Went for a holistic ayurvedic massage with rosemary menthol oil. The pressure and the rubs were just right, I almost melted. After 90 minutes, the feeling is indescribable, like I was floating out of my body. Then went to salon for my appointment. In every country away from home, I think the stylist has always been a dear friend.


The other night. Went to a hotel party. Very pleasant night with piano. There was a lit fountain with flower petals and floating tealight candles, I was sipping ginger ale all night. Met a distinguished author, he seemed cynical. Met an executive from Bimbo, and learned more about the distribution of bread goods than I can imagine. Met his wife. Also met a director of a gallery. It’s too bad I’m going on an extended trip in Guatemala for some villages, I won’t be able to see the art work. Met more people until I got tired of trying to talk about my life over and over in Spanish.

The night blurs, and I remember fat drops of rain bellyflopping onto the roof. Pitter patter… plat!…plat!…plat!…plat! Raindrops diving off clouds in a triple spin belly flop death.

Sitting in the corner, I thought about the place I was at. A little construct, a space on the infinitesimal surface of a great unbelievably enormous world. My place seems stable and constant, dreamy. Yet, if you think about it, the world is actually moving, spinning on its axis, part of the great planet that continues its motion along its celestial orbit. The purple magnetic waves, the electrifying aurora borealis, the fact that the Earth’s crust is floating and grinding and wobbly over the mantle of molten magma and grey whales were probably singing in the sea, vibrating millions of krill. And think about all the stars and galaxies that surround the planet, comets and asteroids buzzing in every which direction, twinkling and looking at us and shining for us. Orbs of stars that might have died implosively millions of years ago and their emitted light has traveled through stretching distance just to reach us, are we glimpsing at its final faint cries? Are we feeling how speck and small we are, the humility of life?

… No, we’re in the hotel, clinging to each others’ stories and glibly passing out contact information, firm handshakes and talking about things that I really don’t care about. Piano music still playing, the hotel owner is such a charismatic woman, she hands me a prosciutto wrapped around a melon ball, before whizzing off again.

Why are you sad?” a man later sits down to talk to me.
I’m not sad, I’m pensive,” I reply…deciding not to explain my thoughts.
Oh it isn’t good to think. Maybe a little bit, but don’t think too much.

I start to think again…hm… I’m supposed to stay around Guatemala. But what if–oh wouldn’t this be loca?–what if I just passed through El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama on my own without a guidebook, without telling anyone? I could, too. The corners of my lips crease, a devilish smile. The man thinks that I’m smiling because I’ve stopped thinking.


Así como una jornada bien empleada produce un dulce sueño, así una vida bien usada causa una dulce muerte.” —Leonardo da Vinci

Spanish Words of the Day:agotado” to exhaust, to wear out | “asimismo” likewise | “papillas” purees | “reacio” reluctant, unwilling | “ser fresa” to be a rich snob | “hablar con papa en la boca” talking in a Valley-girl accent | “ser naco” to be tacky