10.15.2024 BLACK NIGHT, SHAKY STARS, A TINY MOON [INTERLUDE]
Sometimes nightly a flash of the old self emerges in crisp LCD. Other times the visions are much blurrier. When the lights shut off as the rivers run dry, I press on the incandescent lamp, invigorate the candles and incense, and place my pen into the paper.
I remember contradictions, embrace them:
- A cloudless forest.
- Gods in antennae like a splinter through the thumb of the mountain echoing the radio playing 90.1 FM W Radio Ecuador (the same station I listen to now in the quiet) presenting a talk show lamenting discontent with the very blackouts I write this amidst.
- He picks at a wound that’s festering with the knife I bought to cut through thick vegetation. Can human flesh be cultivated?
- Jipijapa, the Manabitan island translocated to downtown Quito.
- We mould those closest to us in our likeness, whether we intend to or not. Our existence is a docile one.
- The Oropendula bird, Montezuma interred.
- My body is a collection of disparate components.
- Bike lanes superimposed through metro centers, drawn only by lines of orange cones.
- My practice has always been a practice of opposition.
- Frogs sing more when it rains.
- A one night folly, always seeking pacification.
- Visibility from one side - ink bleeding through paper.
- Devotional labor.
- Abya Yala, the old continent, printed into the spine of the book about indigenous communities written by an academic outside said indigenous community.
- Antiquity today.
- Pondering the difference between having and owning.
- Running in the darkness for the fear of what’s behind when the generator sputters, laughing all the way.