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.