Oct. 2, I bought a spoon with a face

Oct. 2


Memo:

(Today, I saw a tree covered in thorns, with tufts of white fluff growing out of its branches. It looked like a thousand bunnies had tragically lost their tails all at once. It makes you wonder where the bodies ran off to, and if the absence of a tail makes the rabbits lose their balance and roll instead.

Later, there was a woman selling her honey. She stacked the jars and gently wiped each one as if it were a child. The tenderness made me want to blush and turn my head away, to allow her privacy. It was an intimate thing to witness. We bought her “Miel Rosada”, or “Pink Honey”. Will try it tonight with plantains. I’ve never cooked plantains before. It may be a disaster.

Met several artists today. One sold me a spoon with a face that looked like singing, and one that was a mirror with a very small horse growing out of it. They are already very special to me.

One of the artists told me that he thought one should learn how to do everything. He showed me a jacaranda pod broke all the way open. It was like a secret. Then he showed me something collected from the root structure of the wood that Aborigines make their didgeridoos from. It looked like a very small nest, or nerve structure. There were blue things caught inside.

After buying sewing needles, we met a man in the antiques market who sells maps and old silverware. I bought a knife from him, only after having to promise him that it was for cutting vegetables, not suicide. There was an old doll from the 50s, who was a physically explicit little boy with white hair. I want to buy it, but I don’t know what to do with it. It is now strange for me to realize how many dolls are anatomically lacking important structures.

I bought a book that is sewn together. It is a textbook from the early 20s, of the Argentine constitution. It is falling apart, and used to belong to a child who is most likely gone. It smells like cold dirt.)





----

Flap, Flap, Flap

*


The tails of the rabbits, the trees they are.
And
The woman washing the bottles as if children would fall from them.
Each egg folded inside,

Abrupt, gentrified moss.
The turtle kissing the throat of the thing.

oh. Oh. oh.


I don’t know its name, so I make its sound, the flap flap flap.

--

(En Español)


Solapa, Solapa, Solapa
*



Las colas de los conejos, los árboles que ellos son.
Y La mujer que lava las botellas como si niños se caigan de ellos.
Cada huevo dobló
adentro,

Musgo brusco y aburguesado.

La tortuga que besa la garganta de la cosa.

Ah. Ah. ah.

Yo no sé su nombre, así que hago su sonido, la solapa de solapa de solapa.