The wall was made of adobe, fifty years old, easily lifted as gratifying as picking black heads. You wouldn't imagine the things that sprang out of the falling wall. Cockroaches, scorpions and mice. The locals stepped on the mice as though they were cockroaches and picked up the scorpions, slitting off their needles from where they became play-things to put on your face. In this small village called Caucato, where 30 families were left unhoused, living in their own ruins, after the 7.9 earthquake.
'Un techo para mi pais'(a roof for my country)serve to help those in need of houses. The foundation started ten years ago, funded by private enterprises and now running in nine latin american countries. The 'voluntarios' are all mainly university students, or anybody between the ages of 18-29.
Caucato, 3km from the port Pisco in the province of Ica, from where the old hacienda of the Montero family stood, whose land was taken away by 1973 reformation of General Velasco. The remains of the hacienda sit on a small hill overlooking the rest of the village from which only rubble and bits of the years-old scratched out graffiti are left. The community there of around 30 families resemble any other possible village, with each character with his/her own role, from the troublesome teenager walking like a badman with his personal stereo to the mad woman most of them ignore. There was even the town's very own historian who elagantly told stories of the past and of its mythology. One of the stories being that the original Montero made a pact with the devil so that his field may reap rewards. He somehow beat the devil at his own game and kept his soul as well becoming the local land owner.
I went along as a journalist/photographer helping a student crew with a documentary. This aided me to momentarily intrude. Half the people we interviewed cried in front of camera. A strange disposition came over them where they all felt they had spill all the evil done onto them. The state does nothing really other than to give them tents. So meanwhile the demagogue president Alan Garcia speaks with oral flowers nothing much is done. It is thanks to these organisations that any sense of normality can arise. After feeling like I was intruding I felt my efforts would of much better use helping with the mass house building. When it came to lunch all the women in the village prepared giant broths, chicken and rice. As moving orchestrated gesture each future-owner would bring the plates of food to their workers.
I can say with all honesty, I don't think I have ever done something as enriching. Laying the beast which is ambition aside and giving for giving sake. What is reciprocated is something money can never emulate. And I don't mean this in any cheesy sense, it truly is something awe inspiring.
In total over 600 people died and 4,000 were seriously injured during the earthquake in Ica that happened in waves from 18:41 on a Sunday. Had it been at night it would have been much worse. There are many stories. The most awful one is of the church in Pisco that sunk in itself and killed 200 worshippers as they ran to the exit. 80% of Pisco's buildings will now have to be demolished as most of the structures are at risk.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Sunday, 2 September 2007
Monday, 30 July 2007
Dream - Megolamania
A reunion with hundreds of people in a place much alike Hampton Court. Looking down from where I am I can see a pitch where later in the day a grand football match with hundreds fans will come together. It's a lavish party with champagne fountains and lovely girls. There is royalty around.
I am told its been a long held secret that I am actually a Prince. I take the news without flinching much. I am given a crown, one that I prefer to carry in my hand. I also attain an inner sense that when the football takes place the earth near us will implode. All the people, including myself will die. The earth will invert, eat in itself, slide across creating squares of swimming pools. I take this information without flinching much also. Though I clearly see visions of the impending tragedy and the beautiful shapes it will create.
Suddenly in the corner of my eye I see Sheherezade, who went to my school, with whom at the time I wished I had gone out with but never did. It was always thought we would. I approach her. Just before I give my crown to prince William, and say
" now that we are brothers". The energy is charged as I get to her. I am looking at the full wack. We say a few words. Words are not needed. We make out. To the view of the football pitch below and visions of tectonic plates I fuck her.
Possible Reasons behind the dream - I found Sheherezade in facebook on the weekend, I saw a skit from an apocalyptical film showing London all flooded, football is a constant, I read a few words written by David Lynch, It was my birthday on the weekend
I am told its been a long held secret that I am actually a Prince. I take the news without flinching much. I am given a crown, one that I prefer to carry in my hand. I also attain an inner sense that when the football takes place the earth near us will implode. All the people, including myself will die. The earth will invert, eat in itself, slide across creating squares of swimming pools. I take this information without flinching much also. Though I clearly see visions of the impending tragedy and the beautiful shapes it will create.
Suddenly in the corner of my eye I see Sheherezade, who went to my school, with whom at the time I wished I had gone out with but never did. It was always thought we would. I approach her. Just before I give my crown to prince William, and say
" now that we are brothers". The energy is charged as I get to her. I am looking at the full wack. We say a few words. Words are not needed. We make out. To the view of the football pitch below and visions of tectonic plates I fuck her.
Possible Reasons behind the dream - I found Sheherezade in facebook on the weekend, I saw a skit from an apocalyptical film showing London all flooded, football is a constant, I read a few words written by David Lynch, It was my birthday on the weekend
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Ana Maria Celeste
XII
She sat tossing popcorn on to empty beer bottles. Beer drunk, beer to be drank over volcanic rock, the Santo Domingo Bay and the sea in sight, her troubled hands tossing popcorn. She dreamt and balanced out her options. So many other gusanitos, little worms had made it across the other island.
When I met her she had glasses that were so thick it made her eyes seem as though they were looking from the other side of the room. Her face when she laughed made me feel something in between awe and nausea, a melancholy so toy-like I thought I could mend her. I should have jumped out of kitchen at that moment paid the waiter and walked the other direction. Unaware that in an unperceived way her boxer mulatto nose and curves had got me going again, knowing well that from that moment she would siphon and hinder my money and plans. Love is a violent thing, a restricting act of violence from where the forces in the cosmos spiral off to a kettle boiling towards a sink.
She appeared older than she was, though she was just nineteen. She would say excessive thinking brings the end of things. She thought sometimes of blood, of cuts, the thought of it converted her in to a playtime murderer while cadavers would come out of the earth with boiling meat on their lips. Strange having a mind so open to blood with such ill machinations, and yet when I turned the television on she would immediately turn it off.
“The crevice of all damnation,” she would say, “nothing like stasis to rot the nog.” A slap to the pancreas is how she called it.
“Please I must fuck you,” she said, “I haven’t had sex in months.” I let her. First time I didn’t get in though. We went on with the session stroking each other’s bodies, kissing necks, kissing tits, running the finger over every part. After a long while I fucked her. Right in this time. I went for a piss and she tossed me off, the rest of the day resumed in the same way.
“In heaven there are also cockroaches, slugs and maggots,” she said reading Zoe Valdez and Laura Restrepo. I bought her contacts. I would try to write, she spent time on messenger. She wanted me to tell her about the Islamic gardens of Seville. One day she would meet a famous interpreter she met online from Morocco. She missed the places she had been to and the places she had not.
She sat tossing popcorn on to empty beer bottles. Beer drunk, beer to be drank over volcanic rock, the Santo Domingo Bay and the sea in sight, her troubled hands tossing popcorn. She dreamt and balanced out her options. So many other gusanitos, little worms had made it across the other island.
When I met her she had glasses that were so thick it made her eyes seem as though they were looking from the other side of the room. Her face when she laughed made me feel something in between awe and nausea, a melancholy so toy-like I thought I could mend her. I should have jumped out of kitchen at that moment paid the waiter and walked the other direction. Unaware that in an unperceived way her boxer mulatto nose and curves had got me going again, knowing well that from that moment she would siphon and hinder my money and plans. Love is a violent thing, a restricting act of violence from where the forces in the cosmos spiral off to a kettle boiling towards a sink.
She appeared older than she was, though she was just nineteen. She would say excessive thinking brings the end of things. She thought sometimes of blood, of cuts, the thought of it converted her in to a playtime murderer while cadavers would come out of the earth with boiling meat on their lips. Strange having a mind so open to blood with such ill machinations, and yet when I turned the television on she would immediately turn it off.
“The crevice of all damnation,” she would say, “nothing like stasis to rot the nog.” A slap to the pancreas is how she called it.
“Please I must fuck you,” she said, “I haven’t had sex in months.” I let her. First time I didn’t get in though. We went on with the session stroking each other’s bodies, kissing necks, kissing tits, running the finger over every part. After a long while I fucked her. Right in this time. I went for a piss and she tossed me off, the rest of the day resumed in the same way.
“In heaven there are also cockroaches, slugs and maggots,” she said reading Zoe Valdez and Laura Restrepo. I bought her contacts. I would try to write, she spent time on messenger. She wanted me to tell her about the Islamic gardens of Seville. One day she would meet a famous interpreter she met online from Morocco. She missed the places she had been to and the places she had not.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
8.4%vol
I drink a K cider
8.4%vol "The Ultimate in Quality" which apparently contains sulphates, what ever the fuck they are
Upon a mound of rubble
the dog laughed
the roost listened
"chaff we are like
pigeons
like migratory semaphores making idle signals
worthless like bricks"
8.4%vol "The Ultimate in Quality" which apparently contains sulphates, what ever the fuck they are
Upon a mound of rubble
the dog laughed
the roost listened
"chaff we are like
pigeons
like migratory semaphores making idle signals
worthless like bricks"
worthless chaff
'Worthless chaff, who are you to teach the wind to leap or touch the broken ears of barley?'
John 23:17
My cat leaves the gall bladders of mice in the hall. I just found one then, dried and brittle, green and billeous. It crackled as I picked it up.
I threw it in the toilet, then pissed on it, holding my dick with the same fingers I'd used to hold that other disguarded, shrunken organ.
That kind of thing really doesn't bother me. It floated when I tried to flush. That doesn't bother me either. It'll reabsorb it's weight in moisture and sink, sink, sink.
I agree that we're just gathering stories, have been since we were young, living retrospectively. It's all very un-zen. It's because we hate society and we're cowards. I am going to put my balls on the line and do something brave. Rebel! Canada maybe, turn up, get a job straight away, see what happens if I just throw it all up in the air and let the wind take it, worthless chaff.
"Jook them and blindside them, let the shits fall where they may."
Ken Keasy.
And with that, we made a cup of tea.
WG
John 23:17
My cat leaves the gall bladders of mice in the hall. I just found one then, dried and brittle, green and billeous. It crackled as I picked it up.
I threw it in the toilet, then pissed on it, holding my dick with the same fingers I'd used to hold that other disguarded, shrunken organ.
That kind of thing really doesn't bother me. It floated when I tried to flush. That doesn't bother me either. It'll reabsorb it's weight in moisture and sink, sink, sink.
I agree that we're just gathering stories, have been since we were young, living retrospectively. It's all very un-zen. It's because we hate society and we're cowards. I am going to put my balls on the line and do something brave. Rebel! Canada maybe, turn up, get a job straight away, see what happens if I just throw it all up in the air and let the wind take it, worthless chaff.
"Jook them and blindside them, let the shits fall where they may."
Ken Keasy.
And with that, we made a cup of tea.
WG
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