Tijuana Gringo | |
Daniel's Journal | by Daniel Charles Thomas |
15 December 2001. Saturday. |
Bought a Guadalupe candle yesterday. She's glowing on top the stove.
There was an eclipse yesterday did I spell that right? I smell an error. There was an ecclipse -- no, eclipse -- yesterday solar annular partial here but we nor I couldn't see anything because it rained. On TV weather radar showed a diagonal line NorthEast to SouthWest a fat strip of yellow blobs (heavy downpour) wrapped in dark green billows (moderately strong rain) which was moving onshore across the border, stretching from Mission Valley to Rosarito Beach through these hotel casino doors move the most beautiful women in the world, eh. Rudi once or twice has said he often stayed there when he was young when his parents went away on vacation. In the house on the right, with the alcoholic B**** family who lost all their properties to thieving underlings who gave them papers to sign when they were plastered and soon they didn't even own the walls around them and their daughter old lady only inherited the hotel and when she made a complaint about the electric (or telephone?) company they took the last scrap of that away from her. Such is the fear of the rich and powerful, eh? TELNOR it's a pleasure to serve you. Eclipse indeed. The Sun is devoured by the Moon.
Forty years later no thirty-five I finally achieve a pure stream of consciousness paragraph. Wooptido and who givsadam surrealism died fifty no sixty years ago in the fires of Nazi hell quite appropriate sigh. *Sigh* while meanwhile on this frontier it was shell shell who's got the peanut under the shell game hell. Buznes @ usyul yep.
Yesterday busted both balls in my brain translating a 160 line poem by Jose Maria Heredin (1803-1839) died young the passionate poet, imagine that, only 36 years and phhhhttt out like a shining light then went dim, dead, dark. Double sigh go back to insert commas I'm editing my own writing again -- after that first stream-of-consc -- who was it said write free, stream as it flows, without editing or anything? Dunno. Besides I ain't no surrealist. Am a millennialist. Prophet of doom the icecaps shall melt and the new lightrail project be drowned. Nostraindamus the trolley profit.
Last night I started reading Luisa's Informe Academico to get an idea where my translation partner's head is at. Wednesday we meet to compare our versions of the poems we're working on for some literatis at UNAM. The brain stretch I love. Gonna do some more now. Mmmm. With c o f f e e . . . .
Bought a Guadalupe candle yesterday. She's glowing on top the stove. Deja vu.
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