Thursday, August 12, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Himalayas, Roadsides. Backyards. Frontyards. Everywhere.
How could you? How could you detach yourself from life and fall into a gutter by the wayside? How could so many of you plunge into slush, scar your supple skins on unemotional black tar, shrink and rot? How could you lie there next to plastic wrappers and old water bottles? How could there be orphans among you choking in the crowd of roadside vegetation? It's all so beautiful, but it's certainly not one bit fair.
Naggar, Kullu Valley
On a misty cloudy gray green day.
guess who I met again today? The-prancing-to-an-ascending-stranger-running-around-in-all-directions-and-finally-collapsing-on-the-stranger's-feet-puppy. Kutzo. Apparently that's what the 60day-er is called. He has his joyful rituals. He came running towards me like the other day. Did a few suicidal crisscross on the downward looking upward gazing slopey road like the other day. And then he sat down on my feet. Not at my feet. On it. He sofa-ed the feet, just like the other day. Kutzo you crazy lil' thing.