Tag: mexico

Posted on

mexico diary 10/3-10/13 2003

trees-gdl-1-color

Mexico Diary (colonia el vigía, zapopan, jalisco)

10/3/03
4.15pm. Went to el centro. Té de manzanilla con azucar y limón. Walked around with Ignacio. Bought bread from the vegetarian/integral panadería. Got soy burgers. Heard jazz from what he said was a municipal academy. It gave me hope. Trumpet flurries drums from upstairs. The second floor windows. Us underneath walking in the shade. Living life like the retired. Nothing going on. Music. Sitting around in the middle of the afternoon. The kids outside playing in the street. The donut kid. Donas! Donas! Llegaron las donas! The other kids chanting the same thing after him. He carries them on a tray resting on his shoulder. Sunny. Dry. Low 80s.

10/12/03
No good dreams. All of them terrible. So far. Waking up in the middle of the night. People killing themselves. Shooting themselves. Gun at head. A jolt. Half their face off. Neck hanging open. Sitting on the ground wondering what happened. Breathing. Chase anxiety dreams. Unknown terror dreams. Lonely dreams. Wake up from all of them at 2am. 3am. 4am. Calm down. Calm down. Try to sleep again.
The ipod died today. Two weeks and it’s dead. Fucking technology.

The ipod came back today.
Listening to Lungfish.

10/12/03
Filled with doubt. Questioning everything I’m doing here. Not knowing what to do. Doubting everything. Insecurities in isolation. Wondering what’s true. What’s not. What will last. What will not. Feeling alone. Cut off. Unsure of everything. My future. My right now. My feelings. Unsure. Feeling unsure. My chest and stomach. Empty. Drained.

The Pupils. 10am.

TV on in living room. 4.21pm.
TV on in living room. 5pm.

10/13/03
5.15pm. Storm. So much rain. Thunder. The street at the corner a river. Water flowing fast. Cars plowing through it. Against the current. Paper, garbage carried along. Lone stragglers caught in it are soaked. Walking uncaring. Too beyond wet to care.

The boys at the tlapalería clap and cheer when the rain gets furious comes down in sheets. They stand in the entryway and watch.

The water pummeling the sky light by the bathroom. Intensifies the situation. Wind.

Wind blows the rain through my window. Into my face. Smell it. Taste it. Lower the window a little.
It comes down straight. Direct. Now. So constant.

Thunder.

Trees still except for the rain hitting the leaves.
Heads peering out windows in the houses. Every so often curtains brushed aside.
A few people on bikes. Water filling the backs of pickups. More debris in the temporary river.
Rapids form at the speed bump in the river. Rain pummels the clay roofs. The splashing creates a thick mist haze.

Thunder. The boys at the tlapalería improvise a tiny boat and set it on the river in front of their store. Watch it float down the street and it’s carried away. Its little white sail.

J.R.
7pm at KFC. Plaza Patría. In his 50’s.
Avenida Mariano Otero. South West.

Posted on

mexico pics

these are some of the pictures i took while i was in mexico. i was thinking i might use some of them in flotation device 12, but due to aesthetic and thematic reasons i decided against it. i might put some more up later. i didn’t take a lot of pictures  while i was there because i was there for so long that it felt weird by the time i actually took out my camera. like taking random pictures of yr hometown or something. so i don’t have any of guadalajara. just a few of the house where i stayed and some a few of the neighborhood. i do regret that i didn’t take more. oh well.

this first one is in the common area just off of my bedroom which is the door to the right. to the left is the door to the bathroom. there’s an open air skylight above.

this one is taken from my bedroom.

from the balcony

this one is looking north from the main balcony out front.

more from the front balcony. a woman sold fresh carrot juice at the house at the far left of the frame where that dark doorway is. she had a juicer and would juice the carrots and pour it in a bag, put a straw in there and twist the bag shut with the straw sticking out. yay for morning!

this is looking in at my bedroom. there it is. or was.

Posted on

spring, writing, jazz

5/25/05

 

Cloudy out now. It was sunny. A few fluffy spring Chicago clouds warm sun filling the porch sitting on the stoop wearing sandals feeling good in the early evening sun setting sun. Rain clouds now wind in trees people heading home hurrying before the water breaks. Cars headlights squealing brakes as they hit the speed bump in front of my apartment their sensitive metal underparts scraping along the top of the hump as they inevitably bottom out. A skater with a backpack slowly cruising by with his skateboard overstuffed huge backpack strapped to his back. Street lights on.

 

Mexico. That’s a big one. But it lacks emotional depth. It’s not like Costa Rica at all. Selected high lights only please review tape. Highlight reel. Playing shows with the rories. Shit job extravaganza paper source. Unemployment. Depression. Therapy. Not getting a job at borders. Library school? Current events. All the new people I know. How underwhelming and alone it was to come back to Chicago. How much I love Chicago. Interview people? Put jrnlsm to use? About what? Research? Exciting possibilities. Jazz zines? How sexy is yrs? Does it get anybetter than don cherry? No. it doesn’t.

 

All these possibilities. Of course none of them call me. Maybe I’ll just go with the unstated and most seductive one. Just write for a while. Seemingly unrelated bits and pieces and construct them later into something greater. Just write and through structure create the new – create meaning bring a sleight order to the chaos. Not chaos but random. Find the thematic link later. Be jazz.

 

Be jazz.

But not like Kerouac mythology. Be free now. Be free for now and reign it in – form formless later.

Jazz editing to follow jazz writing.

 

Jazz editing.

   

Free jazz is energy. Falling in love every time a new record comes on. Falling in love with every song. Energy. Energy. Action. Change politics freedom protest liberation. It’s all there w/in the energy w/in the skronk the smooth the beat the rhythm the bass the piano.

 

Collections of invocations.

Notebook collection

Am I allowed to do that

Something so raw and dumb

Just me talking w/out reason

w/out a point

 

I suppose it’s the attempt. This discipline thing. To just write and write everyday regardless of whether or not it’s good or usable. Just write. Keep in the habit. Flex that muscle. Keep that shit toned.

 

So here I am writing just to write to make myself write. Sun ra on the stereo before that, art ensemble. I love this shit so much. Jazz my new rock. Something new to obsess about. Nerd.