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...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )

2 day done

foto by smith

our landlord family left for 3 days. their son showed me how to pump water in case the roof cistern runs dry, then they shut down their computer and went. now we’re 3 days without internet. their wireless access was inconsistent, but inconsistent is far better than none. at least inconsistent offers hope. now i’ll have to cruise the neighborhood for my cyber fix.

i’m hooked on computers and the internet – blogging, internet fact checking, email, myspace. after talent, experience, subconscious, and creation, the internet is our main creative tool to get art done and told.

this side of cyber, lady had her hair chopped boyscout short yesterday, and doesn’t like the 2-tone look. she doesn’t like the look, the cut, the color. i asked her how it could be improved, and she said “make it longer.” since that’s not an option, i suggested she shave it off, or cut it down to a brush cut. she’d look lean and mean in a marine buzz. i tried all manner of reasoning, logic, suggestion, attempted humor to jolly her out of her bleakness, but every time she looked in the mirror, her gloom returned. there’s something about a woman and her outer appearance that affects them in ways beyond my understanding. i told lady that beauty is external and ephemeral – live long enough, your tits and ass sag, turn lumpy, your body shrinks into wrinkle, skin hangs in fungoidal folds, flesh oozes, liver spots appear on hands, arms, hair thins, falls, bones protrude, smells leak, noises gurgle, noses grow – so it’s best to look within now, to the internal beauty of the heart, the mind, the spirit – the wholly inner trinity, the god we should worship for real, for what lies without can be lost, while what lies within is yours.

she said “thanks, i feel sooo much better now.”

mexico seems to be a culture of young flesh. the kids are gorgeous, sensual, happy kissing, hugging, walking hand in hand, arm on ass. but after kissing comes babies, comes jobs or lack, and extra broadening body weight, worry wrinkles, resignation. like camus’s Summer In Algiers essay – the young dance, strut, bop about until thirty, then they discover their life of youth and beauty is gone, and wait to die.

hmmm, lady’s back. hair dark brown not blonde. she’s not happy, but she’s happier than she was without it. i think she’s kinda cute, but she’s not listening to me. i tell her her eyes are in shell shock because she so drastically changed the shell shape of her head and hair that her eyes can’t accept what they now see, so just stare in silent shock – when her eyes readjust, she’ll see she looks cool. which she do.

she doesn’t realize there’s a charm about her always. she can look anyway she wants, from far out freak to SUV PTA, and she’d still look good. ugly ain’t an option with her eyes and smile.

footnote. we put our blogs on our bobs and went out on a cyber cafe search. it is sunday and nothing is open. after wandering 40 minutes and getting only 6 blocks over, i asked her if blogging were really important. “not to me today” she replied, so we went exploring our new neighborhood instead. blog mañana, and tack on mañana’s blog as well – two boredoms for the price of none.

next day. we’re trapped by the trash – sitting here listening for a metal clang clang clanging coming down the street – it means we have to run our garbage out to the slowly moving garbage truck. last week it came by 30 minutes ago, but as they say, “this is mexico,” which means don’t expect, don’t count on – always be ready for a yes, a no, a maybe, a mañana, or an otre diaz (another day). can’t go out to breakfast until the trash truck comes – what an odd dichotomy.

other street vehicle sounds – a long drawn out rising loud-horned “aguuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” is water (agua) . . . a police whistle means the bicycle guy sharpening knives, and a steam whistle is a bicycle guy selling hot ears of corn. what sounds like sick electronic cow bellows over loud raucous radio chatter is the gas canister truck.

the rebosa across the table changed colors, changed nights, changed into a serape. a serape is a strip of material 8 foot long 1 foot wide which men and women use as shawls or light jackets, while a reboso is 8 foot long and 2 foot wide used the same way but usually by women as a shawl and baby carrier. maxman puts a serape across his round table for decoration. on two succeeding nights, he had 2 different ones, so i told him his reboso kept changing with the moon – he said not only that, but it’s a serape.

foto by smith

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