Maleperduys

The night before my birthday I dreamt I was back at school. University or some such thing. Sitting in a comfortable study lounge in a dormitory in the evening having a meeting. The room was full of people I knew. We couldn't think of the word for "shipwreck" in German. Nobody knew it. We were stymied. But a number of people had dictionaries: Langenscheidt German-English/English-German dictionaries. I could see them under chairs and next to bags with their distinctive yellow covers and the big blue L for Langenscheidt. I demanded, "Would someone who is not mentally retarded please hand me a dictionary?" My old friend John H handed me his. Weirdly, the back cover was wet. It was just water. But why? I didn't know. I looked inside it. It was actually not a regular dictionary, but a picture dictionary. I looked in the table of contents and found ships. There were a few pages on ships, but no word for shipwreck. I handed the dictionary back. "I'll find i...

Checking in with Neal Dream Jan 14, 2008 It's hard to remember some dreams because the events in them, while perfectly logical at the time they take place, seem completely odd and impossible when recollected later. This dream began with some events that have now evaporated, but the first thing I remember clearly was that Neal Cassidy had eaten some hallucinogenic mushrooms and was therefore able to see me and some other man to whom I was explaining On The Road . Because I was dreaming and Neal was tripping, we were able to see one another. We were all on a small island in a river. Neal wasn't saying much, but was friendly, smiling. I was telling the third man that On The Road was an incredibly important and groundbreaking book because through it, you could have actual contact with the souls of the characters.

Winter Break Dec. 27, 2007 Vienna, Severingasse, bed We told our parents on Christmas, yes. Currently trying to do some automatic writing, push the pen across the page, manual labor, the opposite of sweeping a hallway, instead you leave the path strewn with muttering, gleaming refuse. It's cold in here even with the heat on. Ka is out teaching. She has had a cold these last few days. I'm listening to Ali Farka Touré. Working on translating a reseller contract. Tomorrow we're to go out to Saturn and buy some office equipment for our companies: espresso maker, phone, microphone & speakers for my computer. Debating Zionism with SOMOS via email. Being in touch with old high school friends through Facebook. Livius Patrick? Livia Malina? Livius the Roman historian, Patrick my grandfather, Malina Slovenian for raspberry. Ka's back, making an appointment for organ screening for Tuesday the 8th of January. I've been reading Kerouac's original scroll version of On The...

Library of Incorrect Information Dreamt I was in a virtual library where false information was stored. It was a huge round tower of steel and glass. All incorrect ideas that anyone had ever had were archived there. You could browse through them.

Flying through Drunken Universes (The title is a quotation from my English translation of an erotic poem written by an Ecuadorian writer whose name I've forgotten) March 11, 1999 Guapulo, Quito, Ecuador Coca tea at 6 a.m., unburnt matches on my dusty floor, Solomon Islands chanting from the CD player, a bus starts up outside, Tania long gone, I tripping with Dad to Banos - Riobamba - Cuenca, visa problems, dreamt the other night I wasn't too lazy to write, where's my brain anyway, it's just an old black and white TV set in an old wooden barrel in a harmonic hurricane, may I have another lid for my coffin, please, and a nail made of a white rose to go with it? Grind me up like hamburger and fry me on the skillet of a new dawn. Morning blue twilight through rain-moist windows. White rainbow sheets on the mattress on the floor here in relative solitude, the blankets a mess, in the room I rent from Hector for $18 a month. The dragon that gnaws the roots of the Tree of Life ...

If a Tribe Fell in the Forest: An Ecuadorian Massacre Miguel Angel Cabodevilla Translated by Nathan Horowitz I. Commentaries on a Waorani Attack II. Wartime III. The Group That Came out of Nowhere IV. Hidden Tribes in Ecuador V. The Reinvention of the Waorani World Miguel Angel Cabodevilla, born in Spain in 1949, is a Capuchin priest and the author of ten books. From 1984 to 1999, he lived in the Ecuadorian Amazon, working with the Siona, Secoya, Naporuna (Kichwa, also spelled Quichua), and Waorani (also spelled Huaorani) tribes, on cultural preservation through bilingual education and the documentation of traditions. From 1988 to 1999, he directed the Center for Cultural Investigations of the Ecuadorian Amazon (CICAME). In 1999, he returned to Spain. Cabodevilla was visiting Ecuador in 2003 when the news broke that a massacre had taken place in a rainforest area he had worked in. Waoranis, members of the tribe that has most recently become integrate...