Goofing around this morning at work at saw this. There are few artists who I’d wanna call up and have a conversation with. The Beastie Boys are on that short list.
Costa Rica Retroactive Diary 10
22 Jun
Decided to stay until Sunday. Ravens be damned…hung over as in the Iron Maiden….good group here…drank big…slept good….with my head facing east….riding the wave…killer hangover…..the altitude maybe….the beard from Madison…in a Ween cover band…has a website about beards and he knows world champion Jack Passion…a guy I knew from Oakland and the Boy in the Bubble band….shat in the woods today..hot, stinky and messy……right on the path…hoped no one saw it and realized it was human shit as opposed to dog or horse shit….wiped off with my underwear and washed it in the waterfall…..which is why you don’t drink from downstream…..yeah..real badass people staying at the hostel right now……so hungover…worst I’d ever had……..
Costa Rica Retroactive Diary: Day 9
21 Jun
Just being thankful to not be face down and buried on some kook's land
Had an awesome day. Woke up. Slept in. Took a hike down to the swimming holes on the side of the mountian. Got in and got refreshed–energized. The whole town has a magical feel to it. Evenings remind me of nights spent in Berkeley, waiting for the fog to roll in. Such great energy.
The whole time I’d been here I kept hearing about this cloud bridge area–that immense waterfalls could be seen from a bench. So I decided to check it out. On the way up I ran into two Krauts from Germany who were hiking the same way.
A couple of people at the hostel questioned my desire to leave so late in the day. True there was little daylight, but I had been told that it was barely 1.5 kilometers away. Surely I could make it there and back before daylight left us.
I urged the Germans on away we went. We walked up the mountains as the fog followed us up. The light was slipping away and as we passed a stray calf on the road, the Germans said they thought it’d be safer to go back. “alright pussies.” I thought. “See ya back at the hostel.”
I picked up a thick branch about five feet long which served as a good hiking stick and kept going. Things got spookier the higher I ascended. The jungle was quiet but I could sense things waking up around me. I found a labyrinth off the path and checked it out. This cost me some more time and by the time I found my way out of it, I realized it was too dark to see a waterfall or a Cloud Bridge and that my best bet was to go back downhill before it got too dark. I had a flashlight but I didn’t want to take any chances.
On my way back I ran into this cat from Santa Cruz who spent time between Costa Rica and California. We rapped for a minute and he invited me to check out his house he and his girlfriend were building.
It was cool to see this dude explain to me where everything was going to be and which room was where. We got high in what was the living room. He was building it all himself with the help of some people around town. I was certainly impressed. After having a toke of some of Cali’s finest, I could tap into the mystical consciousness of the mountain. This was truly a magical place.
We got back on the path and it was now pitch black. It was only 5:30 pm at this point. Santa Cruz’s wife to be met us at the pass and chastised her man for running off without telling her. She was freaked out. The missing hiker had everyone on edge.
I was alone and in the dark. A doberman came to the edge of the grass and snapped at me. I screamed in terror, weilding my stick as a defense weapon. My adrenaline shot up to an incredible amount and soon I was on the alert for anything that could be on the path. I knew the elevation was to high for snakes but I’d heard there were pumas about and other creatures–and who was to say that another dog couldn’t creep up and give me a tussle.
I finally made it back to the hostel and let out a mighty yell. “WHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO” I’d never been this hype before. Not from watching sports not from playing sports, not from winning PS-2 Madden or College Football. I was juiced. It was by far my most terrifying experience to date. The jungle takes on a different feel at night and I felt lucky that I wasn’t chow for some animal. I could have easily been the main course with one slip up. Life indeed is very fragile–even more so when you become part of the food chain again. Man was simply a weakling with big brains among all the powerful creatures in the world. How did our species survive so long?
The rest of the night was a breeze after that. Some new people came into the hostel: A guy from Fayeteville, Arkansas, a Czech from Madison with her mother, a little red bearded fellow from Madison, an Asian dude from Brooklyn, and a guy from Santa Rosa. We all went to go and get drinks at the Rocadorro where I narrowly escaped food poisoning. We watched futbol and dank shots. I was loud and obnoxious and funny (basically a typical Texan).
The walk up was pleasant. We ascended as a big herd and no sense of danger was felt at all. Frontier Bobby had survived another day. I planned to wake up early and check out that waterfall before catchign a ride with Jill (the owner) down to San Isidro to attend the farmer’s market. Before I went to sleep that night I forced myself to embrace the present I had purchased for myself.
Such vast beauty before my eyes. All for me. Again I was glad I had listened to my inner voice. Happy 32nd birthday motherfucker. This was all for me.
“Paradise but with Mosquitoes” : Retroactive Costa Rica Diary Day 8
8 JunThings took on an air of strain up on the mountain. The missing hiker I was told about when I first arrived was believed to be dead. It was pretty surreal. News crews, rescue crews up and down the mountain path day and night. Even the family of the missing had turned up at the hostel next door. They closed off the National park but there was still hiking to be had. I still felt like shit though. I went down exploring a little bit and couldn’t go as far as I’d wanted. My bites were irritated and I felt naseuated from the heat. Walking back up to the hostel made me feel like Chevy Chase in Family Vacation when he leaves the rest of the Griswald family to find help when they are stranded in the desert.
I ended up sleeping most of the day. Got a little bit of poetry written (sketches really) Ate some fruit, drank coffee and water (fresh from the springs of course) and considered some serious dietary changes. Needed to lay off the cheese and milk products. They sure loved their dairy here in Costa Rica.
Word on the street was that it was snowing back in my home state of Texas. That was crazy to think about. Had some things to consider changing when I returned back to the United States. The couple who owned this hostel were quite an impressive pair. John the husband, was building his own Tilapia pond in the back. I went back there to help with laying down some cables and tubes. Super smart guy who looked like a leaner version of the dad from NBC’s “Alf” (Willie was his name I think). We talked a bit about ecology and the thought came to mind to send him a copy of Gary Snyder’s Turtle Island as a gift.
I went to bed that night considering a lot of things. I needed to stop being a womanizer. I needed to feel like a better person. I wanted to feel like I was a better person. It was hard to even talk to women anymore because I felt like such a shit. Didn’t have anything to sell about myself. I couldn’t pretend I was this altruistic saint. I had to embrace that bad part of myself and make no bones about who I was.
I fell asleep praying for the family of the missing hiker, and imagined that it must have been a terrible way to die up there, cold and alone, on the Nicaraugan side of the the peninsula. I was still alive though, and maybe there was still hope I could change.
Retroactive Costa Rica Diary Day 7
8 Jun*After a hiatus from blogging to concentrate on my latest unpublished book (and a short excursion overseas) I’m relieved to pick up the retroactive series again*
Thought about cutting my trip short and leaving for home that Friday. I was still smarting from my bug bites and wasn’t sure if Montezuma would cure my ails. Plus the Steelers-Ravens AFC playoff showdown was on Sunday.
Luckily for me I got an email from my roommate telling me to stay where I was, Tulsa was bitter ass cold and UNpleasant.
Though I had no interest in sand fleas,chiggers, or more mosquitoes and I was still recovering from my sour experience at the Rio Finca Perla. Whatever it was that had bitten me there must have burrowed because I was experiencing an itch I’d never had before. I bought some alcohol and even considered getting some nail polish remover–I’d heard that stuff could kill things that burrowed.
The trip could be over by Friday and I guess I’d be okay with it. I woke up with no idea of who won the College Football National Championship and though I’d been looking forward to seeing an Oregon-Auburn showdown, it’d seemed trivial now that I was on this immense mountain in this spectacular countryside.
I spent the day email people back home and looking for places to couch surf in San Jose for my return home. Even took a nap. Found out the game was kind of a dud (Auburn won a defensive battle) so nothing was missed after all. Kept thinking about that upcoming Steelers game. It was sure to be a classic battle. It always was between them. A true rivalry between modern day gladiators. Just thinking about their impending clash gave me goosebumps–aroused me immensely. I absolutely had to see that game. That’s all there was to it.
Swimmers
23 MayRent was due
work scarce
plasma was painful.
Didn’t I deserve to get
paid for what I loved to do?
She had a deep sexy voice.
I nearly asked if they took deposits
over the phone.
Lineage
depression
diabetes
alcoholism
didn’t deter me.
No ejaculation for 3 days.
An expensive discharge
for what was habit
ritual.
Sperm became dollar signs.
Rack magazines on the rack.
Straight stuff
but no videos.
Pictures don’t do it for me honey.
Pictures can’t move
no matter how fast I flip
the pages.
Disposable sheets on the bed
like the kind
you find at whore houses.
Called an ex or two
hoping for some help.
My mother called with the correct info
but at precisely the wrong time.
An awkward aim
A drop in the cup
is a puddle in my hand
scooped into the cylinder
like spilled Jello pudding.
A look of disgust
and disappointment
as they shoved the rejected sample
into the freezer.
No money.
Just free condoms,
goldfish crackers
and an apprehensive handshake.
At least when you donate plasma
they give you a T-shirt.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
Day 6: Costa Rica Retroactive Diary
12 MarMy how I love me some Yankee women. They really are quite nice to talk to. Of all the American women, I find myself in more stimulating conversations with women from the Northeast.
This young lady I met the night before was no different. Intelligent and cute. Certainly would’ve “fallen in love” with her a couple of years ago when I was more susceptible to that sort of thing.
She left early that morning and we had a great chat over coffee. She slept in the bunk above me but I didn’t know this until I woke up early to stretch and watch the sun rise.
But man I was happy I wasn’t the same guy I used to be. The old me would’ve hiked into town with her, and possibly further. Chasing some 22 year old tail at my age seemed a bit pathetic. It was excuseable to do something like that in my 20’s–possibly even endearing–but there was no guarantee of anything if I dropped my itenerary to get on her schedule (maybe some kissing but that’s only worth it if you’re a fifteen year old boy on the make).
I was starting to get real comfortable in my new environment. There was plenty of hiking, a springs nearby, and a few swimming holes throughout this damn mountain.
I felt quite happy. Leaving the farm and coming here was the best decision I could’ve possibly made. cuaght myself thinking about tasks to start on when I got back to the states. There were a few writing projects that needed to get underway if I want to feel productive. I’d already started sketches for my next two books of poems.**************************************
Went down to town later that day and ate at this place called the Rocadorro. The owner was this long haired bronze Tico man and his daughter worked in the kitchen. I drank a Heineken and waited for the hamburger I ordered.
I watched his beautiful daughter handle my meat (no pun intended) and watched as she threw the patty onto the grill. I kept watching and waiting to (no avail) for her to wash her hands. She touched my buns (again no pun)
lettuce, tomato and pickles. Then she threw soem french fries into the grease. When she headed towards the sink, I thought surely now, would come the time for her to wash her hands. But I was wrong again. She threw something into a trash bag, lifted it up and then started to dress my sandwich.
I wasn’t sure what the food safety rules were here in Costa Rica, but even in primitive Oklahoma, the rule of thumb was to wash your hands as often as you touch anything containg germs.
I got a sickening feeling in my stomach as she brought the burger over to where I was sitting. I went through the conversation in my head about what I’d have to say. Then I thought about how I was going to have to translate that sentence and explain how I couldn’t possibly eat the burger.
It seemed embarrassing, but I’d also had food poisoning before and I knew that spending my vacation doubled over in tears and vomit was not an option either.
So I just paid for the burger and asked for a napkin so I could take it to go. I figured the fries would be fine (which they were but they tasted terrible) and I laid the burger out in the dirt street for any ole mangy mutt to devour.
Later I’d tell the owner of the hostel about this experience and he knew exactly who the gal was. “Yeah, Nancy.” He sighed. ” She’s studying to become a nurse.
How convenient, I thought. After giving people food bourne illness, she could go and treat you for them–(after of course, washing and sanitizing her hands).
Played soccer with this group of kids from Western Kentucky University and my 12 year old bunk mate. The ball we were gonna play with got flattened in the first two minutes of playing and we were running out of daylight. The fog was creeping down onto the soccer field. Just as we were getting ready to just call it a night and head back up the trails, this little 7 year old boy (he was barely 4 ft) says “Yo La Tengo” and produces a ball. The kid came out of nowhere. It was like out of a commercial for the Church of Christ for Latter Day Saints (the Mormons).
It was one of the highlights of the trip and I really worked up a good sweat. The 7 year old ended up being a ringer. He was obviously the best ball handler on the field and I was happy he was on my team. He was running circles around everybody, doing tricks I’d only seen on the FIFA video game. I was certain that Diego Maradona had captured his body as a spiritual vessel to enable him to continue playing soccer.
It was fun. It was a lot of fun. I was smiling and tired and happy. The fog was in full effect as I walked back up the hill with the family from New England. It had been at least a full week since my last orgasm but I couldn’t have been happier to be alive.
I was glad I listened to that voice. It has never steered me wrong. I could tell it was going to get easier to listen to it the older I became.
Costa Rica Retroactive Diary Day 5: Goddamn Bloodsuckers!!!
27 FebHypercortizone eased my discomfort for seconds at a time. But it didn’t help much. Looked like I had a really bad rash, or poison oak, or elephantitis. Every time my arm itched my temper flared. I remembered when Paul thought I broke the laundry machine and he (jokingly?) suggested that I could stay an extra couple of weeks and work the costs off. The nerve of this guy huh?
At this point I knew I was heading for the hot springs in San Gerardo, from there maybe go to Domenical to get some beach time.
Sleeping the night before in this (two bit) motel: arms on fire, sirens going off, Calypso music playing down the street, fireworks going off, and my throat was hurting. Some vacation. It was like I was actively seeking higher levels of discomfort by the day.
But I wasn’t as overwhelmed as when I first got into the country. Despite the craziness this was still a good choice. Made me wonder about Mazatlan and El Bolson…..some day soon for both cities…..and I’d definitely would be ready.
It seemed like the more uncomfortable I got, the more I valued the experience. My throat was burning and my body felt like it was wilting from dehydration.
Luckily for me, on Costa Rican buses, people are allowed to come aboard on stops and sell stuff. Two Ticos jumped onto the bus selling chips, sodas, and “pipa” juice. I bought myself two bags of coconut water and drank them up (Hepatitis be damned).
I immmediately felt better. In two short weeks I’d be returning to the states a completely different person. Hopefully I’d be more confident, feel more solid. I’d survived a couple of weird scrapes so far and my Spanish was actually fairly decent for a negro gringo. I was starting to consider the option of teaching English in a foreign country…Japan maybe?????
Quite beautiful here. One of the nicest bus rides one can ever take (and cheapest 12 dollars for a 300km ride) Cute little thang checking me out….dark skin, nice body…maybe 18 years of age. She seems DTF, which means she may have an STD.
Earlier in the ride I had a gal’s strong buttocks rested against my shoulders, and supported my back muscles. Then I had a guy’s crotch in my face for the next 40 kms. He was polite though so I didn’t mind too much.
Cumbia music playing on the busses. I spotted a white kid and his mother and two sisters. “Hey Yankee.” I yell. “Where you going?”
Turns out he’s going the same place I am. Chirripo National Park. I follow him and his family to the a hostel and squeeze into the same place. Turns out we’re bunkmates–all five of us. They are from Amherst, Massachussetts, which isn’t far at all from where I stayed out in the Berkshires. Nice people, they’ve even hiked part of the Appalachian Trail.
The mountain itself was beautiful and overlooked everything. The fog came up a couple a hours after we checked into our hostel. The way it ate up everything around me reminded me of the Berkeley fog out in the bay area.
It felt good up here. The hostel was really nice. Casa Mariposa. Run by two married ex-pats from Arizona. This had bed and breakfast written all over it. In the States you’d pay at least 45 bucks for a room here. Nice showers, wood everywhere. This was the first time I’d felt comfortable the whole trip.
I spent the night talking to a very lovely young lady from upstate New York and went to bed happy. So far this was the best part of the trip. I had no idea how long I was going to stay but it felt so good to be able to relax again. I slept like a baby that night.
Fry St.
27 Feb(For Andrew)
We watched her sway
in the drizzling rain
to Willie.
Because it seemed
he’d
“written the song just for her.”
She was drunken
stoned and crazy.
The front headlights
captured her dancing
in an almost tragic way,
like a scene
out of a
David Lynch movie.
It was too late to
be so loud.
But it was college.
and we lived in
a college town.
I wondered quietly
how long would
these organically magical moments
continue to happen with us.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
More of what the doctor ordered
14 FebAnd congrats to the Arcade Fire for winning a Grammy for album of the year (though there wasn’t much competition) Pretty sure that next year’s winner will be Radiohead:
http://www.thekingoflimbs.com/DIUSD.htm
Definitely cause to dance:
Nuclear Polio Vaccination 