The Black Market

Our days at Kinoki are near the end. La comida que los dio sustancia y nutrición durante nuestro tiempo en San Cristóbal de las Casas. En San Cristóbal de las Casas yo tengo un sentimiento  que vida es revolución. But when I return to my real life; real life is bills. Dolla dolla bills y'all and peso peso pills filling my gullet, spilling out of my pockets into hungry mouths. The hunger was enough fir the people to fight. The fight was hard fought full of casualties on both sides. Both sides of the story involve water - water for blood - blood for water. We are 80% water after all. I suspect the remaining 20% is fire, although I'm sure the "scientists" would disagree. Scientists are so funny though. They think so oddly about humanity. They lack the perspective of seeing things through a kaleidoscope. I once saw kaleidoscopes made from coke bottles and forgotten pieces of glass - that were smooth from the ocean. But only on one side, the other side was rough. Like stucco-brick-pavement bone shells. The ocean washes up the shells on the shore in great amounts. My favorite is the concha and my second favorite is the caracol. At  a snail's pace, the revolución continues - never dissuaded by faster moving neo-liberalist newspapers. Capitalism now in technicolor, we were able to sell transnational cultural analyses cheap on the black market. The natural resources that are on the black market are becoming less and less expensive. And what is the cost of experience? What is the exchange rate? I traded tu corazón por diez pesos.

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