Thursday, July 15, 1999

Musac, Haiti

Can’t forget to send Winzeler his English text [and for Fanfan, bourses québecois] and whatever I can find on long-distance education [Télélumière].

B.P. 1247 Centre National Bahá’í Port-au-Prince, HAÏTI

[Also, the committee for Haïti, Guadeloupe, Martinique, French Guiana]

In his words, our walk today was “extra”—for extravagant. One of his favourites. All the same, I’d like to buy myself an extra Coke.

My dream last night was disjointed, common. Parties and good compilations; a turnstile stand-off defused by a double-crossin’, tommy-gunnin’ Colin Christensen; finally an auditorium of displays for computer games. You climb out of a post-apocalypse valley into the endless glaciers that surround it. Cathedrals hewn out of the ice. Twilit cobalts and ultramarines. I don’t get it.

Neglected to rocks around here. They say they’re not pumice, but they’re as pock-marked and crumbling as if some obscene Japanese had replaced any good earth here with Zen garden. Houses are built from them and fall apart , pits are dug and piles left.

Late, late at night (well, a quarter after nine). Awash in sweat and with only a flashlight to see by. Erick’s propped it up in an oil lamp. Just wanted to say that we just came back from the house of several beautiful Haitian girls—Erick and I both express ourselves with our hands, but his touch the girls directly, and mine are only in contact with my thoughts.


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