.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

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{>