Trekking through the rain forest. Standing under majestic, celestial waterfalls, dodging a snake that fell through my ceiling, Making friends with Chorotega Indians, diving for lobster, surfing daily in empty line ups, crossing crocodile infested rivers, leaf cutters, dodging turtles making their way to the ocean in the brilliant sunlight of the Avellanes river mouth, flying across the Gulf of Mexico for a pentance/pennies, standing in line for a pay phone, only to be pushed to the side by a bold man, who ran in front of me and grabbed the phone, mother fucker, having the bank president take me outside to show me how to use a machine to get money, machine guns, friendly men with machine guns, climbing into pools of water held by boulders, sit in one, cold, climb a boulder, hot, miles of clay highway, no road signs to guide you, no GPS, no pop up blocked, sitting at a table in Guatemala with a Professor from the Aisle of Wight, a mechanic, an international business major, the host family and the argument of Fingerprints of the Gods, horses, cows, dogs, bot flies, dengue, You’re gonna get fucked, survival of the fittest, you can hang, being a pioneer, making the way for pussy footed others who want to change cultures, colonization, apartheid, directions to church, starting point, Christie’s, real estate, yes, real estate, get it while you can. All of it. I would be better off writing in the sand, with a stick. Technology is a fast past to a hell fire. I’ll take the stars, on a dark, indigo night. Lit up by nuclear fusion, pulled by the weight of gravity. People dog the young, they are our only hope. People dog the poor, they are our only chance to happiness. Love. Your brother as yourself. Love God with all your heart.
Alex, oh Alex. Help me.
We are a ball, spinning through infinity. Hang on. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Wilson, oh Wilson. Help me.
AI suggests that I am mentally ill for having written this.
God, oh God. Help me.
Fish Eye Farm 