free verse

I hate.

I hate facebook. I hate when the internet signal finally comes through and I can see the long list of people currently online and think take in deep how few people how what relationships friendships I thought I had I never had. who reads this. who thinks on me and my body and my mind thrown flung halfway across the world. why am i analyzing myself when I came here to get out of myself…

I never had a relationship with my grandmother not a true one I’m sorry I’m saying telling showing truth now and I didn’t, and now I can’t, because she is dead, and what part of me now is dying? blood rusts. blood flakes. blood scabs. grandmother brother father step-father who else who else I will list the names of those who have dealt me blows by not touching me and mourn for what has not been. what a ridiculous concept, what a complicated structure of time. what is? now?

now. knee pain. alpaca sweater. I hate, Quito is too western, well i want to see reality and the reality is that latin america IS westernized because it IS colonized, economically politically and culturally. there is a reason hollister is popular here but there are no hollister stores. don’t you feel privileged now? go buy your shitty jeans at the mall of america and do it with a shit-eating grin on your face. why do they import grapes from the US here when there is a YEAR LONG growing season? because they are supposed to be better? tonight I have eaten fruits I have never eaten the texture of sweet wet cotton or filled with seeds the size of my thumb and I cannot describe the tastes because I have never tasted them before. but the grapes, the grapes, the grapes are from california, the clothes from california, the tv shows from california, the movies from california, california california break away already with an earth rending shudder of disgust at yourself and come float down to those who would look upon you as the second coming of the messiah.

god, I hate, my mouth turns downwards and streches and there is a lack of bitterness because the coffee, the coffee, the coffee I hope it stains your teeth shit brown because it grows here it grows here it grows here but all there is nescafe. to buy a drink made from beans, colombian beans, not ecuadorian beans mind you, you are the one drinking the ecuadorian beans, it costs dollars an american dollar an AMERICAN dollar because the sucre has died went up in sugary flames in 2001, 2.25 dollars for a latte.

lunch – sopa. plato fuerte, jugo, postre, 1.50. 1.70. and people roll up in their imported suv’s to juan valdez cafe to buy colombian beans for the above price, which is sin the 12% tax.

now.

I love.

now, I love, but not you, I’m sorry. I love the mountains. I love the wind. I love red wine on top of the mountain. I love drunken conversations by the fireside the lights of otavalo spread out beneath us. I love getting lost in the countryside, I feel odd when we realize we are walking through other people’s farmland. la luna la luna thanks for the map but we got lost anyway and ate mandarins looking out over the volcanic lake. I can’t see the tops of the mountains because of the clouds and no photo will accurately represent the colors of those clouds right now. I love when the spanish isn’t hard because it is hard almost all the time I like talking about future trips and moving to south america for longer then an academic year a completely arbitrary amount of time and the stars are bright up here and I bought a sweater that is softer then any touch softer then anyone could hold my hand.

go listen to manu chau. i made ceviche tonight. I have tarea to do. I want to run away.