one year in buenos aires
five fragments to mark one year in buenos aires.
ONE. dyed hair.
ten of thirteen. nine of eleven. eight of twelve. every time i count i am suprised, never tiring of remarking to myself, how very strange! could be that i did not notice before (how very unobservant of me!) but these days in buenos aires, more women than not have altered their hair color. jeremy would be outraged. the younger ones go for: highlights, various shades of blonde, or the suddenly popular redhead. grey old ladies sport a bad imitation of blonde or red.
standing bored on the bus or the subway i often decide to do a tally. given my distinct height advantage i look down on a rainbow of chemical bleaches and dark roots. it reminds me of being in south jersey – except at least here some of them chose colors that are not bleach-blonde. revlon must make a fortune.
TWO. actual telephone conversation.
HIM: you finally figured out how to fly. everybody’s childhood dream. uh, all men’s dream at least.
ME: Do women not dream about flying?
HIM: I think women dream about flowers and things.
THREE. snails on rocks. old clothes. tadpoles. difficulty distinguishing reality from dreams. doors that push both ways, woman with a face quite like a frog, little girl with eyes like a bug (trouble?). ant swimming. hot highways, saints and virgins, birthday cards i can’t throw away and dreams i think i had once already. amputees, hurricanes and floods, popular uprisings. apocalypse (when the fire goes out).
FOUR. stupid cowboy.
this letter, found on the street:
Thank you! Good luck.
The Foolish Little Cowboy tells us that whoever finds this letter should make two copies within twenty days, and in this period you and your family will recieve a surprise; once, a man won a prize and stopped copying the letters – he lost everything, even his job.
The Foolish Little Cowboy is miraculous in his granting of wishes.
Think about something impossible and he will bring it to you. (Leave your letters in the street or sidewalk.)
Thanks, and Good Luck,
Foolish Little Cowboy
FIVE. seeing myself.
there, up on the hill, how many blond 25-year-olds are there in belgrano? at this very time on this day, threehundredandsixtyfive days ago, wasn’t that me up there? struggling to read the newspaper, making plans, converting dollars to pesos and back to dollars again. trying to blend in but look at him, how clearly he is not a part of this landscape. i look up there and i remember pinching myself (is this real), dreaming about the next day and the next week and now, one year later, how is it that i see myself there again and the whole year rewinds itself like it never happened? so many things that have happened, so many words spoken and forgotten, tricks of the sun and shadows, tongue twisted pronouncing the newness of things. in the end what do i have to show, what have i created, have i changed, what proof do i have that this blonde kid on the hill is so different from me now, 365 days later? how do we keep moving forward: how do we keep the past at bay? how do i keep from dreaming the same dreams?
ONE. dyed hair.
ten of thirteen. nine of eleven. eight of twelve. every time i count i am suprised, never tiring of remarking to myself, how very strange! could be that i did not notice before (how very unobservant of me!) but these days in buenos aires, more women than not have altered their hair color. jeremy would be outraged. the younger ones go for: highlights, various shades of blonde, or the suddenly popular redhead. grey old ladies sport a bad imitation of blonde or red.
standing bored on the bus or the subway i often decide to do a tally. given my distinct height advantage i look down on a rainbow of chemical bleaches and dark roots. it reminds me of being in south jersey – except at least here some of them chose colors that are not bleach-blonde. revlon must make a fortune.
TWO. actual telephone conversation.
HIM: you finally figured out how to fly. everybody’s childhood dream. uh, all men’s dream at least.
ME: Do women not dream about flying?
HIM: I think women dream about flowers and things.
THREE. snails on rocks. old clothes. tadpoles. difficulty distinguishing reality from dreams. doors that push both ways, woman with a face quite like a frog, little girl with eyes like a bug (trouble?). ant swimming. hot highways, saints and virgins, birthday cards i can’t throw away and dreams i think i had once already. amputees, hurricanes and floods, popular uprisings. apocalypse (when the fire goes out).
FOUR. stupid cowboy.
this letter, found on the street:
Thank you! Good luck.
The Foolish Little Cowboy tells us that whoever finds this letter should make two copies within twenty days, and in this period you and your family will recieve a surprise; once, a man won a prize and stopped copying the letters – he lost everything, even his job.
The Foolish Little Cowboy is miraculous in his granting of wishes.
Think about something impossible and he will bring it to you. (Leave your letters in the street or sidewalk.)
Thanks, and Good Luck,
Foolish Little Cowboy
FIVE. seeing myself.
there, up on the hill, how many blond 25-year-olds are there in belgrano? at this very time on this day, threehundredandsixtyfive days ago, wasn’t that me up there? struggling to read the newspaper, making plans, converting dollars to pesos and back to dollars again. trying to blend in but look at him, how clearly he is not a part of this landscape. i look up there and i remember pinching myself (is this real), dreaming about the next day and the next week and now, one year later, how is it that i see myself there again and the whole year rewinds itself like it never happened? so many things that have happened, so many words spoken and forgotten, tricks of the sun and shadows, tongue twisted pronouncing the newness of things. in the end what do i have to show, what have i created, have i changed, what proof do i have that this blonde kid on the hill is so different from me now, 365 days later? how do we keep moving forward: how do we keep the past at bay? how do i keep from dreaming the same dreams?
previously there was Guatemala before the Commission
afterwards you have The world through Cavallo's eyes
I can not believe how long ago you have moved. We are still living at the 918 Club House. All is well with Dan, Jack, Bezoar, and I. Wendy and Brian are expecting a baby this summer. We are going to have our first snow storm of the season tonight- that is what me me think of you. I hope all is well! [submitted on 05 Dec 03]
I see you're still there. Good. I think of you, of course. Much love. [submitted on 10 Jun 04]