Pusaq: Manayaycuna, the town no one can enter

Januaryfebruaromarzoabrilmayojuniojulio hoy es el 8 de julio.

I woke up today in the same room I've been waking up in for the past seventeen days. Again, I lay atop a cold duvet. Again, I open eyes that don't see. Again, I am alone.

The fingers that I've been blessed with look blue in the middle of summer; my blood pressure has dropped though my skin runs hot. On my bed I am not in Austin, on my bed I am in Manayaycuna.

Altitude pressure has no difference in Manayaycuna; it is only what you can handle that changes, that fear, things we cannot forget. A state of being, past lives, people-- we seem to forget them at will, yet moving forward we fall into those same miserable habits of comfort. We reach towards those living reproductions of what we cannot let go; the actor, the lover, the friend, the enemy. We re-cast our stories with different understudies, and every day we repeat the same tale. Over, and over, and over. We see them as we are. Live them as we are. But without accepting this internal design, it is destined to be repeated. In Manayaycuna, there is no God that bothers me; there is no cycle, there is no stranger mimicking there is no one at the door.

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Splendor only lasts a second, and nothing is longer than misery. You cannot outrun the speed of pain.

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I have this uncomfortability being in the nude. I tried to lounge in bed one, unclothed, and felt "naked" in the sense that I felt like the strips of meat leftover by the rabid coyotes out by a river's bend- too bare for the taste of sensible folk. My brain races to different stages of wrongness in these times; I am not made for anything other than Western frivolities. My fear of the computer's gaze stops me from enjoying any time without barriers. I find comfort in fabrics around me. No one's gaze can touch me in Manayaycuna.

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People are fascinated by cannibalism as a weird phenomenon of modern love because of the violent contact, when life slips from one person to another, to be eternally devoured yet never intimate enough to appreciate separation, romance as endless narcissistic consumption

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from my notes app, at 8.22pm:

I saw a dead bird on my walk today; it was nestled up, crested. Tucked into itself in innocence lost, his cheek turned to the left. The streets remained empty.

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To love men, is to love what devours them 

Con relación al inicio de mis labores estaré disponible a , voy ha estar fuera del país debido a que mi abuelita va ser intervenida quirúrgicamente y me gustaría acompañarla en estos momentos. A relación a las materiales que necesito, paso a detallarlo .

Agradesco la oportunidad y tu comprensión. quedo a la espera de tus indicaciones y/o comentarios

I feel the rush of the tides in my left ear. It thrums steady, warm; it’s my heart. She quiets now. I loved her.

Men perceive as a woman “I don’t understand it”, sitting with them they repeatedly remind me vocally and consistently with no shame “If you were a woman I would date you”

The more we seek images of the people, we are most likely to seek infinite loops of self appeasement in an attempt to avoid change. Not me though. 

hot new look for this summer is “young bride living on the Kyrgyz steppe” — braided hair and a sweater vest worn over a floor-length dress

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I can live without God. I can even come to live with the idea there is no life after. But I do not think I could go on if I did not believe in the possibility of goodness.