La Clandestina

nothing is true, but everything is real

La Gringita

La Gringita
July 02
la clandestina
riding the spiral to find the light at the end of the tunnel. here i am in south america tryin to get the fuck away from the north and see what there is to being elsewhere. por eso, me llaman la gringita.



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MAY 10, 2012 1:03PM

A Rainy Season Memory

Rate: 2 Flag

Silence has no sound. Everything is always moving.

Always had been a night person; there’s something grand about the moment you can stand outside, and know that everyone in the near distance is fast asleep. An in a civilized place, you can hear the wind.

Tonight, in the middle of the night, she awoke from her nap and had to pee. So just get up and go. Outside, to the toilet that flushes but you have to get a bucket of water and toss it in the bowl first. She can feel the breeze. But it’s cold. First (and last) time she’ll probably ever wear that hat, and two layers of long sleeves. It’s damn hot in the mountain valley she’s in. She suits up, of course still wearing flip flops, and smokes up on the roof. The calm after the storm. The poetic nothingness on which you can meditate. You are the only one awake.

A tin roof is beating to the drum of an adobe house, conducted by the wind. A pig squalls, dogs communicate, corn fields break, the giant crickets speak, nature keeps on going while humans get their sleep. It’s wonderful to be alive; she wants to stride through the empty streets to find things she can’t see through all the courteous greetings of anyone she meets. But she stays on the roof and examines the physicalities of culture, but only the ones she sees in her current vicinity. Cigarette in her hand, thinking about nothing unparticular, allowing the world to amaze her. The wind roars down from the mountains, you can easily hear the changes of direction and the different winds coming in.

Earlier that day, she had done the same thing and watched the storm roll in. never seen anything like it. sheets of rain were headin’ towards town, you could see them move over the mountains. in two directions, the sky was clear, but right up above a giant gray storm cloud appeared. two minute thunder breaking right over head getting there first. enormous strikes of lightening in the not so far off distance. owner of the tienda is putting up his boards, “mucha agua viene.” jovenes sittin’ on the corners, watchin the rains pass by, with a naughty gleam in their eyes. she’s just gettin’ prepared for the storm, everyone needs water.

Back to the roof, her salvation. The wind grows stronger, the thunder grows longer, and drops appear. plotting out giant patterns until unity is clear. It’s here. She lays on top of her sheets and eventually, falls asleep.

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Do it all the time myself, but could not have described it this well.
Another night person here, and perhaps night and storm people are all one and the same. I felt myself move through this space and time with her, good company.