1^st

I spent the morning creating irregularly shaped tortillas. They tasted warm and delicious but I’m not sure if it was worth all the dough all over the walls and floor and my clothes.

Took money out from the bank to pay for the diving. On the way back I took a detour since I was borrowing a nice bike and found myself in a traffic jam. Motorcycles and mopeds were stuck behind a mess of black cows. The running of the Utilian Bulls. Just off the boat, there were over twenty squeezed tightly heading up the small road. I first passed a lazy one off to the side taking a nap, in the process of being agitated by some village girls. When the opportunity arose the herd took it, running up the steps trying to get into the grocery stores and china shops as the owners tried to slam their doors on their faces. The cowboys in the lead pointed for the cows which way they would like them to turn at a fork, they responded more to the yelling and big wooden sticks the young cowboys in the back and flanks held high.

Both literally and figuratively, my life is a room filled with piles of open books, lying face down, pages of varying unbalance. Resting on the bed, floor, table and on top of each other is a Twain and a Phalanuk, Steppenwolf, Farenheit 451, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and a Kerouac I’ve been reading for two years. Not to mention another whole pile of dive text books.

Walking down main, late at night, suddenly my foot kicked a weighty asymmetrical object that went flying, I knew from some sort of combination of senses, including sixth and seventh ones, it was not something I have ever kicked before. Looking down I saw the largest crab I had ever seen. Coloured as the armies desert fatigues, he looked up at me and said in a melancholy voice, “what’d you do that for jerk”.