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.

at the madison infoshop

so geez i guess ive been in madison for three-and-a-half weeks now and haven't written anything on this here blog.
in the begnning i collected little sentences/snippets in my mind to share with you all: "i live in a home without keys" "both of the toilet flushers are sticky" "i have a carpet in my bedroom" "i don't want to assume that i can just absorb clint's friendships by association" "i have a door i have a door i have a door what do i do with this thing"

anyway but now that sort of amazement of the difference of mundanities is fading. except for every time clint says "bag" i still can't believe the wisconsin accent exists. (you should have heard my reaction to "snaggletooth"! he seriously said "snaeggle tooth" wow so cool!). my muscles have grown accustomed to the 3-block long hill i climb every day to get to school. I'm used to how still and beautiful my house looks with the white day light streaming through the red curtains and the hundreds of hankies hanging from the ceiling. the garden keeps on growing. flowers turn to squash turn to dinner. this house is so beautiful you guys. i can't wait for some of you to see it. (whoever comes, that is)

so my madison legs are growing you see. i dont feel as rootless, as vulnerable. the people i meet/have met are interesting/ed, friendly, supportive.

z:"guys, i really don't know about this kichadi, i think i fucked up. i think it's gonna be boring."
c:"you're doin it, you're doin it. at least you fucked up authoritatively and with confidence."
clint's comment made me realize i would never have done that until recently (past 2 months or so..."since india" i guess.) I am appreciated for what I bring to the home... no-knead bread, sweet oatmeal, banana bread, silly cartoons, the butt game (& "up your butt"), an appreciation of sphincters in general, dancing and singing, and a desire to live in the public communal space.
the roost enriches and supports the faux op, and i know when i return to chicago the faux op will nourish me there. i've introduced many roostisms: certain faces (maybe you know the one in particular to which i refer-- teeth out, nom nom), certain reports (fake chastising and self-deprecation). oh and BAO!
baos here at the faux op sound slightly different-- a little more like a dog's song. more at the front of the mouth. i find myself baoing much more here than in hyde park, though it's been less and less this past week. my first weeks here i couldn't stop. it was a home-noise. it made me feel comfortable & expressive when riding my bike, walking into and around the house...
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hours later, at home, i'm trying to finish up this post. i had so much more to write about, where did it all go? i am rolling and smoking cigarettes here, so that's a newish thing.

oh yes yes, the rain is coming, i hear it coming down. i live on a busy street, i hear the cars rolling by. i hear the folky acousticy music noah is playing downstairs in the lab where he grows mushrooms. oh rain.
i have been sleeping in the front room here. I don't like walking into my room at night and lying on my big empty mattress and closing the door (well, the door stays open). i dont like the sanctioning of space as mine. most of the time. it makes masturbating a lot easier than in the roost (wow. that was complicated, or at least obnoxious.)
though i have decorated the walls with little pieces of nice paper, reminding me of people and places. it all seems too quaint, too discreet.

so i sleep in the front room on a futon, usually after staying up too late talking and reading watership down with clint. a detrimental habit for both of us, as we wake up around 7:30 and make oatmeal and coffee and talk some more.
and then i go to hindi class. hours of sitting down in a grey room in a grey building with tiny 1-foot wide windows, talking about india. weird. but i have made some buddies there and like the social atmosphere very much.
it's time for me to write 10 sentences using the past-participle-adjectival construction ("the came-from-school boys"), and then drink some tea/tinctures and fall asleep.
I look forward to welcoming those of you who are in chicago into my home soon. july 16th to be exact. if you are hesitant to take a break from chicago, or feel busy... just give madison a chance. we can go biking to an old-growth campsite and look at STARS (so many stars) and stencil, garden, make food, bike around, go swimming, go to a local microbrew's beer tasting (every friday 4 to 7 at star liquors), etc etc. lots of fun lovely people await just 150 miles north!
love
-zee

cow horns are not phallic

Do novu Do novo!!
yeah 3 year old gustavo's favorite phrase after spinning him around, making faces.
equally favorite chant of the gay bloco, hundreds of eyes gazing upward at an apartment balcony where two men lip-smack again, again, again, again

fat black man from the favella is king of carnaval, men are dressed as women (I am swooning from both androgyny and heat), carnaval cannibal, beautiful asses framed by explosive feathers. sacks of beer cans dragged around by children: the top are on the bottom and the bottom on the top but watery beer blurs the line, yeah the interstice, the rev-verve-sals

back to the farm tonight thank the saints of candomble. a hierarchy of skills instead of things. toucans and not fairies have wings.