Red House

/*Editor’s note: Another entry by Nate*/

July 12 Tuesday, but who cares.
9:30 PM

Pinga is like cracking your knuckles. It isn’t good for you but you don’t have to pay for it until later on, and at the moment, it feels good. Like you’re releasing something pent up All Day. Problem is, I drank 6. Plus 4 beers. And you know what they say about mixing your pleasures. I remember speaking poorly, and once realizing that the available females were no longer available. Then my checks and balances turned off. Whahoo obnoxious American. Set back U.S. relations 5 years. Picked up a girl I just met named Anita. By picked up I mean picked her up over my head and swung her head near some rocks. Yes. I’m stupid. And shouldn’t be allowed to breed. Oh well.

Trevor also did his share. Not counting, but he was handily wasted. Although I believe he didn’t threaten any lives. And his Portuguese lasted longer.

Oh yes, and quentão. The marvel of quentão, a wonderful blend of pinga, ginger, and the charred remains of half-smoked menthol cigarettes + old people rub. Served hot. In a plastic bag. Miraculous stuff. I could feel the hair on my chest growing brittle as I sipped my bag. Surrounded by literature dorks + a Brazilian / American family at an after wedding get together.

I’ve definitely confirmed that Americans are not my favorite breed. However, this says nothing about my positive feeling for the degenerate bipeds that hail from other countries. Yes, It’s true. I am a misanthropist. Good word, wonder who made that one. Since it’s pertinent, even though Trevor hates Canada, “Everyone is overweight + I’m upset. Talking is just masturbating without the mess….Everyone I know today is just so fucking VAIN!” Band name to come later. But many truths have come from the un-named.

A man just rode by on his bicycle. A 25ft 4 inch PVC pipe dragging behind on the cobblestones. Whahoo. For some reason, I will definitely keep that image in the lockbox. A novella int he background, people are so focus I could pickpocket braces. This nice local is well lit, and also strangely clean, although it does face a street where the diesel fumes drift nicely into the open air 2 wall structure.

Liftoff, 2.5 hours. Blasting off over a 6 hour pot hole sleep adventure back to SP. Back to 17 million people living their lives. 3 Los Angeloses (not a mistake) god damn savages. Those city people. Breathing flakes of human skin airborne by the constant scratching caused by an over exposure to cement. People in high concentrations are very dangerous. The fringe is better, but not much. Tomorrow we venture into the lion’s den for 12 hours of no plans on a shaky night’s sleep. With 2 duffel bags + 25$ ingredients for an adventure, mixed together over 30 km between bus station + airport. DONE.

I am not a detail person. But I do appreciate them on occasion. For example, today we rode a nicely built but functionless schooner style ship. Rode her like a worm rides the intestines of a dog. Boo-bad shit. Anyway we were motionless blobs of apathetic crap all day, and aside from one burst of swimming activity, stupidly gazed on at the magnificent green jungles plunging into sparkling green blue seas. And fine sand beaches begging to be landed on. The vessel was all wood, very dark, hard wood, wrought from ancient trees from the very jungle it explores. The joints are smooth and strong, elegant. Not like the square and cut lines of a steel ship.

Even the cleats were wood. Wooden pins, wooden rudder, wooden slats over the cabin window. Beautiful ships allay some of that ocean fear. Cruising through slick and ambivalent waters that lap against the low sides, dragging us down with sharp fins + silent saline fury. Calm seas is an oxy moron. The ocean is nothing but liquid fear, and that is why it is so beautiful, so intriguing. Why I love to be on it and in it. Today we were, if very briefly, and surrounded by the luxuries of modern life – enough to catch the scent of the breeze.

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