On Friday, July 22nd at 8PM, Juanele AR will host a Matador Meetup in Buenos Aires. I’ll be reading* along with Matador Nights editor Kate Sedgwick. There will also be a drawing for a $100 peso gift certificate to Walrus Books in San Telmo.
On the night of the event, Juanele AR will be selling cheap drinks, the proceeds of which will go to Juanele editor Rick Powell‘s cancer treatment. Juanele AR HQ is located at 1011 Montevideo.
*my first official public reading ever
“I get a lot of rejections. . . I don’t care. I’m writing what I like.”
Awoke this morning to the Colques burning trash. Maxi with headphones on kicking the barrel. By lunchtime the paint all burned off. I thought about 22 different attitudes I could take towards the smoke. Bruce Lee reflected in Enter the Dragon mirrors. On a run at sunset, the shadows getting longer. New snow on the ridge at Piltri. Earlier this week, writing about Menorahs. Segundo back in New York reading Snyder, something about tribes. Nobody left at his Moms to rake leaves. The oldest, the oldest, the oldest son. Inventing words today, the panz. Lau in the shotgun seat coming back from Epuyen, peaceful, smiling. I kept imagining a barrel for burning thoughts. Seemed to work, I was less nervous than usual. The girls in the other room now watching a movie. At the beginning of my run, chased by teros . Epuyen at midday, nobody around. Snowline maybe 2,600 feet, where were the condors? One thought not burned: a plastic bottle I’d found after almost drowning. So far off the map I was happy to see it. The grandkids were all over at Adelas pitching shit into the fire. Meanwhile I sawed lengths of fenceboards to block where the dogs keep nosing into our trash. This whole week scowling at fucking dogs. Sol pregnant again, who will take care of this next litter? Epuyen at noon, jumping in after looking at the snowline. A cold yelp echoing into the valley, into the universe. The smoke from the shit fire 10 miles to the north. Signs on the climb to Epuyen: TERRITORIO MAPUCHE RECUPERADO. Asking Lau if that recovery was ‘official.’ Segundo there raking leaves would understand. We need tribes if only to share jokes. The shadows gone now, the sound / smell of chicken roasting. Falta mucho? lau says from the other room. On the way home, buying 5 more strawberry seedlings. Plant 20 cm apart, trimming the roots to keep from curling. Sitting naked after swimming, thoughts burning. Ground level, the shape of the beach. Got dressed, went back to car and saw him. Down here, always, the one starving dog. ‘S’ok buddy, his snout down, tail wagging tentatively. I dumped the cup of Layla’s half-eaten strawberries. He was old but could still walk all day. No wolves here 100 generations ago, it was all glaciers. His ancestors from somewhere else, where? Back in the the garden at sunset planting strawberries. Wind finally calm but the barrel still smoldering. Image of fur, ribs, eyes.
INT. BEDROOM – LATE NIGHT
A family of three in bed. Caption reads “2:58 A.M.” David is pushed up against the wall. His headlamp hangs from the bedpost as a kind of nightlight. Laura is at opposite end of the bed, so far to the edge that her pregnant belly is actually hanging off. Layla (3) is hugging her in a way that’s preventing her from getting comfortable. Both Layla and Laura are feverish and sweating. In addition to being sick and nine months pregnant, Laura is supposed to collect urine over 24 hrs for a lab test.
Movéte. I need space!
Layla murmurs something.
Laura runs to the bathroom. Layla immediately wakes up and begins crying. David tries to hold her but she keeps squirming and sits up. From the bathroom there are sounds of retching, grunting, a glass jar falling over, and almost demonic-sounding noises afterward.
It’s OK baby. It’s OK.
stoked on the comments / ‘overall vibe’ of this recent article about andy fitch and jon cotner’s book ‘ten walks / two talks‘.
An old man sits on the park bench, paintbrush poised in hand. Behind him, a dog sprints away from its owner. I have a hard time saying no.
Anna Brones is a writer and the co-founder of Under Solen Media. She writes for various green blogs and travel magazines including EcoSalon, Planet Green, Matador, and Huffington Post. She maintains a blog at je vais où.
*For notes and analysis on this story, as well as a link to the mixtape based on this story, please check here.
4:00:00 PM- Read tweet.
4:00:14 PM – Clicked on site to read theme.
4:00:20 PM – Felt initial wave of disappointment that theme the theme wasn’t “resonating.”
4:00:30 PM – Questioned 48hr’s brand / editorial vision.
4:00:40 PM – Stared at screen. Thought about 5th grade, Georgia Tech basketball camp, kid being named “Mr. Hustle” because he was really good on D.
4:03:10 PM – Reread theme description: “The entrepreneur living on credit cards and couches.” Thought of Ross.
4:03:20 PM – Envisioned interview: “Ross Borden C.E.O. of Matador, World’s Largest Independent Travel Publication,” then visualized “big blocks of text” in the layout of a magazine. Modified idea to a kind of log with entries like “hours slept this week,” “calls made,” accompanied by photographs of Ross (a) heli-skiing and (b) up working at 3:34 am.
4:05 PM – Went outside. Sat in sun with wife and daughter. Took pictures of daughter holding cat.
4:23 PM- 4:37 PM – Chatted with Ross about theme of hustle and interview idea within context of (a) being a good story and (b) getting on 48hr’s “radar screen” as potential media partners while at the same time realizing that if (b) was truly prevalent in my motivations it likely would negate (a) in terms of literary value, although not necessarily. Checked the loading times of a couple Matador links. Looked at 48hr’s POD partner.
4:40 PM – Walked across forest and airstrip with girls. Took picture of man burning leaf-pile. Kept thinking “hustle.”
4:50 PM – Went to cerveceria with girls for afternoon snack. Found cerveceria was closed. Told girls I’d go back and make tortillas. Left camera with Lau.
4:56PM – Walked back and saw old paisano carrying huge bundle of cypress trunks out of forest followed by woman in her 50s also carrying firewood, then a kid maybe 10, with a bundle. Thought “shit, this was the picture I needed.” Felt strong emotion when paisano set the bundle down 50 ft. away and I could actually hear heavy sound of trunks hitting the ground. Thought “there are hundreds of ppl right now simultaneously writing or thinking about writing on theme of ‘hustle’ but there are thousands of times more ppl just ‘engaged in basic survival.’”
4:57 PM – Crossed airstrip and thought about submitting the chat with Ross as a kind of meta-portrait of “hustle,” that if you discerned some of the layers (such as the breaks in the chat to check certain links for loading speed), you realize it is essentially a “snapshot” of hustling.
4:57: 10 PM – Thought: “No, nobody wants to read that. It has no point of entry for the reader, no context for anyone outside of our crew.”
4:57:12 PM – Thought: “But what if I could provide some kind of chronology as a substitute for narration? Would that be something that looks good in a magazine’s layout?” Realized simultaneously that if I was thinking this it meant I wasn’t going to submit anything. Felt stoked for some reason.
5:04 PM – Made dough for tortillas. 2 cups flour. 2 tsbs olive oil. Tsb of salt. Half tsb of baking powder.