Well it's been a while. And now I am writing on a computer without a comma - so I have to use many hyphens or just keep going going going in an endless dribble (no change there I suppose).
Got to catch you up with the events of the recent past, drop by saccharine drop.
LA FAMA DE MARINEROS
Just hitchhoke 12 hours and 1000 kms from El Calafate in the South of Argentina to Comodoro Rivadavia also in the South because the country is so enormous. Hutchhiggled with a truck driver called Fernando who would've been 28 yesterday if he hadn't forgotten his own birthday and who has been driving trucks since he was not joking 12 YEARS OLD but might well now change his job - significant in the context of 3 generations driving trucks in his family which began with his grandfather in the 20's (the truckdriving not the family) - because his wife chucked him out the house a few weeks ago on account of being tired that F is never at home and the general reputation of truckdrivers - family in every town that is (la fama de marineros he put it) which he admitted was partly true though he loves his wife and 3 little kids and her throwing him out was perhaps a conscious gambit to make him see things more clearly i.e. what is important because she called him 3 days ago inviting him back and now he understands how much she has suffered in the 10 years they have been together and the last while apart has been tough for him losing the desire to eat the ability to sleep and the compulsion to smoke (cold turkey from 5 packs a day) consequently when he picked me up on the outskirts of El Calafate and I tearfully said goodbye to my trusty and temporary dog Maya Fernando had been driving for 3 days without sleeping though seemed pretty compus though at times he went serious downtime like I think fish when they sleep but don't sleep just sort of drift all this he told me throughout a 12 hour journey through the IMMEASURABLE FLAT EMPTINESS of Patagonia from broad sunny day to bloodbath sunset to star stapled night a 12 hour journey consisting of 2 hours guitar playing 20 mins composing a hate letter to Blunt about his You're Beautiful song 4 hours sleeping 2 hours staring in silence 30 minutes translating a Metallica song into Spanish for F and the rest chatting about all the above and much much more and when he deposited me on a dusty layby (Labi?) opposite a service station in Comodoro Rivadavia I stood and shivered and felt moved by this peep through a glassy night into someone's life as Fernando roared off at last back to his wife and family.
SEÑOR SUBJUNCTIVO MEETS TARZAN
Someone today thought I was Spanish AFTER hearing me speak - a major achievement.
This notwithstanding the fact that 3 people have accused me of speaking Tarzan Spanish. After all the work I put into using the subjunctive!
People raised by monkeys and the English cannot normally comprehend the subjunctive mood. I've decided to start using it in English by altering my volume:
It's not possible that Hitler LIKED marmalade.
He's moving the wheelbarrow so that you DON'T HURT yourself when you climax.
In GRAMMAR: THE MOVIE Señor Subjunctivo is a translucent figure - the bastard son of Mother Tongue - forever twisted and gibbering in the shadow of his half-brother Juandicativo.
HATE LETTER TO BLUNT
Dear Mr. Blunt
You might be happy to know that I have heard your song played repeatedly in some of the most isolated parts of the world. But you shouldn't be. Actually you should be ashamed and embarrassed because the song represents an insult to the human brain and irrefutable proof of your hateful and aberrant taste.
Just because you saw a girl in a bar who you wanted to fuck and couldn't doesn't mean you have to whine about it in appalling clichés.
If I were you I would be unable to show my face in public. The enormous success of the song worldwide gives me less faith in humanity than the creation and proliferation of atomic weapons.
I can only pray that the song was a deliberate cold-hearted bid for fame and money and that you do not believe it has any artistic merit.
Get fucked
Prawn D. Subsidio esq.
THE SEA AT NIGHT JUST DEFINED
We swung round the bed and I noticed a strange quivering greyness by the side of the road. I peered to discern what it was and my heart gaped a split of horror. The sea lay there, threatening me with its enormity. I felt chastened and shakened. It had been a glimpse into the cold animal fear of Infinity, which is the most human of creations.
WHAT YOU NEED TO DANCE THE BAMBA
A bit of style;
Another little thing.
(Up up)
ICY SPIDERS
Hatchhawking the 120 kms from El Bolson to Bariloche should have been easy.
Walked hours with backpack and Carlos the Valencian with one of those funny Spanishy lisps to the service station at the exit of the town.
Many truck drivers said no.
Eventually a toothless farmer travelling with toothless wife, toothless daughter and toothless baby motioned us up on top of the cab.
We put our stuff in the back with sheep sand and climbed up 4m high on top of the truck.
Exhilerating - the icy wind froze our bones but the snow covered mountains were alive and gloriously present.
Stopped - we're here. 75kms not Bariloche. The Toothless family had arrived at their destination which happened to be in the middle of nowhere.
Cursing hoisted bags and walked, folorn thumbs out to one passing car every 10 minutes.
A 4x4 with an open back screeched to a halt and we delighted climbed aboard. Drank máte, ate biscuits.
He screamed off round the mountains bends covered with treacherous ice.
The police stopped him and told him to slow down. He slammed his foot down.
Fear started like a pissy trickle: the bends were bendy and the ice was icy. Serious drop to our left.
Wheels locked. Car spinning 360 degrees all over the road. The tops of trees over the drop approaching, metal barrier flimsy.
He wrestled the car to a halt in the silence. We are touching the barrier side on.
I hadn't spilt the máte. The gentleman was bloodless. We continued to the lakes.
