1. Took this photo at the feria¹ yesterday. It felt like the first time I saw ppl interacting in a certain way which made me think “I can ‘capture’ this photographically.” I’ve always been embarrassed pointing a camera lens at ppl [or having one pointed at me.] But these kids, the way the two dudes were wanking on the guitar and the girl pretended to be checking her text msgs or maybe she was checking them for real but everything about the way she was sitting was like “dios mio chicos, prestame atencion” or something that I could pick up 40 yards away but which the two kids didn’t seem to register or maybe they did but just felt like ignoring her.
2. I felt like I’d photographed something that told a story, but then when I saw it on the computer I realized I’d focused on the grass instead of the kids, which is actually a revealing mistake–I’ve always been distracted by and on some level more interested in vegetation / landforms / terrain than ppl.
3. I’m writing this while listening to Skeletal Lighting by Of Montreal which makes me think–along with what I just wrote about vegetation–back to a house party in Athens, Georgia where of Montreal played in the basement. It was Halloween and Michael Stipe was dressed as a blue gorilla. Filly² and I had eaten mushrooms before we went and there was this weird scene in the kitchen when Stipe pulled out a tray of cupcakes that had blue icing that matched the blue of his gorilla suit. He offered cupcakes to me and this girl who was dressed as a basketball goal. Later I went outside and looked at trees and Filly told these girls who stood nearby smoking “my man Dave here can name every tree on this street.”
4. Predictably, this is the part where I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed in Athens and not, instead, followed this other trajectory which progressed into this latest form where, apparently, I’m attempting to photograph kids in a plaza in Patagonia.
5. Either way, Of Montreal is kind of hard to write to.
6. We have no washing machine. This morning I spent an hour handwashing clothes. The air is cold and there’s snow on the ridgelines. Not good washing [I started writing "writing"] conditions.
7. Later Layla was saying something that I couldn’t understand in this super excited voice. I followed her into the living room. A hummingbird was trapped in the living room, bumping along the ceiling. We opened all the windows and I talked to it in a friendly voice–”here you go, here you go” — while thinking “why do we change our voices when we talk to animals?”
8. I went back out to hang clothes on the clothesline and thought about how far this hummingbird has migrated³ to end up today in our living room, and how it seems kind of strange for people to call themselves “travelers.”
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¹ in El Bolsón, PatagoniaArgentina.
² friend from Savannah, Georgia who I played alot of music with
³ Hummingbirds migrate thousands of miles from the Northern to Southern Hemispheres
kerouac
i’ve been thinking about running some sort of contest here as contests tend to make people stoked.
i don’t know if this is something that will have a single winner–maybe everyone who “enters” will win. not sure yet.
as far as prizes: i don’t think there will be money in this. not in this first one. maybe if a lot of people enter this and it turns into something we could run again, maybe then we could have prizes.
[update 4/26--i've decided to create a mixtape as the prize for the winner(s). mixtape will be inspried by winning entry, and may have (perhaps) a recording of the winning writing remixed into the tape.]
the winning work will be also published here, with the winner’s (s’) byline(s).
this will be the first time ever that someone else will be credited with authoring a post at operating on stoke.
potentially, i might write an essay or a bit of literary criticism about why i chose the winner(s).
this is more about buena onda than anything else.
so here it is:
- starts tonight (Sunday, April 25) and ends noon EST on Thursday April 29
- you can enter as many times as you want: email your entry to david@matadornetwork.com with ‘one sentence writing contest’ in the subject line
- one sentence, but can be as many words as you want
- the sentence should try to convey a particular feeling–ideally with some kind of stoke (or perhaps chance for redemption of stoke?) in it–about traveling (or a moment in your travels, or the beginning or ending of a trip) and your sense of ‘being on the earth’
i got the idea for this from the last sentence of on the road:
So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars’ll be out, and don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all the rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.
- if you have any questions, please leave them in the comments section below
- make kerouac proud – ‘dumbsaint of the mind’
thanks for entering.
1. All knowledge and cultural reference is assumed. [Anyone reading your story also has access to Google, Wikipedia, and millions of websites and blogs.]
1.1. Therefore any explanation placed within the body of a narrative [For example: "He had on a boina, the South American version of a newsboy cap," or "He was listening to Outkast, a hip-hop group from Atlanta] tends to slow down or obscure the narrative flow and/or potentially alienate the reader (if he/ she already knows what the referent is).
1.2 Therefore the narrator should simply describe / narrate, and if necessary, add references via (a) links, (b) words in parenthesis, or (c) footnotes.
2. Emotions are never assumed [Ex: "She seemed happy that morning."], but can only be portrayed the way they were perceived by the narrator, [Ex: "She stood in the corner punching herself in the stomach."]
2.1. Any changes effected by or perceived by the narrator either (a) within him/herself or (b) outside of him/herself, must be placed in temporal context* [Ex: "Right now she would be around 6 months pregnant and we’re both grieving this in our own ways."]
2.1.a. *unless it is fiction.
3. Narrators should be self-aware and transparent about (a) their connections (and / or lack of connection) to the subject, (b) the temporal / historical context of the subject, (c) the potential effects of their writing on the subject, (d) their acknowledgment of using various mimetic or diegetic devices as storytelling “vehicles.”
3.1. Logical fallacies, incorrect information, hyperbole, and other potential “issues” are all “ok” as long as they are recognized transparently.
4. Narrators should develop / operate from a lexicon faithful to the way they speak / think in real life.*
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*mine is stoke / anti-stoke.
She gives us the Argentine sign [ arm / hand swung in the direction of the road ahead, then held up] for “do you want a ride?”
She does this without smiling.
Through the passenger side window we look at each other’s faces for a second. Then I nod. “Si.”
Layla and I get in to her dented van. Her small feet are pushing the clutch and brake pedals.
“Sorry about the dust,” she says. “Last night we had to take these dogs home. They got loose in the storm.”
“No, no, por favor.”
She’s maybe 43.
“They were roaming all over the place and our dogs were going crazy.”
“Which dogs were they?”
“A black lab, well taken-care of, and a doberman.”
“I always see those dogs along Camino de Los Nogales.”
“Si.”
“Where do you live?”
“In the chacra back there where it says ‘ceramic workshop.’ What about you?”
“We live next to Los Colque,” I tell her.
“Oh. Did you buy a place?”
“No, we’re renting. But we bought a little terrenito on the other side of the arroyo.”
“Really? That all used to be our land.”
“En serio?”
“Si. We had 5 hectares. Then in 2000–you know about the crisis right?-we had to sell it or lose everything.”
Her eyes fill up with tears.
A few seconds pass. The van is rattling forward on San Martin. We’re all looking through the windshield. It’s been raining and windy for the last 2 days.
“Yeah, um, we bought it in 2005,” I say. “When we came back this year nos dio tanto bronco .. . I mean bronca . . at how they’d cut down all the forest along the arroyo.”
“Si si si. Imagine: we planted that sausal (willow forest) so it wouldn’t erode.”
“Oh. Can you drop us off here?”
We were just about to the Feria.
Somewhere back in the last minute the road had switched from dirt to pavement.
text: “Flow Chart of Divergent Distracted Thinking. ”
[A chart with three columns designed to represent textually how my mom and I communicate sometimes.]
(a) dialogue, (b) internal thought, (c) internal reaction to internal thought
“We’re going to a 50th wedding anniversary tonight. This couple’s kids live all over ¹ but they’re all in town this weekend…
1. they probably couldn’t stand their parents → 2. no, don’t think like that.”
i published this along with other excerpts from my current journal at the traveler’s notebook