Isla de Ometepe 1

Fishing in San Juan del Sur

Catch Up

I don't know where to start.
this morning in a stick shack
kick back relax Nica day.
On an island with two volcanoes, The island is named Isla de Ometepe. we rode into town on an old school bus that broke down so we walked the remainder and on the way home not one more person could find standing room. The lake we are surrounded by is the largest in all of Central America, we crossed on an old ferry yesterday. It has been so long since I last wrote that I can not catch up in a literary sense, so I am just going to post a lot of pictures and hope they speak for themselves.

Market Food

Yesterday
Awake, fumbling with toothpaste and age Jack spits the night down the drain and splashes and lashes cold reality onto his face wrinkled and real. Midday breakfast at the market, constant hum of voice and cooking food, fans blowing the smell of fried eggs and ham and laughter and your order's up, it's $11 for three meals and drinks. A short dog beneath the table which hosts a tub filled with onions pickled and hot and a small plate of salt that everyone dips their fingers into.
Today
Weakened from the market food, Jack shitting and puking the night long and now hides in the shade.

Jan. 26

Buying mangoes through open bus windows, all aboard for the frontier, headed for Nicaragua, blue sky day as traffic ahead slows us. Bicycles on the edge of the hardtop riding without fear. Double clutch gear grabbing only to down shift and load one more old man. Always something outside burning adding to the interior aroma.
The frontier es muy dificil, with long line-ups and papers white and yellow for exit and entry and exit taxes and entry taxes and a dollar for every transaction and line-ups that go nowhere and the wrong colored piece of paper and get back in line to pay another tip and finally cross into Nicaragua, into a taxi passing smoking volcanoes, a ride that lasts 40 min. for $20US into the surf town of San Juan del Sur, where we dance into the night in a bright yellow bar filled with travelers and locals alike drinking cheap rum. It's 4-1, compared to the price in Costa Rica.

Jan. 25

Santa Cruz, Costa Rica, 12:30 pm. Sweating on a bus to Liberia, that stops constantly taking 1 and a half hours to venture 77kms from the beach town of Samara. Through the window, dry country and passing Coca Cola delivery trucks, tin rooftops and grave yards, cattle starving on dehydrated grass along side the bumpy road. The wind howls through open windows.

Dia Especial

she looked out at me
from behind the gentle flowers
her fingers long
caressing her slender profile
curious eyes pondering
only a moment

Jack be Nimble

Jack clean shaved and away from the city mixes alas one more Rum prior to pass out.His mouth saturated by evening smoke and bad dream, he reaches for his stylo and paper to document the sounds of air conditioning and bugs, the cactus and ice in his plastic cup, the smell of resent in a country so rich a million dollars won't touch base. Jim told him it would cost,he blind, went into the wind. Old Fraser back home laughing drunk on Speckled Hen, further ahead than he knows and Bishop with his boundaries and camera, snapping stills and living his dream, Jd strumming his guitar in Nashville all the while Jack mixed up thinking so far ahead that he meets himself somewhere in between.

Montezuma At Night

Red and white tablecloths, our waitress in a white mini-skirt over a black G-string serving Boho bare feet surfers and tattooed dread head surf girls wearing short cut denim shorts. Monkeys drunk on fruit and stolen bread and sugar packets dance in the tree tops. Tica's and white dudes, Tico's and white chicks all drinking beer that is never cold enough.

Montezuma Monkeys

A couple of hangovers into it now.
Last night sober
feels good today.
Monkeys and waves
body surfed the afternoon.
Two more days here
then on the move.

Costa Rica

Fancy sandaled feet
one way streets
and tight jeans.
Pedestrians don't have the right away
Becoming familiar
with Pilsen and Imperial beer

So hot i had to shed
my skivies
many a short skirt
and plenty o hippies.
Bud and coke on
every corner
in Montezuma.
Thieves beside the police station
drunk on love
in the sanded campground
gunna spend a half dozen days here.

Ice

headed south with a hangover
Jack's teeth ache
and the whores are plastic
wine glass empty
as the roach burns fingers.
The ice road slide
a bike without screws.
Next years ride
an old dead sled
and a jug of rum.

My Boy

Camp fire grilled cheese
and
a garbage bag sled
Bring in the new year
@-15 degrees

New Years

Gunna get my kicks
before the whole shit house
goes up in flames

Hard Core Breakfast

The knock at my door awoke my hung over self.
Piercing blue eyes and a 50s style haircut
a crazed look in his eyes that could go either way.
It had been at least 20 years
since our last acquaintance.
I had changed plenty
as had he
other than the look.
Put back eight beer
for breakfast
and realized
there is no sense in
hiding the past.

Don't Run

There was no warning
no alarm sounded
when they came for Jack.
A coat of restraint,
Jack went along easy
he had rode this horse
before.

Too Far

The gear grinding bone crushing sounds of Jack being eating by his own machine. He had gone too far, his mind was racing, it was like a bad LSD trip , filled with monsters and black holes. A black hole was all Jack was convinced of seeing, he wondered if there was medication for such fear.