There are too many songs, too many words and too many lost loves. For breakfast my grandmother made me wonderfully simple eggs with a fluffy arepa filled with love. On the beach I transformed myself into a golden nano particle and rode a large and slow bus from the mall to the beach finally walking to the enourmous warehouse filled with art.
Yes,there was a lot of art but the energy seemed predictable, too late to fit in my timeline. Note: My thoughts on Miami are filled with 18 years of jaded bias but I do appreciate the glimpses into Dubai's and Mumbai's gallery scene. I did have a brief connection with the spanish artist Santiago Sierra's porn/art film, which described his perspective on race relations and the conquest of the new world. For a brief moment the film allowed me to relive a cold unemotional feeling I wanted to push out of my being. A love addict's pain is a sex addicts venom.
I feel that I will be a ghost for the next week - completely off the grid. No phone and no computer (at least until i get a new adaptor). I am available to document in house calls involving strong telepathic connections directly into to my neural pathways. If you are interested please send me a smoke signal.
....and here begins my retreat
revealing oxygen through rough air
a silent sun song reveals dusty remnants.
Those clouds emerge like artic tundras
but I won't wait for peak moments
because if rare is hope then I have gone missing.
where is my time if not in pieces?
where are those growing roses destined
to fight the rough mass of death
I suppose I will hold it in for just a moment,
for just one more moment I will despair and cry and shout and mourn the death of a lost moment for which there was no time long enough to find my way to her.