The Notebooks of Ernesto Blanco
How could city
"Big Timber" when is no spectacle a tree? Very shamelessly
these hills reduced! For appearance are plans not to grow again:
blank hill of none saplings or little plants of the white diagram
of seed. All is pieces dusty of rock and erosion of plans.
brain tumor vacillating like to slow my auto in Custer, but reasons
for the oil I stopped. O, malignant wind, cautious in its limits
I verified: the city no exist. No children but dogs. Scorched or
hollow buildings but thank you never the less station of petroleum.
And a bar.
Ha. All angular
ideas in the dirt axis--a white man endeavored connection--a boat
like a house! None were safe around. He compelled me to the station
of petroleum, wanting or no. Asphalt of potholes and scrap glass
I need avoid slow in the dust. And measured also by the steel outhouse
screwed on a late garage, here discarded auto decades. But the warehouse
was empty of the gas. Each octane, exhausted!
God, to solicit
here, "help please," is a ghastly arena. These men disgusted
in hats comprehend my speaking travel enough. They stop and hear.
But the echo is my reflection. I am too much to see speaking the
greased window of such a warehouse, a too small station. God, it
is a trap waiting. It is the flies on the possum, the dog with three
legs. It is intuition, hot and dry. No, quickly I decided now rolling
more than ever. My voice of the brain in this time a good quality
fats. They care to associate to hear the stream pollution? Do they
drown or bury to clone? Do they "dig" approaches communication
in second language? Pale or charred, the word deserves excess of
the negligible attention commonplace language permits.
The city that
peaks six miles far appropriate "Gray Cliff." Desire that
had bad grass, there is nothing does: each wind mill in a shutdown
and he is only one of afternoon. The worse heat is come.
My vision anew
for each landscape a piece of Earth like home of the first people.
To see works continuously in a viable relation with the nature,
adapting to the vital characteristics altering themselves of the
productive ways, creating resources outside the materials of the
nature--in short circuit, is "man" who is Earth domestic
And the same
man of so many ways, in diet and dress, emblems and rituals, in
his daily work and game, reveals his adaptations often subtle and
unconsciously to the nature.
But I get tired.
Tire of the man and the man hearing to speak. Tire to hear the man
is tired. I am tired without one more day a woman.