HUNDREDS OF WORDS... SEPTIEMBRE 2014
Chalk. Paint. Plastic cups. And a bathroom wall. Do the eighties rock bands. Know they are being listened to. By Monday midday drunks? Draw war. With seven year old. Everything is indestructible. Everything is steel. Walk many blocks. On a cheese quest. Open beer bottles. On sink edge. Suck the shaken foam. Exploding from the neck.
Get a lolly. Instead of change. Change it for a mint. Silent taxi rides. Squishy bus rides. Cholitas knit. And gossip. Maritime monster ďŹ lms. While we cross the lake. On a wobbly raft.
The morning after the storm. The birds do dance. In the distance. A pig squeals. Its deathly song. People cross border. Bring back toilet paper. Cheaper. Restaurants always supply serviettes. Not always toilet paper.
Hungry dog. Belly grumbles. Chases birds. Licks puddles. Cars. Baptised. By beer. Holy water. And ďŹ recrackers. Girl. Sad eyes. Friend died. Fell down cliff.
Walk along shore. Lady hunched over. Combing stones. Man with axe. Shaving bark.
Wash dishes. In cold water. Hands turn pink.
Balance stones. On stones. Build towers. That tumble.
Policeman. Suggests to missionaries. That ham and cheese pizza. Could accelerate visa approval.
Turn tap. Almost off. For hottest shower. On top deck. Couples cuddled. The cold. Cut through bones. Join the chickens. In the shelter.
A donkey. Eee Awed. Standing over. Its dead baby. Not a photo opportunity. Pigs ate seaweed. Smelled like sewerage. Not souchi.
An island. Surrounded by a lake. No water. In cisterns.
On the north. The water was sacred. On the south. The kids played in it.
Wear chuspa. Full of coca. Share with cholitas. And cholitos.
Sit on stones. Breathe. And eat sandwiches. Walk into cotton thread. Closing off a street. Tangled. I considered turning around. Didn´t.
The shower head. Has disco lights. Squint at midday Arequipa. Mainly through one eye. The sunny side. Is vacant. We bump into one another. In the shade. Man moans destinations. I don´t understand him. But get off. At my stop. Walk together. With stranger. That warned us. Don´t go down that street. The clouds. Tickle mountain tops. Like feather dusters.
Down colonial alleyways. Peruvian high schoolers. Practice French. Kissing. Three o’clock alarm tones. Ring tourists awake. All over Arequipa. Sleep dreamlessly. While dreamy landscapes. Pass behind the curtains. As scheduled. Condors flew by. Nobody took photos. Of the playful swallows.
Walk knee ďŹ rst. Down into Colca valley. Some condors glided by. Unscheduled. Carry stones. For kilometer journeys. Leave them. Atop kilometer posts. Cactus sprout out. Curious spiky antennas. Scoping views. Where no one else. Will ever stand.
Trick knee pain. By walking backwards. Downhill. Bottled water. Brought by mule. To hidden valley pockets. Empty pockets. Buying two litres.
Curly toe nails. Curly embroidery. Selling curvy chirimoyas. Quietly from her basket.
Yell out. For an echo. And get. No response.
Share aged leaves. With aged woman. Who gives me fresh fruits.
Zig zags. Scarred into mountain face. By tired calloused feet.
Crunchy crunchy. Shoes on stones. The disappearing sound. Of the river. Every road. Has its rhythm. Sing it. Dance it. And you won´t stub your toes. Every step. Is. One less. And one more. Reach the top. And it’s all over. Lye in shade. Pick my nose. Envisioning poems. Animals on leashes. Posing for photos.
Earning tips. To tip chefs. Open roads. Infinite fields. Drift asleep. Awake to horns. And traffic lights. Heavy man. Reclines seat. Immobilises my legs. Fifteen hours bus. Two hours taxi. Devour lunch. And back into taxi. Canyons. Long trips. Perform. Twice. And inevitably. Fall. Asleep.
Heat water on stove. Pour into bucket. Add cold water. Pour over head.
Shattered elbow. Shredded heal. One recipe. For circus artist.
Metrobus. Peace in seats. War for those. Standing.
Without arms to trapeze. She taught herself. Unicycle.
Gamarra. Esoteric sidewalks. Snakes sliced open. Frogs in buckets.
Park. Dark. Uninviting. But people came. For the stories.
Smell owers. Funky fruits. Broths. And buses.
Dogs barking. At midnight silence. Scared? Or scaring?
Lucho. Makes shoes. Says we have to make. Our art walk.
Two city blocks. Lunchtime busy. Can be bigger. Than it is.
It sounded. So simple. In my head.
Squished onto bus. Sit in spaces. Legally reserved. For luggage. If all said. In my head. Were said aloud. Would there be silence? Curled up. Eyes closed. Hiding. From everything. Boy disappears. Mum gets. That feeling. In her stomach. Got my photo. In a scandalous newspaper. Being unscandalous.
Connection. Changes. Direction. Closed eyes. Can transform. Cold showers. Into waterfalls. In a busy city. In a quiet street. Lives Beethoven. A bird of paradise. Something went right. And we travelled. In the big leather seats. Taxi drivers. Tell it. How they see it. They took our honey. We kept the memories.
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