There was a point during my exile in Cuban purgatory that I tried to summon the strength to explain my situation and this is the video that remains. I am not traveling as much as moving through Central America to taste the plates of emotionally ransacked cuisine. These simple excursions sometimes turn into a hopeless and dejected quest, repressed, lonely, dusty heartbroken like a stray dog picked up by the Guatemalan Humane Society, waiting in a filthy cage for an adopted owner who will never come, surely the needle to put me down and then they will dump my corpse along the swollen river with the car batteries, but hopeful, with tail wagging and ears perked up at the sound of the metal gate clanking in the morning not knowing if it is death or life that cometh. My recognition that I had sunk to this low put my spirits in the corpse pile by the river. I had no explanation, my failures, my petty complaints, my lack of ambition, frustration, aggravation, ruined, futile, bereft all seemed to be pointless.
I don't want to revisit or even elaborate on this recent scenario because that would imply I am safely 'out of the woods' and I am not. I'm still in the jungle, still unwanted, still dangling my heart over the tank of bull sharks. So, the details this video can not capture is the 10 gallons of water that soaked into my filthy carpet after a near collision on the highway to the border, a stench of damp decay that reflected on my own misery...alienation, withdrawal, flavors of relief lingering and dissipating to the world, nothing would be the same ever again...pointless. And it could all start again immediately.
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| no man is an island, but Ometepe is an Island |
