sad but true, a substantial portion of my energy the last few days has been searching for the right barber, setting with fan, music and random art on the wall to have my beard shaved. for those that dont know, ive been rockin the lazy man since i left san fran and have had the curly rollie fingers stache for a while now and that has been a blessing and a curse at times here. foolish to think im not noticed more, that is for sure, and with the beard it has been a topic of conversation with talks about style contrasted with pure laziness which i reckon could go on my tombstone...so, that is a perfect transition to note what im rockin now >> the huckleberry, val kilmer, stache with the rollie fingers vibe. love it and for some reason only folks from north america give me the child molestor look and others are having fun...i have women, and a few men in this stronghold of gay culture in guatemala, touch my stache...what a funny thing.
anyway, i found the barber and thought all was glorious as i saw this man across the way with a chizzled face that reminded me of clint eastwood in the glory days of "whatchya gonna do, punk?" and bigass guns and he, the barber, has grey eyes that are magic and demand more time to stare into but im already floating on many borders of social and political border lines and dancing, at times, with cultural issues and the like...not a new thing for me in general but mi pie es en mi boca, a veces...por supesto, my foot is in my mouth at times and the thing is that im able to rock the spanish to get myself into trouble but getting out is a weeeeeee bit trickier, that is for sure.
anyway, i got a shave felt the glorious sun and wind on my face for the first time in months and it im reminded of how my body feels naked at baker beach in the mornig after swimming and feeling like my skin is new and i just made that transition that our ancestors did a shitton of years ago from water creatures to land creatures...clearly im on the ramble cause ive embraced coffee at sunset hour in granada and im feeling the surge or romantic energy coliding with colonial history and my mind races at a pace that, despite my gulping of the dark liquid, my fingers are unable to dance with.
so, as i write im on the fresh, new babys ass face and feelign rejuvinated and im gonna write a bit more about some other experiences in a second but for now, here is my homage to juan carlos, the son of the chizzled faced man that inspired the shave of nicaragua....
masaya has a feel mixed with open sexual freedom, destruction during the war, machismo and youth that cycle on old monuments and attempt to do extreme games tricks with wacky, little bikes. towns that are listed in the travelers' bible, the lonely planet, in my opinion, are really trying to appeal to tourists with big banners noting how safe the town is and urging everyone to use the trash cans which is an admirable campaign seeing that everyone throws shit everywhere and the rivers are not, here, meant for water...especially now with the dry season, but for plastics. at times im inspired to sit by a trickling river and contemplate like the gold ol trancendentalists but what i end up doing is picking up plastics....i think the best campaign is to gather all of the plastics here and then go to the the "house of plastics" literally that is the name of the fucking store and all they sell is plastic shit. fucking nuts. anyway, dump it at their door and get the tv crews there. funny how to think like an activist here but, clearly, plastics and trash is so low on the scale of importance here with rediculoulsy high poverty, unemployement and illiteracy on the climb. i reckong there are other things alittle bit higher on maslows scale for a lot of cats here.
so, the shave cause for me,that is like the top of the pyramid. it was glorious and i had a chair that talked to me and made me tingle, i was massaged by a vibrator of sorts...one of those old school vibrators you would find at good vibrations in san francisco, that place is gold, btw, in a case and some story of women utilizing it back in the day...juan carlos did me right. i fell into blissful existence and incredibly happy with each stroke of the straight razor and the smell of brut aftershave bringing me back and forth into consciousness. what a glorious day. nuevo hombre, he told me. that is for sure.
okay yall. coffee is strong and free internet is here and there are church bells ringing, bebel gilberto playing and the trickle of a fountain in this open courtyard with crazy colors on the walls and a slight breeze from the southeast. contentment.
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