a late draft

hellow, fellow nomads, travelers, stationaries, lovers, dancers, etc.
my current existence is a little miraculous, as az and i got a ride back from the psytrance festival with some kids from brasilia on acid and we thought we would never make it (over huge roadcrevasses, music angst, stories about cows in half english and half portuguese)

but ahem, ahem,
i have been living on the farm miles from nowhere, watching highways of ants and huge termite skyscraperbuildings (the things you can build with dirt and spit!) and finally working here, trying through language and politeness and manners to communicate my enthusiasm to take on tasks too big for me. i fear being an overzealous weeder.
reading about permaculture (this book by david holmgren) and it's a funny meeting of
echoes of my mother (the worms are good, no really) and the force of anarcholove for self-reliance, resistance to organized subversion, metaphors of pods and ants and cells. it's a good book, and better lived.
also, let's see, i've been bonding with gustavo (marcos' three year old son), accepting his male pronouns and in turn flying him around like an airplane, creating songs of syllables, wiping his ass when he turns around and the body language is clear, dancing and dancing to the sounds of crickets and frogs (they compete nightly)...the lizards that live on the kitchen wall, the rat, the few frogs that venture into the house, join in quietly and i watch and wonder at their thoughts. z, you said you could get into the thinking of horses, maybe potentially understand cows....i am listening and learning and working to understand ants and bugs, termites and birds and trees most of all,

this is a vomit of sensations and things, a week spent in near-solitude with az. everyday i take some time to think of people i miss and all that i've learned from them.

-------------------------->
now i'm in brasilia at an internet cafe, this place is wrong wrong wrong (i do like the anarchists but not the air-water-smoke-sounds, where are the trees?). have you heard about clean city laws? that outlaw visual pollution? look it up yo, sao paulo is on top of it apparently.
love to you all, more later.

j in mexico

after first civ class finished we were suddened off to mexico city where it seems i went to become the epitome of poop. i smell like it, i look like it, i live it. i must have eaten something fucked up at the beach. just started taking antibiotics because i think pooping like this is not supposed to go on for too long. i sit in the hotel for days, high up, watching the chilangos being fed. none of us earn our food around here except in the typical way of spending money on it. this city is too large for the senses, overwhelming sounds, smells and such.

i can no longer see my life in my body, it's looking like a stranger to me.

and

all the people on this program are sex and body starved

i have an empty hotel room, mundane sterility

but still

when the outlet in the wall winked at me i knew things had changed for the better

i take my clothes off and my form celebrates itself. my ass is round and soft, my legs hang off the bed and the eyes roll over. i fall asleep as i am, as what i am. i dont have to know anything to be anything.

i do a lot of sleeping.

we leave on friday, back on the neon stenciled bus to oaxaca through the golden cacti mountains

so empty days standing before me to be filled like baskets

what a task to fill a life like a cup with something sweet and important

in my own place this hard work and harder in mexico.

a short note on people and animals

so im one of those lucky people who never gets a hang over, or jet lag, and apparently i don't reallly get culture shock either. maybe I will when i get back to the states. who knows.

i've been in britain, oh, 2 or 3 days now and i have a funny feeling similar to one I had on the farm. we had two cows there, and every day they were to be milked twice. sometimes I helped out in the evening milking. after a couple of days it sort of hit me that i don't get cows...after years of working with horses, I acted the same way with the cows as I do with horses, (an animal whose instincts and perspectives on the world i more or less understand) and it just wasn't sort of..fitting.

so I asked daniel (another wwoofer who'd grown up on a dairy farm) millions of questions: are they social? if you put one alone does it moo to the other cows? is there a noise which you can make to calm them down? what do they want? do they consider humans as reasonable companions or do they just ignore us?

and so on.

so now after 4 months of getting accustomed to horses, suddenly being surrounded by cows is just confusing ("where are they going? why are they going there? why are they in this place at this time? i don't understand the trajectory of your life!!")

life seems just vaguely emptier here, more machinated(?), more routine, or less fluid...i dunno. hm.

sucking on the toy guitar

Reprise Roo

see——
http://swastikovich.blogspot.com/2009/12/now-u-r-6.html

i feel it in the static

I AM DOUBLE-FISTING!
hot coffee and cold (well isH) tea
and honestly
i'm ready to go

what a mind burp! the imperceptible mutabilities of my brain have shifted - suddenly my perception is altered so i can see the threads of interlocking connection and of association and CHOOSE which thought to follow. every thought has six or seven other thoughts twined round it by dint of the bridge's collapse and now since yesterday i can choose which ones to follow instead of being pulled down the estuary by my subconscious' fell force. what luck to have stumbled upon my own capabilities! and in the bath no less, mechanically moving to wash my hair, my nose, the back of my knees, but my mind spinning at a speed that says...you won't remember this in the morning.

coffee coffee coffee
caffeine and i have made fast friends this week
buffeting buffeting buffeting me along like a lukewarm blanket for my insides
always leaving behind that one particular aftertaste
and a feeling that my digestive tract is a sluice
but, you know, balzac starbucks dick in a cup of coffee shock and awe and (let's not pretend that we don't want to put our dicks in cups of coffeeeeeeee for a living)

Hi, I'm T'mo and this is my emotional range
dearest kitty, i am everywhere
hi ho friendo, buzz buzz buzz

a whirlygig breather-screamer-singer is ready to burst forth from me
what is the difference between nasty and erotic?
I MEAN, what is the difference between nasty and erotic?
eros
holding hands but between our palms there is peanut butter
and bananas! mashed together squishy squishy squish

forget what i said about perception BECAUSE maybe i was lying and it was all just made up and it never really happened and maybe i'm just beckoning you in so you will get close enough that i can bite you and you scream (careful don't shove your face so far into the pillow, make sure you can still breathe, pretty one little one pretty little one) but still you'll like it because you like it when i bite you and you look real nice with little red blooms all over your skin, so don't pretend

don't play coy with me
hello pretty princess
hello little girl
funny old thing, funny funny little thing, child, creature, sweetness and light
it's a fine thing
it's a fine thing to be alive

more poetry!

not only is the house noisy, now it's smelly.
it's the 2nd nite in the last 3 that i've been unable to sleep.
i didn't write any new poetry but i still have 2 left over from the other nite, so.


tracking two

hell is a farm on the brink of mythology
and a starcruiser out of gas
or ionized starfuel, as it were
linoleum classroom floors amidst cellar doors
and pacified aggression.
instead of attack and decay on a boat
they say fore and aft -
nobody knows where it started
least of all the poet
but it always ends on a farm
or a starcruiser
- so how do i know?
definitionaly, like two layers of eggbread cottagecheese ripe bellpepper dip-spread aubergine and you have yourself a sandwich,
or a stomach ache
which maybe you've never seen face to belly, as it were
but there's never a doubt
catastrophically, we were upset at being upset at being upset but the twists never turned and the iceberg never hit and then crack, who to tell first?
but there was never a doubt never
and all along it's a terrible sound, round, like smells and heart-ache which are the representations which they thing
as in meta and for and foreign ambassador
and so we didn't elope on 20th may i mother may i
crush this lifeless caucus race
and sift through garbage
another day.

cubic resentment

the final clap clears away long before i climb into bed
to wit i awoke long before i realized i was awake
an unstable arrangement of reds and recordings
resentment and betrayal
movement and shame
and life.
there i was dripping and naked, sprawled on the floor
all a ringing and spinning and movement
did i mention movement
how lewd to move muscles that are not stringy green beans
not cooked overnight in cacophonic and moral certitude
and righteous nausea
which is a dish so dense that when it cracks it explodes,
rips in thirds lengthwise
and folds along mobius rows,
unwilled and impassive and generally burnt.
but so impelled to forget all my fears, i arose and prepared
for my grand entrance outwards
steam blowing behind, born by sheer nervousness
and sickness of mind.

my belly is empty
and the house is noisy (hammers and finger nails)
and i am thinking about michael collins

who got to the moon but didn't even get out of the car

sweet Mike they called him on earth
on the army bases where his dad served
because he was unfailingly polite
and always held the door open
waiting even if you were miles away
at least now he's the director of the national air and space museum

the hammer and fingernails are ringing forth
rapping-tapping-drumming
who said to stephen, "stephen your politeness will be the death of you"
who said hamlet was a retiring book-worm?
who said the cosmos breathed in and out of that moment?
who ever said, "oh pardon me" and didn't lose the war?

so here's me joining up.
up for whatever ranks it is that we're marching in these days
sure, sure
the angel-headed hipsters
sure, sure
smeared in effluvia
sweating and stinking
please
please
please
i will be --> that
do they serve stars in the mess hall?
i hear they do
(re)assure me they do?
because i want to eat the fiery dust and purple mist of the outer reaches of the galaxy and wash them back with the drippings of trickling rings of planets i have never seen before and smear on top of my celestial toast cream cheese from so many light years away it has taken generations to bring back and i want to learn to pronounce names of foods that contain syllables i didn't know existed and have to relearn all sorts of glottal stops to grapple with

please?

am i asking too much?

6am poetry

early morning, the 6 bus arrives and you haven't heard it yet which means you know it's 5:10am and the sun isn't out yet but that won't step the early early commuters and the late late partiers from northing on up to the loop and then to where? whatever the bus is probably empty anyway.

splitting fur

smoking sometimes in a sanguine shelter
licks of pain
and the presence of pleasure
and chiefly rabbits whose fur's notsomuch matted as stuck
like chunky spikes and the stench of your vomit
your stomach's half-cooked effluvia
like carrots on top of charmed pencil-cones and honey-tipped
bereavement, bake on high for days and days
a silent haze
stealing surely but quickly but layered
yes as in matisse but also as in beer
playing games with the foam-flecked freedom fighters
who move on diagonal when straight is too much
and jump through all hoops+garters to get to the finish
but now find themselves blind, dead and made of stone
or possibly cracked, malformed plastic
because the mold didn't hold
it wanders into alleyways and drifts past wrinkly whiskers
to speak in a desultory tone
that is
desultorily, not that we care
hush, listen:
the night is old, the sun is not up
the stones are cold, the wind is risen
the rattle of bones and the science of transit
will interweave their lessons into your dreams
and mine
and we won't even know.

aflutter in maracuja-colored sweatseeds

a ritual of destrangifying strangers..."oi, tutu bem? tutu bom. (nod, smile, smile, nod, shake hands, hug, kiss on one or both cheeks, eye contact, nod, smile) tutu bem, tschau."

after i ate the little pile of black beans with onion and sausage and ooooh scraped up that liquidy proteiny black sauce, i told marcos and kathryn and azya who were sitting around me, "you know? this is the first time i've eaten anything with meat in it in the past 10 years."
time is circling, circling, closing, opening. it's 13:40 now in a little yellow LAN house-internet cafe (minus the cafe, that part always confuses people when i ask) in alto paraiso. in a few moments we may very well be sucked up by a UFO, who knows, this town is sitting on crystals under falling stars and all the signs point to something mystical. if not a UFO, a bomb to the head, a sip of ayuasca that is an unidentified pathway to objective flight...

on thursdayish we took the bus from brasilia to alto paraiso, then another bus to sao jorge, which is a tiny village, and then marcos picked us up and took us to grota funda, which is about 40 minutes outside of sao jorge on roads red like bricks but with huge crevasses left by the rain. the farm is beautiful and quiet-loud with insects and sunsets. there is another wwoofer there, kathryn, from buenos aires/rio/michigan and she speaks portuguese well and we've been singing and speaking of permaculture and cooking, collective living and spirituality, maracuja and the portuguese lilts...then our little farmfamilycrew of five came back to alto paraiso two days ago (sunday?) for a ayuasca ritual (visions of flight and sensations of growth and purging until i found some contentment amid hymns of universal connection and a forest of stars) and
smiling
smiling
place to place,
i'm getting tired of not speaking portuguese,
need some new songs,
forming and reforming my body from opaque skin to vessel, a kind of mediation, i've been thinking about this a lot since the ritual: body as vessel. voice as vessel. giving minimally mediated voice to that which can be eaten or drunk but cannot speak for itself.
also i've been listening to images and awe, encouraging my creativity,
today, missing the baohaus and its inhabitants and cohabitants and the common language of strangeness.

new song

oh shit! i just did something i've been meaning to do for months:
Hungryforblood.mp3
hopefully you can download the above mp3 of my new song, called "hungry for blood". let me know if it doesn't work.
love,
radiodjleli

leli-pie

it's a pale morning in the bao. the cats are having a tiff - gabe makes a hissing mew, and vlad makes a mewing hiss. i shit you not. 1 huge cup of coffee brewed strong, and reach for the oatmeal - empty. so instead i defrost a wholewheat pita and microwave it with almond butter, apple chutney, and an egg. i shit you knot.
the acid jazz streams out over my speakers like a cold front over boston before it collides with the rap from the radio in daryl's room - when i stand next to the bathroom in the hall i find myself in a neutral zone where the relative strength and distance cancels out, and i get hip-hop jazz, or acid rap, like in the eye of a storm.
my head perks up a bit as caffeine floods my veins, and i open the physics problem set. about ten seconds later, someone standing within 50 meters of the baohaus would have heard a dire curse, a string of consonants and glottal stops unknown to the present age, and the snap of a textbook slamming shut. it can wait till tomorrow.
so now it's 11:30 which means about 12 hours until the party tonight which means about 5 "solids" if you use leli's system of time management which takes into account not only the solid chunk of time needed to accomplish some difficult task or set of tasks but also the extra framing time needed to reconfigure brain function for each new setting. it's kind of like the kuiper belt, it's kind of like vomit streaming down my face at 2 in the horse's ass, it's kind of like reconnecting with a memory so old and essential that in retrospect you realize it was there all along, pulling on your hair and scratching your nether regions, only you didn't know it cuz you thought it was a wedgie but really it's just a thing, and an outdated thing at that. anyways the pale morning sez: you can't spell "transcendence" without "dance" and you can't buy you love without money, but you can definnately make leli-pie without oats.

Baby!

Some news on one of our feline friends...

Baby adjusted really well to the move, way way better than I would have even guessed, actually. He seems to have more energy and grown more friendly. I haven't seen him this interested in people and things since he was a kitten. He runs around the house and plays with toys, and even lets people pick him up. I took him to the vet and he is negative for leukemia (although they want to do another test in 2 weeks) and he also lost two pounds since the last time I took him to the vet, and I haven't even put him on any regimen.

We're pretty happy with everything up north, although the whole shift in lifestyle is a big one. I find that I have no time, which is a mixed blessing. I miss you all. Hope to see you soon. You're welcome here anytime!

macaca see macaca do

We also Baaaoed to the sunrise this morning, walking home in the jetsons-inspired empty city of brasilia with our couch surfer anarchist cyclist buddies.

We´ve made it to Sao jorge, the last step on our trip to the fazenda. Dogs, cats, and bicycles roam around the dirt road amid backpacker-types eating ice cream and buying dreamcatchers after a day´s hike. My brain has become reconstituted after melting away in Rio de janeiro; its much cooler here and finally possible to be more than a body. Couch surfing is fanfuckingtastic (however, I find myself craving solitude, constantly being an interesting or interested guest is tiring; Trees are hopefully less demanding?)

love and posthorns

a draft, unposted, then established in quiet moderation

HONK bam PIEUW PÃO PÃO não? nãOOOO bing bang BEEP pheeeeeeew
a few short notes, since i'm still gathering my thoughts.
- i got a harmonica for christmas and it's been glued to my hand, mostly making up songs and "oh susanna" and "clam crab cockle cowrie" and some country, some classical sometimes, sometimes something like samba noises...
- i've gotten too good at saying "não falo portugues," people don't really believe me...
- i saw a great exhibit by sophie calle at the museum of modern art in rio.
- 18 hours in brasilia: anarchists, cerveja, and a testing of boundaries (subtitle: the impossibility of intimate straightness)
- the meeting of eyes, the exchanges of gaze, people giving directions, the enthusiasm of strangers, a number of friends and the usefulness of "oi"

ice block

And he is in love with the crows, the crows that sound like nails on tough nylon. Outside his window they are not stiffened by the cold, their muscles do not clench like the knots in his shoulders. Knots are all he has to show for every hour hunched over that desk. That desk by the window.

He does push-ups sometimes in his cell of a room, just enough space between the bed and the wall for a body charged with thick coffee and mango juice. The heater whines clouds of steam. He pretends that he is in the tropics.

But he is here among the bricks, the hardwood floors, the windows that will never quite close. He is in his little world of walls, of books stacked in overlapping rows, of airplanes cutting lines into a perfectly square patch of sky.

He cannot join the crows on the porch this winter. Icicles line the overhang, daring him to touch. He is to use the front entrance until the ice melts, the landlord says. This world is rigid--he is not allowed to slip.

i leave india in 8 days

i cant believe it; that is wild to me
i am on ze frenchmans computer and i am typing so slowww all the keys are trés trés different but i also have my pick of transliteration into one of five indic scripts.
also SHABASH tamara-ji shabash on an amazing post i will be thinking about for a while. (also your name on this keyboard is "tq,qrq" if i dont pay attention.)

anyway i thought to write because a few nights ago i baoed to the multitude late at night and it had been, oh, so many months, at least five! i explored the range of possible baos for mmaybe ten minutes and petered out and went to sleep inside. that morning i had met a british woman going into retreat for four years. that means no leaving the monestary or talking or communication with loved ones for four years. no baoing for four years... bao is a social thing for me; privately i know that i prefer LA and often BLAH is perfect. it surprises me that hinduism and buddhism have this om as the sound that is everything, for everyone, but maybe thats what the belief in an absolute truth is.
that same day i was reading the teachings of don juan out in the yard and an old family friend walked in for lunch. he asked me what i was reading and i began to explain to him vaguely with difficulty what it was about. apparently he had read all four in the series when they first came out.

----

this post has been a draft (btw I love reading other people's drafts) for 2 days, when it was 10 days until i leave the country. it's still a little half-baked but i'm going to put it out here anyway. see some of you relatively soon.
-zed out

tingle tangle...pull one string and the others feel it

I've been thinking about the worlds we build together. The vortex you force into being with just you and a few other people. Last week I was thinking about time travel and after talking to Lelz about memory and shaping of the past through thought and interpretation, I've been thinking about the tangles of reality-bending groupdom that exist beyond time and space (though they are infintely bounded to us) that we have forged in the fires of our hearts. Wormholes, of the non-physics variety. Gravitational pulls of the charismatic type. I'm talking about radiance.

Edward said to Jane, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you - especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, - you'd forget me."

And I believe that. It is the thing I have believed the longest. It is as close to a Bible verse or a benediction as you will get with me.


Do you know what it means to be a Sagittarius? I apparently can't believe in string. Knots should be beyond me. I couldn't tie my shoes if I tried. I should be warding off potential strings with a pair of trusty silver shears at all times. So what's the deal here? I am breathtakingly befuddled.

Where does all this come from anyway? Existence itself is an incomprehensible squall of accident and pure chance. A stew of unplanned happening, right? What then is the desire to frantically attach a web of strings to various creatures and persons and objects? And further to arrange the strings, to move and jockey and position one's self, to arrange those strings into a clean, pleasing, BEAUTIFUL in that it's meaningful way? Into a web, like a spider.

And the tangle of our veins. Here is a system I love: the cardio-vascular system. Perfectly positioned. But put one thing out of place and it all goes wrong. We build webs to match our veins, delicate as all get out. But we are capable of abstraction. We are capable of existing beyond what is natural, to rise above our nature. What kind of statement is that? Rising above our baser nature, is that not seeping reek of Christianity? But I think we could be more abstract. In love, I mean. In loving one another, we could be more abstract, don't you think?

And the second self? What if there is a third self? And a fourth self? More than one equal and more than one likeness? Or even, if there is no second self at all, no loss of you-ness because you never existed. What then would love or friendship or acquaintance-hood look like? No desire for completion, fulfillment, no unending search, no more Hugh Grant movies. Only contact. And really then, really, really, really, what would selfhood be? Could it be radiant, unshackled? Could we make defunct the phrase, "Defining myself by..."

I'm trying to say - I don't know if this is about me, or about you, or about us. I don't know if the horizon is getting blurry or if my eyes are getting worse. I looked to the internet (a new thing we are trying) and it said, "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: ... Post this address all over the Internet and curious people will click to a ... Dear Leticia, This morning, I looked up at the beautiful blue sky, ... Thank you sharing in this wonderful year with us! ... Love & Gratitude, ..." and also "It also makes me wonder if we can't administer oxytocin to ameliorate some behavioral problems. .... the jackpots of treats would soon come to outweigh the fear of the trim. ... I assuaged my grief and need for fur contact by knitting up all the yarn ... when suddenly I am hanging on to their leashes for dear life"

Well. So, yes, I'll be knitting up all the yarn. And kissing. And hanging on for dear life.

more on the birth of the internet, sweet sweet baby internet

this strip:
http://hijinksensue.com/2010/01/06/once-opened-may-never-be-closed/
is funny (for nerds) and made me think a bit more about the birth of the lovely human-machine hybrid we disgustingly call "the internet".
i've gotten completely off pandora. to hell with pandora. i'll choose my own music, thankyouvermuch, and i'll do it without any "meta"help. i'm getting really good at it too - i snag rips of 12" dubstep eps hot off the lines from cheery england. i spin em up on my newly built, beautifully deep cabinets in my room - the great thing about putting ten-inch car subwoofers in your room is that then, when you press the "bounce" button built into your bed, the whole thing shakes up and down like 80s LA all over again.
the whole thing? the whole bed? no - the whole room! and i've gotten into the habit of impromptu homework-break dance-breaks, to breakbeat and dub and harcore, with the lights off so that no one on the street can spy on any of my ridiculous posturings through my ginormous plasticolored windows - they wouldn't understand!
but i know you would, fellow squids, which is why as soon as i get my recording studio set up (which with help from deklen should be soon) i'll start to stream live video of said dance-breaks to the blog. ultimately, the goal is to convince little baby internet that dancing is a human skill worth saving, if only ultimately for its own occasional amusement, post-singularity.

ask the internet, part 1

hello squiddles! i have good news. the internet has woken up and so now you can ask it your most pressing questions. tmo and i are working on this right now, and we're here to present you with our findings.
all you have to do is ask the internet your question, using your favorite interface (we chose google):

dear internet, how does one get over trauma? thanks, lelz.

and then, like a mystical scrivener, you can read the search results and feel out your answer.
here's the first result:

ADAPT Action Report - Nashville Tennessee
All I did was to just come over there and pick him up and put him on the bed. The way I feel, ... It was November 22nd of 2004 I gout of the nursing home and thank... JT >> Lelz lawsuit with Advocacy Incorporated. And I live free now. ..... We would steal them and they would just get another one. ... God I'm free.
www.adapt.org/freeourpeople/aar/nash06/transcript.htm


As you can see, even the first result by itself is ripe with meaning. From the opening lines, the sexual innuendo and specific reference to our lives is clear. The internet is saying that we must pick him up and put him on the bed if we want to get over our trauma just like the internet did. Who is "him"? well, to answer that we will continue. In the next line, the internet puts itself into our place - november of 04 was indeed the month and year that we escaped the tight confines of social conditioning just a little bit - at least enough to play with freedom.
As we read on we see that the way to come to terms with trauma is by tactfully engaging with society in an ironic and sarcastic way, that is to say, by rejecting all previously held morals.

Thanks, internet!

in this case we didn't even need to interpret any of the further results.

we invite you all to try our method on your own pressing questions - but do realize that the internet is not a toy.

A Fraturnatural Morning

[note: just found this post that i never posted]

Once on a calm wharf
I spotted a ripple; an unexpected line of motion:
it grew
and it grew
did I mention it grow?
from the water there emerged,
like a salivating purple vagina monster bathed in chocolate
one
singular
eyestalk.

It blinked once, twice, swivel swivel, and then slapped me across the face and yelled, "squidpunkd!"

cool eh?

so im trying to find internet articles to back this up but last week i read a short blurb in the paper that, i think nationally, India is putting a third option for gender on all official forms. or at least for voting. maybe it's just the state i'm in, himachal pradesh, but i think it was national. anyway, male, female, other, it will be.


also if anyone wants to help me plan a 2 week romp through eurolands let me know. a few of you have done it and i'm sort of overwhelmed at the moment...

also http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBKmMA5f0Qo
love
me

along with our fellow squidmates

FOLLOW ME, MY SQUIDS, AND YOU WILL BE PART OF SOMETHING BIGGER THAN YOU'VE EVER KNOWN

on the position of the body (oi!)

amid legs, skins, the thick smell of piss, the colors of clothes and street art blend and mix. the rhythm of life is slower here. (waiting in line for a club last night, we began to dance to the rhythm of life--coconut water, metro buses, air conditioning and heat, hills, beaches, portuguese...)
i have further thoughts on the kindness of strangers, negotiating trust and gifts and favors, and the power of coincidence.
for now, off to coffee and the beach.

love from rio.