.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

> > midnight past, love songs fallen flat > & feelings my voice breaks to own > find no lift across th stagnant moat > seeping into their four-stroke pumphouse > > > every woman picks mother’s curse ripe > to fling a smile on turning back, loading > benevolent condescension fulfilled > in th ultimate abandonment of years: > > >’someone else will read yr full tact. > another touch will soothe yr burn, hold yr prime ‘ > -but no skin, no body mirrors mine > > > (desire in my head, flooding my heart alone) > to reflect bright fortunes in th sweaty glint > & fill & soften one another’s shadows into home > > > > viele gruesse, harry haller.d=(8{>

‘ I was filled with dissatisfaction, vague discontent with my life, which
had passed so quickly and uninterestingly, and I thought all the while how
good it would be to tear out of my breast my heart which had grown so
weary…’
(anton chekhov, ‘the house with the mezzanine’)

Mittwoch.20 dezember…1333h…
Greetings from stone ridge in th Hudson valley, on th catskill
foothills…!

Unmoored, yet no longer aimless-
Confident & reconciled:
secure in th ebb tide’s drift
curving its ice-blocked flow
in a warm wash against th far far shore…

Trying things out: synchronise, synchronise, synchronise…stumbling my way
about mr. Gates’ domains…
this is the time for rereading hesse’s ’steppenwolf’ & th Russians-
I return to some random stanzas by osip mandelstam-

why are there such songs in my soul
and so few dear names?
Why is a moment of rhythm mere chance
As when the north wind suddenly comes?

…do i perhaps know why I am weeping?
I can only sing and die.
Do not trouble me: I do not mean anything
And I cherish black chaos in black dreams.

…feign tenderness, stand by the pillow,
sing your life to sleep until its end-
as in legends, indulge your sorrow,
treat proud ennui as your friend.

love, passion & bitter belgian chocolate to all this holiday season!
davizzetj=(8{>

ayayay…
stephen dedalus says in th ulysses,
‘history is a nightmare from which i’m trying to awake’
well, @ this point in what is arguably th end of human history as western
civilization has conceptualised it since th renaissance & th ‘enlightenment’,
technology is th inescapable, recurrent nightmare i find myself bogged in.
after a second trip to th repair shop, an acrimonious telephone conversation
w/ a reticent tech, & over a month of waiting around, th best sony can do is
tacitly admit there is a problem in sending power, data & audio signals thru
th one cable & pc card connection by enclosing an audio cable to make a
separate connection between th ‘line out’ & ‘line in’ terminals…d-uh.
meanwhile, th problem i only noticed for th second trip out- th screen that
dims thirty seconds from booting when i run th laptop on battery power-
continues unabated. who do i go to? better business bureau? lawyers? i’m
exhausted, @ th end of my emotional & financial ropes.
it’s a choice between letting mike tyler, poet in residence @ th carlton
arms, ‘lease’ th machine from me if he cares to struggle w/ sony, inc. in new
york, or bringing it w/ me & take my chances on puerto rico sony service
shops & th extended international warranty i paid a couple of hundred extra
dollars for…
it’s gonna be a workout, exercising my thankfulness this thanksgiving. john @
th hotel threw out some nice french cheeses i bought for a dinner party i was
supposed to help organise & cook for yesterday…he did peevishly dismiss my
chagrin by assuring me he wd pay for them. let’s see if it’s not a major
operation, having him keep his word…
i miss november in weimar, & th soft, dusty-flaked snow coming down lightly
but steadily every night as i walked back from th railway station when th
internet cafe closed @ midnight…
i miss november in barcelona, & th blustery drizzle of mediterranean autumn
blowing down th narrow streets of el barrio gotico…
‘love, love/i have hung our cave w/ roses’
d=(8{>

(along w/ my continuing infatuation w/ sylvia plath, i have fallen in love
w/ th intense & personal photographic work of francesca woodman, who jumped
out of her apartment in th east village in 1981, @ th age of 22-)

(october 4, 1655h)
like a teenaging moon-june rhyme
love is achingly easy-
easy as doubt, easy as dread & disquiet:
a blinkered heart stuck in a one-stroke rush hour love is th fearful wallflower’s claim to heroism-
enduring in itself, by itself, for itself-
unheard, untouched, unrecognised & unreturned (october 6, 1236h)
a lifetime’s tumbling void beneath my tightrope walk
an ocean of tears roils in blood-red rust-
closed & closer, spite hums mouthy spells
to blind my heart’s deluded fall…
all or nothing is th course love taught
& in grating fruitless anger i bend to its rules
(2124h)
nobody home
nothing but a shell th wind whistles thru-
air rushes in to correct an imbalance: melt th icicles, cool th burn-
or, swelling in moisture’s conflicted embrace, rages
to soak th desert or lift a swamp to th river
(2206h)
days go by, years tick away minute by doubting minute
resentment keeps me bouncing th dead cat bounce
off th same listless bottom again & again many have made their half-honest fortune
wailing out my useless secret feelings loud for me-
why should i embarrass us further
sketching slapdash cathedrals of unshared yearning?
there is nothing left to break inside, & yet
a chandelier of tender childhood shame
shines brightly on lovey-dove, d=(8{>

(weird problems inserting adresses…)
…well, ten days ago yesterday i bought a cute, ultralite sony vaio
laptop.
if i had brought it in to j&r; before those ten days were up, i cd have had
an
exchange, no questions asked. but that one day of procrastination- added to
a
week of ’sure, i can troubleshoot this mofo myself’ -means i have to go
uptown to some sony store for them to diagnose & repair whatever may be
wrong
w/ it. symptoms: clipping beats when playing audio cd’s, one issue. issue
#2
is a sticky mouse click, that will sometimes drag & open files when i’m
merely moving th cursor…
where did i earn this foquin bad karma in dealing w/ technology???
i half-wish i’d just gone off to spain & continued to do my writing in
cafes
until i came back in november, then shopped around @ continued leisure…
what’s going on otherwise? my life feels like it’s ground to a halt after
all
these years of ’surrendering my will’ & still clutching @ broken shards of
control. it’s a little scary, but i’m starting to get used to th idea that
i
really have no idea what i’m doing in this world, how to organise my
priorities, whether i should be travelling, where i’m going in physical or
geographical or existential terms…but i’m also coming to th place where i
know pushing myself to stay in motion in order to sustain some illusion of
direction & purpose is just exhausting & not getting any results. in th
last
few days, in th midst of feelings of melancholy futility & aimlessness a
sense of acceptance has been dawning…i can give myself permission to
hesitate, to examine, to doubt & to trust & act only when i feel
comfortable
w/ th level of risk involved. i have all th time in th world to learn to
own
my life, to learn that it is indeed my life even if everything that happens
as part of it is not either my self- constructed purpose or an obstacle to
it! -i do know however, that i don’t want to go back to puerto rico until i
have some clear indication that i can start unpacking th boxes that have
been
sitting in caparra for th last seven years, gutting th storefront in vega
baja myself if i have to & getting it ready to hang my growing photography
collection. just call me charles foster kane-
‘rosebud…!’
-except i may be staying in this hotel room idefinitely, or finally flying
to
amsterdam & staying in europe indefinitely…i’m turning it over…
abrazos, davidj=(8{>

(weird problems inserting adresses…)
…well, ten days ago yesterday i bought a cute, ultralite sony vaio
laptop.
if i had brought it in to j&r before those ten days were up, i cd have had
an
exchange, no questions asked. but that one day of procrastination- added to
a
week of ’sure, i can troubleshoot this mofo myself’ -means i have to go
uptown to some sony store for them to diagnose & repair whatever may be
wrong
w/ it. symptoms: clipping beats when playing audio cd’s, one issue. issue
#2
is a sticky mouse click, that will sometimes drag & open files when i’m
merely moving th cursor…
where did i earn this foquin bad karma in dealing w/ technology???
i half-wish i’d just gone off to spain & continued to do my writing in
cafes
until i came back in november, then shopped around @ continued leisure…
what’s going on otherwise? my life feels like it’s ground to a halt after
all
these years of ’surrendering my will’ & still clutching @ broken shards of
control. it’s a little scary, but i’m starting to get used to th idea that
i
really have no idea what i’m doing in this world, how to organise my
priorities, whether i should be travelling, where i’m going in physical or
geographical or existential terms…but i’m also coming to th place where i
know pushing myself to stay in motion in order to sustain some illusion of
direction & purpose is just exhausting & not getting any results. in th
last
few days, in th midst of feelings of melancholy futility & aimlessness a
sense of acceptance has been dawning…i can give myself permission to
hesitate, to examine, to doubt & to trust & act only when i feel
comfortable
w/ th level of risk involved. i have all th time in th world to learn to
own
my life, to learn that it is indeed my life even if everything that happens
as part of it is not either my self- constructed purpose or an obstacle to
it! -i do know however, that i don’t want to go back to puerto rico until i
have some clear indication that i can start unpacking th boxes that have
been
sitting in caparra for th last seven years, gutting th storefront in vega
baja myself if i have to & getting it ready to hang my growing photography
collection. just call me charles foster kane-
‘rosebud…!’
-except i may be staying in this hotel room idefinitely, or finally flying
to
amsterdam & staying in europe indefinitely…i’m turning it over…
abrazos, davidj=(8{>

towards wellness:
how do you say ‘yola’ in english? ketch?
-a long, narrow, flat-bottomed rowboat…?
went rowing in th hudson yesterday as th sun set behind th new high rises on
th jersey city waterfront. not counting th coxswain, there were four of us
joining our efforts@ th oars.
…it only took me three weeks to be there by five-thirty on a wednesday
since my friend gaynor cote told me about this outfit- ‘floating th apple’- &
yesterday, she managed to get away from her desk @ th united nations in time
to join th crew in a second boat. she tells me they actually have a couple
of dozen riverworthy vessels, some of them setting off from red hook in
brooklyn… i was fairly envious: th furthest we sailed from port was th
northern edge of battery park city- maybe there were too many beginners among
us- where gaynor told of crossing th hudson to th jersey shore on her earlier
outings.
my zitz(?)bones are sore for th first time since i was a student @ th martha
graham school of contemporary dance almost twenty-five years ago…! my lower
back is also feeling th effects, but not as bad as i feared from th initial
weariness after an hour (-& a half?) of pulling oar.
growing up in vega baja, a couple of summers when i was around fourteen we
had th most unusual boat- an ‘arkansas traveler’, a broad aluminum shell
made for drifting around ponds & down muddy creeks, fishing rod in hand. i
may have done some rowing on that boat, though i seem to remember we mostly
took it on family outings & would power it on those occasions w/ a
two-horsepower english outboard- a ‘manchester seagull’?? not manchester,
ridiculous…
i just flashed on th last time i actually went rowing in vega baja: i’d been
up all night doing psychedelics w/ my outlaw friend raymond orsini & @
daybreak, we ‘borrowed’ a cousin’s boat, dismantling a rusty padlock to get
into my uncle’s beachfront property. we rowed out to th peñones-sharp
outcroppings of brown, calcareous rock that rise out of th ocean in a line
to define th inlet that is ‘la playa de vega baja’ – & picked sea snails-
‘bulgaos’ that we had my aunt marian’s domestic & cook boil for us…she
made a comment about how back home in st. kitts they had some of those- only
three times th size, nearly big as yr fist!
anyway, th story last evening seemed to be not just about working on form &
technique, but about immediately developing & sustaining th awareness to
fully engage whatever level of skill one had in th service of building a
group rhythm- to rowing as a team.
not easy, but a beautiful, exhilarating, crucially meaningful experience for
me under th circumstances: developing th skills involved in teamwork- for
film production, for webprojects- seems to be th main task & focus of my life
these days…
bighugs, david=(8{>

- translation: en route again?

what can we do? we were born w/ th great unrest. our father taught us that
life is one long journey on which only th unfit are left behind.
-caribou eskimo to dr.knud rasmussen, quoted
by bruce chatwin in ‘th songlines’

i finally read ‘th songlines’. my friend marylou(merilu?) meibers, who passed
on last month, had recommended it to me- & chatwin as an author in general-
when it first came out…so i wanted to acknowledge her importance in helping
me set this direction…gonna miss you, ms.m…
i may adopt that term, ‘th great unrest’: all too often, when i start on th
theme of desire, people tend to identify it exclusively w/ sex- which is,
admittedly, th crucial area we tend to experience desire in relation to- but
think of ambition, aspiration, greed, hunger- even nostalgia & longing- & how
they all participate in th outward direction of a self that seeks its rest &
fulfillment in th objects & circumstance that pleasurably ensure its physical
survival & psychological coherence: in th obliteration of its own perceived
lack & incompleteness, & th control of its satisfactions…?
thru wander/lust/media.com as internet start-up i want to explicitly address
each of th elements in th company/project’s name & build a business model
that grows from th realization of th limits of virtual ‘content, community &
commerce’ & its consequent contextualization in geography, localism & brick &
mortar shelters for our liferoutes.
i wd hazard a broad definition of lust, even: lust is precisely th human
tendency to distort th relationship between sex & desire by narrowing th
focus of sexual activity to th purely physical aspects of pleasure in order
to exclude th overwhelming emotional(-& arguably, spiritual)factors, charge,
burdens, circumstance, linkages?- th human animal nearly unavoidably
experiences as part of th vulnerability & breakdown in sense of self that
accompanies intimacy w/ another person, another body…
…in relation to wandering, i hear opposing notions in th culture:
you can only do yr true work in yr place of birth, vs.-
nadie es profeta en su tierra (nobody is a prophet in his/her own land?)
…further, correjter’s beautiful copla-
en la vida todo es ir
a lo que el tiempo deshace
sabe el hombre donde nace
y no donde va a morir
(all in life is th going
towards th undoing of time
a man knows where he is born
& not where he will die- excuse th shaky translation)

-so i want to create a forum for exiles, emigres, expatriates(th more neutral
term) to discuss their succeses in adapting, th emotional discomforts &
thrills in finding a purpose for their talents & skills w/in an alien
cultural context…
i apologize to th collection of friends, family & passing acquaintances that
has become my audience over th last couple of years for th long silence. hit
a serious emotional bottom there. hello again. my current plans call for a
week in nyc & possibly new hiking shoes, a week in barcelona to restart th
ball rolling on getting th screenplay produced, then two weeks to hike th
250km from astorga to santiago de compostela, a week of recovery in galicia,
or an early start on returning to barcelona to allow for a stopover in
pamplona, & ideally, a stopover in amsterdam on th way back to nyc- puerto
rico. i don’t think i’m voting this year.
big hugs & love to all,
davidj=(8{>

…meaning, it’s gotten so hard to take permission to set aside th growing
online office chores & write, just write, my original purpose to all this!
my curiosity makes a sometimes explosive, sometimes frustrating combo w/ my
compulsivity. i check every piece of junk e-mail out before deleting, which
takes more & more time as th marketing cookies add up, server to server
across th tightening fiber-optic web…
it’s difficult to come to nyc because once here, i have a hard time leaving-
even visiting @ what to me feels like th worst time, now, sweltering summer
in th city/back of my neck gettin dirty & gritty…town overrrun by rutting
beyootiful peeple eurotourists…ah well…i’ll take a few breaths & do a
second part before sending this- (quarter after eight, tuesday th
eleventh…)
(friday th 13 fall on a thursday this month! watch out! -as churchy would
have said…anyone remember churchy, pogo’s alligator pal?)
…another plus/minus crazymaking summer quality in nyc is th number of
scantily clad women strolling ambling skating rushing pedalling wandering
oozing down th street…i’m going to retreat to a cave w/ a fast t3 backbone
connection, away from th frustrating world of touch/don’t touch, flesh&blood,
brcik&mortar, & wind down what’s left of my life as th virtual sensorium
powers up th matrix all around me…reach out & touch th waterfall of digits
washing over th unmeasurable distance to fragile, sealed off skinmeat…
seems i’ve trippd & stumbled back down th bottomless futility well…
love, d=(8{>

there. made morning zazen @ centrozen en caimito.
come right down to it, all reality is virtual.
…yes ana, you were so right. maybe it’s just that th emotional tone of
th short stories seems so deeply lived- and resonates more personally than
th more plot-punchy novels-
i’m speaking of william gibson & his collection of early short stories,
burning chrome. there’s a story in there- ‘hinterlands’- had me close to
tears from th first page, & then- this man knows how to use th possibilities
of ’science fiction’ like nobody else i’ve read. there’s phillip k. dick
using th genre in a similar way, but he engages th human question from a more
-hmm- ’scientific?’ anthropological? epistemological, perceptual angle?
gibson is (was?) a little vaguer…? in a way, it’s more about th effect- but
th sense of loss & limitless longing that he so vividly- cosmically??-
portrays- creates…is so palpable & overwhelming, even as he wears a bit of
a postmodern smirk out of th side of his stylistic face, playing w/ th
conventions of th genre…as you may notice, i’ve bn floored…
gonna be two in th afternoon, need a bite, planning to see a dance
performance for th first time in a looong while- lolita villanua’s company-
‘andanza’ (or is that just th name of th recital/program?) closes a weekend
run @ teatro tapia in old san juan w/ a matinee @ three-thirty…
i’m angry @ myself for writing so stingily these days…
abrazos, d=(8{>