honeybird's drawings

the year was 2003.

2011-02-07T22:44:00.003+01:00

OK so it wasn't that tall

and it wasn't that big

it didn't have handle bars

or a scratchy throat

when it woke up after

a nice long two hour nap in

the sun like hibernating

immobilizing

sun showers over

romanticized fields of

green

OK so it wasn't that hot

and it wasn't that green

it didn't play card games

nor could it

sit

through a feature film

without at least

one

intermission

it has an immune system

that keeps countless

college students

on their toes

the creativity of the world

2011-01-17T19:08:00.003+01:00

from my mind to your eyes

2010-10-06T13:08:00.000+02:00

transmission

2010-10-01T00:37:00.000+02:00

olive cherry land

2009-03-31T21:58:00.001+02:00

pneuma

2008-09-07T19:27:00.002+02:00

On the brink of nomadic
feeling emphatic
not so pneumatic
ultra-elastic
not made out of plastic
turning monastic

don't trust the butcher

2008-06-16T00:18:00.001+02:00

naturally

2008-06-16T00:16:00.001+02:00

naturally i'm thirsty
naturally i drink
a river in the forest
a bottle in my fridge

naturally you're hungry
naturally you eat
a cherry from a cherry tree
a sandwich sliced by him

the church bells rang
the chiming sang
cacophony to wake the city up
and remind them of the lord

the first day of a new job
the last day of a relationship,
days we don't easily forget

manamana

2007-02-10T17:49:00.000+01:00

peppe 1

2007-02-10T17:28:00.000+01:00

peppe 2

2007-02-10T17:26:00.000+01:00

bread man

2006-11-20T16:16:00.000+01:00

Call me ... I use pens

2006-11-05T22:34:00.001+01:00

nariz blur

2006-11-05T22:23:00.000+01:00

to each her own

2006-10-13T13:04:00.000+02:00

no more pressure

2006-10-13T13:02:00.000+02:00

Balalaika

2006-10-06T23:01:00.000+02:00

This week of October 2-6 we've done a lot of overdubs on two charango songs, including me playing balalaika ( a three string russian instrument ) and a little packet of italian sugar, called zucchero, which when shaken right up next to a 414 gives a great bright sweet rhythmic groove. October 13th...concert at Alpheus!

Jesùs Rafael Soto

2006-09-25T15:39:00.000+02:00

Jesùs Rafael Soto: vision en movimiento al PROA Fundacion en Buenos Aires

1st stop Rosario

2006-09-19T01:03:00.000+02:00

1st stop Rosario: second biggest town in Argentina, lounging along the River Parana', it serves up a heap of tasty empanadas. When ordering empanadas, the are served with specific borders to distinguish between the types (i.e. carne suave, carne picante, humita, etc). Diego and I spent four full days in Rosario and visited two museums, one post modern minimalist in a cool pastel building, and then the Museo Castagnino, where lots of rad Argentine painters are featured such as Berni and Leon Ferrari. The nights lit up with Diego's cousin Andres who took us to "Madam", an 80's boliche disco club, and "Dixon", a salsa / cumbia villera club.
Saturday in Rosario was spent enjoying an asado with family and friends. Diego made the big engagement announcement but they already knew because of a leak via Lisa, a cousin living in Andorra). Later that evening, we went to Teatro El Circulo and saw Mayumana, an Israeli dance troupe who performed a wild mix of percussion with their bodies and dance with objects and sounds. We stayed at Andres's apartment, not far from the two pedestrian streets: Cordoba and San Martin -- and also very close to the neighborhood club: Luna.

hamburguesa con jamon y queso

2006-09-18T19:57:00.000+02:00

Sunrise on a lovely comfy "Aguila Dorada" bus heading north. Today is Tuesday, August 22nd, 2006. Yesterday was a national holiday because of San Martin, a spanish man who led the independence struggle for Argentina chile and Peru in 1816. The Chileans don't love him as much as the Argentineans. The sun is rising over the Chaco region of Northern Argentina where we are now. It is very flat and there are lots of horses. We're passing lots of real small towns. They say Chaco is one of the poorest regions of Argentina. It was known as the "cotton capital of Argentina" but now the main crop is soy because of the high demand of export to Asia.

We are still in the Santa Fe Province, where Rosario is located along the River Parana'. There are lots of cows. I'm traveling with Diego, my fiancé. This land is very fertile. En Rosario, se dice "re" muchas veces antes de los adjectivos. Quiere decir "muy", "fully" o "molto". Por ejemplo, !re canchero! very cool.

the queen of the non-sequitir

2006-09-12T01:49:00.000+02:00

••••
the queen of the non-sequitur
amounts to nothing
in the secular world
pawning her gaudy jewels
to get in good with the bishop of fortune
she swerves her head
when she sees full length mirrors
can't stand the taste

wall-to-wall carpeting
under the urn where her former lover lounges
in the living room
of the after life
he can no longer
defend himself
from her baffling
interior design
....
2003

sonic drawing by honeybird and experimulator

2006-08-11T04:11:00.001+02:00

sonica drawing by honeybird and germolino

2006-08-11T04:00:00.000+02:00

Joyful Announcement

2006-08-01T11:14:00.000+02:00

the horizon is hiding

2006-07-31T14:25:00.000+02:00

gaze over the shoreline
glide over the crust
swing with the breezes
where air is thrust

mojo waves crash
on kissing birds, kiss,
memorable buckets
chucked into the sand

the horizon is hiding
girl birds wonder why
as sobriety rises,
they get mesmerized

the horizon is rising
boy birds wonder why
wait. they crave you,
and a pick-me-up

drawing

2006-06-27T17:23:00.000+02:00

this is a drawing i did last week

La Luminara!

2006-06-17T00:45:00.000+02:00

This evening, Friday July 16th, 2006 was a very special illuminated evening in Pisa, Italy. In fact, the most wonderful Pisan night of the year! It's the celebration of the city's patron saint: la festa di San Ranieri. The event is called "LA LUMINARA" - it's a folk festival which dates back to 1688. We mingled amongst 70,000 wax candles, which were all put in glasses and hung on the wooden frames of houses along the Arno River, and even sent floating along the Arno River. People wandered along Ponte di Mezzo and along the Lungarno enjoying pizza, pisa, and CECINA, a lovely garbanzo bean thin pizza-ish food.

Tomorrow, Saturday June 17th, the four main "rione" or areas of Pisa will be competing in a Regatta boat race along the Arno. The Palio will conclude with a winner who gets the "paliotto" prize. Accompanying this event will be loads of Pisans dressed in traditional medieval outfits parading around.

Then on July 2nd, there is an annual meeting on the main bridge for a "reverse tug-of-war". There are two teams of ten men and they push and push and push until one team pushes the other team off. A local Pisan woman told me that historically, they played until one team fell of the bridge into the river, but it's since been modified.

Lucky Lucca

2006-06-17T00:05:00.000+02:00

A whirlwind few hours through Lucca, a little Italian town surrounded by its comfy defensive walls and mini moat. Mini me. Here in Tuscany, they say "sei un miccio," (say oon mee-cho) which means "you're a donkey" or more amusingly "you're an ass." Say with a smile and you're bound to quickly make new Tuscan friends. Puccini was born in Lucca and it's a half hour train ride from Pisa Centrale (Peezuh Chen-trah-lay).

Last night I had a brilliant soup called "ribollito", a special farmer recipe using the vegetables and bread from the day before. It's a delicious mush which my 99 year old bubula (Grandma Debby, of the album cover) would love too.

The main drag of Lucca is called Via Fillungo and leads to Piazza Anfiteatro, an arena of pastel buildings that curve and schmooze. In fact, it's a Roman amphitheater dating from the 2nd century. (Lillian, that LA lady, adds: "it's the Grove without Rick Caruso's fountain").

To the north of Lucca, in the Garfagnana region is the Ponte del Diavolo (the devil's bridge). Ghouls, goblins and ancient etruscans dig it. Me too.

recording

2006-06-09T00:14:00.000+02:00

This morning at home I was listening to Rino Gaetano and Caparezza, Battisti and Vasco, hints of Italy with sparkles of slop. In the studio, we've been recording basic tracks to analog 2" using a studer a80 mkIV at 15ips with dolby sr. really pleasing sounds and harmonies. feels good to play, good to hear, play and record buttons. A strat here, a grand piano there, a birdie flies by, chirps on tape and flies on through the skies and sounds.

honeybird live at Piazza Vittorio

2006-05-25T11:33:00.000+02:00

Hey, that was fun! On Tuesday evening, in the center of Rome, in the lovely Piazza Vittorio, honeybird was heard! We played live, me, honeybird on guitar and vocals with Michele Braga on guitar and accordion and featuring Sing Jazbir from Punjab, India who sang on "honey in the fridge." It was an awesome show.

Big Dam !!

2006-05-25T11:05:00.000+02:00

The biggest damn in the world, the Three Gorges Dam has been completed along the Yangtze River in China.

US Troops to the Mexican border

2006-05-16T13:56:00.000+02:00

Militarizing the US.

President Bush is ordering as many as 6,000 National Guard troops to tighten the U.S. border with Mexico, hoping to increase security there and to win conservatives' support in Congress for an election-year overhaul of the nation's tattered immigration laws."

Hear President Bush's speech from Monday, May 15, 2006

Democracy Now! in Rome

2006-05-01T17:42:00.000+02:00

Amy Goodman of democracy now was in Rome this Saturday, April 29th, 2006 to give a discussion of the importance of the media. She came to Rome from New York for one day -- and it was worth it. Courageous, brave and well-spoken.

She described the history of Pacifica Radio, a public radio, in the United States, as it began in the Bay Area in 1949, followed by the opening of KPFK in Los Angeles in 1959. Pacifica radio has been considered dangerous because it allows people to speak for themselves. Free Speech Radio.

Paul Robeson was mentioned, a singer/activist who was broadcast on Pacifica Radio and is very worth checking out. An activist, Amy stated, is someone who dedicates their life for social change. Commendable, brave, righteous.

Much of the media is run by big corporations, so the news stories are often mundane, repetitive and contain a fraction of the relevant information. She noted Michael K. Powell, son of former Secretary of State Colin Powell, who was the controversial former chairman of the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) . The FCC controls what goes on the air in the USA -- and what gets communicated to the masses.

The theme of Latin America arose and her take was very positive. She told us about Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez's program with CITGO, the national oil company, who is providing low-cost oil to poor families in the United States.

Amy fearlessly reports on what is happening in the world. In fact, she recounted in detail being beaten by Indonesian police in East Timor, before it became independent. They were using US-made m16s. East Timor became a free, independent country on May 20, 2002.

We are the ones who must speak up. She quoted Margaret Meade "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world. Indeed it is the only thing that ever has."

emiliano per honeybird

2006-04-23T17:28:00.000+02:00

ascolto honeybird
lei suona spesso per noi friends e noi ascoltiamo
perche' ci piacciono le parole e la musica
ma soprattutto perche' la sua musica e' sincera
e ricca di idee, sempre nuova, sempre happy,
sempre piacevole.
In questo mondo cosi' vasto siamo cosi' piccoli e cosi' grandi.....
cosi' belli.

ciao honey!!!!

Bimbo

2006-04-05T17:28:00.000+02:00

what does a paramilitary look like? how can one spot a mafioso?
is it in the way they gel their hair, perhaps a symbol on their palm. Do they enjoy karaoke with friends on a friday night? Are they all Led Zeppelin fans that still live at home? They mix in and know well how to do it. A different species of man!

imperialism

2006-04-03T10:09:00.000+02:00

imperialism, a definition: when an empire imposes their authority and social ideology, forcing people to abandon their language, religion and culture

crusty colonialism in an expanding babylonia

2006-03-30T04:16:00.000+02:00

preventing an attack by attacking the people
time to dance a mysterious dance, in defense
citizens topple over like dominos
exhausted from asking
exhausted from disappointments
exhausted from voting, believing and then being let down
well done italy, the biggest human snake ever has been voted down and out.

Immigrants looking for something to do.
Tourists looking for something to do.
Stealing to eat, enslaving to feast.

Lui vota.

2006-03-20T23:53:00.002+01:00

Diego vota nelle elezioni il 9 aprile in italia.
"Diego, perche voti nelle elezioni?"
Diego risponde:

"Io voto per impedirgli di censurare chi è contro di lui.
Io voto perchè voglio che ci sia una regolazione sui prezzi.
Io voto perchè sono stufo di vedere sempre le stesse facce in tv.
Io voto perchè credo che la sinistra abbia ancora dei valori apparte queste marionette.
Io voto perchè credo che il proibizionismo non sia una soluzione.
Io voto perchè amo l'italia e temo il regime mediatico.
Io voto per non essere obbligato ad ascoltare che il comunismo è paragonabile al fascismo.
Io voto per evitare che continui il presidio a Baghdad.
Io voto per uno stato laico."

IO VOTO il 9 aprile

2006-02-26T12:41:00.000+01:00

Arrivono le elezioni in Italia per primo ministro. IO VOTO.
Perche?
IO VOTO perche voglio poter ottenere "la pillola del giorno" dopo se rompe il presevativo
IO VOTO perche voglio che l'esercito Italiano si ritira dall'Afghanistan e l'Iraq
IO VOTO perche voglio che Marco e Gianni possino diventare una "coppia di fatto"
IO VOTO perche voglio poter fare un aborto se rimango incinta per errore o sbaglio
IO VOTO perche voglio che i CPT migliorano
IO VOTO perche voglio capire le leggi e chi mi governa
IO VOTO perche faccio parte della società
IO VOTO perche POSSO
IO VOTO perche penso tutti la debbano fare
IO VOTO perche sono innamorata e voglio un futuro con il mio fidanzato
IO VOTO perche mi piace come Veltroni promuove la cultura e musica a Roma e spero che puo essere anche fatto al livello nazionale
IO VOTO perche non voglio vivere in una dittatura sotto la privatizzazione
IO VOTO perche mi riguarda
IO VOTO perche amo la musica, la libertà, l'espressione ed i miei amici
IO VOTO perche NIMISNEKI

tap in to CALM

2006-01-24T11:45:00.000+01:00

He tapped into pure energy before my very eyes --- envigorating, inspiring, then exhausting. A free flow from within ... 8 hours of expression - raw, unfiltered, passionate. Vibration, limitless self. Brand new concepts spoken for the first time. Promise. Clarity and CALMNESS behind the exterior visual of enthusiastic safe youth. PURE the moon brighter than any other night. inhibition risen and melted away. Charismatic clouds, the romantic solitude of one people one race one collective ego.

you are free

2006-01-23T06:23:00.000+01:00

written April 2005 outside a mega supermarket in Santiago, Chile

No more me me me me me, you are free
No more me me me me me, you are free

Enough me! Enough I! The people in the malls may as well have ME in big letters on their shirts! What about me? Me me me me me … but what about you? How do YOU fit in to their ME? You don’t. I don’t.

Our western civilization is slave to the “free” market. We want what we want, we want what we see. We say we are free to buy, we are happy. We won’t say hi to you. No trust. No love. No freedom … or freedom? What is freedom? What does it mean to be free?

Nature is free … simply molecules in motion, energy, the planet moving. The more artificial we are and dependent on the ARTIFICIAL, the less free we are. The Earth is spinning. We are on it.

You are free. Your car is not. A tree is free. A pole is not. A bird is free. A building is not. Globalize natural freedom and natural time. Corn growing is free. A wristwatch is not. An apple is free. A dog is free. You are free. Things are not.

SOULS ARE FREE. Don’t deny yourself freedom. You have energy.
You are free.

Christmas with a U.S. soldier

2005-12-27T18:06:00.000+01:00

December 25th, 2005. Christmas day in the Atlanta airport with a U.S. soldier on his way back to Iraq.

A young man in combat.
Short brown hair, blue eyes, nice new shoes, my age (28). He is dressed well in his clean crisp army attire. He sits next to me in the smoking lounge, awaiting his flight as am I. We begin speaking. I ask him "How are you getting there?" He responds "I haven't been told yet." He doesn't know how he is getting to Iraq (they don't tell the soldiers their itinerary in advance).

He is an infantry soldier based in the impoverished town of Abu Graib, just north of Baghdad. There are no journalists embedded where he is stationed because it is too dangerous. He's already spent nine months there and is on his way back. On Christmas Day.

Violence everywhere
He seems surprisingly calm. He has a gentle face, but is cleary weathered by war. He tells me he has become numb to the violence because there is so much of it. He expressed his disappointment with how much the press covers only the bad news (violence) and not the good news. The press cares about selling programming, whatever it takes.

He is on the front line, in the infantry and has been in the U.S. Army for years. He was in Bosnia in 1995 and says that the violence is much worse now in Iraq. There is a sense of confusion and helplessness amongst the Iraqi citizens. They are living in war and many of the rich Iraqis have left. Those that remain in Iraq are often paid by the "freedom fighters" (a.k.a. insurgents, resistance ... terrorists ... civilian-killers) to plant bombs. This means that many Iraqi citizens are so poor that when they are offered money, they accept, even if it goes against their morals.

This U.S. soldier sitting next to me is saddened by the situation in Iraq. He has heard atrocities from the Saddam times and wonders what alternatives there were but to take Saddam out of power by force. He hopes the situation improves and is there being as respectful as he can, given the horrible situation.

Road bombs and bombs in the markets.
"Bombs go off all the time in the open air food markets found all around town," he explains. "When a bomb explodes near civilians, my human nature is to go near to help the hurt. However, many times, another bomb explodes, hurting those that get near to help." It is disastrous.

Mercenaries
"Do you have any interaction with the mercenaries?" I ask him. He responds: "Well, I wouldn't call them mercenaries, but we don't have interaction with the security contractors, even though they are paid by the government too. I actually have no idea what they are doing there." I ask him: "I've heard that some of the worst atrocities have been committed by the security contractors and not the U.S. military." His response: "Yeah, I could believe that."

Integration?
"Do you ever eat Iraqi food?" -- "No," he replies, "although sometimes the families whose homes we enter offer us sweet and delicacies, we must decline because the sanitary conditions are much different there." He enters peoples' houses and tries to respect the people inside.

A brief encounter
We leave no contact information with each other and don't even exchange first names. We speak for around twenty minutes. He asks me if I've ever been to Iraq. "No, I haven't," I confess.

He confirms to me that other towns and villages are now being seiged and closed off much like Fallujah was in April and November of 2004. When I tell him about a recent documentary, made and released in Italy, showing how white phosphorous burns peoples' bodies but not their clothes, he responds vaguely, saying it is unfortunate that extreme measures must sometimes be taken.

A colleague of his comes into the smoking lounge and exclaims "our fleet is ready to go!" With that, the nameless U.S. soldier and I part ways -- both spending the rest of Christmas day on airplanes crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

As I walk to my gate, for my flight to Europe, I pass swarms of other army men and women on route to Iraq. On Christmas Day. Back to the war on Christmas Day.

Unclip the wings

2005-12-08T14:22:00.000+01:00

I woke up another dimension in an unconventional time and reeked.

A young Rumanian girl with her family mingle on the metro while an elderly accordionist strolls by spouting anti-fascist anthems, without lyrics, such that unsuspecting passengers don't catch whiff of his "power to the people" chant. That gypsy family may not know it but they're getting empowered from it too -- and their stench is less offensive as they pile onto the metro. They become a majority --> the people, the workers, the foreigners, the different ones --> intermingling and intermarrying within their rung on the triangle. But the ones on top will never ride underground. And so whereas the fibers of the social fabric may shift color, smell and flavor, the shape and form remain pointy and distinguished like the Andes.

I thought life was a game and work was an occupation for caged birds. Radiant beauty not to be hidden, voracious cultural rapture, societal captivation igniting flares of conscientiousness in a sea of stale cages -- open, but filled with birds with clipped wings. UNCLIP THE WINGS.

Creel, Chihuahua, Mexico

2005-12-05T05:46:00.000+01:00

Flashback: Creel. August 12th, 2004
We had arrived into Mexico days earlier and had been through Ciudad Juarez and Chihuahua City. We had been very lucky with accommodations, staying with Holly and then at Martha's (with a quickie night in a shady hotel in the red light district of Chihuahua City, no bro!) We debated going to Creel and finally decided to check out who this Padre Pato Jesuit character was, and what the Raramuri in the Sierra Tarahumara were up to.

Enter Creel.
After making an appointment with Padre Pato for the following morning, we walked around the one main street of Creel. I was listening attentively to passers-by, hunting for voices speaking the Tarahumar language. No one. Y'all were checking out the local folks. Two young chicks from Chihuahua came up to speak with us and wanted to spend time with us exotic foreigners. They spoke some English and were very young.

We told them we were going to mass early the following morning and then meeting with Padre Pato, defender of the human rights of the Raramuri people. They were not so interested, as their main focus was finding some nightlife in the sleepy mountainous town of Creel. If they only knew how hard those church nuns rocked on guitar the following morning!

The Duck Sings
The youth hostel we stayed in was cute with a colorful mélange of people. There was a short Argentine guy who was on his fifth year bicycling around Latin America. We had dinner at the hostel -- good and cheap. Much later, as we unloaded our stuff from the car, we saw Padre Pato leaving his office. We were suspicious. The next morning, Padre Pato gave mass then confessed to us his love of trova singing.

The Ghettos of Babylon

2005-10-17T15:36:00.000+02:00

The cities of Fallujah and Tal Afar are locked down. Each resident has an city identity card, complete with fingerprints, retina scan and extensive identification. There are checkpoints on the borders of the city and special permission is needed to go to any other city. Ghettos are closed, militarized cities while freedom sings underground in the oil fields of Iraq.

A US soldier told me that six months before the invasion of Iraq in April 2003, he was in Kuwait preparing and training how to most effectively protect oil fields. The oil fields in Iraq are kept safe while Iraqi civilians are shut up and locked down in urban cages.

Blackwater

2005-10-16T17:04:00.000+02:00

Blackwater Security -- The Pentagon is running out of soldiers and has been forced to hire paid mercenaries it calls "security consultants". A major Pentagon contract is held by Blackwater USA out of Moyock, North Carolina. Blackwater Security Consulting, a company of Blackwater USA, has been hired to guard Iraqi oil wells against attack by insurgents.

Thousands of former soldiers and police officers from the US, Britain, Australia, South Africa and elsewhere are being paid up to $1,500 a day (many times a soldiers’ wage) to protect Western dignitaries, oil company executives and construction firm bosses in Iraq. Private security firms are also employing veterans of anti-insurgency conflicts in Colombia and Algeria, former soldiers who fought in the Russian government’s war in Chechnya and Chilean mercenaries trained during the brutal dictatorship of General Pinochet.

Tico Tico

2005-10-14T16:40:00.000+02:00

costa rica, september - december 2004
I lived in the Sabanilla area with three Ecuadorian biologists, a Peruvian anthropologist and their cat Mani. We lived in a small house a short walk from the bus stop in the Sabanilla Park, near a major grocery store called Mas por Menos. I would often swing by Mas por Menos on my way home to pick up bananas. Many times we would all have dinner together at home. Daniel (my "hermanito") worked at the internet cafe near our house and I would often visit him after my work. I had no cell phone, nor did any of my roomates. There was just an old South American cell phone, named "Martin Martinez el inutil" (Martin Martinez the useless) who would often ring and rarely function properly.

In the period that I was working the most, I would leave early each morning, take the bus to San José center and then walk to the glamorous Korean school I taught at in the Zapote area. Not glamorous, but very grandiose compared to its surroundings. A Nicaraguan man worked there doing everything from gardening to building fences. He was an ex-Sandinista. We had some interesting conversations, away from the ears of the homeowners. The Korean mom would cook spicy kimchee and teach math during the day. I arrived at 8am and was there until 3pm, sometimes a bit later if a random music, basketball, singing or capoeira class went over time. Each class ran 50 minutes long. At any given time I would have one or all of the three korean boys upstairs: Vini, Wuny or Kony. They were rambunctous, brilliant and often impossible.

Following that gig, I would walk to my other job. Though a mere 30 minute walk, it always required me to put on a completely different thinking cap. I went from entertaining ten year olds to culturally enriching the lives of local adult Costa Ricans. I proudly corrupted both in an eye-opening, loving way. The language school I taught at was right in the center of San José, across the street from a corner cafe which served "gallo pinto" (mixed rice and beans) and had a board listing the mariachi bands available to rent for a party that night. Many men in sombreros hung out all night long. From my classroom on the fourth floor, we would occasionally glance at them. I taught conversational english classes, very liberal and personalized, every night of the week and Saturday morning from 8am-noon. In the Saturday class I had 9 students and we would often look out the window at the mountains, churches and sun.

After work I would hop on the bus, which I caught two blocks from work, and ride it home to the Sabanilla. I would nearly always get a seat, and often met some interesting people. For a few weeks I was dating a filmmaker named Santiago. In that period, I would come home on the bus, then call him on the pay phone in front of the Mas por Menos supermarket. He would either meet me there, or I would go to his place. He shared a tiny apartment with a Colombian woman and another guy. They had no refrigerator. In his little bedroom he had a colchon (matress) and a big old IBM computer where he would type his scripts. While we were dating, at one point, he completely ran out of money. We were on the bus and I gave him 1,000 colones for that day, about 3 US$. He soon repaid me after he got paid for his cameraman work.

We all slept on thin matresses on the floor, washed out clothes by hand and once even spent 6 hours together at home cooking chapatis (Indian pita bread)! None of us carried a cell phone around. We shared that one (Marvin Martinez) amongst the four of us and had no telephone at home. The dining room table was a door Daniel and Maria Jose found on the street. Once Daniel built stilts in the backyard, where there was a giant orange tree.

Fiorella, my Peruvian roomate took me to see two fascinating Peruvian films, "Coraje" and "Pantaleon y los Visitadores". I was very conscious of not spending money on unneccesary items. In fact, I would try not to spend more than 1,000 colones a day (appx. $3). When I was working two jobs, it was more difficult to keep within budget because I would get hungry walking from one job to the other. At first, the Korean mom would include me in the lunches she cooked. Delicious, filling and healthy korean meals. However, at one point she tried to charge me for the lunch. I told her I would just bring my own, and would stay up in the classroom while they ate together. It was an amazing relief to have some peace and quiet for 50 minutes. Often I would prepare lessons. Other times I would eat the candy I had brought to pacify my students. The candy was key and worked like a charm except for when it turned them into hyperactive monsters.

On one occasion, Kony, the youngest, at 9 years old, refused to listen. He just wanted to go outside and kill bugs for Science class all day long. I refused. He forced me to hold him down physically for 50 minutes! He learned. What a wanker!

The bus to work cost 120 colones, as did the bus back from work. There were no monthly or annual passes available. There is no metro or tram in San José, just buses. Some cars, mostly buses. On special ocassions I would take the bus to visit my cousins in Escazu, across town from where I lived. They moved to San José one year ago from Caracas, Venezuela. They have integrated quite well, their dog Droopy too. I hung out with my cousin Vanessa a few times at her university, which was in the western part of town near where I lived. She went to U Latina. Once her and her Uruguayan boyfriend Gato took me to the nearby volcano: Irazu. We got McDonalds breakfast on route. It was a two hours drive to the crater, which was a light pastel green color inside. Vanessa and I played hopskotch there. Then we went to a restaurant right along the return route and left a message on the wall. Everyone does, it's famous for the messages all over.

Cockaroaches are everywhere in San Jose. I would often see them scurrying around in my room. My roomates were not frightened at all. Maria Jose told me that cigarettes are a cockaroaches worst enemy. In fact, we called them "matacucarachas" and I would smoke one of her Marlboro Reds each night before going to bed. It helped me relax, even though she assured me that they were not interested in climbing on me, just in finding something to eat.

International Love

2005-10-10T16:45:00.000+02:00

Starburst candies are sweet, individually wrapped fruit chews. An American cultural heritage. The recently appointed US Ambassador to the UN, Mr. John Bolton recently declared the Starburst Factory in Hackettstown, New Jersey an UNESCO World Heritage Site. Never before have the people of the world experienced such an adorable, affordable melange of soybean oil, absorbic acids, gelatin, and real fruit juice. At a recent press conference in spunky Trenton, Bolton stated "Masterfoods has created an addictive toy candy to pacify young poor kids around the world! We must celebrate our great USA and our capacity to produce crap and profit from it. Spreading international love and globalizing marketplaces from Somalia to Soweto is our masterplan. Keep up the good work Masterfoods USA!"

Mr. Bolton was not available for commentary afterwards though he was spotted hours later crying in a local Dunkin Donuts due to sugar deficiency, a condition often found in lackadaisical politicians.

An Iraqi woman's dream

2005-09-08T12:13:00.000+02:00

Perugia is an ancient etruscan town founded back in 600 BCE. It is also where I discovered the gut wrenching catastrophe within Iraq. Yesterday, September 7th, I had the opportunity to meet and spend time with four Iraqi people: a lecturer woman from Mosul, an electrical engineer/reporter from Basr, a Muslim Celine Dion fan from Falluja, and a journalist from Baghdad. Mosul is in the North towards Turkey, Basra is in the south near Kuwait, Fallujah is on the road towards Syria and Jordan while Baghdad is the Iraqi capital, in the central eastern part of the country, towards Iran.

The woman from Mosul told me the most horrific stories of how daily life is. Mosul is where she was born and raised. She remembers life under Saddam and confirms that now it is much worse. There is a curfew, meaning no one can go out of their homes, from 8pm until 6am. When I ask her "what is your dream [with your organization]" she replies without hesitation: "safety."

Though she is not a religious woman, she always covers her head when she goes out in public. There are at least 7 radical islamic groups in her neighborhood. Some know why they kill, many don't.

She emphasizes to me the kidnappings which have been occuring of Iraqi children for money.

Mosul is the third largest city in Iraq yet does not have an airport. The old airport has been converted into a jail. In Mosul, there are 3 or 4 random killings each day. Random Killings, meaning it could be anyone, even her. Every day. 3 or 4 random killings.

The south of Iraq, around Basra, is controlled by British troops and they are said to be less savage than the US troops.

When speaking with these Iraqis, they all seem so used to the dangers they shrug and smile when I ask if they are afraid. It appears one can get used to anything, even war.

Before parting ways, they sing a wonderful Iraqi song for us, with the lyrics "I love you sweetheart I love you."

He's from Baghdad.

2005-09-07T13:51:00.000+02:00

He's 35 and runs a human rights organization in Baghdad. In a rare opportunity to speak one-on-one, myself born and raised in the USA and him, born and raised in Iraq, we spoke of personal experiences.

He said:

"During Saddam, it was dictatorship. There was no civil society. It was safe to walk on the streets, even late at night. Baghdad was safe. However, no one could get involved with politics or voice their opinion because if they did, they would disappear. Then, in April 2003, the United States arrived.

At first, soldiers would walk the streets with their rifles by their side, licking their ice cream cones in a relative calm. Bahdad was still safe. However the Iraqi people were confused with the strange infusion of an unfamiliar culture. While not having Saddam was a sigh of relief for many, what followed was a suffocation of rights, worsening still with each passing day."

Notes:

Terrorism grew out of terrorism, out of desperation.

The reason? Iraqi people will not succumb to the current illegal occupation (per UN international law). The Bush Administration is leading a stalwart resistance, not admitting that there is no longer a reason to have US troops in Iraq. UN peacekeeping troops, maybe.

Nevertheless, there are 14 permanent US bases and the streets are turning more dangerous and chaotic each day.

September 10th. Do or Die.

2005-09-05T17:02:00.000+02:00

September 10th, 2005 is a Global Day of Mobilization for a New World Order against POVERTY, WAR, AND UNILATERALISM, at the eve of the UN Head of States meeting in New York of September 14-16 2005. The Appeal for mobilization was launched in Brazil at the World Social Forum 2005, with the support of 140 organisations that took part in the Reclaim our UN international seminar.

Should you perhaps not be feeling internationally optimistic that day and are having dark thoughts, go to the WHO funded (United Nations) Suicide Prevention Day Celebration that same day! Through activism or self-annihilation our world may prevail.

Not only! If you check http://www.med.uio.no/iasp/wspd/pressrelease2005.html this you see it referred to as the Third World Suicide Prevention Day. And this is funded by the UN.

I woke up and felt so little...

2005-08-10T11:27:00.000+02:00

I woke up and felt so little in a sea of so big. Something sweet is needed to bring my heart back to an average pump, to remove this "guilty of not doing enough" bitterness. Westerner, consumer, arrogant. Time to sleep, food to eat, money to spend -- sinner, capitalist, one of them.

The people of the world living in poverty, the people organizing and trying to improve their miserable daily realities of homicides (see Ciudad Juarez), disappearances (paramilitaries worldwide), and starving -- hard to imagine. Could someone innocent really be killed in our civilized world? Someone murdered and no investigation is carried out because those who would investigate are actually the ones who committed the crime. Human beings who can't "work it out" and come up with something creative to eat, not even borrowing from a friend or going to their mom's for dinner.

It must not be true.
The media teaches me that we are curing poverty. The United Nations are good and want to heal the world. There was some corruption there but now there are reforms so there won't be any more corruption. Certain wars began after the millennium clock struck 2000 however they are being taken care of and democracy will be everywhere soon, in each country of the world.

Disneyland's "it's a small world after all" is slowly becoming a reality. At least that's what the media tells me. The Rich help the helpless Poor. The Rich teach the Poor not to talk back. The Rich teach the Handicapped (non-cultured-people) that they will be happy if they share a worldwide dream for more money, more personal belongings, more power, and more peace. We've gone beyond trickle down economics and have arrived at “we'll all be rich if we bow to our governments and united nations.”

But something doesn't quite sound right.

I meet a young Bolivian girl in Italy who tells me "those indigenous don't know what's best for them. They are stupid without education and don't realize that their blockades are hurting us and them too. They just want to make a fuss, they don't have any vision or serious goals."

When sons and daughters are conditioned that any social majority movement is stupid, and they are the future ambassadors and heads of state, how do we climb out of this miserable rut?

Not innocent nor responsible

2005-08-01T10:59:00.000+02:00

If I am killed in an attack in Rome, publish this.

I am not innocent nor am I responsible. I did my best to act before it was too late. I smiled to as many people as I could.

I read and read, from Al Jazeera to Ha'Aretz, from CNN to BBC, from La Prensa Libre to El Mercurio.

I cared, perhaps a little too much. Courage was in my veins, blood passionately storming in and out of my heart. The heart of a peaceful warrior. The soul of a undying social optimist.

Post Mortem:
I saw a kaleidoscope of colors, so many different patterns and possibilities -- endless. I also saw violence within people around me -- in the local store owner and in the woman in the bank. I saw the desperation, the slavery to the economy, the gray-eyed over-working human beings on the street.

And I communicated with all I came into contact with. I spoke with my soul and took it personally. The injustices, the terrorist attacks, dictatorships, assassinations, wars – as if I was personally part of it – which we are – as a global economy – globalized, “civilized” people.

To change.
Courage is required to change, to open up to new ideas, and to listen. I listened to farmers in Bethel describe their fears of dam construction on their land. I listened to a Zapoteco woman in Oaxaca recount how she suffered brutal treatment and imprisonment by the Mexican police. I listened to a Santiaguino man in La Victoria describe his daily struggle to avoid an encounter with the military presence in his poor urban community.

So I went to the InterAmerican Development Bank in Washington D.C. to decipher the hydroelectic dams they are funding to be built in Bethel, Guatemala and along the Usumacinta River [as part of the Plan Puebla Panama infrastructure project].

They denied involvement.

So I wrote to Senator Diane Feinstein of California expressing my opposition to CAFTA and my reasons why. The next week, she voted Yay. I again wrote back "why?" She sent me back a response.

"We must protect US interest."

I'm sick of being discouraged by others and I'm sick of being afraid of being wrong in my thoughts & writings. The other day, in a discussion with a high-ranking Italian officer, he said "you must choose one thing and stick to it." I whole heartedly disagree, because I already did that. I spent four years in a recording studio in Hollywood as a recording engineer in a "successful" western career.

And now I'm gone. And the money I earned? Put towards exploring -- towards eight months of discovery in Latin America. It was smooth, cheap, tough, monumental. It transformed me.

My life was interesting due to my power to engage and amuse myself, and sometimes others.

Right. And now I am no longer amongst the living. Perhaps I was chosen because I was a social optimist. But I don't think so.

I would have liked to have travelled to Iraq, to have met with Al-Qaeda, to have visited Palestine, to have met the Dalai Lama and the Pope and Subcommandante Marcos, to have discussed with Pinochet the motive behind the massacres, to have returned to the InterAmerican Development Bank and demanded an answer to who's funding the dams on the River Usumacinta.

But I didn't.

I wasn't afraid. I was not afraid. I felt the need to express what I had seen, where I had been, what realities I had encountered. To share our collective experiences with each other. People that may have never known about one another. Manuel, a Mapuche from Temuco, Chile meet Xavier from Breton, France. Marc from Catalonia meet Rene, a Quiche from Santa Elena, Guatemala. Esther from Israel meet Lahoucine from Morocco.

Why was I fighting? Who was I fighting? The powers that be kept telling to me “sit back, relax, enjoy – be the youth of today – be happy, be free -- don't worry about the other people -- they'll be fine."

Fuck that.

I despised the CIA and all back-stabbing secret covert organizations. I cannot believe that the Italian police actually dressed up in black as extremist anarchists and did most of the destruction during the G8 conference in Genova, Italy 2001.

I worked alone -- very alone. Not even ties with any NGO, political party, casual group of like-minded individuals, NOTHING AND NO ONE. Alone.

So what the hell message was I trying to convey?