.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

(ayianito: peddona te inunde tanto el hardraiv- mi last dialogue con paco boyer incluye joyitas para inspiración lit&creativa, ideas re.:pretensiones culturales d/para mi diario d peregrino…d=(8{>)
Frank Boyer, INTERNET: fboyer@netstep.net
Date: Die, 05. Jan 1999 11:33:23 PM

Messex written by Foyer
“fra minehole project of my dissert a ton, tying to come a way of doing it that doesn’t make me sick unto death.
* yikes! get thee th healing balm of gilead & lead me on a pilgrimage there… drifts deter generic placement starting to reflect on mi nancy those reflections seem to me to be gin to coal to form.
* funny, you had a comment (criticism?) a while back about dates & tying my musings to th specific- to th strictly anecdotic- & i bristld @ first, but learnd from it- it’s a tightrope (th tightrope of all art???) because i tend to use th anecdote to ground a tendency to fly into discursive abstraction that clots up there

in th ether & often comes crashing down like so much pretentious flying pig shit… anyway, glad you enjoy my process…hope you find a way to leaven/lighten yr own…
As Kerouac once wrote, “What you feel will find its own form.”
* oh, yes, ‘ti jean! thanx for that quote!
Have you read Bruce Chatwin.
* yup, some- got an anthology of shorter articles here…
You know that Cain was a wanderer. Take a look at Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage and Cain, both by good ol’ boy Byron.”
* know what i started (re)reading (never finishd it th 1st time)? weber’s ‘protestant ethic & th spirit of capitalism’: have vague ideas about trying to focus my online travel diary (if -) on/as a journey tracing luther- reform- central europe towards th west- middle ages- catholicism &c &c… meanwhile looking @ th first effects of th monetary unification of europe… true imperialism of centralising capital…blahblah… good ol’(bad)boy byron wd be a luvly change of pace…i’ll have to shop for it…
————— End rig in a Mess ————
loof, d=(8{>

(-& empty arms… go’bless th deutsche sprache, in which ‘th moon’ is masculine:der mond- el luna? -el luno??
* & th sun is gendered femenine: die sonne, la sol! lovely reversal of th conventional gender associations- @ least for latin-derived, romance languages…)

(Wednesday th 17, 12.1997)
I can’t think or run away-
th road is louder than th radio
* this off-road time machine of mine won’t hide th grey in th rearview-th road is louder than th radio

(only christmas cards I get
are from brokerage house moneymen…
I’m nothing but a client- how much for
th little white lie of yr love?)

I can’t hide so I can’t stay-
there’s a full moon all over th world
* tv hosts in finland & france beam us their gameshow reminders- there’s a full moon all over th world
* shining brightly again on super bowl sunday, 1999- & casting th clearest, sharpest moonshadows i ever remember noticing…how bright was it? i went to take a leak out in th yard & th stream of piss cast a shadow- *that*s how bright! …earlier, as i began my run on th road to cibuco, i had an unexpectedly clear view of th moon before it rose into th grey line of clouds gathering just above th horizon- a peachy-coral ball as big as th sun climbing out of th ocean…

…woke up on ground hog day (virgen d la candelaria bonfires in puerto rico…) to a giant swell jumping over th seawall, spraying up to th new second story windows…& th phone out…
a week has gone by already- th half moon boat floats up @ midnight- need to plug into a phone line somewhere to post this- san juan- caparra?
luv, d=(8{>

Wednesday th 27, 01.1999 (23h38) ich bin wieder am strand… back on th beach, d regreso en la playa (plus ou moins-) everytime I run past th rolling pasture by th abandoned dairy farm I’m reminded of @ least a couple of th projects that I’m holding onto hard enough to keep me from living life in th vague, seemingly aimless present…
(Saturday th 28, 09.1996 (chère nathalie-)
what does it take to calm yr fears
to make you feel comfortable enough
to let me talk you into allowing me
to breathe deep th foggy fumes
dripping sour from yr darkest willows?
what does it take to allay yr anxieties
soothe yr suspicions unearn yr mistrust
provide th secure cradling refuge
where you might wind down to laugh
when I compliment you on yr stinging stench
unwinding open
to recklessly bloom down my earsnosethroat
at th shivering risk of choking me
on th moldy ash of accelerating time
yr body will inevitably, helplessly secrete clot & disgorge faced with & facing exposure to another?
what does it take
that each day you remind me I am so barren of?

luv, d=(8{>

(Saturday th 19th, 04.1997)
I could flip for it & pick
a continent where th sea’s not
lapping at my backyard everywhere I turn
(one side of an ocean as good as another)
so long as nature isn’t overpowering
or th culture isn’t overrun…long
as I can follow th course of a river
over th course of more than one whole day
* am I looking for a Greater Vehicle?
as long as it lets some open air blow
around me, I might spring for a convertible
:a four-wheeled amphibian that can
leave th ground & take to th sky
if only for short bouts of inspiration-
not so wild & free as my motorcycle dreams…
I wince to call it home here-
only th place I tore, crumpled & blew
my youth in avoiding growing up-
I thought I came by merely to refuel
but months have gone by
& I grow increasingly disoriented
with each passing day…

is this enlightenment or disintegration? derangement? i fell into a nap…
——————– Engine age ——-
join us- become a part of th limited clinical markets- now only five miles
from statements to th press- receive complimentary copies of publishd
study-
sleep laboratory can provide objective proof- members have access to
results from six separate socialist economies- only a rigorous program by
special envoy philip habib helps us underwrite th costs of medication-
in return you receive substantial discounts on soldiers still in beirut-
treatment conditions, however, demand that exiles continue to reinforce
their positions a few hundred yards from a military buildup…
during th first decade- after severing th road between beirut & damascus-
a few insomniacs taught @ yale drama school- earning creative vitality for
me when i was first writing…emphasis was placed on a comprehensive
profile
of gov’t withdrawal- looking to bulgaria- provided long-term
administration-
american-made clothes earning more than factories & farms- health still has
few surplus goods…th only other escape route for th educational problems that whetted almost-local appetites arrived by car- looking flushed & radiant- he just wrote th screenplay for south of th capital & moved to th outskirts- he had cigarettes, liquor & a few invitations to effectiveness studies- one of th more rationed items- a few woods in th mountain village pushd up prices- th drab austerity of earlier years has given urgency to th clinical exhibitions…

spirit immortal my ass
ther within, drawing
sparks against th skin
articulate enough-
a body of language facing
dark & light of death

knowing nothing, nothing
knows outside of knowing
labels for loss

flat flat flat direction
flat watcher
flat circle of time

trap in th mirror?
female life surrounds
male self outside

what is evil?
order unto death
or alive excess?
July 1984
-abrazos, d=(8{>

” el asunto de la compu. estoy en EAP y recogi los mensajes de las

Navidades

hoy al fin.” End ——————–

desorden d papeles para demostrar la importancia d mis asuntos &

preocupaciones

como mi papá el doctordaví

humo intoxicante dl repelente cobra q me devuelve al balcón d casa d mis

abuelos ramón&cocó a la entrada dl pueblo, trailers cargados d caña q

retumban por la militar o se detienen en la gasolinera shell cuando se le

antoja al camionero bajarse a comer chicharrones d pollo en el restoran d

chantó, bombón arraiza across th street en vega baja & los altoparlantes dl

culto (luterano?) a to lo que da…

fondo fondillo postre final aleteante sobre la orilla…los favores no se

hacen a medias, & menos a tu propio cuerpo…pasta d naranja d postre todas

las noches con queso manchego si posible…

cobra (‘no se lo leyó! no se lo leyó!) en homenaje al dulce maricón severo

sarduy q se murió en parís con aguacero, un jueves, como cesar vallejo q

tosía sobre el tableteo d su maquinilla en la pensión d parís donde mi

padre se hospedaba cuando fue a conocer al doctor barbosa aquel verano d

1937- o ‘38?

la vida es una tombolatomtomtombola…en el monte dl olvido/por los amores

q han muerto/q son el tuyo & el mío…no necesito/ir al cielo tisú/sialma

mía/la gloria eres tú…

pero pero pero q es lo q tiene tu maquinita q no la arreglas & q ajustes

haces? entre la tuya & la mía tal vez hacemos una buena computadora…no

conoces un buen hacker q le haga un transplante d cerebro- o d memoria- o d

dedos & lengua? entre la tuya & la mía…q noche la d aquél día…’esto es

la vida, borelli, a ver si te enteras!’

i’m ok…i guess…

nada por aquí- nada por allá…su caso, señor fiscal…besotes, d=(8{>

…”To live only once, many times,
Between the moments.
The tiny little moments.
The tiny little life
between the moments.
Cunning little road.

If you wait
you’re never ready,
Urgently, I’m learning.
First the lust
And last,
The yearning.”

Gonzalo Andrés Aponte
San Juan, Puerto Rico
5/10/94
——————– Engine age ——-
yup. got th story of my life there, trickling drop by drop
to fleetingly pool @ th leaky bottom of th cracked glass bowl
of self: th deepening echoes sound th range of circling desire-

from purest aspiration to basest craving along th rainbow
of appetites- ambition zeal thirst itch longing or greed-
we find th mirage to lend us appropiate direction, fuel
for th motion joining point after point into lines, circles, spirals…

(let me tell you, i’m all of forty-four, i’ve been there & back
* by th way, i’m over th corpse, i guess: four in japanese
is th character- th sound?- for death, & forty-two is a dead body…
am i being kept in th dark about something important?
i found- didn’t quite make my way, haha- been there & back…
i may be losing it here, but i made good my escape even if i could never
break free or get away…this is th voice that keeps ringing in my ear-
no names, no pictures, no names no pictures- i dare you
to find th way to tell my story protecting th truly innocent…
you cd fill yr face…no more smarty-pants shorthand…
is this enlightenment or disintegration? derangement? i fell into a nap…)

Thursday th 16, 07.1998 (20h56) love is a corpse…
love is a dead body/wrappd around my loins…
I’m a hungry ghost/knocking at yr pleasure’s door…
love is a dead body/& I’m sown up inside…
to be laid up/for yr rotting banquet…

(there is no force besides desire
there is no boundary but fear
craving is shadow to desire
& respect, th wounded heart in fear…)

there is no punishment but shame
no love without th healing touch
as joy releases th accepting self
(no self but spirit mirrored in dull flesh)

there is no force except desire
or fulfillment but in flight…
(is this it here?)
everluv, d=(8{>

(Message text written by INTERNET:terri@microrave.com:)
“try being alone without being lonely… there’s nothing other then ‘U’ that exists, so relax and expand into your true self~ ”
gratitude list: i don’t need to be medicated to get thru my day… I’m grateful for my physical health…for (this) contradictory, new, exciting vehicle & means of expression/production I’ve found…discovered…seized… for th diverse group of friends, acquaintances, associates (codependents?) I’ve corralled into becoming something between audience & support group…
a very special public new year’s thanks to my ‘netfriend terri, who helps me stay sane in basic but ultimately mysterious ways that resist rational explanation…
& who teaches me by her unique example to take th risk & accept responsibility for determining what th appropiate boundaries are between my ‘public’ & ‘private’ selves/spheres…thankyouthankyouthankyou…
got my wolf engine running again, not yet running me down though running me ragged up th peaks, ragged & raw down th troughs… I come alive on a route anywhere- on my way elsewhere, legs in motion pedal to th metal or path to be self-plodded…
(Thursday th 31, 12.1998 (10h47) here comes nineteen-ninety-nine circling th globe, rushing @ us in darkness- th sun is already setting across europe on this last day of th year… is it midnight in tokyo yet? do they much care about it there? does th christian calendar & ordering of time rule th planet? apart from muslims & jews…does th ‘orient’ share some sort of a generalisd buddhist reckoning? excuse my ignorance…
…muchas felicidades & prospero a~o nuevo- d=(8{>

Thursday th 24, 12.1998 (11h14) dreams of boys last night-well, one guy: if it wasn’t jamie spader, it sure lookd like him…
I was sincerely apologetic, sorry if I’d led him on, I loved to flirt
but I wasn’t really into guys…explanations going nowhere, wondering
embarrassedly
if I should try to get mself excited for him, nothing if not anxiously
eager to please…
(my inner 18yr-old snickers @ me- ‘hey, old man- thought you’d have figured women out well enough to @ least get laid every once in a blue moon by now- @ 44 yrs of age! really…!’)
(I feel th condescension & contempt of women of all ages & walks of life-
friends, ex-lovers
& total strangers…yes, I am my momma’s frightened, frustrated, bewildered little boy, still…) speaking of doña mili- (‘uno no hace más q sufrir…q ganas d mortificar a uno…’) her three boys certainly seem to have inherited some kind of vocation for suffering & martyrdom…
but dr.dad helpd instill it, too…they made a team of magnificent,
self-righteous martyrs,
my mom&dad did…christmas is th perfect season for reflecting on all this-or should it be easter??
Saturday th 26, 12.1998 (23h53)
say a prayer/for th hardworking poeple/say a prayer for th salt of th
earth…
th moon is a sinking silver boat smiling all th way down behind th horizon
tonight…
Saturday night is th loneliest night of th week…any questions? got no
answers here…
forgot to ask mister kleiman where he got th venison chops…
my postchristmas splurge @ ‘iche’s’- is this my artists date? all by
myself…
dessert & everything…double grappa & a decaf espresso for th first time
since I left nyc last month…
‘this is th bad time, christmas, & th myths are honed fine…’
to quote dick hugo, ‘grand old detective of th heart’, as james crumley
dubbed him…
love & lukewarm half-gallons of holiday cheer, d=(8{>