Wanderings of a Nobody.

I´ve spent a lot of my life drifting about.

I was born here, in Santiago, Chile however I grew up in NY. Fastforward to college, and I took a scholarship to Taipei. That was my real first experience of the "other" so to speak. It was fascinating and stimulating. Smiliar to a baby´s experience, I had to learn everything again, even learn to speak all over again.

After I graduated I moved to Argentina for a while to be foreign some more. It worked. I finnished that trip up by moving next door, to Chile, a country that I was born in but knew nothing about. My Chilean passport is still the big, red, scary passport of the dictatorship, and I myself am very much an artifact of that time.

Now, the effect of all this wandering/travel on me has been a broadening of my horizions. I no longer see any rule, any constant, any one cultural norm that dominates anything. This is especially hillarious in the US, which I now often see through "other" eyes. It has a peculiar cult of self-worship and delusion that I haven´t really seen in most other places. . . All the comfortable middle-class conservative certitudes of life seem like a joke to me.

The world is made of strange pieces, which are not made necessarily to fit tougether. Nor should they, otherwise the beauty of their difference be lost.

Ramble.

Andrés Borges Aragón

Ramble.

Inside his mind he could be anything, bat, pot, emperor, king, queen or song. Even then, if not a king then a nothing, a leaf, a tambourine, a sound that floats and disappears.

From his appearance this would not be gathered, for he was ugly. Heavy and ungraceful, a gangly bulk he was, unbecoming. It was the inside mind-wheels in his head that could really fly when given a surety of freedom.

Often consisting of a boring afternoon, a wait at an office, or an interminable walk (he had no car), were the bases of his flights into the huge unknown darkness inside his mind. On these travels into the outer oorrt cloud of conscience, he could encounter the whole meanness of the universe, its cruelty, its kindness, its ultimate impartiality, but never its condescension.

For example the awesome planets spinning huge, dumb, horrible, resplendent in their ancient courses through unmeasured darkness overfilling fathoms of incomprehensible darkness, that was one vision one time.

For example, there was another of volcanoes and fire which gushed endlessly over an alien land, fire waves killing the land, consuming the slave-aliens, who were dumb towards their impartial gods. He watched unblinking.

Mind space, real space, for it is all space. The painting needs the watcher, the fire needs the wood. How many volcanoes only erupt for the islanders?

Delight and wonder can be found within his mind, crowding for space with wonders and extract. More and more they cloud the doors of his perception, overflowing until he is consumed by the dream.

His body sits stiff, eyes dull and far, watching nothing. For his mind enjoys a buffet of unthinkable, unexplainable enjoyments. Such are the ten thousand flavours of a mind open to taste everything.

Who can say that his job is not a fake? Who can say that the toilet is real?

The chair hurts his body after hours prone. He moves but still clumsy legs, arms, feet bump and hit things. Those things slide and sometimes break when they are in his way,

They make certain sounds.

Another day, night, year, age, they all pass. He is old now, outwardly. He still goes to work, and then he still goes to dream.