Reflections on myth, politics, and desire. The language of the night. The march has been called by the Cape Peninsula Technicon. For this crowd; the songs are snappy, cheerful, brimming with energy. Early on in the march, we are suddenly pelted by light little pink packets. These seem to contain face masks. For teargas, someone explains. More pink packets shower us from a different direction.

8230;a lonely impulse of delight. Out on the Road Like a Snake. Posted in Raving from the Integral Province. Forty minutes out from Aruba we descend, get level, skim the coast line and touch down on the pitted concrete runway of Simon Bolivar International in Maiquetia just meters south of the Caribbean and about 30 km north of Caracas. The forms are gathered by public health w.

Flash fiction, because the internet needs less substance. In The Trickle Down Country and the City of Dis. Soon, it would be obvious that I was alone, alone except for all those other things. My towers were gone and the houses were about to disappear. I was leaving every stray window that could possibly give me guidance. Crossing into the industrial park and the only light I had was the one I held. Robitussin, on the rocks.