word from a bird in a puddle...and what is travelling for?

today we're leaving for matagualpa from grenada today...sunday we climbed a volcano (mumbacho) and put our heads in the clouds! yesterday i saw some islands, monkeys and trees, a volcano's rocky vomit that grew trees. (as tmo and i know well, beautiful things can be crafted from vomit.)
generally, it is funny travelling this way--in a little bubble made from cordoba-dollars. good to see people doing things, to feel the fluidity of my place in the world...or at least the millions of tiny worlds that are always just out of view. to brush up against something hard and distant, and to remember what i can and cannot do with my hands; what i can make and transform, and how i still don't know how to build a house or fix electrical wires or give an allergy shot, but i can make necklaces and zines and drawings--
if we all had to rely on what we could create out of nothing...?
funny, this time, maybe like many travels, to feel somewhat displaced, a little homeless except for the home built of fellow souls, soon unlimited by the walls of the bäo...echoing jbird i am wondering what we're waiting for...

mumbling muttering packing a subtle smoke behind the jungle-garden, air like sweat sweat like pools like a night in the mumbai airport six years ago, silence silence and i am so much the sister/a she, reading "wind-up bird chronicles" and confused about reality and dreams--dreaming intensely (my mother is pregnant and z is playing with clowns and a thousand-year old ficus named the thief wife is just around the corner)--

adraft adrift.

a joint-op operation

Leli does not want to watch tv...

said the hermit crab in a moment of lucid brilliance. 

Take me home! no, wait-

Cries of "free, free Palestine" mingle with hippie jam bands whining through weak speakers.  The question is, what's weaker here?  The speakers or the coffee.  I think it's the the nylons ridden with runs that wrap around Malic's ribcage, girl parts bursting forth.  Almost.  Not quite.  Leli knows that Malic is a boy now. 

It pours in rains and torrents of droves like pidgeons sitting-toed all in 1 well-tended & perma-coifed row.

it covers the sky but not the bird cry or the rip, rip, ripping of a nylon lie-

Leli ran into Terrence today. If Leli were as jacked on sugar as Terrence, maybe he, too could put on a 3-minute performance in the Reynold's club lobby consisting of nothing but coughing, coughing, and more coughing, 

"Ack! hhhg ick ahchem ack ack kcha hrrrrg rrrr ack ack ack!"

He put ten packets of sugar into two cups of coffee and swallowed it down in two gulps. Leli watched in horror as the sugar swam, from his throat to his stomach, from his stomach to his blood, from his blood to his head, from his head to his eyes, darting out of his face - and his eyes to his hands -

PAKOW! they explode into space.

He escaped lecture today by playing sick.  The boy who cried wolf . Leli says that Malic seems disillusioned.

Our lives are disjunctional.  We are consuming, consuming.  Yet we reject coffee and blocks of bison meat with ease.  Perhaps we can eliminate one by one--the flesh, the dairy, the smoke that slithers--until we purify into a poof (PAKOW!) of everything and nothing.  Like snakes eating their tails.

"It's hard to hang out and not consume.  We consume each other," Rolly says.

Wise words from sequined squid.