goodbye

you came and filled the space. quite literally.
we played eighties songs.
(yes, i did know all the lyrics, and, yes, you laughed)
we discussed nuts. nuts!
i made your Facebook page.
you fixed my lights.
we summoned empanadas for bedtime.
and invented dulce de leche wraps.
we once watched Batman vs Superman.
all.
three.
hours.
i liked testing techniques on your endless back.

no, you were not the one for me...
but I'll miss you.

km 333, half way to hell

on the side of the road, scrawny kids, travel dirty, wait under the shade of dwarf palm trees. some stick their thumbs out, most gave up on the kindness of strangers some time after the sun reached its midday summit.

I wonder if I will ever again be on the roadside, or if I'll ever be the kind stranger. a lifetime ago, maybe.

30 degrees.

black, shimmery pools of imaginary water reflect back the sky on the tarmac.

when I was young I would dream of the car diving in, water everywhere, and a long swim into the depths of the highway, to where it's really going.

the sky breathless with the haze rising upwards. a lonely tero eating carrion off the melting road, taking flight just when. bugs on the windscreen.

somewhere out there, a fortress.

alarm bells

montevideo is the second safest capital (after Tokyo), and within the 30 safest cities the world over. this doesn't seem to stop some of the population from living in a permanent state of fear. locksmiths abound. security guards are rampant. houses and cars are alarmed. alarms go off all the time.

of an evening you can hear the wind rustling the leaves of the plain trees, the hum of the sleepy traffic, the metallic bang as the recycling guys let the lid to the dumpster fall shut, and the chirping of car alarms startled into life by the mearest commotion nearby...

on the way

the stars let themselves be eclipsed by tiny stand-by lights reflected on the windscreen. head against the window, i dream of creatures coming out of the darkness. giant wooden thrones hiding in the eucalyptus forest, kings and queens forming out of clouds to take their place. life is a series of surreal moments invented by my brainwaves. easy come, easy go.

punta del este, minas, tacuarembo, salto

the lobby
arm on the table, hand holding the paper steady, head tilted on this arm, other arm active, writing. eyes falling shut. words getting blurry. arm active, writing. head tilted. world passing by. 90 degree angle. world watching writer. head tilted. eyes closing. arm active. writing. map passing by. children passing by. fat blokes and their skinny girlfriends passing by. 90 degrees. head tilted. arm asleep. arm active. words blurry. writing.

the cricket
you sit on a bed in a hotel in the smi-dark. wondering what are the things that you should be thinking about and why you aren't thinking them. the trouble with going with the flow is that you have to remember not to swim against the current. a cricket chirps away, making sense. a tap drips. an american breathes in and out. writing produces no answers.

the ride
he sets the horse for me and off we go. towards the cows, then the lamb, then the sunset. galloping away. the sky is red and blue and grey and blue and red and grey and all the other colours you can think the sky will be around sunset. and a few more. the sky surrounds everything. the land surrounds everything. we can see for miles. dark comes in. i'm on the horse. invincible. he knows the way. the horses know the way. there is nothing to worry about. we get back in the dark and the path is lined with fireflies. stars of the land, flickering. later he reads me a story about another ride. ride away. that's what i'll do when i'm good and ready.

the sting
i'm driving to salto, on the 31 east-west. which i've never done. which i've never ever done. i'm doing well, i think. slow, fast, overtake, watch for the potholes, end in sight. salto is near. doing good. 120. keep going. nearly there. bang! an evil insect flies into the car and stings me in the neck. right next to my mole. if it's a bee, my neck will swell up and i can already feel my mouth getting numb...

casino

plastic, fluorescent, untrue. an old lady sitting on a stool, waiting. a whisky tumbler, watering down, abandoned, ice-cubes melting in the cool light. a man watching a woman writing on a slot machine. lights reflecting on the marble floor, twice as garish. cardboard cups. flushes, carrousels, lost eyes.

effort

when asking for directions

• listen
• understand
• remember

it's a simple expectation...

leisure

the city's sticky with rain and anticipation. when i was a child on rainy afternoons... i can't remember what i used to do. today, i wait. maybe the boy round the corner will come play cowboys and indians with me.

towards punta del este

my friend who's in love asked me if i'd heard the noise. i hadn't. when she asked again, i still couldn't hear a thing. i recalled that urban myth where there is a killer in the back of the car and was about to make some clever quip when i was distracted by a song and let it go.

the sky was steely blue on one side, blossom pink on the other, the sun a giant orange sitting on the horizon. stars started to appear and dark fell slowly on the road. bocas de lobo we call them roads. no lights for miles, no lights at all.

travelling at top speed. i'm daydreaming of werewolves and night creatures when i hear someone knocking on my door. i do not realize this until later but basically i panic, scream and grab the driver's arm like a clamp. immdiately i let go, hysterical, realizing how dangerous what i've just done is. (speaking in english, how weird that primal fear brings me from my native spanish to english) at the same time i'm thinking, fucking hell, there is someone outside the car, on the roof, on the side, in the boot........

we keep driving, can't stop, the noise vanishes.

after a while, my friend recalls the moment, nervous smile, and as if on cue, the knocking starts again. panic. roadblock ahead. the policeman waves us on but we stop the car by the roadside.

another benny hill moment, two girls running round the car, looking under it, on top of it, kicking the wheels, checking the boot (me: before i open the boot, can i just tell you that i'm actually afraid of opening it so that you laugh at me and i realize how ridiculous i'm being? thanks)

no zombie. no werewolf. no killer. just another peal of uncontainable giggles and more road under the stars

towards la paloma

we drove on dirt tracks, avoiding potholes and dodging flying stones. by the side of the road a horse sat impassive under the shade of a tree, sheltering from the sun. having searched in vain for a way down to the sea, we decided to stop there for a picnic of empanadas and pasta frola. the sun was beating hard, so when the horse finally moved from under the tree, we leaped at the chance to get some shelter. a second after we sat ourselves down my friend who's in love spotted a vicious insect just about to bite her leg. tabano! those fuckers can make a horse cry for a week from one bite only. no wonder horsey had cleared out... we get up lightning fast and run to the car, only to find a colony of the evil creatures have chosen to make themselves at home in it. benny hill style scene ensues, with lovely girls running around car, shaking colourful fabrics at invisible monsters, opening and closing the doors, giggling like maniacs and finally putting a piece of cake on top of the car -- to tempt the suckers away, of course! -- and driving off like there is no tomorrow, laughing hysterically, tabanos away...

the poem

la paloma is sleepy and empty. in the cybercafe, kids relieve their boredom playing mindless games on the buzzing computers. my inbox is full to the brim with spam and bank notices and lawyers and art shows. but buried in the mess i find a poem. poem. as everybody knows here at ladelentes we hate all kinds of poetry. still, i read the poem. read the poem. and i still haven't quite managed to keep a small smile from sitting on the right-hand corner of my mouth. tickling me.

rescue

today on the beach my friend who's in love tried to rescue a penguin.

the penguin was struggling against the crashing waves when my friend spotted it. she went up to him and eventually took it out to the shore. the penguin was breathing and moving but looked exhausted. small thing, so fragile. we made a shelter for it, called the sea-life rescue. when they came they told us the penguin was dying.

we did all we could. which is, as ever, all that anybody can ever do.

sopa de uruguayos

ingredientes:

• uruguayos (de cualquier género, con mujeres sale mas picante, con hombres un poquito más pesado)
• lluvia

para comenzar deje que la lluvia caiga por 4 días consecutivos. después de este período, someta a los uruguayos a fuego lento por un día, peferentemente a temperaturas de 30 grados, y con húmedad al 90%. pase a lluvia otra vez. disfrute con un kilo de carne asada como acompañamiento.

quiet

sitting in the garden, meditating on a sunny afternoon, behind the noises of cars and grass mowers and children playing in the school behind the house i hear a grillo and a cigarra, chattering across the street. they've been chatting away since the evening, all through the night, during the morning, still, in the afternoon. i do wonder what they're saying. what are they saying? are they saying can you see that girl, sitting on the grass, cross legged? can you see her eyes quivering under her closed eyelids? can you see that she's missing a home? can you see?

goodbye camera

uh-oh. camera's gone. never to come back? lost an arm. not to mention trust in mankind. although that had been a little battered already...

desasosegada

i wake up with all my joints creaking. the moon was red the other night. my eyes are heavy and i'm going nowhere. i feel old and out of place in this place. parallel lives. tired looking what-ifs hanging out on every corner, having a good old chat with all the what-ifs i left behind, sharing a drink with all the what-ifs that are coming coming coming.

el pony pisador or the timewarp or midnight

yesterday i visited the place where i had my first kiss.

my friend had planned to introduce me to this friend of his. he said he was a tall guy, perfect for me. my friend was one of the "bad" kids and had decided we could only be best friends as anything else would damage his reputation (really, this is uruguay and you just can't go out with a girl who's the school nerd AND way taller than you. no matter how long those legs may be) so that night, after the usual sneaky beer on the beach, we got to the club and he introduced me to his mate.

and 5 minutes later he had second thoughts, kidnapped me to a dark corner and snogged me so bad i couldn't stop running after him for the next 4 years...his friend then ran after me for the next 4 years.

and that's exactly how it was.

phylum ctenophora

if you go to the beach at night, the water shimmers with a phantasmagoric glow. don't jump in!

if you go to the beach in the day, you won't see a thing. don't jump in!

likelihood is you'll come out of the water covered in transparent goo and itching like you've never itched before.

don't forget, all ctenophora are carnivorous.

tapioca!

yes, my parents have been feeding me asado and masitas again

itchy
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

i'm the oldest, ugliest and fatest thing on the beach...almost.
thank god for sea lions, eh?

in the corner of your eye

parrakeets flashing by fluorescent green
the pink underbelly of the hornero shining into the sunset
humming bird bluegreen sucking on the bright red hibiscus