science fiction redux -i'm in #hashtag facebook jail

the truth by now, is we know everything about one and other.
the most painful thing you know about me is i do not have any money.

i am in facebook jail for 3 days.
for 72 hours i cannot post, like, love or react to
american society, chilean society, costarrican society.
american-latinamerican
spanish-english
the empire
the sad and tired, the bound and gagged.

it's a fine time to be silenced.
between eclipses, at the end of an era, the beginning of uncertain times, for everyone.

you mustn't clean your name by soiling the names of others.
but if you are a criminal, by now, everyone knows it.
i am a party girl.
i am a serious thinker.
i am empathic.
i transmute feeling into words and back, daily, rigorously.
groomed over generations to be communication architect, a journalist, an editor.
to listen to both the story and the story that is not being told.
i guess that makes me an exhausting person to be around.
mostly everyone i know spends most of their day live action role playing, larping through a hazy at best definition of truth.

sent into online exile between new year eclipses.
i slept 24 hours on christmas day.
it's very hot for the month of december.
my menopause is over.
sleeping for 24 hours requires some preparation, restless sleeping mixed with intense lucid dreaming, the sonic batting of mosquito wings, the winds over central america are the atoms of betelgeuse imploding in the distant universe.

years end 2019 so many references to science fiction.
firstly that cinema is all science and all fiction.
0.07% of humanity is chosen.
hollywood-holland-holyland

sound on film is swiss
chocolate is maya.
coffee is african.
everything that grows around the equator between capricon and cancer is mixed, plants, people, language, and war is over. hemp is currency, energy is free, children are safe.
dupont, bayer and all oil extraction and processing plants have disappeared.
the planet shivers through a crack in solid light and all the harm inflicted over one hundred years goes on to a dimension where that planet dies. the rest of us hold on and awaken or get out of jail to discover the seaons never went away, that diversity is thriving, and the dishonest have learned their dishonesty did not go unnoticed, that integrity lost can only be restored by reason, never force.
google never embraced evil.
knowledge set everyone free.
julian assange was released and returned to his home australia, that was not burnt and he restored to full health.
letting one bloke take all the blame for everyone else's crime, punishing a journalist for doing his job, is criminal.

"the truth is we outgrow those who don't know how to love us."
here in fb jail i have to silently observe the news:
iran would like us to stop trading in dollars.
we should.
if israel knew what was good for it, it would declare truce and help palestinians back on their feet, get them fresh water, remove the check-points, disband the idf, shutter the weapons workshops, brick by brick disassemble the great wall and pray the arsenal of atomic bombs back to oblivion, where they belong.

lowkey is my new smart crush.
joe rogan is my old new crush.
lee camp is my news monkey, metal.
abby martin is smarter than me.
we're listening.

my walk of the talk, would be to march over to my family home and tell them what to do.
they won't listen, so i don't.
it took me seven years to complete memoire, a process that mostly involved editing, allowing what i don't tell to fill in the story of my life.
i've spent my whole life listening.
vast memory of what was said, what was not said and what held true over time.
my mom's new thing is for me to come at her like a person with no memory, enter at this new stage with the same selflessness as i agreed to enter all the other stages of our story.
if she's thinking about creating a docile reprieve for herself, a bubble of wellness from which to exit the world stage, that's fine. we can do docile.
what we can no longer be do is hostility, talk, words, lies.
and real estate.
mismanagement of property in times of mass awakening.
all her fears are me.
she's been an obstacle to change, for me, for as long as i've lived; the petty discouragement, the modesty clause, the precious sense of esthetics.
my obstacle to myself has been the defiance of allowing history to repeat itself.
a joke to be over told.
a meal to be over-planned.
a kitchen in the shape of a claw.

so many square feet of sleeping space, so much metal in the overbuilt frame, one little old lady.
a brother who sleeps in the service quarters.
what would be beneficial is a group therapy, a guided family constellations work in which we can agree to stop disagreeing.
as long as our mother does not respect me, my siblings won't either.
their children won't know the love of their auntie.
the house will fall to pieces.
the death will not be celebrated.
the dead will not leave.

lowkey, kareem dennis is only 33.
that was my favorite age to be.
i quit smoking and meat that year, i made peace with my body.
i walked alone through forests and along beaches.
i talked from land phone booths along dark roads.
i went to santiago that year, a week well spent with friends.
i went to new york that year and rocked out with uncle and cousins in smoke free venue.
2003 was before a black president was possible.
mark zuckerberg was 19, pre-harvard.
lowkey was 17.

my dad lives in southern arizona, now.
his house is 5 miles from the country's largest detention center.
the desert needs to be planted with food, the grounds don't need surveillance, or guns.
the center is filled with children, my children, the hondurans.
they were born from war, from rape.
they go free and the prison gets the lights turned off.
ac during daylight hours. the prisons will become small towns, will create trade and barter.
if it's done on other planets it can be done here.

part of my christmas siesta was to watch "Arrival" and the two popes.
and wish the trolls become elves if for a bit, prompted by a clip from a man named chris packham, via the group organized at standing rock. it made me happy.
news of gas leaks can be faked - a field of hemp stopped the fire from spreading in valparaiso.
we hit the wall at fukushima, like the replicant zhora running through endless panes, not dying just busting shit up, bleeding. breaking all barriers, to truth, that life, is not a movie, that these one hundred years end when we stand up and dance.
15:55

Equality and the Baha'i Universal House of Justice

It's 2019.
I have no idea who is on the Baha'i Universal House of Justice in Haifa, Israel.
I don't know their names, what their professions are, what experience with Justice they are bringing to the table.
All I know is as long as there are no women at that table, there is no Justice.

As far as I can tell, the National Baha'i Assemblies throughout the world, that do include women, are taking points to and from the International Teaching Center, also in Haifa, but it's only on the official occasions that I receive copies of letters from the BUHJ to world believers vía email.

I'm not sure what my current standing in the Baha'i Community is, what they call me these days, "a believer in good standing", a "friend of the faith", one of the "ungodly". It's hard to tell.
Julian Assange is sitting in jail for revealing truth, I am not.

I am both friend and believer who no longer cares where she stands within institution.
I've always known myself equal.
2020

Facebook Jail

House rock.
Never thoug...t
Yes I did.

#MarkZuckerberg put me in 24 hour censorship.
After 12 years of pushing envelopes one inch closer to today, December 17.
8ish AM

Safer hands by Olive, sending you to Julian, to you Assange, to happiness, to health.
Hummingbird that visited whilst I smoked #2.
Flat feet on forest floor.

Nobody really dies here.
These organic, ephemeral, light beings we call bodies are meaning, sense subtle, smell bullshit.
Zuckerberg didn't invent global communication.
Endorse community standards for anarchy, for equality, he wanted to rate women for Harvard.
Now, I'm in the corner because I posted a picture of a penis.
Surgical procedures for removing foreskin isn't porn, isn't titillation, gratuitous, the body of the nose are science, not fake news or disingenuous information.
I will never be weaponized.
I'll be shunned, ignored, blocked, ghosted, but I'll Melania BeBest and get the Trump out of here.

Boundaries and abuse of power.
My love will never be a tool of destruction.
My name a tool of war,
a source of resentment.
Jaleh can only mean water, dew, earth's tears.
My love, like Melania's jewels can never be valued, priced, heckled.

Curso Apreciación de Cine

Lineas de tiempo.
Eras pre-pos sonoro, colores, efectos CGI.
Objetivo, compartir el anticipo y los efectos del cine sobre la psiquis. Explicar la manipulación de los medios sobre la humanidad. Liberar las películas de confines de lucro a herramientas de igualdad, justicia y bienestar social.

women in black

basically,
i hereby #PATENT (September 15, 2019. 09:18 am)
we're going to wear your suits, your shirts, your ties, your shoes and we're going to show up with this plan.
1. my store sells nothing
2. my store features everything we can make with #HEMP
3. my store doubles as a media table and we invite everyone with solutions to our stupid political problems who have intelligent alternatives.
4. we keep this project up and running for one year.
5. we transform the economy and save the planet.
we need $12,000
(amended October 7 10:57 u.s. mountain)
we need Achiote
the soft seed of the spiney achiote fruit, a tropical tree, that is crushed and used a red colored pigment spice.
we need Chayote
a small green pumpkin, vine.
we need Ayote
a pear like fruit, flavor neutral
and Camote
sweet potato
Zapote
Lúcuma.

my shorts

August 18, 2019
The end of civilization and the beginning of humanity.
Greta is crossing the ocean, sailing this way, en route.
I woke up thinking "I want a job that I can't get fired from", a life free of Trump, free of phones.
I watched half of the comic book movie "suicide squad" and thought, really? how many fictional shots fired and nobody dead.
hollywood movies are stupid as fk.

game of thrones was like heroin for sadness.
the last battle scene killed my neighbor.

I want a work schedule with other people, without girlfriends. A job paid in food and bus fare where sales or profit of whatever we do together is distributed equally. I don't want any more bosses and I want excessive revenue to be reinvested in the competition, in the rival, that's how excellent I want my job to be.

I want heads to explode from reading this.
Like if these words could suddenly appear on the inside of helmets, across face mask, across eye protection, get in the way of seeing the mass protest it's been trained to beat, submit and dominate.
Hong Kong stand down.
China turn off surveillance.
FBI CIA MOSSAD KGB
eat my shorts.




It's just work and play distinguishing unity from intimacy.

bottled water

one would think that crying about specific things, at certain times, with devotion, attention to detail, that tears themselves would be liquid crystal time machines. they could harvest all the rains and all the oceans and in one saline atom of salt, span forwards and backwards, up and down, between, over, under and through the real actual experience of time on earth. tears are hope, they spring forth from the purest of hearts, the emptiest of guts, the dirtiest of lungs and the strongest of loins. tears are all the water, ever. so i figure, for as long as i live, as long as i can cry and drool, time made manifest from before and after is the water streaming from eyes, the virtue of trust, the ardor of beauty.

i cry a lot about bottled water.
about people who buy bottled water.
about bottles of water that hydrate the humans and kill the water.
fifco is a bottling behemoth.
with a tiny pecker.

beetlegeuse

maybe the third letter to the agent is the charm.
knock stubbornly.
rutger hauer just died. the dutchman. the actor.
his tour de force role was roy batty in bladerunner.
ridley scott married a costarrican woman.
he makes lazy decisions, can't appreciate the mold, decaying agents, how everything since is imitation without elegance, precision, team work and the most fantastic set ever built.
there is a purity to the memory of first understanding that story, the shadow civil war.
why would non-feeling beings even want more time?
assuming humanity still existed in the the year 2019.
all names repeated ripley.
why do i even want a publishing deal?
12,000 per year for as long as it takes?
amazon the woods, the lungs, the carbon.
there are no more patents and no more properties.
rogue weaponry erased.
machinery abandoned along the front to be grown over like corral in the ocean.
all the devastation took over by bramble and carbon capture.
the jungle was not designed to absorb so much sun.
kingdom of cochabamba, long life!
cain, caña to delimit the edge to remove the wars from the carbons being captured.
in 80 years time, there may be cuatro gatos or, cuatro million.
but we will all attain financial security, immunity and rest.

before after

i have to blog every day about memory.
because, every day writing makes writing legit.
if it's not printed on paper is it still a book?
i do not need an agent and a publisher.
but, i want a reputation and the money.

there are only 37 chapters in catracha.
i'm almost fifth floor age
stories are standing.
how will it feel when i publish?
dear jaleh, we work in the non-profit spiritual world, interpreted by ink on tree pulp. there is nothing done in the 20th century without killing. while your book is interesting, it's like summer, the sahara, the center of the atom bomb, too hot.

"too" much "to" appreciate about "tú".
your read is no escape.
your bilinguality is irrelevant, the literary crux is unoriginal, the critique obnoxious.
you destroy everything we value, that keep us safe, from truth.
you are unkind.

my financial security is not getting rich.
publishing made it about capitalism writing fantasy targeted at children.
casting a single name Rawling into aspirational content generation.
blogs read?
probably not.

Centro Desarrollo Urbano de Mora

this is the site of Latin America's first sustainable urban development center.
it will feature a greenhouse pavilion made of bambú.
it will transform over the next mayor government into a communal organic farm, orchard and water management system.
it will be rounded and contoured away from square shape with low walls that are crowned in blackberry, mora, in honor of the district's name.
it will provide fresh food for the kitchens of our town schools.
it will generate seed and sapling for gardens everywhere.
corn, bean, squash.
yuka, camote, chicasquil.
papaya, piña, banana.
a dense, diverse garden with enough flowers to sustain a beehive.

private idaho

en vez de llamarlas "calle" las llamaremos suegras norte sur y exesposas oriente occidente
si van a poner un googleplex en la esquina sur de la sabana, tienen que convertir el gimnasio en rotonda y la datsun en cinco esquinas multiuso.
vamos a imaginarr un ghostbuster town en la vieja gasolinera, repartir comida a los payasos de los semáforos.

las 5 esquinas las llamaremos matias, justicias, reyno, chorotega, naranjo.

el centro colón es reliquia, es turismo tétrico. qué hay ahora en ese teatro? raimundo tupper ware  de cual ventana saltó? hablar del opus dei, en tiempos de epstein.

cómo y de qué pena aquel jóven deportista de chile, el más guapo de américa, un tupac alejandro, un ernesto girasol, un erudito magnus.

le vamos a poner suegras a los caminos boulevard que complacida complace, no se mete, apaña. exesposa a la que lanza, ataja y refresca. ya no llamaremos calles a las autopistas del sol ni le daremos dinero a globalvia. lo hecho esta hecho, misma piedra.

esta maraña de redes de senderos entre alaska y chile comienza y termina, día tras noche.
déjense nombrar.
costa rica es donde se cruza el próspero fernandez y general cañas. y punto. #.

Yo aqui sentada
sobre propiedades valiosisimas.
Laven su capital en mí.
el proyecto es ecovivienda sostenible y renovación urbana.

19 again

money.
i have none.
i live outside of it, i hear it argue every morning and weep every night.
it has no words of safety and comfort, only numbers increasing and decreasing.
money

in 1939, some 90 years ago, britain enacted the cancer act.
It imposed censor on all or any information about the curious and deadly disease.
Fines, fees, jail and death in order to manage and direct it's propagation.
Even they, didn't understand that the whole world means the known universe.
Spice Girls.
An entire generation of kung-fu dolomites and macabes.
maga bees.
sanctions, punishment, redemption, oblige.
money is the fourth dimension, where the swiss live, running all the shows.
timing all the clocks.
war free zones carefully protected at bridges and mountain pass.

the Libra
#markzuckerberg is broposing social currency and needs embassadresses, real promotion.
on real blogs.
at the rate of likes and loves over twelve years my return should hold me as pay for the next twelve.
2020-2032, when i most likely will die.
i would put away half to distribute to my closest friends and family's children when i'm gone.
and have enough, while i'm still living, to commission books and houses and gardens for those children to read, live in and steward.
enough to create a bus that is slow and soft enough to take mortal out of danger and reliable to love as much as a pet.
bicibus.

catrachisima

Been 49 all my life,
like the miner
and his daughter
clementine.

Memoir ends and there is where life begins.
Once published.

Sure blogging and social media have made careers for taboo and pornification, but peaked 2016.
Trump is no more president than I am alien.

So memoir is available in English and in Spanish here:
https://clandestinamemoria.wordpress.com/

Crecer la Urbe

I've been 49 for 20 days now.
I've trained my face not to grind the teeth in my head, when I sleep, I dream big and happy.

It's been raining over Costa Rica the good part of May.
It makes the old men, their line of cheap motorvehicle in lines, gratitude.
They have home and coffee to slumber through and under.
It's been raining at night and that's not normal for the west of San José.

The town halls are empty all day, it seems.
The "youth center" has tinted windows and airconditioning.
The computers are frozen by planned obsolescence.

New chapter.
I want to make the windows clear and make it a work room, for real.
Ciudad Colón Urban Planning Center.
I want Institute Costarricense de Electricidad to finance it.
The transformation from a work room, open windows and doors, free powerful wifi and work tables.
Dryers.
Band camp.
Pay me Selena. Johnnie Walker or Ron Flor de Caña, ULatina to rework the streets and the cables and the lamp posts from visualization boards, 3D print of the town between San Bosco and Brasil de Mora. The way the water and traffic flow.

If anyone reads this, give it a like.
It could take one single like to make it all happen.

taxis, trailers y tontocicletas

llegando casi al año 49
tiquicia enfrenta futuro
tiquicia clima, cuesta y colón.
gran colombia y méxico, inicio
con la zonificación escolar
recibimos reformateamos reiniciamos
tres millones de turistas al año.
humanidades es lo que hacemos
choferes
traslado en terrenos inaptos para peatones
sin aceras ni derechos
legislaciones para hombres, armas y carros.
escrita escritura
que dice definir a hombres y mujeres por igual
tributarios a la gran vía conectando norte con sur américa.

sororidad

tengo que hablarle a mis hermanas

y a mis hermanas que son también mis hermanos.

uranaso en tauro.

es facil enamorarse

hacer amistad

estrechar vínculo.

lo que cuesta es seguir amando 

cuando la novedad se acompleja

con el pasar del tiempo;

querer a la costumbre con el mismo fervor.

el patriarcado no quiere que seamos unidas

capaces de perdonar

capaces de escucharnos

no quiere que seamos amigas.

y nos pone la gota ácida

de la constante comparación

quien tiene mejor iphone, mejor choza, mejor vida.

cada una con el insulto de saber porque decidimos hacernos pedazos.

es así como voy a recontar y publicar esta maraña pa ver si sobrevive futuro.

en mi caso, nací sabia, curiosa y por ende, una extraña a mi familia.

a mi hermana pequeña no le pude quitar el llanto incesante con mis muecas, cantos y besos.

nuestra madre ascendente libra es parejera, dualista, a sus hijos nos decía que no podía con todos de una vez, que prefería tenernos por separado para lograr una “mejor intimidad".

y yo, la muy sabiestupida la dejé.

dejé que hablara de ellos a mi, y de mi a ellos.

me decía a mi misma, que el instinto de mi madre es distinta a la mía. 

yo soy en paz en grupos, sin fronteras, en movimiento.

yo aprecio la dinámica y la transformación de pareceres que se logra marchando contra entes opresores.

a mi fraternidad la incluyo, amo, atiendo, porque es parecido Y porque muy diferente a mi.

mi madre, sin dichas herramientas, a puro instinto de luna en virgo nos ordenó a sus hijos por categorias: bueno y desobedientes.

y yo le decía “no” cuando quería que me acoplara a su esquema.

y no tuve hijos, y no tuve esposo, y no tengo iphone y no anhelo moverme entre clases sociales porque me parecen aburridas y esclavizadas, a un verde más verde que siempre estará más allá, a un ser-estar en coherencia solo con lo material, un ser-estando cancerigeno que atenta contra los bosques, los silencios y el progreso espiritual. 

y ustedes me vieron en esa lucha.

me vieron cuando mi madre y mi hermana me echaron de nuestra casa, de mi casa propia que había contruido aparte cuando mi papá se murió. 

me vieron a la interperie, moviendome entre paises y refugios, y nadie me defendio, es más en sus comentarios y miradas, me trataron como la lacra que proyectaba mi familia sobre mi, reenforzaron ese culpable sentir que me merecía el castigo del exilio.

esa vara

desperpetuemoslo.

estamos todos en derecho.

en poder protagonico de transformaciones ajenas.

think i should wait

pensando mucho

en todo…

en mis hermanos, hombres, amigos, eternos.

el arcangel miguel

el movimiento

#metoo

mi hermana me dice que pienso 

demasiado

ya no hablo con esa hermana.

supongo siempre que todos piensan demasiado.

abarco sociedades pensantes desde sus pensamientos

la soledad

el miedo a la muerte

la rabia del abandono

el dolor de la renuncia

la sed de fe

el embudo de tráfico vehícular.

supongo de antes y de manos

que cada cara y par de ojos esconde un cerebro ambidiestro

bipolar

maniaco y depresivo.

no hay cara fea que no refleja el que se tiene.

pienso en mi hermano, el menor, el poderoso

sus tres hijos.

él les dijo que yo soy una desilusión.

ya no hablo con ese hermano.

pienso en mi hermanastro, el astro, el sol

su hija peruana.

él me dijo, que yo era usurpadora de amor,

que él a mi, nunca, ni de niños, me había amado.

pienso en los otros dos hermanos 

sus hijos Fu Y Fa

y me doy cuenta que tenemos todos medio siglo de vida.

combinadas nuestras edades llegamos a los 400.

todo…

mis hermanos, hombres, amigos, eternos.

“el” hombre es por error.

a la cromosoma XX se la cayó la patita XY y la vagina.

sus tetillas pubertos se anudaron en la garganta,

su porte se hizo grande para trabajar y perfeccionar su especie,

pero

siguio siendo mujer.

pienso

sin dudar, que puedo el tiempo doblar

pienso sin parar

en el video que filmamos un montón de hermanos, amigos, eternos.

de una canción llamada “in reverse”.

el proceso cándido de crear cuatro minutos musicales acompañados de una historia visual en la que vemos por una sequncia filmado bajo el agua como un hombre, astro piscis, es mediante contraplanos compuestos por encuadres frente a espejos en camerinos una mujer madura que acepta perder el tiempo en los años de su juventud.

pienso en lo hermoso del proceso de gentes fluir,

los años sin cámaras

los lugares que con la propagación minera de capta imagenes, de trasmisores en vivo, se perdieron vidas únicas y especies enteros de seres insectos mutados y adaptados durante milenios para culminar en la diversificación absoluta.

al matapalo se le entrena y no propaga.

a los árboles sus hermanos sin temor al sol.

eternos, prestigio, estima y honor.

tierra gentil madre de amor.

dolor de pareja

fertilidad

los más de 800 doctores egresados por año de la ucimed.

es poco tiempo la crianza y muchos amigos distracción.

la palabra envidia, el creer poder controlar el amor, los pensamientos ajenos, aparentamos las xx y los xy, de llegar tan lejos con tanta modernidad, y comodidad, en consciencia de hacer pobres a las gentes que no vemos, a los que habitan en asias y africas, las américas soñamos despiertos. 

el tiempo doblar en escribir pensamientos

si salvamos las américas de tóxicos equis y ye, anhelos de los que duermen mientras nosotros andamos se cumplen.

sanar el día, cada día, con los pensamientos.

dormir a maquinaria apagada, sin luces, ni teles, ni teléfonos, ni wifi, porque si nosotros soñamos saludable a las asias y las africas les enviamos anhelo de mañana.

el blog

hay un decir, escribe borracho, edite sobrio.
pero hay algo por medio que es el ejercicio.
dejar sin editar los errores.
despedirse de la franquicia apenas termine la toma.
dejarlo ir sin tratar de recobrarlo.
esquivar intentos por sacarte explicaciones.
no ser autoría.
se supone que el web log, además de ser instantaneo, puede ser crudo, sin pulir.
no es para académicos ni especialistas.
casi te borro párrafo superior.

en la tiquicia cada letrado un opinólogo, ama de casa.
los silencios revelan siempre más que...
estamos redactando una constancia de vida, que en segundos se borra, se olvida.

disney no es dueño de la fantasia.
escribe sobrio con la intension de dejar ir.
porque el dinero de la franquicia no la reinviertes en otras franquicias, o sí?

nada escapa

es agotador ser víctima de pedofilia, y todos los somos.
desde los 70, probando límites, empujando sobres, hacer dudar que nacimos sabios.
que vea el bicho, observa mi mano, ponme atención.
es cansado saber que desde antes de ser sexuales, ya éramos considerado sexosos por curas, maestros, profesores, policias.
es impensable, por lo que escribo, que nos sacaban fotos.
nos robaban documentos, cédulas, retratos.
saber que tu amiga, la que se hizo puta, te robo esa foto.
eran coronas que llevabamos en nuestro pelo, halos, huella genética, de los que seres adultos, desconocidos, se llevaban nuestro olor.
veo imagenes del ex vicepresidente joe biden pasando sus manos por donde no le importa a los hijos de miembros de su parlamento y grito en silencio.
grité en silencio por la peli ET, las tomas de primer plano del científico, no de su cara, sino de su crotch, su entrepierna, con su panta beige, con su arogolla de llaves y su radio trasmisor mobil, desde el ángulo de los ojos de elliot, de et, y me dan ganas de romperle la jeta a stephen spielberg.
desde los 70 acostumbrados por hollywood a tragar horrores, pornos, satanás.
por suerte los ángeles vuelve a ser mexicano, la virgen, sacro.
son las 08:00 en punto.
me llama letra de cerati y melero,
te comportas de acuerdo, con lo que te dicta, cada momento, y esa inconstancia, no es algo heroico, es mas bien algo enfermo...
mexico es latino, es españa y azteca.
la argentina se muere, chó.
me llama el chiste que encuadra sobre centroamerica y caribe:
qué es un panameño?
un colombiano.
un venezolano que salió huyendo.
que ahora porquecome snickers cree que pegando porte, se encubre.
mentira que la gam josefina costarricense no les vende condominio.

estoy indignada desde siempre, hasta entonces, con vallas.

sabbatical is over

i went offline for almost 6 months.
almost half a year without youtube, netflix, reddit.
after 11 solid years and probably a million posts, likes, loves, i did not con or pa-trol the facebook.

i did not write, except by hand.
i drew, i made a solar system mobile to hang over a crib, i scribbled housing and plumbing ideas, and prayed and breathed and on december 22, i took mushrooms and for a brief moment of absolute respite, i left...
...when i came back, i gardened.

i chopped ivy and weed and cleared parasitic growth from old trees and hillside.
i manicured the ground, carving curves for future planting, peanut and new trees: tamarind, guanabana, jocote, cás, nightshade, orange, lemon, field oak.
i sat with the dirt.
we cried and laughed together.
and when we were done, we felt lighter, ready for new growth.

six months have gone by:
august 11, i had gone to orosi, to ask the big river that flows to the atlantic, what to do.
it splashed by "be bossy".
then my computer, signaling the presence of dead ants and a singular drop of water, quit, on september 11.
on
october 11 i sold a car.
november 11 i took the nationalization exam for costa rica. i passed by 1 point.
december 11 i held space for the dead, for my stepfather, for my best friend, alone.
january 11 a girl named for a tree started her journey from womb to world.
february 11 i bemoaned not being online, online.

but today, yesterday, all week since monday, i have not asked once, for anything.
and not once did i wonder who i could ask, who i could not ask, for help.
being online is a kind of power that isn't really power.
most of "my" people are still, actually shit.

i never had an instagram or a tinder so i made the facebook both.
all men are most of my people. they all say i need a partner to complete me.
so i scrolled through photos of all men behind their steering wheels, seated in their cars, and of rogue men without car all around them; the first look like all men, the other look like me.

then i mused an old colega, a pinche publicista. built like a crane, this long fellow was the full entourage, an all inclusive comuna builder for talento tiquicia.
he asked me to dive deep.
i agreed.

the present is preparation, this blog entry is roots up and head down.
i ask, if anyone real read this, to imagine i have every seed i need to keep all forest fresh, forever.
i need to heal this holy land.