up for air

The travels have not ended. But as the black man slumbers, I have found enough repose to claw my way to the Internetting place to offer a quick glimpse of what the past few weeks have been like:
We stumbled into the morning from the rented apartment like vampires being crushed by sunlight. As we made our way to the building's exit, Luis the doorman/launderer motioned me over.
"Some tenants complained that last night there was a lot of noise and yelling and that there was a transvestite screaming to get in and causing lots of problems," said Luis nervously.
"Yeah, sorry about that," I told him in Portuguese. "We had a small problem last night. It won't happen again. Tranquilo?"
Luis smiled, shook my hand and asked if he could go collect and wash our linens.

Danger Doggie: An Update

I have been traveling this past week, and not paying much attention to the fringe. Which is good. The fringe is a brooding hold-over. In the meanwhile I have been working my way down the white sand coastline until I hit Rio, where I will be meeting up with a profane war veteran and a Hollywood Jew. After ten days with these two, the Fringe will need a new server. But for now here is quip of an udpate:

The first thing I realized is that Brazil is actually a nice and friendly place. I have decided that my city, Macaé, does not belong to Brazil as Fort Lauderdale does not belong to America. They are just fucked-out...well, see previous blog.
Last night I was bussing it to Saquarema, one of the best surf spots in Brazil. After a missed connection, or miscommunication, I exited the bus in Bacaxá thinking it was Saquarema. However, Bacaxa is about 8-10Km away, and I had just exited the last bus.
I purchased a bottle of Itaipava, and with my belongings on my back and Havaianas on my feet I trekked the highway through the starless night, passing jurassic aloe veras and exchanging boa noites with the 0ccasional cyclist. It was the most pleasant stretch of time I have covered in a long while.
I arrived safely, feet severely cramped only to find pro surfing had beat me to it. ASP, Rip Curl and Coca-Cola will be hosting the WQS for the next week.
I awoke this afternoon and headed to contest in time to watch Brett Simpson win a heat against a weathered Neco Padaratz. As the contest continued I realized I had been speaking only Portuguese for the past week and suddenly desired to speak English. It was then I spotted some blonde haired bros with Jack's lamenated on their boards. That meant they were from San Diego, so began walking towards them. As I came closer I picked up on the language. One bro hollered to the other bro a high-pitched "Yew!", then followed with, "danger doggie!" and slapped hands with one another.
I became very uncomfortable and continued walking by as if I had somewhere else to be. I was then reminded by something my friend Asa once said. "I have never met a guy that was actually from San Diego that I ever liked." But Asa also once said that "it is hard to be both Chinese and cool."
I don't know what the truth is. It's funny what our tongues do, dictate and decide. They are fateful rudders that. . .no, no I am doing this right now. I am on vacation.
More to come soon.

Fucked-Out Cunt

Nothing proud in form here, in this fucked-out cunt of a place, but poverty expensive with vagina. Men extract their dicks like syringes from petroleum and inject and inject and inject billowing foul motel shadows across the streets that used to dance, but now they hook and con with the taste of oil oozing everywhere bubbling into a swath of ecstasy, disease and chains trailed by beggars and stray dogs.
And in this fucked-out cunt of a place a gate was built in front of our community to protect the middle class from what the rich have done to the poor. But there are nights of imperious invasions when the gate rattles and shrill voices cry my name. I used to appease them with concern and plead in an language I no longer speak.
I know now of their origins and design. It is all a fucked-out cunt of a trick. This my fringe, and I see it all.