Wednesday, June 29, 2005

For Golub

Bs.As. June 29.

Tight grey streets hold healthy dogs. Everybody, but everybody (todos pero todos) smoke. Sometimes a man holding a bag that must hold at least 300 moths walks by. The bag floats and trembles with the hum of dusted wings.

Montevideo gave the city a statue. “Eternal Friendship.” A tall iron woman extends a hand. Behind her, a tall conical what. A serious what is it. Maybe the most intriguing what is it in Parque Lezama. The signs of the zodiak carress the conical what.
We wonder.

The colectivo holds the darkest woman on earth. She wears a cap. A tiny brimmed red cap. Why is the brim of your hat so tiny? One by one she hands us crumpled notes. una moneda por favor.
Does the bus driver know?

Scarves are everywhere. This is a scarf town. A lusty-eyes scarf town. A tilt your head upwards in mysterious contemplation, virgin of the sacred rose, educated, cinematic, lusty eyes scarf town. From the future and the past.

Futbol. Chomsky. Its all the same.
Heroin, Art. “Everything is a drug.”
When does someone loose control?
Why do movies moralize so much?
This is the way my Brazilian friend speaks.
He has no soul. He lost it playing video games with the devil.
So he says.

The fecal covered streets.
Its not as bad when its from another animal, not your own. But how can you be sure? Dogs are everywhere. They are walked by tall, gruff, out-or-work extras from Robert Dinero-plays-another-cop movies. The economy is all agriculture. Somebody should scrape the shit off the cobblestones and sell it as fertilizer.

Yaya says that this is just like Naples. She even calls it NAP/les, - as in not having napped. This is how it would be said in Castellano and we are in Buenos Aires. She refuses to say Napoli. She is Italian. She has gastritis. “I can’t eat anything acidic.” Pobre de Yaya, Buenos Aires is tomato-based. So is Naples. She is outcast.

Sometimes the schoolchildren here wrap various government buildings in symbolic hugs. No shit.
It makes me want to vomit.

A girl goes into a bank and changes Euros. Euros are the hot shit right now. New for Fall, Euros. Oh dear, that word. Fall.
A girl goes in and she changes shloads of Euros to pay off her new apartment. Everything is in cash here, nobody trusts anything else. I would prefer that we all paid with pure orbs of glowing energy – but the exchange rate is terrible. She goes in and the teller touches his nose or his ass or something and a man watching from the phone booth gets the point that this girl has got a lot of money to exchange and he goes outside and waits. Soon, en route from the bank a gun is pointed, maybe at a pit-stop cafe or a maxikiosco. All is lost.
The bills didn’t glow.

A dead cat. That is all. A dead cat with noodle-like intestines. A poor dead cat, watched by its kittens. Romulus and Remus are their names. They are the new people; those who would have been raised by cats.


H'ray Rog! "A serious what is it."
I love this.
Hey Rog, did you have an airplane room growing up as a kid and wear fancy black Air Jordan's in fourth grade? p.s. - I'm in ba too and I'm looking for you.

I had payless imitation flame-style Nikes and I lived on a shelf my parents' unfinished basement.
give 4307 3985 a call and we'll sort it all out.

or make that
Rog -
I've actually confused you with someone else. My bad. Hope you enjoy BA.
Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?