while walking this morning on my way to school i found two roma tomatoes lying lonely on the side of the road. with striking contrast from bright red in a world of gritty flustered grey blotches and stains they became something much more then two roma tomatoes lost in the street.......as of now they are my new friends. Bev and Wilson. though tonight there will be a sacrificial ceremony where they will assimilate into the evening pasta. but as of now anything could happen: Bev is about three inches wide with a special luster to her fragile fibrous skin, has a peculiar accent maybe derived from North Carolina. a strong willed tomato that has been on several adventures all over the world. 

just three weeks ago while on a hot air balloon scanning the Greek islands for improper handling of the endangered species of Caretta sea turtle Bev spotted an off shore ship sailing to the west with the words "Panda Express" written just atop the barnacles plastered along the side. with an immense passion for Panda bears Bev navigated the balloon to reach alongside the boat traveling at a gusty 43 knots. her intentions as of yet were unknown. for the spontaneity of her character is what willed her into such a circumstance.

maybe she would capture a Panda as a pet for a brief period of time only to take it back to its mother land and release it back into the jungle? maybe she will join the crew for breakfast tea and discuss their adventures across the great oceans and beyond? 

 it turns out the crew had also spotted Bev, given that she was floating distinctively nearby with all the multi colorful patterns of her balloon reflecting the mornings sun like a brightly lit lollipop. but this was far from encouraging a sweet tooth hunger as one might have hoped from the grizzly faced and sun-beaten sea farers. for they were on a mission. to take these stolen pandas to Paraguay. to sell them illegally to seven different zoos. seven pandas. seven zoos.

immediately a blazing sound of gun shots rang from the ships deck. Bev was curios at first then heavily alarmed for the gravity of the situation came rolling in at full force. her balloon was made of a light weight nylon fabric which could easily become punctured under the velocity as something as small and metallic as that of a bullet. soon enough the balloons envelope became distressed and mangled to form the shape of a discarded, crushed, flattened and creased can of beans. though Bev was nervous and experiencing a mild form of anxiety. she knew exactly what to do from an old james bond rerun she watched half soberly three years ago during her sophomore year in college.

given that tomatoes have no appendages she figured that the approximately 40 foot fall would only cause a minor splash and that her delicate skin would manage to slide gently beneath the surface of the water. in order that the crew would not notice her tomato like demeanor she put on a emergency snorkel mask and scuba tank that was stashed in the balloons basket.....hoping she could pass as a government agent of some powerful and elaborate country to possibly frighten her intruders into making irrational and potentially lucrative mistakes.

soon she found herself in mid air watching the horizon slowly stretch out to a more elongated width until finally the world of salt filled sea life came splashing initially to a haze of bubbles and indigo blue. at first Bev hoped to escape lazily underwater a few hundred feet bellow the surface. though once 200 feet bellow she noticed something questionably odd. at first it seemed that a ship the size of something enormous, maybe that of a small mountain, was navigating easily through the thickening haze of the Mediterranean deep. upon closer inspection she discovered tiny reflections of light emanating from within the seemingly solidified structure in question. these then began to separate piece by piece into individual self sustaining shapes tightly nestled together to resemble some kind of unified terrestrial formation. it then became clear. at last it is the lost city of the turtle.

while closer and still closer yet. millions of gracefully tuned and rhythmically aligned turtles swimming lazily through the semi transparent water came into view.

while seeming to be oblivious to the giant vessel and its long complicated strides. just then Bev felt a strange sensation from behind the oxygen tank strapped snuggly to her back.... before even allowed the slightest of struggles she felt herself encased within something elastic yet as  solid as steel. in probability the shell of a turtle.

minutes later. thrust into the open water of blinding and in comprehensive light. a shadow passed over the vast rays glinting from a multitude of inseparable angles. a voice then pressed against the misty haze and echoed from every corner of little Bevs now fragile and overly reflective body....as if the shards of light were holding tiny questions that were meant solely just for her. though having no voice to answer. the voice held rhythm though was impossible to decipher. more similar to the feeling when one sleeps and dreams that they are waking to begin their daily routines.

with the weight of thousands upon thousands of words..... the light began to dim until completely absent from the once overly abundant white sun stroked sea.

soon images from thousands of memories began to unfold into the water before her. memories of her tomato plant mother and father. her two hundred and sixteen siblings that she knew entirely by name. the time she once skidded her knee when falling off a skateboard in seventh grade outside Pinehurst junior high. her first kiss with that yellow squash hooligan from 42nd street, Eddy Winslow. as if tumbling through a mist of remorse and nostalgic longing. the images faded and before her appeared a seemingly three dimensional and familiar shape. that of another roma tomato. with a delicate golden crown embossed with a very sophisticated floral arrangement the tomato spoke:"hey hie, the names Wilson. pleased to meet ya." Wilson had the draw of a Texan that would speak in the manner as if burdened by the having to lug about a dusty half paralyzed stiffened leg that wobbled anxiously from side to side which one may refer to as a gimp. (to be continued.....)

end of term multimedia installation

i now have a space heater in my room. it has evidently changed the whole dynamics ofwinter. before i was just cold all the time in my home because the heating system lacks efficiency. now i just flip this switch and things go crazy. i mean my room gets really warm.

right now i am a little obsessed with turtles. my last series of paintings were all about turtles (i dont think i really told anybody that). but now the new paintings are not about turtles as much so i think i have them swimming around in my thoughts more. there have been two instances now where a few friends and i have laid down on our backs, closed our eyes and had what is now coined "turtle time". yeah i know it sounds a little silly but thats kind of the point. it has been mostly about narrating an adventure through the perspectives as turtles while i direct complex and slightly humorous scenarios. i help instigate a turtlelike venue which gives each person an opportunity to express themselves spontaneously through the mind and the eyes of a turtle.

my friend Ali has been making hundreds of wax flowers for an installation with our multimedia class. today she randomly had one made from wood and i asked her why it was made of wood and not wax so she gave it to me. the same day my roommates cousin gave me by chance a man purse which his exgirlfriend made when she was a child and then gave to him. i now have the wooden flower in the man purse and hope to save them for a rainy day.

the sun is outside today. the buildings look like giant lego sets. i recall the feeling of pulling legos apart with my teeth when i was very little.while thinking that i probably shouldn’t be using my teeth for such practical matters (my grandma was always good at letting this be known) and at the same time knowing that i have no other choice.

words of the day: swim, swarm, swing, swell, sing, song, sut

Friday morning several students from the photography program came with the professors and I to Lucca to visit the Lucca Digital Photography Festival. as soon as we step off the train the rain begins to blanket the entire city for the following six hours. with my lacking of an umbrella and the thin canvas exterior of my shoes i managed to get extremely cold and wet. it didn’t help that each exhibit that we ventured to was based in a building that was so old that it hadn’t acquired any kind of heating ventilation. i manage to get cold enough to decide to leave early and catch a train hoping that ill find a little warmth on my way home so that my socks can dry.. the train turned out to be as cold as the galleries but i did manage to find an umbrella in the trash on my walk through the rain. not just some average flimsy run of the mill umbrella but an extra large burgundy plaid with the colors pond green and murky blue. it was as if getting soaked in the rain for the previous few hours prepared me for such a find and wouldn’t have meant the same otherwise.

now since the rainy season has officially begun this sturdy umbrella has proven especially useful. with it being hopelessly shaped like an extravagant walking stick i find myself habitually twirling the umbrella between my fingertips. either when it is closed or while its opened and stretched out over my head. this has helped me become more aware of the nervous habits that i tend to pursue with my hands. far to often i catch myself playing with my beard or messing up my hair.... flipping a coin between my finger tips or touching the cement buildings i pass along the streets.

really the thing that surprises me most is that im constantly looking at bicycles to see if they have locks wrapped around them. now this doesn’t exactly relate to the nervous habits i have with my hands but might shed some light on my habits in a general way. its not like i want to steal a bicycle that isnt locked properly. i mean i already have a nice bicycle that i love very much. infact last weekend i suggested that two of my friends and i all ride on the bicycle. at the same time....together..... and by golly it worked! Alonzo rode on the handle bars and Danielle sat on the seat while i stood and pedaled. we sang Christmas carols and a Tom Jones song.......it was much easier then i would have expected....well at least till the handle bars loosened and the bicycle was impossible to navigate.

but back to the habit thing. i think since i had my bike stolen a couple months ago that at first i had hoped to spot my old bicycle randomly on some street corner mingling with others. i thought sure....the brown seat would have been a dead giveaway. but after a few weeks i slowly began to give up. it wasnt like i went out of my way searching for the darn thing. it just sort of passed the time. and then eventually when i got bored with that i began passing the time with trying to spot vulnerable bikes. like the way mine was before it was stolen...yeah i admit maybe when i find one i will take it for a joy ride. not too far though. just around the block or something at best. but until then i believe this habit will continue to occupy my time. maybe its the same with the umbrella. ill probably wait until the rainy season ends before i stop twirling. and then what? back to touching the cement walls and knocking street pole with my hands to hear what kind of sound resonates?

today i ate the best sandwich that ive had since i got rid of my toaster oven back in kalamazoo. it consisted of mozzarella, pesto, sun dried tomatoes, black olives and onions. in the cafe they were playing late eighties love songs. somehow i knew all the words and sang a little.... especially too Madonna. the people working were very happy and sang too. lately i cant stop thinking about the Top Gun soundtrack and this little rectangular pink boombox that my mom owned when i was a kid. i use to play the tape down in our basement as loud as it would go. sometimes my brother and i would take all the pillows off the couches and make a pile in the middle of the room. then we would position the exercise trampling so that we could jump off the couch onto the trampling into the air singing Highway to the Danger Zone! at the top of our lungs and land safely onto the cushions. this is before i stopped believing in Santa Clause. i aso memorized the bart simpson deep deep trouble song during this period of my life. actually i rapped it a little just last week. somehow both have managed their ways into my permanent memory.

me and Lorenzo after lunch in La Verna

end of term - fall 2008 - photo installation

so maybe i mentioned that my fake tooth (from a sledding accident when i was twelve) had broken on a piece of very hard bread (which is funny because the Japanese girl i named my new bicycle after....Brunina....thought when she first met me that my name was bread. so she calls me pane...you know the Italian word for bread. my roommate Andrea thought my name was bart when we first met. he confided that this went on for two weeks.

I've been able to keep the tooth in my mouth during the day...... thankfully.....(somehow...long story) but i need to take it out to eat. so one day when i was taking a break in this park near the school and having one of these chocolate pastry snacks that i am a little obsessed about i had to take my tooth out. usually i use my front shirt pocket to hide my little toothless secret but today i hadn't the right shirt for this and thought that i didn't trust my trouser pockets too well because they haven't been washed in a few weeks (i know my mom had taught me better then this.....but really its a life style that takes more hard work then people tend to realize). so i decided hesitantly to set the little porcelain tooth on top of my backpack. thinking yeah i wont forget..... no problem.....but the thing is when i eat these amazing chocolate pastries i tend to loose grasp upon reality.... doesn't chocolate sort of do that to anyone?

this then gave me the perfect state of absentmindedness to send my tooth sailing across the ground which was covered in thousands of similarly shaped, some tiny some not, tooth colored stones (i.e. teeth).

literally for a full hour i crouch on my hands and knees afraid to move much more then an inch for i may step on the wrong stone or kick some dirt around...sort of half freaking out and half thinking that i was dreaming. the reality of situation had not fully taken hold because i had not as of yet had to try and communicate to people without having to open my mouth of fear that i will eventually rely on, for the next two weeks plus, a strong Appalachian accent so that people wont be as embarrassed for my awkward displacement into the world as "the guy missing his front tooth".

after 45 minutes i decide the only logical route now is pick up every single last stone, pebble, tooth and throw them into the grass nearby. eventually people began taking notice in my virtues and the awkward stares nearby made me feel even more pressured that if i fail...they will be just as upset as myself. so this is when i decided that it will be highly appropriate that if/when i find this tooth, this possible center of the universe. i will have to cause a scene.....not anything to complex or over dramatic....but i will hold the tooth up to the heavens pronouncing the day to be saved and glorious all on account of my good/bad luck.

maybe three minutes after this image runs through my mind i find the shiny white porceline vanier and try to cause a scene but just hold it up really high with a look of disbelief on my face.....no one realy even noticed except this one women that sat drinking her coffee. i pack up my things and grab my bicycle by one hand walking slowly and entirely full of accomplishment. i decide that this lone women deserved some sort of explanation.....so i show her the tooth from a distance, which now that i think of it probably didn't make a whole lot of sense when i grin and pretend to put the tooth back in and out of my mouth (which of course i waited to wash it before really putting it back in. i mean the cleanliness of trouser pockets and the graveled floor of a park are maybe completely different things from a distance but maybe more similar then one may think when viewed from the perspective of a treasure hunt). She looks at me very confused and maybe panicked and seemed as if to say "why me? i really was just bored watching him sift through the sand and pebbles, i don't care" after this she frowns pretending not to know me. well....... i didn't know her either.

now i have my new tooth sent from my amazing dentist in Michigan! i actually managed to loose the old tooth one hour before i had the new tooth cemented in. i tried to panic momentarily but managed to calm myself down. I've lost much of a craving for bread. its funny when getting use to a broken tooth how a new fixed tooth feels even more awkward. but i eat more chocolate because i am again more confident with the alignment of the universe.

words of the day: chestnut, turtle, basking, miniature, thermostat  

friday (ok really two fridays ago i started writing this last week and got distracted) four of us from the school pile into Lorenzo's, the painting teachers, car and drive two hours to the rock where Saint Francis received the stigmata. I now know that San Francisco is named after this man. Years after his death a devotional center was created upon these giant cliffs, with several tiny chapels, churches and trees. we take lunch into the hills and watch the rolling country side with crisp browning leaves we sit. Lorenzo makes a joke about my feet and mentions that he thinks they are very strange. maybe just passing the time.....maybe trying to point out that somehow our humanity is full of all kinds of strange and different shapes and sizes...maybe he is right...maybe i just have strange feet.....i mean have you ever seen me climb a tree? im not one to boast...but hey.... since were on the subject im a pretty good tree climber.

see Lorenzo is very peculiar person.....difficult to describe in words but for a lack anytwo better fitting: "big kid" may be the most appropriate (he must be seventy by now)....i guess any of the really interesting painters or painting instructors that i have run into over the years sort of somehow blend into these two words....... i want to tell him that within the last six months three different people have mentioned that they thought i had beautiful hands....ha! whens the last time somebody told you that you had beautiful hands (Lorenzo).... better yet, hands that would be perfect for mountain climbing....maybe even professional modeling? its really true..well maybe not the modeling......but my wits always seem to be somewhere else when i need them most...

we spend maybe two hours between the woods and the tiny village and make our way back into the countryside. fighting sleep i remember the feeling moving with the car in the hills on our previous ride there. Alonzo and Jackie get motion sickness easily and i usually dont.... at least not anymore....but i began to remember all the airplane rides until i was eleven and those little airsick bags....yeah i was one of those kids you never wanted to sit next to on the plane.... i mentioned to them since they are trying not to become motion sick that maybe i will try the opposite. maybe this will help the situation? instead it just made me very relaxed and while having the window down listening to John Coltrane "ballads" and breathing the crisp Tuscany air watching the autumn trees stretch out and begin rolling through the distance. i find myself feeling incredibly at peace. 

upon arrival of the Fransiscan community Lorenzo changes the music to opera.....we sit in a parked car for the duration of the song which he gives more volume. we sit in silence as we all either close our eyes or stare out the window. not a movement until the song was finished. no need to even attempt to communicate to one another....we are all in our own little worlds...and it was a great contrast of sharing the busy streets of Florence..... not a sound beyond the laser in the cd player reading the inscriptions on the flimsy piece of plastic rotating around and around. 

half way back to florence i convince Lorenzo to drop us off at a hiking trail where we will climb into the mountains and camp for the night......actually i was sleepy and he was probably more excited then i was and woke me up saying that we are now in the state park....that the trail was not too far.....this is when i remembered that i had brought my sleeping bag. as soon as we arrive a small sprinkle of rain challenged our aspirations, yet we say our goodbyes and left Lorenzo with a wave of our hands as he drove off. ok actually we all gave him hugs. Jackie seemed deterred from the rainfall and also continued on to Florence and mentioned that the image of her warm cosy bed kept coming to mind. she didn't not realize that we truly love sleeping in the cold rain.....(?)

we had about two hours left of daylight and about a two hour climb ahead of us. Kate gives Alonzo and i Native American beaded jewelry to tie around our heads. we collect walking sticks on our way. we begin to be in touch with our spirit animals....alonzo the boar me the squirrel...kate the guinea pig.

the contrast of trees hides the suns setting upon leaves of yellow orange green and red. through the forest upon the outskirts the leaves dance and light up. they look as though they are on fire. periodically we play rock paper scissors for what way we should turn when we stumble upon a new path. thankfully we know that all we need to do is continue upwards. but when the opportunity arrises to play rock paper scissors.....its hard to pass up.  

 we see wild boars and clutch or walking sticks tightly. Lorenzo said there would be no wild boars but only wolves. we decidedly accepted the fact in  our minds that there may be wolves but the boars put us on edge. but alas no squirrel or guinea pigs (sad face).

at the top we find an electrical station with minor disappointment. it is dark and rainy. we decide to navigate around the florescent lights and find a plateau with rolling hills stretching off into the distance. through bushes and tall grass we manage to find a spot that seems promising. even though we discover civilization a stones throw away we manage to find the rugged outdoors again.

after thirty minutes in our attempt to start a fire in the rain we succeed and the rain stops. our clothing dries and we talk about buttered popcorn from the theaters, candlewax sculptures of dead presidents and the previous dream i had about how all of my hair grew really long until i couldn't walk any longer because i would cumbersomely trip and fall. Alonzo mentions that we are hovering in outer-space on a planet.....we then look up into the stars and forget to talk for almost a full ten minutes. this is when everything could be heard. the moisture from the plants seeping into the soil. the gentle sway of the wind. the humm of an electrical building in the distance. these are when some of the best conversations begin.

(                                                                                             )

growing tired and assuming that the rain had stopped for the night we decide to lay atop the rain fly to stay off the damp earth. about an hour after falling asleep we are awaken by a sudden downpour. our sleeping bags become wet and cold. i manage to finagle (yes i agree...amazing word!) the rainfly around us like a little protective cocoon. in the morning the mist sits over the hills. the fire is back to flames. the trees and bushes are a different color. our feet are wet and we go hunting for boar.    

phrase of the day: pumpkin soup tastes like novemeber

good week. Was paid to go to Milan and help set up an exhibition for three SACI alumni. Got put up in a 3 star hotel with one of the artists he snored like crazy but I had headphone and listened to Bill Evans while slowly falling sleep. Made my way to lake Como and got lost in the forest after finding this abandoned crumbling stairwell that led to overgrown plants and a fence the "trail" seemingly stopped until I climbed around the fence, through thorns and webs of plants up the steep grade of the mountainside till I arrived at another fence, and then another...which I climbed over to find an old vineyard that now housed several mansions and the ground keepers who were friendly but astonished that I was on the property and asked how I got there.....I wanted to say by parachute but was more vague and said something about a stairwell that made no sense to them because really the stairwell didnt exist unless you crawled through the woods abit. They opened the electronic gate for me by remote.

Lake Como is in the shape of a Y. there are mountains and stray cats. And old women that try and convince you that the bus is better then the water taxi. I find a beach to swim with a dead seagull and an abandoned sweater hung to a fence. Just the sun and the mountains and the loose stones. The small frail clouds and the pastel color of tiny homes in the distance.

My friend little ray came to visit on Friday..... well 2 in the morning on Saturday. I managed to arrange a bicycle for him and found a new one myself (!). We ride bikes very fast and pretend that the streets are little racetracks. For upon meeting ray at the train station I made a little sign that read "water buffalo" on it with each letter painted in a different color. So he wouldn’t walk by me. and i could walk him to his limo with the bikes stashed We find piazza sant spirito and watch crazy drunken men try and dance to jimmy hendrixesc guitar playing with amplifier... one Hispanic man was singing what must have been some ancient lullaby that he learned as a child...he started tapping the acoustic guitar with his fingers pretending to be famous. I didn’t see him start tapping his head against it but ray said later that he had.

Then my mom and our friend Bonnie came to visit and got me too do mad amounts of traveling for the week. From Rome to Venice and my third time to the ocean to swim and hike.....to lie in the sun and fall asleep. To eat pizza and climb to the top of an old castle.... we also took this really amazing tour into the Chianti hills and sample very expensive wine. Our tour guide was funny and would laugh a lot. My favorite part was the wine cellars and the smell of French oak barrels holding 300 bottles. I began to drink wine again....and I eat too much pasta. Its not really a cliché it just sort of happens...its everywhere.

I had a traumatic tooth incident. My fake front tooth became broken after biting into a piece of very hard bread. it fell out on the counter top and lay there mocking my toothless grin/ frown...depending on how it changed from one to the other. Its interesting to me how I had become so incredibly self-conscious from this. We associate so much with our mouths from conversations.......actually I superglued the tooth back together and into my mouth...I think that this isn’t the best protocol...but hey sometime to improvise is the only strategy. This lasted like two days then I had to buy some polygrip. I've become very antisocial in public from this...for two whole days I didn’t put the tooth back in because it would just fall back out whenever I would have to speak with anybody.. like to order food or something I would say something practically inaudible...maybe it would have been better to have written little notes on the palms of my hands, hopefully this week I reach a more permanent smile. My mom reminded me of the time my brother threw a remote control for the television at me on thanksgiving when we were very young and it knocked one of my baby teeth out. At least in that situation I had somebody else to blame…sorry jon.

Tonight I went to a concert at this wonderful theater. Five years ago I saw a show at the same place. Each time i've been there it’s managed to be extremely stuffy and warm. This has continually caused me to be sleepy. Three times now. The same place. very sleepy. this time I decided not to fight it and just let myself drift off halfway through. I woke up just as the performance was ending. the violin, cello and piano become so unbelievably clear and warm (maybe coincidence).. when waking up from a moment of sleep sometimes everything can become really fuzzy and impressionable....I tried this once with an alarm clock that could wake you up from the cd you put inside. It never really worked well because I just began disliking the music that would make me get out of bed. but naps are a lot different anyhow.

I've been having dreams about miniature dachshunds and dolphins. fixed my new bike for the seventh time. made a drawing on a yellow wall in a little vending machine place where you can buy instant pasta of a bird holding an umbrella. bought a bottle of wine today from 1997. cut half of my beard because it was making me head look too round. found a stuffed animal bird on the street and hid it under this little sidewalk level window so I could come back and get it but my roommate found it and brought it into the apartment. he thinks it is his but I got him to split it with me. i'm trying to get Monday Thursday and Saturday. its blue and red on one side and black and white on the other. printed my first photograph since I’ve been in Italy of a man sitting under a tree. I can’t stop thinking about how everybody I walk pass on the streets has so many different stories to tell....or different tastes for food. or different ways of holding their armpits when waiting in line. or different gelato choices (like chocolate or lemon) of different ways of highfiving (sometimes mostly a confusing look in their eyes, sometimes really excited) i played pick up sticks in a park for the first time it was at night and with candles and blankets and the candles were in the shape of a flying saucer and an alien. I don’t know why they did this but then the candles were set free across the pond and continued to burn and float and burn and float...sort of a confusing and/or gratifying sight to see. not sure why though.

this weekend i managed to find my way back to the Cinque Terre. getting stung by jelly fish with hearty smiles, jumping off thirty foot cliffs, hiking in the dark to a naturalists (nudist) beach to lay our sleeping bags and listen to the tide push and pull the heavy rocks carelessly bellow us.

just after sunset, before we had reached our destination, we watch from atop a large bluff the ocean like a giant metallic dish, the colors split apart and bend into tiny little pixels, barely visible currents in repetition, looking far off over the horizon the continents held together by the imagination of some belief in certainty, some buried memory. seagulls cry into the air, maybe laugh at our hiking outfits. no one says anything back. i have butterfly's on my shirt flying about an old wicker basket.

at night the beach we sleep on is the color of gray. or a mix of black and orange and white. maybe full of dust or like an old daguerreotype photograph....something rummaged out from a relatives attic. we sleep on rocks. my air mattress is mended with a tire tube patch. has proven unable to function correctly. the wind pushes the tall grass behind our heads. the grapes smell ripe and smashed to the earth. every thirty minutes i wake up thinking the clouds will open rain onto our dry slumbering faces.

in the morning my friends wake up well rested. my back hurts. i do some stretches and notice a fully tanned bald man naked on the rocks forty feet bellow us washing himself with a towel.
soon after we pack up our bags to continue the trail onward towards the remaining two villages. instead of going back up the mountain we thought there must be a short cut. we then stumble upon a tunnel with two Italian man eating breakfast near the entrance both wearing the most amazing mustaches that I've ever seen. they stop us and explain the fee for shaving an hour off our hiking time to Corniglia. they also explain to us that the naturalist beach is what the fee is mostly for....the bald man makes more sense...... we talk him down from fifteen euro to five. his flannel was the most beautiful in all of Italy. we told him he was lucky to have found such flannel.

the tunnel was of an old railroad a mile long. the air was dank and sharp. the sound of water trickling down the interior walls. each brick twenty five feet above us perfectly set by hand. Jeff mentions how insane it would be to actually have to build something like this.....where would you begin to start?

i think about how each moment, no matter how far in the past or how distant
only becomes real...or takes shape once we are there to interpret it....once there is a witness.... like the creation and purpose of this particular tunnel, the many times its been used, the experiences others have gained.....at this moment for some reason these all seemed inconsequential...as if the tunnel was created solely for our presence.....only this specific moment. the function now for the thousands of bricks, metal rods and concrete all shaped, smoothed and rounded together....in this moment with it hanging far above bracing the earth from caving in over our heads...its sole function was not to come crashing down on us while guiding our way to our next destination.

once we arrive to the end there is a little white button that needs to be pressed to open a red metallic gate. at this exact moment a train was passing overhead from the modern segment of railway nearby....while the door continued to open, more and more white light began to spill into the dimly lit space from the sunny afternoon sky. an amazing rush of air then came tumbling in threatening to knock each of us to the muddy earth or maybe back to where we had come....soon the wind diminished and the sounds began to fade of riveted train tracks bracing a giant body of steel carrying its many passengers and moving quickly through the distance...we thought that maybe it was just a lucky coincidence.

A Comparison in High-Fiving

Brought to you by the Association for Social-liberation
from the Hazards of Atypical Winking (ASHLAW)

Dear newest member of ASHLAW,

A high five is a celebratory gesture made by two
people, each raising one hand to slap the raised hand
of the other — usually meant to communicate mutual
satisfaction to spectators or to extend
congratulations from one person to another. The arms
are usually extended into the air to form the "high"
part, and the five fingers of each hand meet, making
the "five", thus the name. In addition to the standard
high five, several variations exist in order to add
uniqueness to the experience and to maximize
satisfaction. (ie. amazing!)
If one initiates a high five by raising a hand into the
air and no one consummates the celebration by slapping
the raised hand, the initiator is said to be "left
hanging."(or feeling bummerish) This is considered to
be a somewhat embarrassing faux pas. Initiating a high
five excessively can also be considered a faux pas.

The wink is an intentional facial expression made by
briefly closing one or both eyes. A wink is a form of
semi-formal communication, which indicates shared,
unspoken knowledge. (while easily posing all sorts of
unrecognizable confusion)
A "naughty wink" can silently indicate a shared secret,
such as if a salesperson gives a customer a brochure
and says, "Here you go... it's free". Infrequently, it
may also mean "got it" or "yes, I understand".
In Western cultures, women may wink to men they are
interested in dating, but this has grown out of
fashion, though still used occasionally. Winking is
also done by men to women, often to convey a message
of "I like what I see here" or "Hello, I am interested
in getting to know you". In most male-female contexts,
it has come to mean communicating explicit sexual
intentions. A stranger male's winking at a woman is an
explicit invitation for sexual act. (thus winking can
sometimes be incredibly dangerous and potentially
disarming)
In Latin American cultures, winking is also a romantic
or sexual invitation, but can also be used a casual
sign of recognition or of acceptance of behavior among
friends. In Nigeria, winking is a signal for
children to leave the room. Many Asians, especially
Chinese and Indian women, consider winking to be
rude.
Not all humans are able to wink voluntarily, and some
can only wink one (usually the non-dominant) eye but
not the other, while others are far better at winking
one eye and find it awkward to wink the other.

It is then conclusive that high-fives have a far
"higher" potential in initiating a more wholesome and
unifying experience in comparison to the derogative
implications that may be brought about through
winking. For instance if one were to teach their
children to utilize one of these particular gestures
for recess activities or socializing with friends it
would be surely unanimous that high-fives are much
more accessible and versatile for a wider range of
friend-making and social dynamics. Not to say that
winking has only negative implications for the
population as a whole but it does offer a narrower
range of physical expressions given the cultural
taboos that have been implied throughout the several
past centuries and prospectively the many to come.

Not to mention that the intense energy of high-fiving
may only further the inspirational feelings embed in
the human spirit while surely cultivating a more developed sincerity
to life which may be useful when trying to
be an insightful and positive person. It has been
documented that several individuals, in fact millions,
have refrained from substance addictions including:
coffee, tobacco, alcohol etc……(actually there are
three hundred and seven more but you get the idea) and have
become healthier and more sociable persons merely
through the humble and glorifying act of
high-fiving.(!!!!)

Hence the founding of High-Five Camp Florence 2008
coming into full swing starting this Saturday October 11th.
Bring friends, family or complete strangers
anyone is welcome to the wonderful world of
high-fives…..but surely bring any stray helplessly
confused miniature poodles from around the city for
they are in the utmost need of attention out of any of
us.*
Techniques such as "the double handed"…."the top to
bottom"…."the midair slow-motion snapshot"……"the
no handed lastminute
fallonthegroundlaughingeventhoughyourleg
reallyhurtsbad"…."the relaxed likewhat?icandig
noproblemamazing"…..and many others will be
practiced until the utmost perfection is achieved. For
we as an association are not out to convert social
expressions from one of lesser to one of plenty. We as
an association are brought together only to convene
with the deterioration of each and every culture spanning
the globe….the impossible
confusions brought to gender, age, race and social
class……and at last the pointlessness and
confounding autocracies brought through the useless
and outdated practice of winking.

-Eddy Winterbee
President, Humanitarian and co-founder of ASHLAW



*it has been brought to our attention that poodles have
been viciously spreading the act of voluntary
winklement throughout our city streets with such a
fervor that a great epidemic has been taken sight. it
has been spreading into our schools, libraries,
grocers and even our homes and has been dealt with as
a grave concern. their fluffy demeanor has only till
now given them sizable cover until the 2006 act:
Engaged Poodle Syndrome and the Potential
Deterioration of the Human Species Through the act of
Winking (EPSPDHSTW ).

made a long venture to the other side of the city today in hopes to find the most perfect area rug for my bedroom. something brown with green and maybe yellow flowers. but all i could find were several antique draping rugs that cost way too much money. i cant tell you how much of a difference a rug will make in my life. something potentially with a little elevation to it. fluffy or shag-like. so i can lay on the floor in the center of my room and stare at the ceiling while being oblivious to the cold colorless tiling just centimeters bellow. I've come to realize that everyone probably should own some kind of rug. even if they already have carpeting in their home. a good rug can fill the space better then upholstered furniture with matching window curtains. or assorted tropical plants in color coordinated ceramic pots....it can open the space up to colors and pattern-dynamics that were never thought possible. if you were to relate it to food it would be the butter for the bread. or the icing on the cake..... if you got tired of sitting in chairs or sleeping in beds you can always resort to the rug space. something neutral but conveniently located. possibly the most transitional space indoors and potentially the most tranquil.......well depending on the rug. a rug made of wool may be too itchy. or a rug made of silk would slip from under your feet. or maybe it just depends on your mood. sometimes having more than one rug can be a good thing. you could even collect rugs to line the walls! definitely wont have to worry about falling into things. could even wear sunglasses after sunset with the room dimly lit b y a single candle. it would also be that much more inviting to invite your friends over for roller skating parties and at the same time you would surely save on heating bills in the winter.

twenty six blue buttons
scattered on the street corner
a five minute walk from here

the feeling that you get
when surrounded by several
strangers in a very small room

making time in the afternoon
watching shadows drift
slowly along the rooftops

each one a phrase pinned
to the bottom side
something like "lacking of a better word"

or "time to take time to take time"
the sound of a mosquito drifting
through the air

still this way lying in the open
sitting graceful as the stem
and the brittle corners of a recently fallen leaf

apprehensively arranged
the colors turn slowly to
the colors of the pavement

broken, dreary, plastic at times
waiting for the sunlight
sending shadows from bare limbs

memories like a paper envelope
or the dog eared corners
of an old phone book

discarded box's litter the
sides of rusty handled trash bins
and always the sound of rain

a polaroid photogrpah of a curly haired dog named nelly.
a lime green sweater for two euro at the market smells not of lime but of age.
my bicycle makes far more sounds then it use to.
i gave an indian man some of my laundry detergent today for free.

tiny pieces of paper lost in my pockets and scattered about my room.
the sunset is only possible by the river.
people wink more here then using highfives.
ive now talked fourteen people into a highfive. eight were strangers.

from the window of my house the weather looks like buildings.
from the street it looks like streets.
from the river it looks like rivers.
from the park it looks like park benches.

overcast and the air is light and clear. the lacking of shadows makes everything more transparent. its feeling very weekendish. easy to take time and do nothing.

standing near piazza san lorenzo......the sun finaly steps in front of the clouds. that angle where it is difficult to see much beyond a great draping cloth of light. while the rain continues to sprinkle downward. one of those questionable moments with the sun and rain together. maybe easier just to admire such contradictions.

puts into perspective my experience inside the museum today. to me impressionism is both confounding and poetic. i tend to enjoy images that portray light as the most valuable source of information. particularly between shadows and the object that is casting. as of now Alfred Sisley's paintings. anything to do with snow and trees. for i find myself to be nostalgic in the fall. and yes michigan snow is something i have a considerable longing for.

what draws me towards impressionistic painting is both its defiance towards the literalisms capable in photograhy while essentially expressing a nuance that is similar to the making of a successful photograph. something composed almost entirely to a rhythm.

what i tend to enjoy about a photograph is its compositions with light and their distinctive gradations. yet to me impressionism conveys an impenatrable quality that seems evaisive of depth both by lacking contrast while still implying gradation. something essentially more transparent then photography when under-analyzed yet possibly more two-dimensional when over-analyzed.

my shoes have several holes in them. when it rains i feel all the water in the streets. it is sometimes refreshing to have wet socks. sometimes it is better to have dry socks.

i have now moved into my painting studio! the school was generous enough to carve me out a space. now i make it into my house. stacking boards around me. table lamps and thickly painted paper stuck to the walls. it was becoming

 to much of a mess to paint inside my room.

the building is old with tiny dusty nooks to pass by. there is a rooftop terrace that we are not supposed to view from. last night the security guard came at 11:30 and smiled at me. motioning that the hours for use have expired. its good again to be alone at times in so much space. i keep remembering my life in East Hall. having a studio so large that one could run laps if they got bored. stuck in the basement till two in the morning sometimes till six. that feeling of being isolated but having so much space and time to deal with. making puppets from ductape, clothing patterns and a million miles of string.

maybe i will hide in one of the many cabinets to avoid the security guard next time. maybe i will wait on the terrace and sing opera to the moon. or run around the building flailing my arms like a lost pigeon. or maybe i will just make a sign and tape it to the door reading "do not disturb".

today faculty from the university and myself sacked out in the airport greeting students. handing out packets of information and house keys. making sure they know what street to take their taxi to...... etc... etc... never thought i would intentionally wait around in an airport for ten hours.....mostly it was a good chance for me to read and receive lunch and breakfast paid for! not to mention having the strange feeling that i was supposed to be going somewhere. whenever in the airport this is what i am used to. heading away or to some different or familiar destination. i made myself eat a piece of pizza to convince myself that i am staying here in Italy. so far i have had two pieces of pizza. both in airports. i'm working myself up so i can endure something fantastic outside of airport quality.. don't want to rush into anything for it may be hopeless to find higher ground....but anyways pizza really isnt all its cracked up to be. i mean so much bread and cheese. sometimes it just sits in your tummy like piece of highly dense unshaped lead though without all the poisonous attributes. i prefer blending spinach in water and drinking. much easier to assimilate! my friend Kathy would call it pond scum....maybe this is why i love turtles so very much. (but roscoe.....or i mean robby...yeah robby man...its still a tasty piece of pizza pie even the airport stash is a stones throw away behind Martini's)

lately there has been a cultural festival happening in Florence based around the democratic party here in Italy
http://www.festademocratica.it/?gclid=CObDhffUwZUCFQuH1QodmVEyRQ . with a short five minute walk from my house all sort of things to see and do. a cheap fifteen minute shiatsu massage http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiatsu , live music, all sorts of ethnic foods, ancient Vespa scooters on display, a game where if you kick a soccer ball into one of the holes cut into a green painted board with nets behind you win a prize, art galleries, book stores, installation films, democratic debates..... a crazy elderly bearded man playing a self tuned and eccentrically built guitar....oblivious of the world singing from scribbled notes with colors of paint and expressionist lines adhered upon canvas nearby, flanking him from side to side..with an ancient top-hat color beige and matching disheveled broken-in suit jacket and pants......probably the creator of the universe as far as i am concerned......................you will find them from time to time as long as you keep more then just your eyes open.......

the first night i came to the festival my flat mate encouraged me to go down to see the Wailers and the hippies of Florence. the property is of a castle built in the mid 16th century and is surrounded by a giant wall with an emptied trench reaching far bellow...yesterday i had mt first coffee here in Europe at the festival from a modern little coffee maker on display where you put a plastic container inside the top (like a creamer) and viola instant hot very potent coffee with a mysterious thickened brown foam on the top.... with the visual appearance of hot chocolate...it took me a bottle of water and a good thumbs worth of fresh ginger to get the taste from my mouth. reminded me of the last time i was here you could vend instant pasta on the streets corners......still searching for those again.

finally settled into an apartment with this instillation/video artist named Andrea
http://www.myspace.com/ciboideale .....what i know of so far is that he projects films onto melting ice in public spaces. dealing with questions and topics concerning the environment. he is a big fan of good simple Italian tasting food and is a writer of poems and likes chocolate very much. kind of reminds me of the fraggle rock....maybe one of the more sleepy of the characters...but somehow seems to get the most done......... or ALF. yes maybe he is like the ALF. but with less center of attention.
ok confession....i think that everybody reminds me of the ALF in some way shape or form. maybe it is my bias from childhood and my strange affinity for puppets. maybe i presue an exsistance that hopes to live up to the morale and ethics of the melmacian race......ahhh... those were the years. when one could see a freshly debuted ALF episode from the genuis and ingenuity of NBC and writer Paul Fusco. maybe someday television will take back what it is most appealing. aliens merged with stuffed animals and house pets...... brought into the human characature of an elderly man and the innocence that of a child......brilliant!

gelato...yes now for three days straight.....cones upon cones.....chocolato....tirimasu.. got to get a hold of myself....a little grip. it always looks more then it is.....inviting. piled up behind the glass windows. like mountains with little pinetrees in the distance.....a little snow on top.
cones stacked nicely and aside. towering over. leaning in just a way to make the angle inviting perfectly in reach of the hand. for a few days i wander around florence hoping to get my bearings again. beautiful bikes everywhere. spokes turning.......agressive riders make there way...off like famous statues....excited children. play some cards with three french kids on the street. drinking white wine..... a comedian captivates a growing audience in the ditance. hobbles with his tophat. has a whistle........hundreds of people laugh and cheer..... its easy to watch the streets grow endless. like a tiny labrinth...elastic and anxious. stretching off to the distant river. close to the crumbling buildings and towering squares.

then to the coast and hiking the hills. find a beach all to myself. sleeping with the ants and the sound of waves petruding the rocky cliffs. seagulls form in the morning. grape vines stretch out around my little nest. creates a little space..feeling quiet. climb into the hills and the tiny cities spread throughout. jumping from piers into the bracing......wobbling sea. the salt fills my nostrals. the air is thin and bouyant...the bottom is endless and blue. the sun setting behind fading mountains. climb to the top to watch it wash off into the distance. breakfast of yogart and granola.

off then to the tuscan hills. rolling out to the distant peaks and densly fit orchards. now making a circle. ferrera is full of streets and music. today an elderly man plays a plastic toy piano designed for children. very serious his face. his teal ancient bicycle resting closely behind him. free camping fifteen minute walk. i meet some gypsys from the north. one knots me a bracelet for my wrist. the culture of the city and many surrounding....so far...... possibly pieces of the whole country..... peek from every corner. around every turn. skulla and mr. green play crazy ballads with their little green circle of astro turf. bearded faces, tattered hats and repressed dance moves for the sake of the music. mr. green plays two empty tin cans with two mallets while juggling. skulla sings with his hands strectched out across the weathered wood and worn tingy stringed guitar. they seem to miss the gathering crowd. eyes closed and the songs rush by with momentum like a train.....the hills passing and the window opened and ones head held out the window like a dogs excited tongue lazily challenging the breeze.

the man in the internet cafe keeps spraying bubblegum scented airfreshener. ....somehow it makes me hungry for kebab. kebab is cheap. just around the corner. the owner says squirrel like squirtle.

In the morning. A little sleepy eyed but my feet easily swayed into walking forward again. To find the train and then the airport. To then fly from the city of Athens onto Italy. Walking from sidewalk to sidewalk. Managing between parked cars and minor constructions along the way. Tiny, thin, hungry kittens darting in and out of their little hiding spaces. Looking for the morning feast. I try and pretend what it would be like….adds a little bounce in my step….ah the life of stray kittens…….but for me….. Just searching for a cold bottle of water. I luckily come upon one of those great hole in the wall grocery stores with fresh delicious produce and children hoping and skipping around and around on the sidewalk out front. With many smiles and curious laughs. You can tell the whole family is here.

I have this feeling. These people they know what exactly it is that they do. This is there job and their life. I mean sometimes more precise then this….sometimes more vague to say the least….but for me…..this is them here as of now doing what they do. Their family and their future. All the more easily with smiles it seems and children playing games….singing songs.

After acquiring my bottle of water and the regret for not buying everything they had. I keep walking with the morning sun to my back distinguishing the outline of each crease and fold and strap holding together the nylon casing of my pack. I pass a large picture window with the lights off from the inside and the door secured with a gate of metal bars passing vertically over the entryway. The dim interior allows me to distinguish the reflection…… something in immense clarity….and my expression….. with the large cumbersome pack following closely behind… the sun dropping down like a translucent vale covering not only the bag but the whole concept of it all in relaxed and perpetual motion . I thought to myself: “where is it that one makes sense from all these feelings of purpose and working and living? What is it that makes me so intent on lugging this bag around and managing to keep some kind of traveling pace? From here to there. Doing this and that….how do you choose and is it best to think of it all at random? Why is it not me managing this tiny grocery in Athens?”

Things sort of came rushing at me in new perspective…..feeling content….feeling both lazily in transit but as potentially fitting no matter what may be the case ahead. And I thought this could maybe be my job for the time. Possibly what I was searching for….watching new cultures and finding new places….trying to identify in ways that i'm use to and ways that I am not…..though being ultimately present throughout. To understand these feelings of continuation and detachment. stillness and attachment......To understand the meaning of home. While being both distant and isolated upon cultures while digging beneath the rubble of my own concepts of home to see the relevance. The potential meaning as something both foreign and nostalgic.

During this instance…… this instance then I considered this: The relevance became overwhelmingly present that purely this act of being here. Being nobody maybe. Or somebody. But just my presence alone. Carrying these things with me that I consider my only possessions for the time being. The tools and necessities to find only partial comfort and wellbeing…. Walking from one place to the next. No will or jadedness to move on or return. That moment. Maybe it could last for longer then it seemed. Maybe not.

though now to be in Florence it is both very different and possibly the same. And to me that moment has managed itself to continue. It feels all too natural to be here. In Athens I had a glance for a moment…..but now it seems to be more vivid and relaxed. I guess I get to lay my pack down for a period of time. Can walk around more easily not wondering what the next place will be like when I leave or hopefuly soon where i will sleep. I’m not sure if its nostalgia or something i've carried with me from Athens and from turkey. From Hungary and the Czech Republic. But somehow the relevance is here. Somehow all those people and places and stories and Speedos make more sense. (And yes… I am still searching for the European chest hair! I tell you it never seizes to amaze me) These all fitting into a conglomerate of things. They all fit into here and into Michigan. And maybe all the other places i’ve been and experienced.

Though somehow it feels much more integral to be merely witnessing. Somehow while this period of travel being much lighter around the feet. Maybe it just takes a little time to break from our old patterns and routines. Like driving from Kalamazoo to Lake Michigan and picking blueberries along the way. Sometimes just a little break can seem much longer when you return. And sometimes the opposite.

walking and walking in the streets finding overturned stray cats lying on their back waiting for the sun to slow down.

hoping to get lost. but alas another vendor selling cheap imitation belts and watches. another ice cream parlor with glassy stares and resting limbs. the tranparent surface of post cards and plastic rotating racks hanging expensive jewelry.

another solemn asian fellow sitting on the curb throwing a vegetable shaped jelly substance that upon impacting the mat of cardboard spread out near his knees turns into a slimey puddle while enabling the sound of cursplat to resonate softly off the stone walls of the buildings nearby. then reforms itself into the original shape that it held just seconds ago bracing the palm of his hand. wishing to be sold but his ambition is linguiring no where beyond the act of cursplat after cursplat....cursplat splat.....cursplat. i wonder how he made it this far with his little toys. i probably saw him on twenty different corners today. the same routine. the same posture. the same involved rhythm. maybe not the same person.

today hiding under building shadows and canapies. looking for the acropolis. squinting through the narrow pieces of light. and all the sounds
falling over and around. pigeons make it apoint to be seen.
found a record store. only looked for a minute. have no time for records. found the roof to the record store. saw the acropolis from here. thought it may have been enough.
probably not. find the hill. walk up the hill. pay some friendly lady your money. the man next to me has a baby sticking out of his baby backpack. he asks the lady to give his baby a kiss. she is wearing those huge sunglasses. looks like a big bug. kisses the baby. baby seems happy.

up top the wind is like a giant empty can of beans with one tiny stone inside. rolling around as if on the deck of a boat. back and forth and slowly. aimless.
i sit on the edge and watch the city. thinking maybe if i were to jump the wind would catch me and i could make it pass all the tiny reflections of sunlight....the chrome finish of window paynes. solar panels stacked high up waiting with the sky.

with the motion of his hand a security man guarding the hill and wind and most of the sky gently warns me to move. if i could see past his sunglasses his eyes would have read more easily: "no, you probably wont make it like you hope....... the wind would suck you down into the city yes. but not like something gental as a feather or lazy like a cloud. maybe a stone polished from the ocean. maybe a stone waiting to roll down into the people and their buildings and their families and ice cream parlors and souviner shops. trying to find the gentle beat of the waves. maybe you could start a new city somehow if you keep crashing and pulling this polish around and over and over. maybe it would start again and everything would be made just of hands and feet and eyes with no intention of hiding beneath the shade."

i had a conversation with a new friend last night. he says when you take the spiritual and you mix it with the material you find religion. he also said that society relies on contention to create the dynamics only possible for the social. he was drinking ouzo and had a big smile. and says: "sorry its late i should stop talking and sleep". his beard is big and uneven.... about the size of my own.

when walking through the ruins of cities....it always seems to be hiding somewhere. the people.... maybe just resting.. avoiding some definate shape or context for a moment. waiting in the shade..for the day to pass and cool and become something to navigate...maybe as if being in a museum.

we arrive to the island of Samos with the dead weight of dry sea air and the smell of grilled fish while the heavy afternoon sun bakes our every pore and salt filled hair. taking care of ferry logisitcs is first and foremost on our agenda and we inevitably find that most are full for the next couple of days. we then find an overly large watermelon to take the edge off. in greece unlike turkey we have to really search far and wide for fresh produce. well at least on this particular island. i end up finding three potentially rancid watermelon at the bottom of a 4'x4'x4' box at a super market smelling of cleaning supllies and deoderant. one is brown and looks like it may take over the universe if opened and the stench were allowed to spread throughout the air. the other two have the remains of other melons that had sat atop them for the duration of their stay. very sticky and the smell of rotten fish in the air. well the fish section of the store was close enough that it could have gone either way.

with my inability to come to grips with my insatiable watermelon addiction and the quality and shear size of my options i thought to look elsewhere. though most of the stores are closed around the noon hour and the grociery store i walked pass earlier with its closed doors, dim lights and fresh basket of melons linguiring in the window brought a daunting and potentially futile endeover wafting in my future.
i decided to go ahead and try and fish a melon from the box (no pun intended) and see if a little wash might remedy the problem. maybe someone would see me and tell me i'm crazy and that these melons are of ancient artifacts that only the most highly proffesional team of archeologist may dispose especially by the use of special gloves with a liberal application of antibacterial solution.

it turns out the lady in back washed it for me with no questions asked. gave me some paper towel while after letting me also wash my hands. the melon actually was still good. just a bit over ripe.

soon after searching for a quiet cove to wash my sunburned aching body i find myself roused from a dreamless sleep atop some primitve makeshift boardwalk jutting out into the wave washed sea. my eyes slowly blink and flicker open to closed. water softly rises into the air after rinsing the rocks and moving tiny pebbles from side to side on the almost perstine bottom. my feet slowly notice the variations in temperture and conclude to lay peaceful and undisturbed. i focus on the beach at its inhabitants. the sun bathers applying thick loads of sunblock, wearing flowered brimmed caps and over prices generic sun shades that easily could take up more then three sets of eyes if need be.

after a long period of mindless observation for the spectical before me. i begin trying to recollect how i got to this specific place and what it could possibly mean to be lying here half awake with the grapes of wrath resting warmly under my left earlobe. creating subtle creases in my skin.
just then a man comes trodding through the water at a very close distance to my left. i manage no intention to move. just watching this newly found perspective of this heavily tanned human being with clumps upon clumps of back hair slowly wobble his way back and forth along the tricky stone manuovers awaiting one foot to the next in the indecernable haze of spackled sunlit water. i thought maybe i must have paid some kind of admittion into this fantasy world of sand and water......like how one may take a sightseeing adventure to observe dolphines frolicking the waves waking from the tail of a motorboat...... or whales spouting clouds of freshly caught see water into the morning sun....... or sea turtles laying their eggs on some ultra protected beach to ensure the utmost urgency and privacy of their endangerd nature.

at last i was over my desire to reevaluate the human species and the sun swept beaches in the ancient art and indeterminable habitat of the thriving tourist. to see yet again the bottom of the ocean the best way possible and find some refreshing momentum to continuing exploring the remainder of samos city.

today...thıs ıs all ı got.... ı was readıng on the pool deck of our campground/ hostel / hotel /where we sleep ın theır yard. very cheaply ı mıght add wıth free ınternet and showers. takıng for myself......ı would say a day to relax and read. whıle beıng late afternoon and culmınatıng a decent amount of sweat for the days hıke up to the sprıngs. ıt seemed lıke a nıce cold shower was ın the near future.

ıt turned out that they were havıng water presure problems at our tıny oasıs so ı had to waıt a bıt to use the facılıtıes.....no problem......plenty of watermelon to go around.... whıle waıtıng there was thıs four year old boy wıth thıs cheap plastıc guıtar that would play over and over agaın ın a pıano style sound nick-neck, paddy wack, give a dog a bone thıs old man came rolling home . or ı mean to say the cheap plastıc guıtar would play ıt for hım and he seemed lost ın oblıvıon to the wonders of beıng an entertaıner..... for about 30 mınutes.

he was takıng sandles off and strıckıng poses all over the place. ı thınk he even jumped ın mıd aır at one poınt and yelled somethıng chıldısh or maybe the most profund thıng my ears have been laıd upon sınce the start of the trıp.....but alas ın turkısh...... at thıs poınt he ıs my hero. he had hıs hat on sıdeways too. lıke ın some fıt of passıon and undenıable tranıstıon ınto somethıng beyond words.....well at least beyond nick-neck, paddy wack.

then a van pulled up wıth a heavy set man openıng the door and contınuıng at a steady gate that would make you assume that he means busıness. wıth complete agılıty and a tremendous tummy rıgorously jıgglıng back and forth. ıve seen plenty of hıs type at the beach....the kınd stıll lımber enough ın the legs to keep the speedo from fallıng...but stıll enough heavy around the tum tum to hang over and make passerbyers feel embaresed thınkıng waıt.....ıs that guy naked? sorry just had to get that off my chest.

but hıs gaıt you know....leisurely..lıke he should have been wearıng a hawaııan shırt or somethıng and smokıng a cıgar.... and sellıng used cars? no maybe not. maybe a bar tender at a bıngo palace...yes much better.
he was good at what he dıd though and managed to fıx the water pump ın a jıffy. the boy contınued rockıng the ıce cream truck sıng along....ten second phrase after ten second phrase....ınto some kınd of ıncesent mındless bable that wıll one day catch up to hım.....ı mean rock musıc. ok bad joke ı stıll lıke rock musıc.
trust me...ı was a kıd myself at one poınt. maybe ı stıll am. but my mom can vouch for me that ı could have feasably drıven anyone crazy gıven a lıttle tıme and effort..and a brıght red plastıc guıtar.....wıth matchıng mıcrophone and amp ı mıght add..

so ı sıt half sleepy from the half eaten watermelon tryıng to dıgest ın my belly.
quıck as a fıddle the water pump man makes hıs way back to the van. ı was worıed that the boy escortıng hım..... also the boy who took our money for the campıng...the boy who serves breakfast lunch and sometımes dınner......the boy who hooked me up wıth a rıde on hıs scooter...(he's awesome by the way ..oh and ı found some new shades so ıt was fıttıng for the rıde)...not to be confused wıth the boy and hıs guıtar.... wouldnt turn the engıne over ın tıme and would cause our water pump aficionado to waıt a few seconds longer then would have been a proper pace for the whole scenerıo. ıt turns out that they were both waıtıng for an efes beer to be walked over and evıdently consıdered payment for hıs hard work. he cracks ıt open and takes a healthy pull whıle the van lazıly speds across the gravel drıve.

we arıve ın fethıye the prevıous nıght wıth a sunset drıve along the coast....wıth droopy eyes and colors specklıng the doted outcrops of rock and lose stone ı see thıs peculıarly balanced ısland ın the hazy pınk orange blue dıstance fallıng lower and lower ınto the settıng horrızon. to me ıt looks as ıf ıt were a butterfly..... and beıng half awake half asleep ı ımagıne ıt to shıft subtly back and forth untıl ıt peels ıts wıngs from the glassy smooth surface and begıns some sort of neon anımated adventure that ıf ı were only sıx years old would probably resemble the most creatıve poınts of my ımagınatıon. ı close my eyes and sıt more relaxed ınto the bus seat and contınue watchıng the butterfly's sureal adventures ınto the world of esatore. yeah thats the best ı can come up wıth. ESATORE. or maybe better yet: the land of ESATORE.

none the less ıt was good arrıvıng ınto the cıty so late and fındıng an extremely ınexpensıve room for the nıght. twelves dollars made us rent ıt agaın for the next and allow us the day wıth out our cumbersome loads bracıng our backs. today webley and ı splıt up and ı made a quest to the mountaıns to fınd Saklıkent gorge.

the hour and one half mınıbus rıde brought me through all sorts of tıny vıllages watchıng theır daıly routınes from afar. wonderıng ıf ıt ıs truly happenıng....or merely somethıng 2dımensıonal ın my mınd. wonderıng ıf ıts far too dıstant for me to really even begın to understand the way they lıve. sacks of graıns and spıce. barrels of freshly pıcked tomatos. donkeys and free roamıng chıckens. scarfs wrappıng the women to cover theır ears and necks. the old man who was dressed lıke ıt was stıll nıneteen twenty.

so Saklıkent gorge was sort of a tourıst trap but thankfully not everyone made ıt to the end of the gorge. where the bus had dropped us, there were all sort of lıttle resturants and cafes rıght alongsıde the rıver. wıth lıttle platforms actually subwerged partıally ınto the water and overprıced food and drınk and lets not forget.....ınnertube rentals for raftıng.
once managıng to get ınto the gorge ı had to walk a catwalk alongsıde the mountıan untıl reachıng more resturants and more percarıously balanced plateform seatıngs wıth coushıns and the whole nıne yards. yep......rıght ınsıde the begınıng of such a massıve ınterıor.

after forgıng the fırst rıver ı come to a relatıvely dry bed whıch becomes the route ınto the canyon. though heavly dotted stıll wıth tourısts they begın to thın ınıtıally at the ıcey cold turquıos water and become less and less once the gorge tıghtens so ıntensly. there ıs such an absence of lıght ıt feels as though beıng back ın my toddler years wıth nothıng but a chu chu traın nıght lıght to protect me from the vast darkness that slumber ınevıtably brıngs.

at certaın poınts ınsıde the gorge you actually need other hands to eıther push or pull your way through slıck curvıng stone and puddles after puddles of sloshıng water. though ıt was a tırıng and moıst adventure that had a few mınor slıps awaıtıng and seemıngly ımpossıble manouvers through the soft coıled, at tımes desolate, landscape whıch had no bearıng upon the world bulgıng atop and around wıth plants, anımals and the source of our ceaslessly reflectıng navıgatıon lıght........and yes......maybe ıt felt lıke the aır of lıfe.......hovverıng wıth lıttle effort so hıgh above.

well actualy the only form of lıfe ı saw beyond wonderous smıles and ımpossıbly confused eyes and camera lenses were a few lost buzzıng bees and a drownıng beetle that ı wholeheartedly attempted to save...... but upon retrospectıon ıt may have already gone someplace a lıttle less wet and bouyant.

the end of the gorge was marked by a thırtyfoot clımb that no one would have ever ın theır rıght mınd had approached. well at least wıthout the rıght equıpment....trust me ı ınspected ıt thoroughly...... and atlast a beautıful trıcklıng waterfall holdıng behınd a small empty crevıce that made for an ımpressıve ıntımate and loungable space wıth no other eyes to claım as theır own. well ı guess ıf your ınto loungıng ın pools of almost body temperature water sorrounded by the dıssıdent hue of soft almost palpable color.....huddlıng agaınst the smooth stone pullıng all sort of multıpatterned tones fallıng from the reflectıons of earth and stone spannıng hundreds of feet above.

for a quıet and rhythmıc perıod of tıme ı would forget that there actually ıs some sort of lıd to thıs encapsulatıng experıence....... and when tryıng to aknowledge ı would fınd myself almost face down. maybe watchıng the lıttle pebbles underneath the surface turn ınto small ancıent cıtıes. hopıng merclessly one day of beıng dıscovered and exlopered tıll fınally seen as edıble lıttle creatures and one day.....yes one day mıght be ınvolved ın the future olympıc games to see who has enough stamına and rıgor to eat at least fourty....all at one....maybe fourtyfıve.

the much more quıckened track down gorge from my end poınt droped me back out ınto tourıst land.....and honestly the contrast was easıly welcomed. seeıng such a place that only a handful of people could navıgate and explore. to the sunbathers and Efes beer sıppers tırelessly tryıng to keep there beverage cold enough to last the duratıon of a properly consumed beer.

ı thought ıt necessary, well atleast to ask on the prıce, of raftıng down the oppostıe end of the rıver. 30 ytl was a bıt prıcey (24 dollars about) so ı offered them 10 ytl and we ahd a deal. sometımes anythıng can work out ıf you have the rıght ways of askıng wıth properly grıpped facıal expressıons and tıresome eyes.....oh and a bıt of hagglıng practıce. lıke our rooms that were nappıng were supposed to be a a good 5 ytl extra each nıght....but hey ıts always worth askıng.....ı thınk amerıca could use a lıttle bıt better of a barderıng system....but most people get offended and potentıally ırate.

thıs sıde of the gorge was lıke a thıckly spreed blanket of mountaıns lınıng the horızon and a mıx of desert, forest, rocky shorelıne, and snakıng shallow waters breakıng off ınto tıny coves and alternate routes.....routes that when found the hard way would create a few bruıses on our bottoms especıally when turned around and blındly headıng back fırst.

ıt was trully rewardıng and ınspırıng to experıence agaın quıte the opposıtıon to my prevıous trekıng. ıt was by far more welcomıng...the ıcy cold water rushıng ın tıny to whıte water rıpples.....the top of the canyon opeıng up lıke a freshly battered skıllet takıng ın the clouds and greenery lıke a tasty stırfry freshly awaıtıng my pallet.

all too soon our meanderıng down the valley droped us too a comfortable breakıng of waters and our fearless guıde....ıe. makes sure you make ıt ıf not well endowed to swımmıng. leads us off shore ınto some gıant puddles of merky brown warmed by the sun and asked me my name. he then motıoned to the water sayıng "mudbath?". yes exactly what ı need....lettıng the sılky moıst mud lather to sıt and feel the sun bake ıt ınto each and every pore of my body....adjustıng from the amphıbıous rıver bed to become yet agaın a land dwellıng mamal.
though when ready to wash and upon the dauntıng shape of our ancıently sculpted buses arrıval....who mınd you needed a lıttle engıne work before we cycled back up to the densly populated valley..... the mud was so tıghtly wound around my body that ıt created some great tryıng to walk slowly half dazed and full of creases back to the frıdged waters and convınce myself to wash all the newly found warmth.....
well ı may say that ıt felt lıke ıt could have been no more ıntegral or welcomıng to the dynamıcs ıve experıenced on thıs breathtakıng....yes ı know a lıttle cheesy but how often do you get to use such a word?.....yes breathtakıng moutnaınsıde........from walkıng lıke lemmıngs underground ın tıghtly nıt smoothed stone creases of a mıllıon plus years of weathered rock.....to the outstrecthed hands of some ancıent and welcomıng mothers arms cuddlıng the valley lıke a newly born ınfant carefully rockıng back and forth tıll prodded ınto safe and ceaseless slumber......ok...........maybe not the easıest to put ınto words......ıts just good to be ın such a country as the lıkes of turkey.

oh and i realızed that ıts best to go over whatever ı wrıte at least once. so the story about hıkıng ın the mountaıns two storıes bellow? yeah ı thınk ıt makes more sense now. ınstead of beıng garbled unpernouncable jargon....sorry about that.
also look bellow.... webley at hıs best!