.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

call me a fool…just don’t call me late for dinnah… take my word i’m a madman don’t you know… well i got

some chestnuts after all, a little glazed, as i am after my faccsimile sangüibin dinner- venison along w/ th

chestnuts, & these lil kartoffel(potato) croquettes that musta had some salty cheese in ‘em cause they tasted

like almojábanas- ok, for th tropical-culturally impaired, almojábanas are…rice-flour & cheese fritters…but

i’ll have to check th authority, carmen aboy valdejuli’s ‘cocina criolla’ cookbook when i get home to make sure

there isn’t any other crucial ingredient- like coconut milk or cornmeal- mixed in… so, it was venison as i

wd’ve bet on- my totem animal sacrifice, just as on thanksgiving of ‘98, my first thanksgiving @ a restaurant-

this is my second, i guess…i’ll need some time to figure how many thanksgivings i’ve actually spent

stateside, how many on th european shores of th atlantic…
(tail end of thanksgiving wkend, near sunday midnight…)
farewell images: a little mac drive neon sign atop a typical euro
event-poster column…menorahs in all six windows of a house…a world globe,
lit from within, in another…i get on th train tomorrow, just after four in
th afternoon, pulling into hamburg hauptbanhof just about eight-thirty in th
evening…
after driving out to gelmeroda for a look @ th lit-up church, which lyonel
feininger painted & painted again & again & @ th ‘neufert box’, honoring th
designs & work of architect ernst neufert, peter droppd me off @
gasthausbrauerei felsenkeller, th local micro(?)brewery, owned by th
deinhardt family, who have been in th biz for a few generations & more than
one location @ an earlier time…tried th seasonal bock- weinachtsbier, &
then their dark…got hungry & hada a salad & a half- a few too many pickles
& red kidney beans fresh from th can around some sauteed wild duck breast
strips, then some smoked trout on a little salty pancake…i was a glutton to
want to try th second dish, even th half-portion ended up leaving me stuff-
blame it on th duck or th beans or th heavily-vinegared cocktail onions &
pickles- (*not*gherkins)
okay…amore, amore-d=(8{>

chestnuts roasting on an open fire/jack frost nipping @ yr nose-toes-hose…
well, there seems to be no street chestnut-roasting tradition in central
europe or @ least in germany or @ th very least in weimar, if i get to visit
erfurt i’ll have a larger town to compare…maybe i missd my chance in
barcelona…
th cold november wind blows across th square in front of th weimar
hauptbanhof. th half-moon manages to insinuate its form thru th thin, high
cloud cover releasing flurries of dandruff-powdery snow into th evening
i find a cradling home in th chill of th fall-
back in my tropical paradise of warm indefinition
th effort of motion coats my skin in oily sweat, & coming to a rest too easily nurtures moldy growth… to

keep th cold @ bay my fire burns cleaner, my flame shines brighter my heat flows & radiates out thru my

stinging skin & toes to meet th winds head-on…
th bodymind learns a smoother shift of gears
& perspectives from th cycling seasons…

it’s thanksgiving eve, & i believe th moon was full last night but th cloud
cover has thickened, even if there is no more snow coming down these last
couple of days, after nearly a week of a light dusting every night, @
least…
seem to be finally getting my energy flow- ran today & in th melting slush
last monday, after only one run w/ peter on tuesday th week before, th
temperature just below freezing…
th wind has shifted to th southeast & there seems to be a warming trend in th
air after an early taste of central european winter…
i may try to have some goose tomorrow…turkey’s often on th menus here, but
no candied yams, no cranberries, no pumpkin pie, no chestnut stuffing, no
wild rice…ayayay, yoo wood tink eye guas a gringo, gwisdis melancolía por
el pavito-taquino-pute-turkey-dinde…
japisangüibin, 1 &all!
dabizzet.j=(8{>

i was on th last leg of my 21-hour train ride from barcelona to weimar, having made th connection to th

‘goethe’ intercity express from paris to prague in fulda, when a copy of ‘le monde’ in th seat across th aisle

caught my eye…robert kramer, expatriate american filmmaker, was dead of complications from meningitis @ th

age of sixty… i guess i was not meant to meet th man. when i left puerto rico back @ th end of july, my

friend ‘puchi’ platón had promisd to e-mail me his whereabouts as part of some informal introductory document.

when she first mentioned kramer to me, i vaguely recognised th titles to some of his films- like ‘people’s

war’, done as part of th ‘newsreel’ group (don’t quote me on that name- i’m not tout a fait sur that’s it…)

speaking of glaring errors, le monde said kramer had edited footage of venezuelan guerrilleros under th alias

‘robert remark’ into a documentary titled ‘faln’- as far as i know, only my fellow boricua revolutionaries use

that acronymic handle- is there a venezuean guerrilla group sharing th name or is le monde totally out of it?
…as i sat down to finally write this obit, eulogy, memorial to another of
those mentor-teachers i never got to meet- it’s thursday evening & i’ve bn
mulling it over since i read th news last sunday- th first news on my yahoo
home page informs me of th death of paul bowles…
out of this recent spate of losses, rafael alberti was th one overtly
political exile, & th one to return home for some sort of reconciliation…is
it more difficult to return to th u.s. of a. than it is to more obviously,
politically oppressive countries? i know i cd heartfully identify w/ a
statement by mario benedetti in a recent interview, who has returned to an
uruguay that is not th country he once left- he spoke of a sense of being
doubly exiled, finding himself missing th life he was forced to make for
himself as a political refugee in spain- th friends he made during th long
years in madrid, th streets he made his home, th city he inhabited, th
country & particular castillian version of spanish, mediterranean culture he
learned to make his social, cultural, professional, emotional niche in…
i have some deeply felt, if contradictory emotions about th land of th
free/home of th brave as stepmother country, source of dreams of unlimited
opportunity…i’m not a nationalist & as a matter of fact, if anything, i’m
increasingly suspicious of allegiances to land, country & flag & thus, more &
more of an anarchist as i grow older…how do i build a home on this
emotional quicksand, feeling like an exiled newyorker as much as i do a
rocknroll-&-internationalised-trash-culture-loving puertorrique~o??
i guess this is one of th themes of my wanderlust webpage, journals & related
endeavors, & one i hope will find echo in th feelings of firends, family &
growing audience in these postmodern, postindustrial, & soon-to-be
postmillenial times…!
to quote th late, dour ian curtis, singing w/ th band that later became ‘new
order’- (quick! what was th name of th band while ian was alive to sing w/ em
& why was it a controversial name?)
love/will tear us apart/again…
dabizzet.j=(8{>

…another jacksone browne song surfaced in my consciousness- first heard it sung by bonnie raitt- ‘opening

farewell’ i believe it’s calld- got some lines that go, ‘there’s a train/every day/going either way/there’s a

road you know/there’s a way to go…’ then marel malaret tells me jackson’s moved to barcelona!
…but we’re never gonna survive/unless/we go a little crazy-seal’s first hit was my theme song in ‘85, &

still… (a motion of return, an abundance recovered…) th moment i feel th stiff northerly blowing head-on

as i reach th barceloneta beach (that’s th barcelona, not th puerto rico, barceloneta) i know what i’ve bn

missing & avoiding, what i’ve bn craving & denying mself @ one & th same time: my inner mommmy as

overprotective as my flesh & blood one was, if not more so under certain emotional circumstances…th voice

that kept insisting every day, as i got back to my room from sitting in front of th computer screen or after a

big, late lunch, all thru th week- ‘it’s too late, it’s too dark, it’s too cold already, you should’ve bn ready

an hour- @ th very least, a half hour- ago…’
* but that’s precisely it! it’s soothingly late, it’s wonderfully windy, it’s magically dark along th

boardwalks leading away from th bustle of th ramblas, th port bars & shops…it’s bn six weeks & i hardly make

it past th villa olímpica & its next set of bars, cafés & clubs- including th last surviving planet hollywood

restaurant…in th world?!-before turning back. rebuilding time. thirty-two minutes. my knees are weak, even

after so short a run. but i’m happy happy happy. what a difference… i argue w/ mself, i argue both points of

view: there’s no such thing as a positive addiction- if i couldn’t run, i cd’ve sat zazen, strolled th ramblas

up & down a couple of hours, stretched & did an abs workout on th floor of my little room…there are always

options, there is always @ th very least one alternative to th compulsion… on th other hand, th only thing

that makes something like th routine of running into a compulsion is precisely th conditioned tangle of fear

that locks into a paralysing struggle w th opposing, desired, course of action… back on th ramblas, th

christmas decorations are going up-it’s coming on christmas/they’re cutting down trees they’re putting up

reindeer/singing songs of joy & peace i wish i had a river/i could skate away on…
thank you, joni…thank you all-
dabizzet.j=(8{>

(regresando a casa d mi primo miguel en alcobendas advierto la luna saliendo
entre brumas, distorsionada y deforme, entre fases- y recuerdo cómo hice mi
disciplina d escritura semanal en la playa d vega baja- hebdo.amStrand- sobre
el ‘pie forzado’ temático dl ciclo lunar y el sentido d eterno retorno,
fatalidad, plenitud insignificante q carga para mí- y entonces se murió
‘el tonto d rafael’ según el mismo se autodenominaba en uno d sus primeros
poemarios…lo envío como despedida a barcelona…)
abrazos a todos, dabizzet.j=(8{>

palmo a palmo
entre una noche y su amarga hermana menor
la luna se desinfla:

no ha podido elevar la carga d su plenitud un instante más-
por entregar su sombra al olvido d la sombra
vacía su redondez

por abandonar el horizonte d tierra
por despojar el vientre polvoriento dl levante
se hace lánguida y lenta

cómo encontrar un rumbo
entre curvas columnas negras?
sin un reflejo d cano tiempo trenzado
desde las altas ventanas rotas

la noche es el propio salto d la luna
demasiado amplio para la medida incierta d su fé

el mar es la gran puerta dl ensueño
umbral informe dl reposo más sensual y satisfecho
nos hacemos viejos sobre la ruta
rindiendo la pueril altura dl pedregal
amontonado sobre la meseta
nos hacemos viejos recorriendo el camino dl sol
hacia su origen o destino

(pero nuestra infancia, rafael, sobrevive
como tierna momia q mira inmóvil, sujeta
entre las mugrosas vendas dl tiempo
a través d nuestros ardientes, heridos ojos)

jackson browne keeps ‘running on empty’ ’round my head…
outside my window, neighbor’s canary boids trill & gurgle…
every once in a while, seagulls seem to find their way inland to join their
own cries in…
feeling run-down, low-energy- pushing mself eating a little heavy, game
stews, mushroom crèpes, alcohol…time to lighten up & go to th veggie
place…
also, i haven’t run in nearly six weeks & i miss it- today i’m passing lunch
up hoping i’ll be psyched & running by five-thirty & th twilight hour i love
so much…(to be continued…)
thursday th eleventh…better, but still low on motivation- finally spoke to
fernando anso & he agreed to make a small print of th picture i want for my
webpage & mail it directly to david s. in virginia…he also promisd to try
to get a hold of his friend luis in th next couple of days to see if scanning
th big, original print is still an option…(luis’ partner, josé ángel, told
me they haven’t yet once used their scanner!)
i’d love to stay in barcelona. i’d love to just be somewhere where i could
cook my veggies, my lentils & squash & bitter greens. i’d love to have th
strength to continue walking th camino. i’d love to gather whoever cares to
find their way to wherever i could host a banquet, every week or two…
i will/find a city/find myself a city to live in…
first we take manhattan/then/we take berlin…
you can’t hurry love/no/you just have to wait…
dabizzet.j=(8{>

i’m gonna find mself a girl/who can show me what laughter means

&we’ll fill in th missing colors/in each other’s paint-by-number

dreams…

give me/a kiss to build a dream on/&my imagination/will make that moment

live…

back in barcino, in a tiny room like th one before, but @ hostal condal,

i

have central heating & a fridge to put my yogurt & pineapple juice

in…had

a

couple of low days roundabout halllowe’en- wanted to party but was

exhausted

from th train trip- even w/ th extra hour from going off daylight savings

time!- also…letting go of th tension of th week in miguel’s

household…gloria is a somewhat loud, somewhat shrill madrileña, on th

edge

(or over it!) of feeling overwhelmed all th time- working on her doctoral

thesis, teaching a couple of classes, raising two kids…miguel must have

had

some scare, gloria was watching what he ate, issuing warnings about

cholesterol- he’s also stoppd smoking, three years ago he chaind ducados

day

& night…i half wish i’d found th occasion to bring it up, comment,

offer positive reinforcement…

there were a few lovely days of mediterranean indian summer over th long

all-saints’ day weekend…sun is peeking back out after a rainy morning

that

kept me under th covers until nearly noon, rubbing my shoulders for

warmth…

& i’m on my way to deutschland! i *need* to run, get my blood flowing out

to

my fingers & toes…feels like my lack of exercise lets my juices gather

&

pool around my belly & groin…internet access is certainly most

expensive

here- even buying a block of time, it’s 800 pesetas an hour, compared to

500

in pamplona, 600 in madrid…blah blah…

found a coffee shop selling & brewing some beans from yauco- got th

roasters’

office number- familia marcilla has bn in th business for generations,

let’s

see if they’re amenable to sharing how th chnnels for importing ‘uva

verde’

into th european community work! i’ve got two possible outlets for

gourmet

caribbean coffee in pamplona: el café d emiliano, who buys from a small

roaster in san sebastián, & maybe fernando anso’s future cafe-bar…

hmmm, am i going into th coffee business like, for real??

stay tuned!

love, dabizzet.j=(8{>

i’m gonna find mself a girl/who can show me what laughter means &we’ll fill in th missing colors/in each

other’s paint-by-number dreams…
give me/a kiss to build a dream on/&my imagination/will make that moment live…
back in barcino, in a tiny room like th one before, but @ hostal condal, i have central heating & a fridge to

put my yogurt & pineapple juice in…had a couple of low days roundabout halllowe’en- wanted to party but was

exhausted from th train trip- even w/ th extra hour from going off daylight savings time!- also…letting go of

th tension of th week in miguel’s household…gloria is a somewhat loud, somewhat shrill madrileña, on th edge

(or over it!) of feeling overwhelmed all th time- working on her doctoral thesis, teaching a couple of classes,

raising two kids…miguel must have had some scare, gloria was watching what he ate, issuing warnings about

cholesterol- he’s also stoppd smoking, three years ago he chaind ducados day & night…i half wish i’d found th

occasion to bring it up, comment, congratulate him… there were a few lovely days of mediterranean indian

summer over th long all-saints’ day weekend…sun is peeking back out after a rainy morning that kept me under

th covers until nearly noon,rubbing my shoulders for warmth…
& i’m on my way to deutschland! i *need* to run, get my blood flowing out to
my fingers & toes…feels like my lack of exercise lets my juices gather &
pool around my belly & groin…internet access is certainly most expensive
here- even buying a block of time, it’s 800 pesetas an hour, compared to 500
in pamplona, 600 in madrid…blah blah…
found a coffee shop selling & brewing some beans from yauco- got th roasters’
office number- familia marcilla has bn in th business for generations, let’s
see if they’re amenable to sharing how th chnnels for importing ‘uva verde’
into th european community work! i’ve got two possible outlets for gourmet
caribbean coffee in pamplona: el café d emiliano, who buys from a small
roaster in san sebastián, & maybe fernando anso’s future cafe-bar…
hmmm, am i going into th coffee business like, for real??
stay tuned!
love, dabizzet.j=(8{>