”Poetry always remembers that it was an oral art before it was a written art. It remembers that it was first song.” —Jorge Luis Borges
You have convinced me to resign. Once again, I will be known as a man of belles-lettres. And with the echo of mountains that always fill my life in hindsight, with saudades, I will go and look for places with docks, with saturnine moons, with exotic trees that drip down their leaves; places where you cannot see the other side of the lake. Places where I need to speak of them in details historical to make them found on a map, these places like Burgo de San Cernín, Navarre, Spain. It was the Languedocian borough of Pamplona. It still is but where it is is no longer as it was. See. Places of that nature. While Spite I don’t reckon to locate, they tell me whole Cart-Loads of it may be found near the Places where they empty the common Jacks, and scarce a Ditch can be found without it growing by it.
i found a ditch and i didn’t plan to, i was walking home from a friend’s house and ran to the right side of the road by the bar where no-one seems anymore to go and it was wet and muddy in the road there so i went over to the left of the road and fell forward down into a ditch, but at least it was only me in jeans tee and sneakers not a car nor as you talked about what was it? ........oh yeah, a cart. cart-loads of it.
what was it? in the cart?
Henbane. I have a glacial attitude about it. Never mistake poisons for salad greens, but go with care into your garden. Slow. We have now a world in imperfect motion and patches everywhere it requires real repairs, don’t we? I imagine it as a collage of jet engines and old electric fans from the 1950s, don’t you? Don’t you just see it all as every manner of things that spin and whirl? I see the pages of a book in Buenos Aires blown this way, then that, by the many jet engines and even more annoying fans in Miami—it carries that far. How could it not? Yet all is not well. Asphyxia, congestion, and death are complications of its use. Not only henbane, but the damn fans, too.
what did you say after that? ” It is not hard to find reasons why such problems should have arisen. ” yeah. i know what you want me to say, i know you want me to lay here next to you and say something funny, i know a fat woman falling out her window in a colonial place like a disney cartoon would have it would do. i didn’t come to make you laugh though, no, i came to clean your chimney and maybe the oven, too. the fat lady didn’t fall from the window, anyways, she was pushed and it was a man named ”Gomez” who did it and he was called ”Gomex” because he looked like Raul Julia and came from Cuba. you won’t believe me though when I tell you he did it because you like Gloria Estafan and she came also from Cuba. and it was the very same Cuba, too.
Was his name then really ”Gomez” or ”Gomex”, for the latter sounds awful like a name for a cheap brand of Mexican dishwasher that is supposed to do twice the job in half the time. Instead, it does half the job in twice the time. But maybe then, ”Gomez” also does as advertised: I can see him now pushing countless plump ladies from their bedroom windows open to allow in a stirring breeze in the first weeks of summer of the last month of spring. So quickly it happened: she was watching ”Maude” on the movie of the week and painting her fingernails when a tall and slender Hispanic man barged into her quarters and smiled as she rose to her feet . . . . . before she quite knew whether to be scared, outraged, or intrigued, she found his experienced and forceful hands pushing her out the open window and in her vast surprise, she didn’t even scream as she rolled down the old roof, taking with her several loose tiles, before falling with a resounding splash into a reflecting pool both too large and arrogant for her small middle-class home.
she was like the tigon, we didn’t even expect her to live. ” The female cub, although of delicate health, was raised to adulthood.” and then she got wide. very.
She was, but it’s not important that she was portly, really, what’s most crucial is that a madman is on the loose. He had only escaped the attention of the authorities because he was smart enough to not rob a bank or jeweler’s and none of his unsuspecting victims died. Thus, by sidestepping the conventions of crime fiction, our Gomez took the police by surprise when he pushed a rather rotund police-woman off a dock and into the lagoon. Saturnine, I said of that moon, and soon, our criminal will have his first murder for the officer pushed from the dock into just three feet of water could not swim, and suspecting that still waters run deep, she simply thrashed about until she expired.
in the offices of Estafan Enterprises, Gloria is telephoned by Interpol. they would like a short interview. it is in their interest to know, when she as a girl immigrated to Miami if a tall man with a villian’s cloak was aboard the same boat. she really didn’t remember as she was really young when all this happened, but because she’s Gloria Estafan and everyone loves her and knows she’ll do the right thing and help out, she made something up. she said he wasn’t on the boat but probably left the day before on a plane. she was however dead wrong, and in fact he was on the same ship and her misinformation threw the whole investigation off. now, to this day, there’s a fat-woman killer on the loose because a pop star wouldn’t tell the fuckin’ truth.