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our hosts (melina, sabina, branku) fed us fish and chocolate pancakes sunday, then took us to rovinj, a 1,600 year old istrian village built on a hill that was an island until 500 years ago. it was like walking thru a fine foreign film. on the way, we stopped to examine a kazun, a thousand or more year old 10 foot high round stone hut built by shepherds using no mortar or cement… just stone stacked on stone, including the stone roof. it was standing in front of 600 year old grove of olive trees. so much history, tradition, beauty – so very much oldness. the new parts here are older than oldest white america… there’s a 3,500 year old burial ground near the town – the sole example of a mycenaean tomb outside of greece.
and then there’s the new – riding to pula monday, the bus packed old to young, the radio blares out “i’m going to kill every last motherf~cking one of you” from the pulp fiction soundtrack. i’ve heard more public motherf~cking here in croatia than anywhere outside the cleveland bus system… i know the players know what they’re playing, so it must not matter here, or maybe it’s not offensive cuz it’s in another language. actually, all fathers are motherf~ckers, or at least mothers-to-be-f~ckers. i’ve f~cked other’s mothers, but none of my own (my being childless and all, since the 1st thing i did when i left my wife in 1974 was have myself sterilized).
the shots above and below are of rovinj, and the kazun along the way.
nuther weird dream – i was homeless, illegally sleeping on cardboard in an abandoned room on the floor of ken nevadomi’s old movie theater studio warehouse (a place which does not exist)… ken had a nightmare where he was on fire and woke in agonizing wails – had to be a recurring condition cuz there was a live-in nurse/girlfriend who soothed him. his dream set the tops of my feet and front of my ankles smoldering in flame – the hot coals of my flesh started my pants burning from the inside out, and my flesh bubbled with huge blisters. my dreams are rich – they amaze and entertain me… 2 nights ago, mother dwarf was washed away by a flash flood while walking beside me on a sidewalk. kept searching for her. just about to write her off when she climbed back up the hill and shook herself like a dog, laughing. she wasn’t going to let reality beat her. she’s been dead 17 months now, yet she still visits my dreams. i miss her. but – if she hadn’t died, there’d be no kathy, and i’d be dying from undiagnosed throat cancer. what weird weird weaves we walk. it’s all interconnected, and i’ve been given neither map nor diagram.
