Name:
Location: Southeastern, United States

Friday, May 13, 2005

de Alto Cedro voy para Marcan...

This song sends chills up my spine. It makes me want to lift myself towards Nicaragua, wrists-first, in love. It makes me feel every strength and beauty of my body and life as a reflection of gasoline dust and graffiti and palm trees, mango trees, open against a Nicaraguan sky. I want to love the world, from the front porch of a house in Montesteppe. I want to love the world. I want a third-world world of just enough, of bags of rice and beans in every kitchen. I want a third-world world of southern light, of lamplight against sweating concrete, of worlds within worlds on the shadowed illuminated porches. I want a third-world world of education and vaccination and hope, and none of this twentieth-century nonsense of frozen dinners.

I want to lift myself towards the hero-body, towards the hero-soul, towards the socialist martyr woman, Elaina with a face beautiful and stark out of a Leninist poster. I want to lift myself towards the prayer-faces of the dreadlocked saints, towards the water ever running through the dry land. I want to pray, I want to pray and sing and lift myself wrists-first towards revolutionary dawn. I want to believe.

love,
alex

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