Out of silence

Out of silence I come to say a bit of where I have been (Do silencio saio para contar um pouco do meu para-dei-ro - por falta de tempo internético o farei só em inglês embora me doa nao comunic

(beij(ing)) ar em nossa lingua - espero que compre e n dao)

On my way to London (to start a new phase of my life, studying under the rain in the hope of sunny days and letters that will bring light to my days - 1 or 2 years I will be there studying and expecting visits, expecting to see your faces) meanwhile stopped in spaces their tastes, their plants, their smells, their voices a different language in each part a different me in each one sometimes I can hear a continuous sound that hovers over these airs an expression of a locality.

Dissonant mantras I could call them.

As when I crossed 34th street in New York and heard "kiss my ass, motherfucker, white prick, kiss my ass, motherfucker, white shit, kiss my ass"...

and when sitting under a green umbrella in Central Park, a homeless man surrounded by duane reade packages feeding little peanuts to a squirrel sang "I will stab you in the eyes Mary.

I will stab your wife in the eyes dear god, what will you do?

I will stab you in the back dear God.

God does not let his sons into the room, the rents are too expensive."

As the people passed rushing through me in Penn Station, rushing, rushing, rushing, an underlying aggressiveness that connects us all feels good to be connected though.

Then in Spain - silence, a meditation retreat with my mother the hovering sound "La vida pasa rapido como una flecha"

there it goes like an arrow

day by day

slowly gone.

But now the jasmin smells and it seems eternal I can hear the clock ticking grapes, the taste of grapes and Catalan voices This house of rocks where I sit has been standing here since the 1400s, at least, if not more. That is when the first written document was found when Fernando el Catolico started collecting taxes.

The church I can see from the window has been receving prayers since the 800s.

The voices here are contested. Espanña no, catalunya, sils plau, mica, bona nit, i arribat l'hora de dormir....

Went picking berries this morning

in my body there was a slight sensation that I had done this many times before just picking, gathering, not hunting, gathering a female remedy quiça on the way back picking mushrooms, a hundred types a special one that looks like an egg and if opened goes into explosions of a galactic orange smell of jasmin always in the air the clock is ticking the rest....

is silence

and in silence I rest

until I arrive in London

and find another hovering mantra in the air

would love to hear or read your voices

Petra Costa