There are lots of things I love about Mexico... like marketplace bargaining, sodas in plastic bags, live wires dangling from power lines, exposed septic tanks, sing-song medicinal herb vender spiels, and that ever-exciting possibility of discovering the Mother of Jesus over a stool-saturated toilet bowl or on a billboard advertising beer...
One of the things I love most about Mexico, though, is that it is anything but a quiet country. It´s a land of loud cacaphony blaring music, whining washing machines, sporadic whistle-blowing, horn-honking, bell-ringing, engine-revving, silverware-clanking, laughter and voices, baby cries, loudspeaker announcements, plastic bag rearrangements, tin roof improvisations, radio static, guitar greetings, poundings, hammerings, sweepings, window slammings, pipe-creakings, bus gear changes, children´s screams and distant tele novelas resounding...
It´s kind of like if you were to take a large aluminum box, fill it with some bells, marbles, beaded hair ties, mescal, broken pipes, ping pong balls, rusty nails, keys, coins, trumpet players, glass shards, religious regalia, competitive yoddlers, a few live kittens, and then shake the box vigorously for twenty four hours... then,... you MIGHT just get the first few notes of Mexico´s aria...
BUT..., it´s not just the incessant sounds and noises that make this country so magically and endearingly loud.
Actually..., EVERYTHING here is loud.
The people are loud with sincerity, the laughter loud, the outlook on life- loud. The scents and textures and tastes of Mexico are loud, and... even the ocean, the jungle and the vacant desert winds are loud.
One glance down a small pueblo street where the houses are painted bright pink, puke green, magenta, unhealthy pee yellow, construction orange and brilliant blue, and you´ll see that even the colors here bravely scream loudness.
Hell..., even the priestly little parasites that the country passes on to its foriegn visitors can be pretty loud, noise-needy nerds when they´re on the job.
Yup. There´s nothing that quite hollers ¨welcome to Mexico!¨ like waking up four or give times in the night to competing radios playing oompah banda music, a passing truck broadcasting Miguel´s Carniceria propoganda, and Mister E in the bathroom; his rear end fissuring vivacious lava flow and humming a bubbly Mexican song og love, sorrow and loss...
Ahh... yes... the sounds of Aztlan....!
Friday, April 21, 2006
Chichen Itza
Mayan glyphs that mirror Chinese kanji in their pictorial, phonetic and poetic translations hammer my sun-smeared retinas,
as dusty plumes swath my scallion-unlike Saquatch toes.
I watch a boy chisel a wooden mask; his powerful hands those of an old-souled carpenter with forty years of practice.
I paint a memory, reach out to hold a hand, and smile a little when I think of how nothing and everything is never and always changing.
At least I know that when I get back to town, I can expect only that which I don´t expect, and that those Mayan glyphs will read differently in my absence.
I can only fantasize... but.., maybe, just maybe... that glyph that we thought meant ¨corn¨now means ¨porn¨ and that famous Mayan symbol for ¨zero¨now signifies ¨Pepsi¨
as dusty plumes swath my scallion-unlike Saquatch toes.
I watch a boy chisel a wooden mask; his powerful hands those of an old-souled carpenter with forty years of practice.
I paint a memory, reach out to hold a hand, and smile a little when I think of how nothing and everything is never and always changing.
At least I know that when I get back to town, I can expect only that which I don´t expect, and that those Mayan glyphs will read differently in my absence.
I can only fantasize... but.., maybe, just maybe... that glyph that we thought meant ¨corn¨now means ¨porn¨ and that famous Mayan symbol for ¨zero¨now signifies ¨Pepsi¨
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Notes from la floja roja
Imagine here an extensive post, buttered in rich description and sand-covered stories of beachy adventures. Imagine here humid tales of midnight skinny dips, sexual affairs with Poseidon, sweating caguamas, Mayan spirits, scorpions in bed, hippy treehouse-like abodes, colored pencil sketches, stream-o-consciousness musings, psychadelically-colored fish, water-through snorkel inhaling, moon-watched laughter, chicken taco hospitality, flip-flop fantasies, the wisdom of a Don Juan, late-night philosophizing, and a little bit of perfect entropy.
Yup. Imagine all that...
plus a few more nuggets of marvelous absurdity and... well, you´d have the post I WOULD have written if I had longer than 4 minutes of time remaining on this computer...
Overall, the postcard version of this blogpost is:
Having a great time in Mexico! The weather is gorgeous, the characters inspiring, and the food delicious. It´s fun to be back in a place where time occassionally trips and falls into potholes, conversations spiral sincerely into silliness and being is just..well... being. I´ll bring you all back the souveniers you requested, plus maybe a pig wearing a sombrero or a nice stray dog with a hobo rucksack and a hammock.
Wish you were here!
Yup. Imagine all that...
plus a few more nuggets of marvelous absurdity and... well, you´d have the post I WOULD have written if I had longer than 4 minutes of time remaining on this computer...
Overall, the postcard version of this blogpost is:
Having a great time in Mexico! The weather is gorgeous, the characters inspiring, and the food delicious. It´s fun to be back in a place where time occassionally trips and falls into potholes, conversations spiral sincerely into silliness and being is just..well... being. I´ll bring you all back the souveniers you requested, plus maybe a pig wearing a sombrero or a nice stray dog with a hobo rucksack and a hammock.
Wish you were here!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Bloated Heads and Hide-n-seek
Sometimes it feels like life is just missing a little something... like if you could only get your hands on some formless clay or a black bean burrito, everything would just miraculously slide into its destined place.
Well, for me right now, I feel like all I need are a few enormous, over-sized Olmec heads in my life.
Well... those, a few ruins, some stunning coastline, a touch of stomach upset, a pinch of the Unknown, and a good serving of some inspiring company.
Yup. You guessed it. My travel bugs are nipping at those tender places between my toes again, and rather than squashing them between two graham crackers with chocolate (c'mon- you've never heard of toasted travel mite s'mores before?!), I'm going to heed their nagging nibbles.
My Mystery Man (we'll just call him Mister E.) and myself are leaving tomorrow morning for a month in Mexico.
Though my posts might be a bit sporadic in the coming weeks, expect their quality to directly reflect the number of chickens I breast feed on the bus, the quantity of shoe-shine proposals I receive, and the pile-up of linguistic lip-clenchers I invoke...
Ready or not, Yucatan, here I come!
Well, for me right now, I feel like all I need are a few enormous, over-sized Olmec heads in my life.
Well... those, a few ruins, some stunning coastline, a touch of stomach upset, a pinch of the Unknown, and a good serving of some inspiring company.
Yup. You guessed it. My travel bugs are nipping at those tender places between my toes again, and rather than squashing them between two graham crackers with chocolate (c'mon- you've never heard of toasted travel mite s'mores before?!), I'm going to heed their nagging nibbles.
My Mystery Man (we'll just call him Mister E.) and myself are leaving tomorrow morning for a month in Mexico.
Though my posts might be a bit sporadic in the coming weeks, expect their quality to directly reflect the number of chickens I breast feed on the bus, the quantity of shoe-shine proposals I receive, and the pile-up of linguistic lip-clenchers I invoke...
Ready or not, Yucatan, here I come!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Whore-o-scope
For all you's whores out there, I know life is tough. It's hard to tell what surprises the day's clientele might bring, and what sticky situations might explosively shock you.
So..., I've come up with a One-size-fits-all (no pun intended) horoscope to alleviate the time-consuming and energy-draining process of remembering your own birthday, identifying your astrological sign, and finding your daily prophesy in the cum-damp pages of the newspaper.
Today's Whoroscope:
The sun and moon are at odds today. Tread carefully. Beware of impious pimps, for greed is colliding with the moons of pussy-prospect, and blue-balls are rising in the green-back orbit. Be careful today with f**ked-up fantasy-fulfillment assignments and suck-sational sensations. Dire Desperates are on the rise. Question urgency today, and stability and excitement will follow.
...hmmm...
...well..., despite my seemingly insightful visions of working-girl destinies...,
I've never really been one for blind astrological faith. I tend to see the characters of the zodiac more as indicators of civilization's mentality in a historical context rather than as landmarks in a grand cosmic fate.
But... who am I to say?
Afterall..., maybe it's just a newly-packaged, alternatively-marketed case of old Greeky Cassandra (who was blessed with the ability to fortell the future, but cursed by the fact that no one would ever believe her...)
I DO know, though, that if I am to prescribe to some of the horoscopes I read for myself today, I can expect a few marital quibbles between the sun and the moon, expect Saturn to no longer move backwards, expect my "fizzle to turn to sizzle", look forward to a bit of specifically-ambiguous change, and expect my "wacky humor to lighten up some awkward situations".
Ahh, hell... where do I sign up? Today's as good a day as any to become a converted Believer!
... Maybe an orbit's not just an orbit, and Saturn CAN move backwards...!
Hey, afterall, even a skeptic can't help but believe that a little fizzle might transform into some sizzle, and that undoing someone's meteor belt today might just mean prosperity tomorrow!
(further whore-o-scopes to follow...)
So..., I've come up with a One-size-fits-all (no pun intended) horoscope to alleviate the time-consuming and energy-draining process of remembering your own birthday, identifying your astrological sign, and finding your daily prophesy in the cum-damp pages of the newspaper.
Today's Whoroscope:
The sun and moon are at odds today. Tread carefully. Beware of impious pimps, for greed is colliding with the moons of pussy-prospect, and blue-balls are rising in the green-back orbit. Be careful today with f**ked-up fantasy-fulfillment assignments and suck-sational sensations. Dire Desperates are on the rise. Question urgency today, and stability and excitement will follow.
...hmmm...
...well..., despite my seemingly insightful visions of working-girl destinies...,
I've never really been one for blind astrological faith. I tend to see the characters of the zodiac more as indicators of civilization's mentality in a historical context rather than as landmarks in a grand cosmic fate.
But... who am I to say?
Afterall..., maybe it's just a newly-packaged, alternatively-marketed case of old Greeky Cassandra (who was blessed with the ability to fortell the future, but cursed by the fact that no one would ever believe her...)
I DO know, though, that if I am to prescribe to some of the horoscopes I read for myself today, I can expect a few marital quibbles between the sun and the moon, expect Saturn to no longer move backwards, expect my "fizzle to turn to sizzle", look forward to a bit of specifically-ambiguous change, and expect my "wacky humor to lighten up some awkward situations".
Ahh, hell... where do I sign up? Today's as good a day as any to become a converted Believer!
... Maybe an orbit's not just an orbit, and Saturn CAN move backwards...!
Hey, afterall, even a skeptic can't help but believe that a little fizzle might transform into some sizzle, and that undoing someone's meteor belt today might just mean prosperity tomorrow!
(further whore-o-scopes to follow...)
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Love Lunacy and the S.O.B.
Believe me. I've still got enough taco fixings to make a combination plate, my migration path still leads me around - not over- the cuckoo's nest, and my levies are not yet leaking philosophical fantasies to Wilson the volleyball...
But, yes, I'm sharing an expectation-expounded moment of over-the-top, thesbianesque therapy with a sweetly-fragranced orange blossom.
And, I'm not embarrassed to admit it.
(... actually, I wanted to Tchaikovsky-style blogesize about a local lad named Leslie who tried to woo me away from my artist love - who was pretending to be a Croation patriot - .... T'woulda been a touching tale of a gallant, lost soul, pawning plumbing skills for rip-tide loneliness redemption in front of the neighborhood internet gaming abyss as fake foreign accents crescendoed, and humour was drowned in soul-scabbing empathy...
BUT..., instead I find myself sitting on the porch, chatting about love with a fruit flower...)
Scented Orange Blossom (S.O.B.): -c, you are acting unnaturally silly, grinning at guileless absurdities, devouring potty praise, laughing and lactating with arguably immature fluency... What's up with you? Did you swallow a peyote button with your pad thai or a sprig of dandelion with your wine?
-c: No, no, my dear scented orange blossom, I'm merely hosting a tea party for Senor Happiness, sharing Argentinian mate with Honeymoon Harry and skipping a little rope with Simion Smiles-a-lot (you know..., the neglected knight of the round table who was written out of King Arthur's court after committing not-so-noble acts with the celebratory feast's poultry products.)
S.O.B.: I see. But, -c, are you quite certain you've not let a few marbles trickle out through the cranial drain?
-c: No, I assure you- I'm as sane as a Twinkie-defensing, infant pteradactile murderess before trial.
S.O.B.: Then..., why are you Cheshire-cat interfacing with a fallen orange blossom?
-c: Hmmph... What would a bile-less bloom like yourself know about LOVE anyway?!
Man... I wish I would have read the fine print when signing up for this Cliche Love Gym...
I mean, who in their right mind would agree to a contract that read:
"I invite everyone to question my sanity. And, I agree to take full legal and emotional responsibility for any possible, incurred conversations with verbose citrus casks??!
C'mon- anyone who did that would just be finger-plucking ass-ininity!
(... we here at Up the Creek are currently experiencing technological tributaries due to aberrational planetary allignment and mis-stacked Leggos... but, we promise to return to regular programming as quickly as possible. Please be patient!)
But, yes, I'm sharing an expectation-expounded moment of over-the-top, thesbianesque therapy with a sweetly-fragranced orange blossom.
And, I'm not embarrassed to admit it.
(... actually, I wanted to Tchaikovsky-style blogesize about a local lad named Leslie who tried to woo me away from my artist love - who was pretending to be a Croation patriot - .... T'woulda been a touching tale of a gallant, lost soul, pawning plumbing skills for rip-tide loneliness redemption in front of the neighborhood internet gaming abyss as fake foreign accents crescendoed, and humour was drowned in soul-scabbing empathy...
BUT..., instead I find myself sitting on the porch, chatting about love with a fruit flower...)
Scented Orange Blossom (S.O.B.): -c, you are acting unnaturally silly, grinning at guileless absurdities, devouring potty praise, laughing and lactating with arguably immature fluency... What's up with you? Did you swallow a peyote button with your pad thai or a sprig of dandelion with your wine?
-c: No, no, my dear scented orange blossom, I'm merely hosting a tea party for Senor Happiness, sharing Argentinian mate with Honeymoon Harry and skipping a little rope with Simion Smiles-a-lot (you know..., the neglected knight of the round table who was written out of King Arthur's court after committing not-so-noble acts with the celebratory feast's poultry products.)
S.O.B.: I see. But, -c, are you quite certain you've not let a few marbles trickle out through the cranial drain?
-c: No, I assure you- I'm as sane as a Twinkie-defensing, infant pteradactile murderess before trial.
S.O.B.: Then..., why are you Cheshire-cat interfacing with a fallen orange blossom?
-c: Hmmph... What would a bile-less bloom like yourself know about LOVE anyway?!
Man... I wish I would have read the fine print when signing up for this Cliche Love Gym...
I mean, who in their right mind would agree to a contract that read:
"I invite everyone to question my sanity. And, I agree to take full legal and emotional responsibility for any possible, incurred conversations with verbose citrus casks??!
C'mon- anyone who did that would just be finger-plucking ass-ininity!
(... we here at Up the Creek are currently experiencing technological tributaries due to aberrational planetary allignment and mis-stacked Leggos... but, we promise to return to regular programming as quickly as possible. Please be patient!)
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