Vida y noche en Centroamerica
Let's go for a deserted walk among the sprawling cvasi-urban deserts that once were supposedly gardens, shall we!
The national bank of Costa Rica announced that the current collapse of the local currency is "just normal seasonal variation". Seeing how the national bank of Costa Rica is very much not me (however much they'd like to pretend otherwise), I don't expect their spurious "announcements" and other narrative attempts at magic-through-relabelling will do anything ; nor does anyone else.
The hallowed, fabled, dreamful cien, ever more distant an ideal, ever less meaningful anyways. And it couldn't have "happened" to nicer people who done it to themselves!
No estacionar means don't park. Enough sad.
We've been walking through some truly seedy partsi, meanwhile completely sterilized by depopulation -- because that's the big secret of urban safety : nothing's more dangerous than people.
Downtown, the law & order complex. As deserted as the rest of this country of which little remains but the name.
The remnants of perhaps San Jose's foremost still standing Casino (which in the Italian language as well as in Costa Rican practice denotes a brothel). Wanting's not worth much, is it though.
Meanwhile the days... the days are so much better spent on the green. There's buzzing life, not necessarily any less human than the unconvincing simulacra of humanity put forth by the unconvincing simulacra of urban aglomerations.
A city of ants, winged hemipteran ant-like things, fallen into the gutter. They're still trying to make the best of it, but... well... truth be told, it ain't ever gonna be what it was before.
Until the first serious rain ; at which point it ain't gonna be anything but its memory, anymore.
The rains have meanwhile washed what appears to have been ample textual intricacy. Incomprehensible now, it remains in general outline, like an ancient writ summarized by its wordcount. There was about a square foot of wordage in there, if that helps you in any way.
And why shouldn't it ?
That ellipsis... you know ?
Place definitely looks like it's seen some shit, some hardcore, caged tit type'o shit.
I confess it's pretty sad, going through the rubbish, through this country-size midden, and finding things, bits and pieces, artifacts divers and peculiar of a meanwhile decayed civilisation. It's a lot like finding half-burned dolls after a sinister conflagration, you can't help but think of the little girl who must've played with it, dreamed and thought with it, perceived limits through and in it, projected and designed only to be ultimately blindsided by thermodynamics, the ubiquitously silent yet perpetually unexpectable overlord. All sorts and manner of small business wrecks litter the desolace (you know, like populace, but brought up to date), and you can't help but think of the small owners and their hopes an' dreams an' hard work throughout. For naught, all of it, because... well... the salvation of the drowning may indeed be work for the very hands of the drowning in question, but this does not in the slightest mean any and all work, labour, effort or flailing of the hands of the drowning means, begets or even facilitates anything like salvation. In fact, most generally... quite the opposite stands true.
But... hey, at least they've fixed the "global warming", rite.
One of the better rape alleys I know of ; though it's plain obvious we're the only ones having any fun with it.
Imagine yourself taking it in the ass, chained barefoot to some metal wreck down there, maybe left behind, oozing and gaping...
The truth of the matter is that only the rich may ever have any fun of this world -- everyone else's stuck squirming for dear life. Which, of course, is precisely as it should be.
Meanwhile resurrected bimbo ; she, like me, returns. Because, as you will never know, death by anoxia is not even real.
- So much so, the police insistently warns us, you know, "omg, this part is really bad". "Why ? There's nobody here." "Precisely!!!". [↩]
