Jacque's Toast

Maybe that is why I dreamt I killed a man. Because people dream of the impossible, and despite my sometimes naïve admiration of people like Lee, a real creep who killed people and shot up and “rolled drunks on the subway”, I would be a target of his, not a colleague. Caught between two worlds, present and past, young and old, fresh and aged, reality and clouds – not sure. I just need to make mine my own. You write what you know, so I write that I had a pretzel cut up in small bite size pieces covered in presumably fake chocolatey slimy substance. I write that I've rubbed my eyes so much that they are weary and raw. everyone is always seeking out that raw experience though so maybe it is for the best. Babble babble babble and nothing will ever make a story. i will bounce to Buenos Aires tomorrow to see the amalgamation of architectural wonders and to tastefully imbibe in the Spanish speaking spirit. like the time driving through the rough and tumble and for...

Dusty dawn breaks through, spreading light over the still sleeping city. The beginning of life begins in the dumpster, as the alley cats wake and stretch and nimbly pad about seeking the spoils of the drunken hordes of the night before. The whispering cats scamper about outside a window and a sleeping man stirs inside, mumbling inaudibly as he turns over his pillow but before too long the soft snoring resumes.

Coming right up is a trip to Argentina! I too thought one country in South America would be enough, but really that is kind of a silly thought. Because Brasil is kind of the country in South America that is the odd one out anyways. Portuguese speaking and so much bigger than the rest, it would only make sense to go to Buenos Aires as well. Also because Devon said it would be diggity to go visit! Well, exciting to be sure and the word is that the city is quite charming. Back in Sao Paulo for a few days, rain is threatening to crack the simmering humidity but has so far withheld its splashing water so the air hugs us tight. If one wishes to take photos of buildings, Sao Paolo is truly a great destination. There are buildings far and few and in the middle, in the background and in the foreground and to every side. Some are old, some are new, some brightly painted and some streets lined entirely with the dullest gray imaginable. Some are under construction, wrapped loosely in torn baggy...

The first clouds I've seen after ten days here in Rocinha! Photo taken on the roof/playground of Creche (daycare) Arte Tio Joao .

I sit here perched in the shadow of Jesus. Towering above me is the 39 meter statue with arms spread wide, taking in the massive, sprawling city of Rio de Janeiro. A circular walkway is constructed here allowing for spectacular views on all sides, reduced only slightly on this hazy, 33 degree (c) humid winter day. It is 2:15 now, and the sun sets around 5:30 I'd say but it would be so sweet to stay up here for sunset..I don't even know where it would set honestly - I'm pretty turned around - but I'm sure it would be beautiful! Plus I spent 51 reals taking a train up here so might as well take my time. I brought a book by Jack London called the Sea Wolf and other stories, so maybe I'll sit myself down somewhere and read it while i wait. Probably show up in a ton of selfies like a nerd. The ocean from here looks frozen, completely unmoving from hundreds of meters up in the air but you can see the still ripples and peaks like a static bowl of blending egg whites.  T...

It's been six days since I first arrived in Rocinha, a favela in Rio de Janeiro. Estimates to the population range from 100,000 - 300,000 so I'll say it's around 200,000 people covering a hillside, with houses built sloping up the mountain, literally one on top of another. All times I've been out the streets have been filled with people walking, working, sitting, drinking and eating, driving, bouncing on trampolines, smoking, playing loud music and just being out and about. Dogs and cats dash through, winding their way through the tangle of legs and burning exhaust pipes of the myriad of swarming motorcycle-taxis. The motorcycle taxis are key methods of transportation primarily within the favela, though they do go out as well. The drivers are clad in black with striped yellow vests. Their dress, coupled with the vrooming and buzzing of the motorcycles always reminds me of an angry swarm of bumblebees. I have yet to ride one, but the drivers carry an extra helmet and th...

  spinning and spotted thought tries to intercept colorful time flying by, crashing into the window. Amidst the shattering, a knowing sigh.

The question, apparently, is how to make love stay. To make love stay, 'you' has to be many. Whether you build on previous yous from previous places, or a complete invention of a you every day. Or definitely not. Because 'you' might also be considered a complete fraud, a honking phony, an outrageously noncommittal slimeball with an awfully amorphous backbone. Sure sure people say that making love stay is not all that important, and if it does not stay, maybe it should not. If it isn’t staying, then it is not love. No, no. Love only stays where it is wanted, but being wanted does not always make love stay.  Love is born in the effort of trying to make it stay. It is a slippery bar of soap. I could have all the flour and eggs and chocolate and sugar in the world, but if I don't make brownies, then obviously I'll never have a goddamn brownie. yass maybe I'm just hungry.  "Finally, just as the bare feet of the toddler emerged from the restr...