(no subject)
I took a train of dreams last night (like Oleg a few nights ago). Very restless - probably a combination of their emotional vividness and the enormous portion of bife chorizo and vino tinto I had for dinner - and each time I found myself shaken awake, my body torpid, a new image had taken up residence. Idiotically, as usual, I didn't make note of them right away, and now the only one I can remember is this: my left knee and the area around it covered in thick black hair, almost fur; lying on my back, looking down at it, the choking nausea of uncanniness, embarrassment, and horror. I awoke dreading the task of taming the beast.
There might have been another one involving bubbles . . .
*
1001 memories in the past week. The market in San Telmo (poem forthcoming); the commercial district (Puerto Madero, Retiro, Plaza del Mayo) - my least favorite so far with the exception of the cathedral; La Viruta, in the basement of the Armenian Cultural Center: open dance space with round, white-tableclothed tables on the sides and a bar in the back: tango, salsa, rock, anchovied dancers; the birthday party of a new friend at her parents' house in Liniers; the botanical garden (thank you, AE) and its colony of cats; the National Museum of Arts (x2); Palermo, beloved barrio; the full moon illuminating the river; 39 degree heat; steering a boat through the Tigre delta to an elevated house-ranch built in 1900 in total disrepair, only accessible by water: making mate in the cabin of the ship, swimming in the brown, earth-soaked water, watching the leaves float by until the sun did.
*
Today I depart for Rosario, then onwards to Mendoza for mountains and wine. Right now, it feels like leaving home.
There might have been another one involving bubbles . . .
*
1001 memories in the past week. The market in San Telmo (poem forthcoming); the commercial district (Puerto Madero, Retiro, Plaza del Mayo) - my least favorite so far with the exception of the cathedral; La Viruta, in the basement of the Armenian Cultural Center: open dance space with round, white-tableclothed tables on the sides and a bar in the back: tango, salsa, rock, anchovied dancers; the birthday party of a new friend at her parents' house in Liniers; the botanical garden (thank you, AE) and its colony of cats; the National Museum of Arts (x2); Palermo, beloved barrio; the full moon illuminating the river; 39 degree heat; steering a boat through the Tigre delta to an elevated house-ranch built in 1900 in total disrepair, only accessible by water: making mate in the cabin of the ship, swimming in the brown, earth-soaked water, watching the leaves float by until the sun did.
*
Today I depart for Rosario, then onwards to Mendoza for mountains and wine. Right now, it feels like leaving home.