Sunday, August 30, 2009

YESTERDAY BUT NOT THE BEATLES

AROUND two o'clock, one of those typical, out of the blue, intense rains dropped refreshing
somewhat the oven heat predominant for the last month or so. The type of rain I missed
and dreamed off when living in Nellingen, Northampton and New York. But had a chance to witness in New Orleans. If you look carefully at the Mississippi and look at the cement for
flood control, you will conclude people those people are crazy and arrogant. Katrina is a good way to describe it. Stupidity that is repeated. Why would you rebuilt anything besides that powerful, huge scary river?

I read watched some basketball and took a nap.

Later I went by the SAGRADO CORAZON, to see the results in the ridiculous garden recently installed. I noticed the forty/fifty feet palms seemed more crooked and questioned one
of the friendly security guards on the premises. Its not me, they are crooked. Six of them, besides looking oddly out of place.

Also noticed the top soil and orange mulch in fashion all spread in gutters and sidewalks.
I was suspicious that the use of mulch was not understood. I recently had the chance to hear
one OLD jerk with a stone/rocks nursery stating that mulch is used to FINISH, the garden. In'
other words DECORATION. For that reason if you come to the Asphalt Concrete isle, you will
see tons of it in every possible situation.

Went for a walk, landing at Crispin's. This was a former favorite oasis, to play some percussion. There were
three singers. One elegantly dressed with good voice and demeanor, the other two stunk. This
makes me wonder of how difficult It has to be to play music as a job, with talentless people.

Had a nice conversation with Gilberto Cruz. This fellow my age was a former American Airlines
pilot from the eighties. Having used heroine or cocaine for some time was caught and fired. With the typical endings in this situation. Lost of property, family and job. By the way he is now
into crack, but with an impressive voice for radio, managing both languages with ease.

Finally, watched tv. Borges, Cortazar and the other one. For the first time in my fifty seven
years I got a chance to watch these fellows that I admired in my younger years. I prefer the
elegance of Borges to the hand me down clothes of Cortazar, big, ugly as a grizzly. The other
one wrote thick, as fun as the Bible, books. Sorry I can not remember his name.

Last words. Literature is mostly about cities, I am sick of it. Cities and existencial anguish what
a fucking trip. The self, the self, and the others. I guess I have my cure: horticulture. Time to go.


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