Steven Roll has just posted the contributors and story outlines for the upcoming eBook on Latin America.
1. new snow on Piltriquitrón ridgeline
2. kid [mid 20s, angry looking face--made me think 'did i leave the door locked'] walking up our street
3. a black horse (mare) with lead tied to fence along San Martin
4. Ford Falcon crashed into middle of plaza with front wheels hung up on brick curb
5. no other cars downtown
6. supermarket security guards checking bags / receipts of a couple who had just bought a Playstation, the man in his mid 50s, white, the woman in her early 30s, dark-skinned, with freckles, possibly pregnant, and pushing infant in top of shopping cart
6. three kids stalled out in Ford Falcon where the pavement ends and dirt begins on calle San Martin, the driver’s head against the headrest, eyes closed, mouth open, a liter bottle of beer between his legs
7. the black mare with lead now completely entangled in fencewires [when I approach to try and untangle, her eyes get huge and she starts jerking her head up, ripping part of the fence out of the ground]
8. 4 guys on side of San Martin beside a mid 80s Audi with no license plate, no rear windows, but ‘mirrored’ front windows and windshield, the 4 dudes machete-ing a slash pile of willow for firewood
9. rainbow (snowbow?) in notch at Cerro Lindo along Andean cordillera
These are unedited excerpts of recent emails from Segundo who does not want any internet ‘presence’ but who is a bro I love and miss and whose writing I just want to share anyway:
-just got back from the pueblito (now city) where my pops grew up–went with my last 2 uncles-94 and 87–the last of the 18! my cousin drove us for a trip down memoria lane–the house they grew up in is now a motorcycle shop–there was one ancient lawyer friend who we visited still at his desk on x-mas with piles of papers that got more dust on em than i dont know what— he remembered me though asked me if i had dreads last time i was there to sign papers about 8 yrs ago–went to the cemetary and but a rock on my pops grave from my medicine bag…… visited some more of my uncles friends –everyone says i look igualito a mi papa aun el pelo malo– saw some murals of the mirabel sisters(las mariposas) schoolmates of my dad—i’ve had enough city for now–families of 4 on motoconchos drinken presidentes-music blaring tight clothes dark skin and potholes…..ahhh latina america—
–so much flowen through the head—seems to happen when im down here–hangen with my dads bros–mis tios— one of em leopo who is 94 is like looking at the spitting image of my dad–down to the way his fingers curl and his nails–the way his hand feels in mine–it bugs me out–i wasnt really close to him either–he was always the quiet uncle or the”slow one” as the family used to say–no family ,no education, no job, just always lived at home and roamed the streets visiting people with his blue eyes and smile saying shit like ”yo soy el flaco flaco y tu el gordo gordo” then just laughen–like a buddha or something…he’s gonna out live everyone—i remember him walking off down the street 10years ago after my fathers funeral–he seemed so sad that the memory has always stayed with me–visiting folks today and seeing their reactions when they saw him just cracked me up–”eh leopo el flaco flaco” —its good to have the memories though and the weed i picked next to the grave and stuck in my medicine bag–i love how it grows out of the cement–just goes to show you cant stop la madre! pues…hasta la proxima ramble–