.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

Friday th 21, 05.1999 in a way, I’ve gotten my wish- what passion I can’t channel thru action or burn as fuel

for th higher flame of aspiration, I bleed out- but th flow & release don’t seem to be so much about how desire

works itself out thru a particular physiology of life processes- as women’s menses could, arguably, if not from

a totally unconventional perspective, be seen as doing- but about losing my grip in th struggle, th very

process & effort of holding back, seeking to harness & channel desire itself-desire like a swirling hot wind of

stubborn, enduring youthfulness that keeps me ever hungry & parched w/ thirst…
I bleed, I bleed for no direction/home…for endless suspicious bargaining, jockeying for position in seeking

to allay anxiety & assure security & comfort…I bleed for th pressure of worldly circumstance- for sheer

seasonal heat, for th single glass of dense red wine, th spice of life, th potstill spirits- for fear of

flying, displacement & abandonment…an aimless point/like a rolling stone… desire finds no home in my body,

no avenue out…settles into my gut, circling into itself, & seeps out, mingled in sweat, urine, feces… th

doctors are baffled by these symptoms- there is no cause for alarm, they insist:
I am in th best of health…it is merely an unnerving embarrassment-noticing, as I stand up, th spot of blood

on th finely upholstered chair I’ve bn sitting in, in th lobby of th investment banker’s office…
lavv, d=(8{>

Friday th 14, 05.1999 (19h29)
too early in th year, th weather has turned sultry.
hot air blows out of th south in desultory gusts. rafa valle’s horses are whinnying (neighing?) in th gloaming

& th oily full tide slaps against th seawall… th latest-last straw just added to my tinderbox of frustration

& sweltering anger: compuserve ‘unexpectedly quit due to a type 2 error’- precisely when I clickd to save my

earlier writing draft…
it’s been a week. mother’s day I spent on th phone to apple, in not-too-fruitful troubleshooting. my cute

little rented imac started crashing on startup a week ago yesterday, if memory(!) serves me right- would not

budge beyond th smiling mac, would not so much as begin to breathe a glance @ th ol’ system.
tony’s mac, th reseller I rented this priceless jewel from, neglected to include th system software cd’s in th

package, so I had to borrow my friend maria’s disks-she owns this baby’s exact lime-colored twin…
so after all th disk first aid repair, update drivers blah blah bullshit in dialogue w/ yr hardworking apple

tech drones, we get to restoring system software… and then again, later in th day, after some lunch @ uncle

oscar & marian’s, reinstalling a second time- a full clean install this time, after trouble continued… &

trouble, indeed, continues: th rest of th week has been a mess of continual desktop rebuilding after endless

compuserve & netscape crashes, broken connections & interrupted downloads…
I rented this machine to take a break from my troubled powerbk 5300, still running system 7.6, hoping to catch

up on some work while checking th new improved mac os 8.51 out… as alanis sings, ‘isn’t it ironic?’ this is

th new apple, th new mac?
* so I continue to take deep breaths & consider taking a chance on learning to deal w/ th alternate quirks &

troubles of th wintel world…

meanwhile, th plans & projects I call my life are up in th air & on hold… I’m exhausted, all my wishing will

not make any one dream real & th marketing savvy & negotiating hooks necessary to enlist th moneymen’s energies

& allegiance seem to elude me… will I make it to europe this year? will I visit w/ my brother peter in

weimar & enjoy any of its offerings as european cultural capital @ millenium’s end? will I walk th pilgrimage

route to santiago de compostela? will I decide I’m ready & can afford th ny film academy’s six-week intensive

film production workshop in paris?
to quote th anna karina character in goddard’s ‘pierrot le fou’,
‘qu’est-ce que je vais faire?…je ne sais pas quoi faire…! qu’est-ce que
je vais faire?…je ne
sais pas quoi faire…! qu’est ce je vais faire?…’
(a suivre…)
l’amour, toujours- d=(8{>

Wednesday th 05, 05.1999 (21h44) maybe this is a crucial, integral, essential part of th process, a good sign

of being on th right path, a positive first or second or third step along th way, but it certainly is

bewildering, confusing & oftentimes frustrating…is it something new? maybe it’s merely a personality quirk,

one particular level of conditioning & illusory rationalisation…there doesn’t seem to be one focus, one

significant object that draws th attention of my desire- seeming to promise fulfillment where others may

not…it’s as if I’ve lost th faculty of discrimination- all objects that excite my desire promise partial

satisfactions, perishable… possibilities multiply into meaningless infinity…
Thursday th 06, 05.1999 (11h54) as 1983 became th dire year 1984 & my thirtieth birthday approached, th

landscape & weather of my heart took form around me on old silver beach in cape cod…it was colder than usual

that winter, from what everybody said-ponds & cranberry bogs froze because of subzero temperatures for days on

end…but then there was a dramatic, prolonged midwinter thaw, fog showing in thick cones of light from th

old-fashioned road lamps & condensing to drip from th wires looping loosely down between posts…
Sunday th 09, 05.1999 (20h03) what a pain in th ass…restore & reinstall & clean install for mother’s day

&&&fquin keyboard…later… (23h20) doglynx…catwolf or

wolfcat…felupus…wolfeline…felis-canis-lupus…cat-wolfdog…coyote/coyotrick…gatepack… bat swooping

down @ me on th run to cibuco tonight…testing & leading me…th converse to gerard manley hopkins’ ‘morning’s

minion’, th ‘windhover’…dogs along th darkening twilit road…green fireflies back out in force on my

return…I’m daring mself to go just a little further in th dark along th driftwood & seaweed strewn shore

towards th cibuco rivermouth every other run or so…
(wed.th 12th- having a hard time finding time, making time again…making
appointments, meetings, dance & yoga
& ch’i k’ung/qi gong classes…too much in th world & not of it?)

Tuesday th 04, 05.1999 (20h44) nuts. love is gone, love is over & done with: nothing in this world for me but

endlessly replaying loss, over & over & over again… for th last three days, compuserve mail software has

kept me from posting this poem originally addressd to christalía back in ‘84…let´s see if copying it here &

back finally sends it out…
(gender line, period. -nyc, 1984)
imagine a seal on yr tissues: every harm in having yr fill
stagnates in a red tide that sloshes th heart about its cage.
imagine th body an indistinct womb, toenail to thyroid to chin-
a disarticulating cradle glued thick w/ anxiety.
imagine no release when inspiration has not taken flesh, no mourning fits prepared by measured bleeding-no

issue, no avenue but thought, no exit or shelter but empty sky:
th only route out of th gut that sloughs its burdens
to mark its weight is th awkward pleasure
of our daily crap, trembling down th gut to keep from tearing th skin (th sight of a man’s blood is a different

form of assurance)
imagine th sameness of days without return as tears well up
only to lose their way, falling back down th throat-
dark drops lost in darkness again while th calendar trumpets
a new day, a new month, a different year…
imagine I grew up away from life-
arc of my father’s cock in th wind outside th seasons-
th spark of womb in th cell denied its code.
imagine I live like this- losing offspring every day
I drink, eat & sleep my heartburn into ashes
learning to nurse another ghost & vomit blood for evidence.

(love always to c.o.v…d=(8{>)
my nightmares become real: for my last performance(art)piece back in ‘92, I
casually & succintly predicted ‘pistol pete navaja’ rosselló wd not only be
elected governor later that year, but still be in power in ‘98…I saw a
couple of young fed-nerd types taking seawater samples up by th public
beach, puerto nuevo, as I returnd from my run- this was an image I had for
that same piece, but I cdn’t stage it- my idea was actually that regular
summer-vacationing vegabajeños wd have their own kits issued out to them to
regularly check contaminant levels in critically polluted waters…we may
not be too far off…I’ve just started getting stuff from surfrider
foundation’s representative in p.r., ricky de soto- glad to be on their
list & become more active & pro-active on environment- & especially water
quality & conservation issues…
pa’lante! d=(8{>

Wednesday th 21, 04.1999 (12h51) great. doing a little better.
second acupuncture treatment
in as many weeks, first cuppa joe since last Friday!
…in his early hitsong ‘tu nombre me sabe a yerba’
* yr name tastes like grass to me??- joan manuel serrat sings/wrote, ‘because it´s you I love/because I love

you/ I came down from hill country/& took to th sea’…
well- my life, my joy & pleasure, my tasks for recovery & acceptance of my self -whatever contingent bundle of

learnd traits & sensory perspectives may serve as grounding axioms for my current existence, whatever this self

may be for th time being (for ‘Th Time Being’??)
* th more positive forces that serve to orient me seem to pointedly lead in th opposite direction: away from th

roiling seashore of my childhood & youth, now severely compromised, nearly eroded away- & up th sharp, steep

slopes into la cordillera central of my birth island…admittedly, what we call mountains in puerto rico are

overturnd ice cream cones compared to th tall continental ranges on this planet, & I don’t believe my steps are

inexorably leading me to scale th geographical everest- but it has always seemd & felt extremely satisfying to

me to literalise & physicalise my ruling metaphors, whether of a more personal nature, or culturally derived to

th point of being markedly worn w/ common usage…th big ‘camino d santiago’ pilgrimage plan for this year

arising from this current (th image & sense of th companion I search for is framed by th gate labeled ‘mountain

woman’: since I have taken to heart th injunction to become myself what I lack, need & seek, I’ve bn able to

enjoy th path & th process a reat deal more than I seemd to be able to until very recently…)
…then th weekend got a little nuts & exhausting, beginning w/ a climb to th summit of el yunque on thursday &

two cups of espresso to get me going on friday…so here it is, after midnight on monday going into dawn of

tuesday th 27th…overextending mself, second-guessing myself, my choices by default & tired by roadtime…
luff, d=(8[>

it’s two in th morning, my address bk wasn’t imported or copied & i don’t know where it is, th keyboard is

french or spanish or catalan & i have no idea how to- where to- which keys are th regular accent aigu…
david & megan are all tuckd in & tuckered out after helping a friend of david’s move prior to his wedding…
it was a ‘puertorriqueño como yo’ day- i chose ´none of th above’ by
default because i wasn’t certain of my priorities- i didn’t make morning
meditation @ centrozen, didn’t make th fondo
d mejoramiento hike, didn’t make th congreso hostosiano assembly in vega
baja…
i was even late for th birthday lunch celebration…i thought of copping
out on writing
this last-minute up-to-th-last-minute bulletin & digging out, brushing th
cobwebs & polishing
up another of th old poetic gems sitting moldering in th vault, but it was
going to be just
as much work, if not more, & intolerable to myself under th
circumstances…
let’s see how i perform as host, very unusual role for me- living as i do
as a guest
in th houses of my family of birth, still…
now i just need to rebuild my address book…
monday th 19, 11h38- errands w/ david & megan? light for th downstairs bathrm, groceries, a couple of fans,

mosquito repellent…did four morning pages today to balance my general skimpiness…finally found myself

working on backstory for th beny crescioni story…but i’ll just send this for now & keep on thinking out loud

for th next few days, maybe it’s worth it to try short daily installments that add up to th one weekly text…

(mallarmé on th beach)

branches rub & squeak like calling birds, but

listen! waves rustle in th background & engage

th shore in bitterweet nothings. once in a while

a pebble rings as th day slumps back, ears open wide-

eyes are another matter: a question of motion set

off in dubious awareness, stumbling to light between

boundaries that test duration. th name for a sight

spins around to catch th hiding thing it came from-

it will not succeed. secure above clouds, th sky

weathers all storms…th world is shaken & refreshd

for an instant suspended out of measure, then withers

in th glare that made th life in moisture leap & shine.

th dry singsong of friction in th wind told us

th tree was dead before we reachd it. shrivelld

green fruit hang fast & thick on hollow branches-

their outline knots a tangld fan against th blue.

(vega baja, summer ‘85- ‘86?)

(th juiciest plum to ripen out of my…solipsistic formalism tendency?

-evidencing, to be perfectly honest, a fair amount of ‘99 revision work…

when i started th journal last summer, th first, nearly immediate shift

in attitude & focus i experienced as i sought to exercise th discipline of

regular

public address, was away from th concrete relationship to friends of very

diverse

background, character & tastes, & th contrived perspective of constituting

& regarding

them as a more or less ‘interactive’ ‘audience’ (th ‘kfeen 13′)

towards spelling/spinning/spilling out context to ground th particular

emotional place

i find myself in (…also to bring to th foreground- expose & engage- th

variety of

strengths & weaknesses i am all too aware of in my writing) in th actual

physical

environment i seem to return to again & again, exploring as thoroughly as

possible

its metaphorical possibilities, its ‘resonance’…?

risking th tightrope & temptation of solipsistic self-referentiality w/ th

consummate

grace of karl wallenda even as he fell to his death in th heart of th

tourism district,

surrounded by th condado hotels…w/ special regards to paco boyer &

heartfelt wishes

for th completion of his thesis & receiving his doctorate…

velo, d=(8{)>

(mallarmé on th beach)
branches rub & squeak like calling birds, but
listen! waves rustle in th background & engage
th shore in bitterweet nothings. once in a while
a pebble rings as th day slumps back, ears open wide-

eyes are another matter: a question of motion set
off in dubious awareness, stumbling to light between
boundaries that test duration. th name for a sight
spins around to face th hiding thing it came from-

it will not succeed. secure above clouds, th sky
weathers all storms…th world is shaken & refreshd
for an instant suspended out of measure, then withers
in th glare that made th life in moisture leap & shine.

th dry singsong of friction in th wind told us
th tree was dead before we reachd it. shrivelld
green fruit hang fast & thick on hollow branches-
their outline knots a tangld fan against th blue.

(vega baja, summer ‘85- ‘86?)
(th juiciest plum to ripen out of my…solipsistic formalism tendency?
* evidencing, to be perfectly honest, a fair amount of ‘99 revision work… when i started th journal last

summer, th first, nearly immediate shift in attitude & focus i experienced as i sought to exercise th

discipline of regular public address, was away from th concrete relationship to friends of very diverse

background, character & tastes, & th contrived perspective of constituting
& regarding them as a more or less ‘interactive’ ‘audience’ (th ‘kfeen 13′) towards spelling/spinning/spilling

out context to ground th particular emotional place i find myself in (…also to bring to th foreground- expose

& engage- th variety of strengths & weaknesses i am all too aware of in my writing) in th actual physical

environment i seem to return to again & again, exploring as thoroughly as possible its metaphorical

possibilities, its ‘resonance’…?
risking th tightrope & temptation of solipsistic self-referentiality w/ th consummate grace of karl wallenda

even as he fell to his death in th heart of th tourism district, surrounded by th condado hotels…w/ special

regards to paco boyer & heartfelt wishes for th completion of his thesis & receiving his doctorate…
velo, d=(8{>)

it’s been a roller-coaster of a month- often more like a seesaw, w/ seemingly no distance travelled, no ground

covered, no displacement @ all between highs & lows, ups & downs, peaks & troughs…
back to double espressos @ a single gulp & double my usual dose of st.john’s wort this last week, & all i can

do to keep from napping right after breakfast & thru th afternoon…
i thought i might profit from letting suspense build while i mulled over how more elegantly to braid th various

narrative strands i started weaving a while back, but truth is, as i approach emotionally loaded themes, inner

resistance grows & following thru gets increasingly difficult…
then, too, i just turnd 45 & i’m having a hard time getting used to it… time & life seem to slip inexorably

away while i futilely nurture hopes for artistic & business projects that jostle for scarce inner space among

th clutter of more personal unfulfilld desires…
but it’s not all inner anguish: precisely in seeking to ascertain th current conditions of wetlands remnants in

th neighboring area & view th damage i knew of second-hand, some of my worst fears regarding irresponsible

development have been confirmed. first of all some good news: th subdivision development of th old dairy farm

in th cibuco area (which i continually refer to in relation to my inspiring runs) seems to be indefinitely

stalled, if not stoppd, due to findings of precolumbian, most likely taíno archeological remains- not just

potsherds, but from what i hear, graves w/ skeletal remnants… on th down side, my walks west along th beach

past th old army & national guard target area led me to a huge (eight-ten feet tall as you walk inland, about

th same measure wide?) ditch, construction- again- abandoned for th time being, leading up to what seems like a

small filtration plant by a development known as ‘villa d los pescadores’- which seems to be clearing ground

for expansion…more untreated sewag into th ocean? closer (literally) to home, wanting to take a look @

another small aqueducts & sewers plant, i found a swampy ditch, no better than an open sewer of stagnant,

seemingly unprocessd discharge…told musin suárez about it- his parents’ home & his own lot combining

boatyard, workshop & fishmonger’s shed being no more than two-three hundred yards away…offered to add my

voice & efforts to any course of action that we cd get a concerned group of residents to agree on- no word as

of yet… i just wonder what sort of a crisis will be necessary for awareness of how deep th shit we’re in is

already to hit home…?
biglove, d=(8{>

(ars amatoria, circa 1985)

th streetlamps are on

I lie down in th middle of nowhere

you appear on th horizon & I walk yr way

I do not pursue when you run & hide

I find my way to th spot you fled & sit down

if I catch sight of you again I rise & continue

I do not believe I am going anywhere in particular

you seem to be making yr way into th wild

I am better at ease in th open grasslands

but I figure th forest will suit me in yr company

if you lose me I will search out a clearing:

I will not sleep where stars are hidden from sight

I hope you know what you are doing: if you

cannot be reached, I will not be left behind

loff, d=(8{>