las cataratas

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We took a long circuitous route towards the falls taking simple sights in along the way. A palm tree shaking above an azure sky, waterfalls weeping from their perches above. With each step we could hear the far rumble of the attraction that laid ahead.
There were huge tropical leaves vying for sunshine. Tourists following a flag absent mindedly, the whistle of a train, and puddles filled with a deep orange color. They were full of iron, full of life, yet dead, like the blood spilled from the Guarani people exterminated from this pristine land.

The metal creaked as we walked above the huge river basin flowing in seemingly every direction. We would cross lazy rivers 100 yards wide and gaze at the clouds floating above.
After building our anticiaption we arrived at the mouth (or devils tongue as the natives called it) of the falls. Mist swirled in every direction and the rails were swamped with unassuming tourists posing in mundane stances. Their hands outstretched as though they had something to be proud of in the beauty surrounding them. As though their 20 minute train ride bequeathed them the trowel to sculpt this surreal landscape. But they left as they came. In droves, with blank faraway smiles plaguing thier face. The look bush gives when he is plated a question he cannot digest.

But we lingered past the crowds and i spent a moment among the birds. There are these amazing swallows who inhabit iguazu. They swirl and dance among the overchanging winds. They moved in algorhythmic patterns like some taoist gliding towards enlightenment. They did not fight the surroundings, they did not flap against the grain. They floated and twisted and turned amongst the mist.
And i felt envious of the birds because this was their life. I felt akin to them as i blow through south america, but this wander will end. Their thougtlessness and simplicity continues day in, day out.

The dying sun and the linear paths drove me back towards civilization. I fought it with each step as I breathed the air, contemplated the deep iron pools of clay, but the path trudged forward, and so did i. Soon i found myself in town and then the hostel.
At the hostel, i once again had to defend my country with the undying mantra, ¨it is the greatest and it is the worst¨. None could argue, so we talked and agreed that revolt was humanitýs only hope. My bladder was exploding from the 3 liters of beer, and the conversation turned towards tv, so i took my leave. i then threw in an enormous dip and hid myself from humanity, finding a quiet stoop with amble light to write.

And i spewed these words which have been stewing in my head for some time. And i thought of you all and myself and the future and the futility of it all. And i smiled because i have now seen the swifts of iguazu and am one step closer to leaving it all behind and throwing myself into the mist over the edge of the precipice and flying with the birds who have it so good because they have nothing at all.

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Comments

[Esteban Norriega]

la verdad!
Sr. Dirt, You write the songs that the whole world sings. Top down, screamin' out, "Money ain't a thing."