming surrendered.
I know that I am not a religious person. I cannot define God. I cannot define what It is, or how It manifests. But. I do know that there is something religiously deep-seated and moving when I can close my eyes at night and know that opening them in the morning wont change the images I see, or the things I feel when I am most vulnerable and falling deep (very deep) into mores of reckless adoration and harmony… because this feels like the best and worst kind of drug. I know.

I know what surprises me within a kiss. I know what God isn’t. I know that people wake up every morning. And that Love is a word like God.

please

i want you to steal things
from me.

a small truth

sadness makes for long poems.
happiness - short ones.

freckles
freckles
freckles

the

Lord has been kind
to me

she tells
things never told
after the sun has fallen into the sea

today feels like

tra la la la la dee laaaa di daaaaaa

untitled.

its slowly getting harder to read...

buzzed.

Twice a word
beside open sores
In a garden made
of sand
Twilling farce
and dissembling marks
between eyes
lies a truth
And devotion is
a sin.
short ounces of seemingly

fake

terms



I want to lay my head
down onto a pillow

and wake up
mint.

receipt art

im playing with my ring right now.
its funny,
in a melancholic and
erotic
sort of way
how close i feel to you
when the ring is inside my mouth.

i could swallow it,
and swallow you whole.

your love
your smile
your eyes

God,
it would pass so close
to my heart.

once

born
into the arms
of a forever
word

and once
cast
into a rain
of forever
seas

and before the wind was born
we were

theres something in the air today....

something really quite...

new


which caused me to try on my
garter
only to feel naked
and then resume to put on
a gas mask
which was too stuffy
so i pulled it back atop my
head
and then continued to
pose for about 10 minutes
in front of my
mirror
wearing heels.

figuring out which
position
i looked sexiest
in.

something else

i came across
titled: Taxidermy Blues Revisited

sometimes when i am browsing through
old computer files
i might come across a large
folder
or a single document
dedicated to love notes
i had hoped to share
with you

sometimes i think they might
be best
unpublished.

something i wrote a little while back...

i think this fits nicely into my mental stage at this moment...


I just want to speak. I don’t have much in particular to speak about… but right now I just want to speak. I dance the fine line between exposure and objection, as part of me feels tightly drawn between the two. I’m sitting carelessly up against a long hallway wall - uniformed looks pass by me, going this way, that way. We all have places to be. What is it about this third-hand zeitgeist we’re living in… where it seems like if shit isn’t being pulled over our eyes, the rest of our shit is being pulled out from under our feet. My (rst341i) professor seems to have this world disparagingly under his thumb and I think shit, damned if I do, damned if I don’t… and where the one hardest thing to do in your life is to ask “what do I want??” and be able to answer the question honestly. What does it feel like, I want to ask him, to see this unfurling complacency take place right before your eyes. We are not satisfied. Are We? And then maybe he’ll get into a rampant sermon where all he does it talk about the sixties and the drugs and the sex and the music that killed the overbearing hand of the people and all this fucking energy! he’ll say, that infected the nation and how everything. was. just. so. goddamn. perfect. He’ll cut himself off, and speak in a low voice, and his idioms will then only caught by the few sitting in the rows closest to him. He’ll clear his throat and his eyes might subdue… a silence will hover within the room - where the students shift uneasily and quiet mutters of what the fuck will weave within the desks… and the few of us up front actually twig and foot his resentment. Unlike the rest of the class, we don’t look at each other after his outbursts.

6:15am

they say thoughts
(inner thoughts)
are most accessible
just before bed
and right after waking
up.


this is all i got.

drum roll please...

and on the fifth day, God said:
"LET THERE BE DIARRHEAAAAAA"

for the portfolio (maybe)

written for extra credit:


Kiki sees ghosts

(maybe)
or at least i think she should.

considering the number of birds
and mice
and lizard tails,
or lizards sans-tail
that end up
in that cat's mouth.
their bloodtrails and
bones
map out an area
not-so-dissimilar
to a graveyard
on my porch.

Kiki sees ghosts
(i hope)
when she's napping
or
gently whipping her tail
on the patches of sun
that crawl along the carpet
and she suddenly darts out the room
with such fury
one might think the
poor thing
must have seen a ghost
(or something like that)

I hear that karma can be a bitch.

and that lizards can sometimes hold
quite the grudge.

i want

not the world,
but its grace.

ababcdcdefefgg

sonnet homework for class.
used some lines from previous works.
headache from all the patent editing.
i need to stop seeing words for the next 12 hours. images please.


i want to sleep with you in a place
where our atoms can collide
with a furious crash and an
unraveling of lace passing over your eyes
and painted soles of our souls to
see which way we moved next
where shadows sewn by loom
would set flame to bones beneath my breast
to crave you the way a mortal thirst sits
and your mouth is mine
as is the electric gravity which graces our lips
within most unnoticed corners of space and time

in a place where fingers sign an infinite womb
where sky is mine and she is moon

let me

let my fingers tangle
drawing circles in your hair
and ill be with you
alwaysletmyfingerstangle
drawingcirclesinyourhair
andillbewithyou
always

thoughts inside the boston airport

we got 7 inches yesterday
dust
one-hour intentions
and stacks of people praying
to god
maybe.
left-handed gestures
25 cents lost
pouting lips spit ice back into its cup.
lesbians
an old man an his apple
grease stains seeping through
fingers
now stomach
i think its going to happen
promise a call-back
mile-high expectations
and a humming growl to put me to sleep
(hopefully)

one-syllable pops
of whats going on
1892?
put in a dollar
and laugh like a xylophone
xy.lo.phone.
straight back
like a flame
watch
breaking bags
swallowing hisses
and spurts
eat now
eat now
so i can get rid of it
see you on the other side.

to the almost-famous

you’ll lie down into the dark
for the last time
with your crooked spine
turn over what went wrong,
relive alcoholic dreams
your overly-poetic fuckings
and not-abusive-enough parents

you’ll tell yourself
this world doesn’t like art
doesn’t like ugly people making money
doesn’t recognize honest talent
this world breeds contempt

and you’ll writhe in disgust and spit on
first-grade dreams
choke on unwarranted sex and your
cubicle on the third floor
that kept food in your mouth

or

maybe you just
(really)
weren’t that talented
after all.



its alright --
in the end we all end up the same,
anyway.

discussing chomsky and media filtering

I’m watching you suck on your cigarette while you overturn your alcoholic dreams and overly-poetic fuckings -- famous people don’t get famous because they’re perfect, you know. And I’ll keep watching as the smoke rises out of your mouth like vomit leaving your body the wrong way out. I guess we could light a match together and get a rise out of inhaling it's livid sulfur and laugh about how bad our eyes burn. You look like a ghost to me now.

i need to...

respond to the light

fall into love with my (self)
once again.

wooden chapel II, the burning of

theres a boy with a ring
who cried out loud
the day god left earth
to start on bigger things
and this dirt between his nails
came from the mound
where the wooden chapel sat
burning and fell to the ground
these crosses jutting from the soil
like impossible heroes
promise a great story told
and this boy with his ring
whose mother lies here buried
underground

and jesus was a boy
with an angel on his crooked back
a wrenching spine and spider tooth
but he didn’t give a fuck
a stolen horse, both eyes blind
called out his holy prayers
to the boy with the ring
salvation knows no names

a wooden chapel

--shes out in the garden
shaking her angry keys
as she calls out to the wind
to split the bones of leaves
and on the bathroom floor
Im crying on my knees
salt and iron on my tongue
the devil cant get back to sleep--

and
((lingering beneath the cloak of god
and walking in the snow
a crippled bird and a white cat
cry inside the forests womb))

written a while back

I know your demons well, as you know mine - their company has been replaced with other kinds of things like bottle caps and rings and things to fill up that gaping hole you left behind.
So wide, I could sleep inside it.
And when I close my eyes, all I can think about is your mouth.
And I remember words that have hurt, that have cut, that have mended and kissed…
all come spilling out, overflowing, soaking, drenching me.

I am at home with you.

i really miss hearing that.

still

i cant even taste my food.

written in class today

this feels like a desert.
hot iron poured down my throat
and the blistered Fates wriggle their canopy of strings
before my face
as now yester(day) lay rotting inside my chest.


and upon asking God
"how am i supposed to be?"
the silence hollowed a deep crater inside of me
and i silently watched
as the aging devil sun began to cast shadows
longer
than the bloodtrail i left behind.

up till day... 12?

I spent my weekend on the western coast of the country. A more or less developed beach called Tamarindo, where surf and sun are assured tones of the people who live there. We left early Saturday morning around 330am… went to pick up Christina (an 18 year-old dancing prodigy who won a dancing scholarship to study abroad in Cuba for a minimum of three years, but turned down the offer in reflection of home and her dog. She only now shows few signs of regret, but relieves the discord by visiting different clubs in San Jose over weekends, and has come to make a small name for herself with the club owners). We drove for four hours, me up front (two Dramamine and a juice to avoid nausea), Chris in the back, my uncle playing Ozzy and Boy George in the car: chasing the setting moon to the other side of the country.

When we arrived in Tamarindo, it was a little more urbanized than I remembered. Supermarkets had been placed just outside the town, and billboards showing off new construction plans for oceanside condominiums had been riddled with paint splatters - I only later saw stickers that said “Stop Developing Tamarindo” inside almost every single bathroom stall. My uncle, a few years back, had monopolized on the growing need for the towns internet connection, and in making good business with basically every hotel and restaurant on the peninsula, he had developed quite a large friendship base. It was only when the stickers started showing up, that other companies moved in and took over the networking connections… my uncle only now visits every once in a while, staying at the hotels which managed to survive the swell of foreign business. You should really see how many times he honks or stops on the street to say hello to old friends.

The hotel we stayed at was a restaurant/inn called FTs (or, Frutas Tropicales, for short). This place in particular used to be Tico-own (Ticos are people native to Costa Rica), but when an American business man from Los Angeles came to visit the beach a few years ago, solely on vacation, he fell in love and decided he had enough money to take over a business there. He bought-out Frutas Tropicales, and renamed it FTs. Nevertheless, the owners made a deal with the guy, and continue to work there. My uncle got us a room for two nights for about 20 bucks total… We were lucky enough to be there while the owner was also visiting as well. Young guy, about 28/30. There was a terrible gringa who managed to actually lay in his bed one night… we laughed while eating breakfast the next morning when we saw her stumbling out of the back door, eyes naked and swollen, washing her face in the sink outside the bathrooms. Poor idiot probably didn’t let herself get a wink of sleep.

The town itself is quaint. It has a very rich cultural feel to it. Not overly done where one is puking Rasta by the time they pack up and leave, but its very laid back and uniquely sociable. The food there is one-of-a-kind too, you can tell the restaurants there have been preparing their meals for years and years, each menu and dish has been perfected down to the name. I wouldn’t dare say I had the best pizza of my life there, but I do a good dare once in a while, to be quite honest. Within the two days, we managed to lay out (for both), ride ATVs for four hours along the southern coast of the peninsula and visit other beaches and towns along the way, bought my first (legal) alcoholic drink (giant goblet margarita from FTs, that I managed to completely drink, giggling hysterically as I finished off the bottom pool), danced and sang a little while drinking (my second drink, Mango Daquiri) and listening to live music from a really great performer named Tico Hendrix, had a few really good laughs, got tan, and reflected on the beachside lifestyle… which I now only realize in absence, that I want and need to experience. I’ve been oddly despondent since we arrived back in the city. Too much concrete and too many people. It’s safe to say that after just two days, I feel cheated and weighty, especially while having to comb out the single dread that formed at the base of my head over the weekend.

Im too tired to post photos now, but ill do so in good time. I leave Wednesday night, a 7:30 local time flight, landing in LAX at 11:30. Im somewhat glad my trip is almost over… although I feel like I’ve only been able to experience the city really. Next time I come, im going to stay out of San Jose as much as I can. Tomorrow im doing some last-minute shopping and packing up. Oh, I also just finished watching “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Henry Ford”. Good movie. You should see it if you havent yet.

day nine

Today.

Costa Rica experienced its strongest earthquake since 1991.
Several areas just north of here all had red alert mandatory evacuations.
Two casualties.
6.2 magnitude.
My uncle bought a few gallons of water just in case things get worse.
Things are much calmer now, even though the quake hit around 1:20, we’re still feeling aftershocks, some as bad as 4.0

Some sources tell us its Poas (the semi-latent volcano just north of San Jose)
Others say its tectonic plates.

I just found out too Southern CA experienced a 5.0


I sort of just want to be home now please.

day eight

Today I spent most of the day at home as well. Managed to eat more than I should’ve - lunch consisting of steak, potatoes au gratin, salad with avocados and tomatoes, half a (small) bag of fried lime/salt plantain chips. Dinner at Roxanna’s house with empanadas de queso and yuca cake. I enjoyed the evening at their house… my hands hurt from all the sewing practices I did today.


Its fair to say that I’ve never consciously been around a sewing machine before. I might have done some manual sewing in my years, and that im pretty good at, but when it comes to the pedal, the needle, the thread, and all that metal… intimidation was the keyword of the day.
Nonetheless, I managed to learn the machine pretty well. My hand is still unsteady though, and I scrunch up the fabric every time I feel like my fingers get too close to the propelled needle. But all in all, it was a good learning day. Above are a few practice runs I did.

Something that ive noticed about Costa Rica, or any other third-second world country for that matter, (and because I havent had enough time to really think about it, I wont be able to write much) is that people don’t have such a protected sense of self. Ive been hosting a constant dispute in my head over the differences between California and Costa Rica… in all senses and schemes of life as we know - traffic, fashion, food, friends, home, etc. Here things ride in tandem with people as a whole. With nature as a whole. Tree roots dig up cracks and potholes in the asphalt, but people learn to drive around it. Homes with cracks in the ceiling and pots and pans sticking to nails in the wall are open to guests. And im actually not really sure where im going with this thought, but it’s been fermenting in my head for the past few days as I see more and more suggestive traffic lanes and stoplights, and curious areas of San Jose which I would have once consider mistreated or rundown.

At home, we take such pride in the manifestations of our purchases, in the qualities of our images, that I think sometimes we lose grip of reality. We are so lucky (and unlucky) to have smooth-paved streets, to have most all of our stray-dogs in kennels, and have such a wide variety of consumerist options… where our sense of individuality erases a lot of unity-ideology.

Not saying one is better than the other, as its impossible to choose the better between dream and reality. That’s been a constant question in my head since senior year of high school. This is a big theme… I don’t think ive had enough time or experience to really feel like I can analyze well enough or have a well-formed opinion on.

As for now ill keep enjoying the country as I have been. I love taking trips like these that really have the power to change my perspective on the life I live at home.
Goodnight.

day seven

For most of the day I worked on the pattern for the pea coat me and my grandma are making. The soap markings were my favourite part. Later in the night we went to go see Madagascar 2 in the BEST movie theatre I have ever been to. VIP seating or whatnot, with huge leather recliners and at-your-service waiters… we ordered sushi and crepes and a few drinks.
I don’t know why they don’t have these things over at home.

And I also think I may be getting a sore throat.

day six

I couldn’t take my camera to El Mercado Central today… too many robberies lately I guess (you should’ve seen the face my grandma gave me when I walked out the door with the camera hanging around my neck!). If you could picture an open market inside a GIANT patched up tin warehouse, little bars and restaurants next to wood-workers, basket weavers, leather shoes, all thrown into a giant hodge-podge of mini streets and avenues, with steam rising out of cracks in the tin roof, a few stray dogs running around stealing scraps from the meat vendors… then you have the perfect picture of el Mercado Central.

I bought two pairs of sandals, a couple leather bracelets and some nice wool fabric for a pea coat me and grandma are gonna make


There was also a churro vendor inside the market - about 50 cents a churro, with delicious and warm caramel-ish goop inside (see photo at top). I had to save some for when I got home so I could take a photo of it. I ate a lot of shit today. Im full.

There is now a steady blanket of rain falling outside. Once in a while I can hear the rolling leftovers of thunder off in the distance. A couple of hours ago it was sunny, no clouds in sight… I dressed in shorts and a black tee. Now I have sweatpants and my favourite jacket on… Costa Rica really is Pura Vida, as the people around here like to say.

Billie Holiday is singing to me in the living room right now, and my grandma is falling asleep on the couch. In about a half hour we’re going to bank and then maybe driving around a little more. “There is no greater love than what I feel for you… No greater love…”
Sing Billie, sing.

day five

Day Five

Has been slow thus far. I woke up to the relentless barking of our next door neighbors dog… my grandma later told me something had died and landed on our rooftop. I wasn’t able to visit the farmers market today (a crying shame) because my uncle’s car broke down last night on the way home (I forgot to blog about it) about 4 blocks away from the house. We luckily were at the top of a hill when this happened, and the downhill tract managed to give us just enough speed to pull into the driveway of the house. I cant imagine how my night would have gone had we been driving an extra ten minutes, or taken a wrong turn somewhere in the mountains causing our drive to last longer. I’m glad that didn’t happen to say the least.


I haven’t written much about San Jose yet. The city is, well, a city. Not much different than some areas in Long Beach… liquor stores, pulperias, potholes, graffiti, fences. The difference though is that everything is clean because it rains so much. And not to mention that around here, all of the cars are small. There isn’t a lot of litter in the streets, Costa Rica prides itself in the management of its country: wooden signs scatter the roadsides - “I believe in a pure Costa Rica” or “Water is the blood of our earth” and “People and nature can coexist peacefully”

My family lives in a small area in the northwestern part of San Jose, called Rohrmoser (I find it curious that at home, I live in Rossmoor). Rohrmoser is one of the nicer areas in the San Jose basin - a larger mall-type market called the Plaza Mayor houses a grocery store, movie theatre, florist, bookstore, Quiznos, Pops, petstore, lots of shoes and clothing stores and few other tiendas. There’s a specific part in the street on the way to Plaza Mayor where you can see almost the entirety of the rest of the basin, as Rohrmoser is elevated more than the rest of the other settlements in the area.


The house here is quaint. Yellow on the outside, orange and white on the inside. One bathroom painted blue, the other yellow. House colors here in Costa Rica are unreserved. I’ve seen a lot of pink (like flamingo pink) houses in the countryside… there is no code of conduct.
There are geckos that live in this house... my grandma put them here instead of using pesticide in order to control the creepy-crawlers. I haven't been able to see one of them yet (as they are elusive and small), but sometimes I can hear them chirping to one another. Theyre very, very loud.


I sleep in that room at the end of the hallway.

day four

Day four. Did a lot lot lot of driving. This time, we explored the northern mountains of San Jose (more or less the countryside of Costa Rica, instead of the selva). We drove through a small town called Grecia, very quaint (and not at all resembling Greece); if I ever bought a house here, id would be somewhere like this. It was windy but warm, and was elevated off the San Jose basin enough to feel like spectators of the rest of the valley. Small Pulperias littered the towns and took the place of the larger, urban supermarkets. Lots of cheese in the area, and I had the most amazing Palmito (that cheese I was telling you about that’s wound up like a ball of yarn) from one of the pulperias off the roadside:


We drove to Sarchi… a pueblito infamous for its artesania. Wagons and woodworking there were the coin of the town, and if you’ve ever seen those little painted carts on the brochures or tourist books about Costa Rica, it was actually in Sarchi where they were first created.

After Sarchi, we drove about an hour to Zarzero:

My camera lens failed TERRIBLY at capturing the depth of those clouds… it looked like a giant flood rolling into the valley. I don’t know how many photos I took, I guess this one’s the most decent.


Then this was me, doing a pseudo-supermodel walk in the middle of a famous garden in Zarzero (lots of those bushes-made-animals… if you cant see the horrid thing above my head)

And this was the really rad floor in the church that belonged to the weird animal-bush garden in Zarzero


And here was the giant cloud-flood a few hours later on our way back down the other side of the mountains… we ended up driving directly through it (it felt like a dream). And it actually smelled really good. I rolled down my windows right as we were hitting the edge of the clouds. Smelled like rain.


And then once in the foothills we made a stop at BAR FORY FAY (ill give you a minute or two to say that outloud, and then laugh).

The food there was pretty good, I didn’t drink any, although I have to admit, when looked over the menu that contained somewhat decent English translations of the dish names… I couldn’t help but want to order a “Glas of Whine”

day three

Today was nice. We drove around the mountains that hug the southern basin of San Jose. I met my uncle’s lady, Tatiana, and his friend Oscar. Im too tired really to write much about the exploration, but ill say that I did a lot of reflection today between driving through more pueblitos, and hearing Tatiana say that of the seven… the pecado of Gluttony is by far the best.
Here are some shots of the day:


This was a fried banana dish (ps, the banana was the size of my forearm) that was charred, bbq'd and sliced open and drizzled with cheese and sugar. fuck man.


we also stopped off to buy some cheese that looks like a ball of yarn. it smelled really bad but tasted really good.


this was a view of the mountains about 3/4 of the way through the trip. we actually drove all the way from the bottom of that mountain you see there...


and finally me. in an awkward stance.

i like the way life feels around here; balanced with nature.

day two

I started off my morning with a good shower. Skipped breakfast and grabbed my backpack filled with all my camera equipment, and headed out with my uncle and grandma to what they considered “el mejor bar-bee-kyu” in Costa Rica. The drive must’ve lasted about a total of two hours on the way up the mountain (I cant remember the name of the town we ended up in: food comas usually destroy brain cells as well), and despite their dissatisfaction with the overly-cloudy weather, I found myself somewhat musing over the ways in which the clouds work around here. The weather in Costa Rica is fickle. One hour tumultuous rainstorms could be working their way over your head, and the next hour could bring an inexplicable downpour of sunlight. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the drive through the pueblitos, each one equipped with their own (rather large) soccer field, and I kid you not when I say that every single town had one; with grass greener than whatever “other side” you may have conjured in your head, the fields were each placed in the middle of the pueblos… clean goal posts and lights put up in their veneration. Had it not been for the indefinite moisture which affected these areas of the mountains, I would have probably taken more photos outside the car -- a constant reminder to me that Costa Rica is indeed a rainforest. With Black Sabbath and notable tracks from Grease playing in the car’s stereo, my uncle went on an on about Janis Joplin, telling me that it was really the Syphillis that parented her inimitable, scratchy voice.

We ended up finishing off what could’ve easily been a feast for 5. A liter of cola, unripe banana salad (not by mistake, unripe bananas around here are a common dish), a small serving of chicken soup (again, with unripe banana… and probably the best chicken soup I’ve had in a while too), some stone-ground tortillas, and of course, bbq. And not the lame-ass bbq-sauce drenched meat I’m used to eating. Im talking real, roasted for hours and hours on end, tender fucking delicious chicken, pork and beef. Woooonderful that im not a vegetarian. On the way back, we pulled into a drive-thru at Pops, the infamous (and best) ice cream dive possibly of the entire western hemisphere.

Im now laying on the bottom half of an otherwise empty bunk bed… uploading photos of today’s drive (ill include a photo of my bubblegum scoop). A fierce wind is howling outside, drizzle is spattering the window by my feet. Im tired, full, and as of ten minutes ago, not constipated anymore. Ill take a nap for a few hours and then see what the afternoon brings my way. Might involve a rented movie and some soup. In the meantime, its funny to think that today is the first day of 2009... All toll roads over here are free in celebration of the new year.