wrapping into icerain

“Follow your heart”, he said.
Your heart will take you there.
“Swallow your pride”, he said.
For pride is anything but rare.
So I walked into your eyes without a raincoat on
And in the salty sea, I find you’re all but gone.

Take my hand, you’re treading water
I feel I am slipping away from underneath my toes
Nobody knows
Where is it she goes?

Looked in the bathroom stall
Your back against the wall.
Cold tiles beneaath your knees,
Your body broke your fall.
Spitting into your own reflection gazing back
Inside your porcelain fists, your palms begin to crack.

So take my hand your treading water
And I feel sand slipping underneath my toes
Nobody knows
Where is it she goes?
When those sad eyes start to close
Nobody knows
Where is it she goes?
When those sad eyes close

Ingrin Michaelson – Porcelain Fists

just thinking and remembering… th 7th January article : http://crunchybreeze.wordpress.com/2010/01/07/two-dominating-motions-resulting-in-another-lms-cocktail

que ya me hace falta

despues un mes en el pais de los bosques, ya me hacen falta…

I will miss the light and the bright long days, the temperature and the early morning full of sunrays, waking you up at 5.30 fullfilling you with energy.
I will miss the colours and the freshness of my surrounding; the overwhelming green vegetation, endlessly growing. The juicy colour of fresh cut fruits and their intense taste of humid wood and water turning into steam by the warmth of the air.
I will miss the feeling of slippery and muddy trails under my soles and of the cold river water, refreshing my hot face.
I will miss the slim moon – smiling like the cat in Alice in Wonderland and the darkness of the equator-night and stary sky.
I will miss the aroma of kardamom and parsley, fresh roasted coffee and cacao.
I will miss the eyes – darkdeep like carbon and the silky shining hair, decorated with red-blue-green ribbons forming a crownlike hairdesign.
I will miss the shadow of flowering mango trees and fruit bearing avocado branches.
I will miss the slow atmosphere of ancient capital cities and the cool climate within the arcades of monistary ruins.
I will miss the central squares with huge Ceiva trees and people relaxing in their shade.
I will miss sunrises and sunsets, on the watersides of vulcanic lagunes and mangroove coastal lines.
I will miss the Indiana Jones Melody, sung by hero nr.1 Cecilie and the spanish sounds and the clicking of the Kechi-language.
I will miss the wing-wind of bats and the sounds of waterdrops, falling from stalactites on stalacmites
I will miss Laura’s smile and Juliette’s calming carisma. I will miss Pedro’s green reddishly-inflamed eyes and his mysterious red ‘water’-bottle. I will miss Juan, saying ‘Senjooo’ and Henrie’s smile.
I will miss the chickenbus-roalercoaster-ride and its crazy polka music.
I will miss beans climbing on dried corn plants and showy hibiscus shrubs along road sides.
I will miss Banjo-stops and broken wheel-breaks at gas stations.
I will miss natural smiling and expressive faces.
I will miss pelikans, fishing in the carribean morning sea.
I will miss dragon-like fregattas and shiny green motmots.
I will miss coconutmilk and tapado.
I will miss Joy.
I will miss Mochimots cigarettes ans drinking fresh sape of cut lianas like palo de uva or palo de la cruz.
I will miss ‘mucho gusto’ as an expression. and the friendliness and hosting of the Chapines.
I will miss drinking sweet limonada in a salty pool and watching the lanchas entering the sea from the waterside of Rio Dulce while chilling in a hammock.
I will miss waking up in the pure morning by the shouts of Tukans, houling of monkeys and sonidos of colibris.
I will miss disco-pants and Santiago de Billy-stories.
I will miss the old plant knowledge and healing recipes from native women.
I will miss legends about ruins, El Mirador and the Chicle Wars.
I will miss the sand-like dry mouth feeling and the silence on Volcan Pacaya, surrounding of basalt and lava stones.
I will miss the taste of fresh hot marshmellows made above hot stones.
I will miss persons, talking about their country and their history and families.
I will miss the wind in my face, while sailing through the old pirate channel Canal Ingles.
I will miss the most beautiful view for going on Banjo over the alitplano of Chuchumatanes.
I will miss the alpine-like landscape arround Laguna Magdalena and the untouched water framed in rich green flora.
I will miss loosing the way and asking for it.
I will miss the slow voice of Don Eric and the home made Disco-Flash-Light of the progressive andean music bar in Antigua.
I will miss the balcony of Cafe Sky and the submarine atmosphere in Cafe No Se.
I will miss the smell of fresh crepes suzettes and the beautiful dress of the women in Peten.

but…

I already dream about flying above Lago Atitlan, hinking 5 days through the jungle to the legendary El Mirador and climbing Volcan San Pedro to the top and looking in my own face in the mirror like surface of the lonely Laguna Lachua.

puro chapín

te vas en la calle sin rumbo. no tienes presa ni destino. estas sin tiempo, unas horas mas.
un chico te vende mango verde con sal y limon. tu cabeza esta llena de colores, flores y caras rejendas. igual como arena, se van los minutos sind relacion, llega el fin del verano. estas mirando en el sol, arriba y fuerte, que se caliente bien tu cuerpo y ademas su mente.
llena de rayos – llena de allegria – llena de vida