Sunday, April 20, 2008

Deglutition: Difficult.




Every kid, well, speaking from experience, every boy (and probably every girl) once had, thought they had, or tried to make
a cave/fort/hideout/secret place. Some never gave it up.
Some didn't have to.



This is a hole with no name. Every village, every small town has children of all ages who know where these places are.
The names they might carry are personal and unrecorded, j
ust like the depths to which they have been explored and the depths
to which they have not.
I found these, one day. From the inside out and outside in ... ...mystery and curiosity. Every bend a milestone, every be
nd a footnote to the next milestone.
Thousands of caves are without names. Thousands are the former and current hideouts and secret places of once and current kids.
Thousands are the hideouts of kids yet to come. Waiting to be discovered. Looking for a secret occupant. Waiting for discovery.

Standing thousands of years in the jungles without witness
I forgot most of the terms once dangled before me.
Karst. Graben. Cenotes. Some flood back when the batteries fade and the way back seems sketchy. Be Prepared. Boyscout memories seem all the more important.
Not that prepared, turning back.

Another time.
Another cave.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Name Search

Looking for a name to place on a palm tree with leaf not unlike the Russian Oil Palm in shape but filled with thorns over three inches long. This tree has so many and sharp.. ...its thorns, ......one could throw ants at it and impale every one. The fruit is called a Super, here, Belize, lending it the possible name açaí though oft here are things called what they appear similar too, and the true name is either lost to obscurity or is known only in K'ech'i Kechi Mayan and no right method of translation will render it. These things I hold to be self evident,
it is notAsynchronous Communications Interface Adapter
nor Arctic Climate Impact Assessmentnor is it...
...Arizona Court Interpreter Association.
if... ... if at all it is an A C A I tree

The Earth

Seeking and harvesting wild and cultivated (long escaped) Ginger in the earth of Toledo District, Belize, Central America. Along the fencerows of Oxlaju Inn grow, in wetter times, Yellow, White, Red and Torch Gingers. The yellow I seek for spicing and seasoning.
Soils here are of a completely different substance than elsewhere I have lived. The top soil has a square-ish dice like texture when dry, and when wet, allows the rains to just pass through unencumbered. Some days in the rainy season, (this is true Rain Forest) rains exceed twenty inches overnight. Morning comes, and on this place not even a puddle remains as witness.
Beneath the surface are two layers of clay. The first, red or Yellow, looks like the clay in all the world, but if shoveled out onto a bank it falls into those same square pieces, like spilling a Yahtzee cup.
Farther down the clay is a gray and heavy subsoil, with just the same difference as the yellow. Internal consistency, internal fortitude, forces it into dice like pieces moments after removed from the excavation.
There is a small city on this land, buried beneath the newest top soils and decaying trees. A Mayan site on the tail of the acreage here. Finding it while searching the gingers out. At least four large buildings of stone wait for a shovel and time to see the sun again.