Caminante, no hay puentes. Se hacen puentes al andar. Gloria Anzaldúa, 1983
Journey on, journeyer. Camine, caminante.
In fourteen hours the plane takes to the sky and takes me with it. Back to D.F., back to the bottom of México, picking up where I left off exactly two years ago. I've spent the last two weeks in the Valley of the San Pedro, en la Casa del Sol with my small, wonderful family. Reading, packing, hiking, sleeping outside and drinking many beers. Now everything I have fits on my back.
New years was Bisbee, was insane, was drumline gypsies singing through bullhorns, pied-piping the dancing masses up Brewery Gulch. Jewelynx, Risa, Greg & crew either blacked out or let it ride.
I have new tools: a small digital camera and a high-quality minidisc recorder. Fotos and sounds are on the way. Check out dirtyfotos, my foto dump for my trip. Yes, there are too many wierd pictures of trailers and walls. Get over it, that's my style kid. I hacked up the CSS and backend in about an hour on a modem connection, so if things over there act a little strange, know that it's the best I could do.
SRW drove down to the PHX today and surprised me with one more wonderful day of being close to her. My grandmother is still in the hospital, I said I love you tonight not knowing if I'll ever be able to say it to her again in person.
Camine, caminante. You're the journeyer.
By this time tomorrow I'll be gone.