Saturday, January 3, 2009


THE TRUTH IS, a little difficult to divulge. What he intended
was to name the blog Isla de Mierda, because when he was around 15, took a morning trip from his home town to Rio Piedras in
a publico. A crowded van used in most of the third world for
transportation. The heat was easy to imagine with fourteen people
in a vehicle for eight. The radio was all the way up and the
natives prone to start a collective monologue, chit chatting as loud
as the radio, with constant whining and bitching.

If you are allergic to noise, close contact with people one can
imagine his wild thoughts regarding these matters. But there was
something more irritating, nauseating. Watching the vegetation turned upside down, showing its roots, smashed bark, trunks all mixed with soil in huge piles.

It is progress. Highways left and right, houses, hospitals, schools. But mostly houses and highways. The soil looked as
many animals at the butcher's with the skin off. An image that
kept appearing during for half a life in the island.

Doldrums? Well, I asked about it. Only ships with sails can be
affected with such calm, lack of wind. That is exactly the point.
Takes a little imagination, since islands do not float except those
made by the ugly aboriginals from Bolivia in Lake Titicaca, or
juatever. An island where nothing happens. Nothing.

WHY not move to Germany? Sure, because one likes order, quiet, instrumental music, preferably any kind without words, to
be on time, expecting public clocks/train/bus to be on time. That is the
response when one points out these trivial matters. But that is not all.

If you wonder why every other idiot girl with a height of five
foot four thinks of becoming a model, and even worse, there is
an academy in every corner that will accept you.

WHEN YOU state without any doubt that hunger is also a matter
of people screwing by impulse, just like cats and dogs. Why not
carnal exchanges with protection to avoid pregnancies, killing diseases?
Later, the fundamentalists missionaries drop by with the thick book under the arm pit and that is that. No more roasted pig, lobster, shrimp, dancing, miniskirts and there you have it, part of the portrait of
this Island in the Doldrums. To the already noisy atmosphere,
some more celestial screams, songs, speeches. A tiny subjective picture of the whole. Imagine it multiplied by a hundred, a million.

Or more strange. Those who are happy apparently, smiling, complacent. All is fine. We are the happy islanders, no crime,
unemployment, millions of potholes, puddles, water leaks and
well... I better go...
See you there.

Thursday, January 1, 2009


In the morning, in bed until eleven. Later went to Tato's for coffee and toast. Bought that part of a hose to make water flow with different shape/strength and washed the miami, oyeme chikitico, windows for the first time in two years.


Just had breakfast. I have the feeling this blog is going to be more fun than others since while
I translated these old journals without any rigorous order, other actual ideas may arrive in
a flashfront. At any rate, I checked out the local newspapers deciding not to buy them. Coffee and toast. Later bought some ear rings for Tula to see what she thinks.

My state of mind feels a little weird, since what I feel for Juana sometimes is pretty much like anger, but without any violence and often pity, loneliness and sadness, perhaps she
feels the same guay.

The first one mentioned last night that I was acting strange, when I asked how, there was no explanation. Curiously I could not say it with words. After many months without any problems,
the right eye is squinting at will again for brief periods of time, which reminded me how it came and left. This makes no sense but is good key board practice, since I am keyboardist in charge,
will not complaint. If you are reading, bear up, or pick another blog, there are just one hundred
and fifty million to pick from.

I played three billiard matches, winning two. The last one was with some inner city youth, if
you know what I mean, arrogant moder sucker, making no eye contact when shaking hands at the end, something somewhat annoying. The other players were weak, impulsive ones without
instruction. On Sunday, I will make a trip with Tula to Cano's, the best pool hall, in Isla Verde to watch players in a tournament dressed in black tolcidos.

From where I am now, I see a fat fellow nicely dressed, but looking funny thanks to his huge blimpy looks with a certain look as Bonny Cepeda. Some great pool games, with an excellent shooter, the kind tha plays with ethics, not common.

Last night Tula and I went the Arab way. When we left there were no lights anywhere around,
except Gonzalez Padin. When we entered Larry Bird and I met, a great surprise for both. Editors note. In Island in the Doldrums, albinos and blond/red haired fellows were referred to
as Larry Bird or Cano Estremera among certain people.

After the so, so food we bought some candies, watched the shitty island television, there was
no cable. Before that, Juana threw in a fit my records on the porche, while I was out. Something rather disconcerting, deciding to send her a letter. All this reminds me of other times/places in my
life, perhaps, for that reason there is no anger. I think to understand what she is going through.
However, sometimes I wonder. How do I know?

The heavy Arabic food did not settle well, It was hard to fall asleep. Woke up at three am, turning on the radio on KQ until nine pm when I failed to reach Juana by phone.

Yesterday I received a letter stating that my Veterans GI Bill was finished. The electrician repaired the0n wiring for twentyseven bucks, seems like a rip off now that I think of it. Only
a few days left for this year to finish.

Now at Tato's in Caguas, not far from the city bus terminal, nowadays a cemetery judging from
the few customers. I was surprised to see Milagros Robles, with a huge butt, little shy, almost
absent breast; probably with three, fours kids, I bet. Too many women in that bag, seems the rule, and no provider, male or not. Used to be classmates in fifth grade.

Later, by el Condado. Got no idea about the time. I went to Bell Books already, searching for
a present for Juana. We spent some time together, working in the garden, finishing in the mall.
Gave me a ride to Villa Kennedy, where the cousin Flower, was not at home. We moved to some lesbian house who was not around. Almost forgot, not finding the book I wanted, I bought one
by John O'hara for myself.

Signing off. These writings make no sense at all. But the tittle did not fool anyone. Bear up.
After all during the Latinamerican Literature Boom, some writers were known for doing just
(much better) this. Let the reader organize. Good luck.