The Colombia Report 01.09.2020–04.03.2020

aka “The Bums of Medellin”

Acclimating 01.09.2020–01.22.2020

aka “Learning the Currency”

En su libro El Maestro de La Era de Acuario el sr. Yogi Bhajan dice;

“Si una persona tiene una mente neutral y sensible, cuando él tenga que experimentar un mal tiempo, podrá sentarse y decir: “¡Oh, Dios! ¡Maravilloso! ¿Qué quieres? ¿Un mal tiempo? No me importa”. Esa persona comunicará, hablará y sentirá que el desafío es divertido. No está enfadado. Sabe que esta noche pasará y que habrá un día cálido…”

En estos tiempos donde nos encontramos, que, sin duda, son tiempos bien históricos, es decir, tiempos que merecen ser llamado histórico, sería un ejercicio bien divertido meditar en esas palabras del sr. Yogi Bhajan. Primeramente, porque sus palabras se tratan del tema de la cual se enfrenta toda la raza humana — un mal tiempo. Y como debemos enfrentar ese tiempo, donde todo el mundo está, por la primera vez hace cuanto, sin la “aparente” seguridad de cómo ve el mañana. …

Dream Journal 2019

JANUARY

««NO DATA FOUND»»

FEBRUARY

February 8th

Some David vs. Goliath type fight. I had to fight a very muscular lean tall blonde guy (Samson?) who was injured in some way. He was wearing my adidas t-shirt with all the cleats on it. Someone (Girls) pulled it off for him.

February 9th

Bought a bike. Mom brought it to an auction, ended up spending another $10 on it. Dani and her friend ran a boutique jewellery shop and I went with Mom.

February 11th

Black girlfriend. She was satisfying more than the typical dream. May have cum a bit. She told me to be patient as she dressed up as Santa Clause to do a strip tease. …

Winter was coming and the pervasive cold that gets down to your bones and I knew I needed some heat. I called the studio and was told by a man in a rather condescending tone that they do not offer free classes to first-time visitors. That’s odd, I thought. I’ve practiced yoga for over 10 years, visiting just about every studio in the area, as well as numerous studios downtown and in foreign countries, and every single one of them has offered a free class to first-timers. Anyways, it wasn’t a deal-breaker for me and I went to the studio later that night. I paid, with tax, $24.86 …

The All-Natural Man

From atop a mountain standing out raw and jagged against the crimson sky the All-Natural Man lets out a primordial scream:

“I was born with my dick out and I’ll die with my dick out!” cries the All-Natural Man.

“I spread my asshole to the world, and a big fuck you to anyone who doesn’t like it!”

A leaf stirs in the foliage below and the All-Natural Man hurls his club with startling brute strength. A moment later his efforts are rewarded with a resounding thud as a large creature falls to the jungle floor. …

The Fully Automatic Man watches as an ant, diligently scouring the frozen concrete floor of the prison cell, searches selflessly for some scrap of food to bring back to his comrades in the colony. Meanwhile, pure violent intent emanates from a dark corner of the cell. Its source; a spider, sitting patiently on its web, watching the ant with eight horrible eyes. The ant continues its journey, probing the ground ahead with its little feelers, chirping the way ants do, clicking its mandibles together. But suddenly the ant finds that it cannot move. One of its back legs has become entangled in a far shoot of the spider’s web. The ant struggles in earnest to free itself, but is unable to escape, and as the shadow of the spider descends the poor creature cries in desperation to break away. But in a moment even the cries are silenced as a menacing fang juts from the spider’s jaw and plunges deep into the ant, filling its body with poison, paralyzing it. Then, having its victim handicapped in this way, the spider begins to wrap the ant up tightly in a silk thread, and drags the immobilized prisoner back towards the centre of the web. By this time, the inside of the ant’s body has begun to liquefy, a result of the digestive enzymes which the spider had filled it with. With its eight horrible eyes looking lifelessly ahead, the spider contently sucks the juices out the exoskeleton. …

Official business. Strictly confidential. Must keep hush-hush, on a need-to-know basis.

I’m what you’d call a Government Man, you see. 5 passports in a safety deposit box. Today I’m Lorne DeLancey, society schmoozer, and I play the part well enough.

They’ve got me in the Sewage Sector with the rats and the bums. Suits back home that is, damn them all to hell. Never met a crowd so keen on forgetting favours done on their behalf and more likely than not to do you a wrong turn for thanks. And they had enough to thank me for.

Strippers have invaded the booth and begun twerking everywhere. Bunch of baboons. As way of encouragement they slap each other loudly. “Yaaaassss bitchhhh”. The whole place smells of their assholes. Like an open septic tank. I catch whiffs of the pungent human odour every time they clap. “Yaaaassss bitchhhh”. …

At 3 the bus drops off the high-schoolers and they walk with their heads down in their phones back to their homes. From a distance I see one approaching that looks somewhat like my sister. I’m ahead of her on the sidewalk, and Remy takes frequent stops, being a fervent sniffer, and she catches up to me just as he’s found his spot and circled it and squatted down. She crosses the street at the sight of me, probably thinking I’m some sort of creep, but on seeing Remy squatted over the grass and me pulling out a black plastic bag with the words “Poop Happens” printed across it, she drops her guard and walks ahead of me along the sidewalk. So strange, these girls. It’s nothing new, happened in my generation too, they’re all afraid and high and mighty and mighty indignant about it too. As if anyone cares about you. …