i waited long for this computer for words that weren´t said

Today, after a huge German massacre on the Argentines in the World Cup, the streets grew barren. Summer saw grown men cry and all the shops, museums, restaurants closed. the city at 2 in the afternoon was 10 times more quiet than it was at 7:30 this morning as we first rolled out of the bus. the city mourns and so we too lost our life as tourists and gained our life as waxers.

in fits of hunger, lack of sleep and agitation, we bickered over the map in search of the one veggie restaurant known. our only meal thus far, four crackers and a 1" by 2" countainer of marmelade. our only sleep, bits between descending and winding through the mountains (i think) on a double decker bus with lights of passing cars flashing through the fogged up window panes. we never found the restaurant but as fate has it, we did find an unbelievable "Arab" cafe, which the old german highly recommended. we sat around nibbles of hummus ( at this point, an anomoly...a gift from the gods), tomato and cucumber salads, etc... This is where at the sight of food and a smidge of comfort, our shoulders fell and the muscles in our face let go. we began engaging. we began a conversation. it could really be any, but of course it wasn´t just any, because they never are on the road. they are strong, unforgettable in their essence, and passionate beyond the loops of home.

this started me thinking. we failed multiple times to find anything to "do" with our day due to the depressed Argentine football lovers. the gates locked and closed, we were alone amidst the ghosts. our words, our banter, our verbal display crashindoed through the vacant streets. two sides of the same coin, we tossed our solid opinions back and forth between ears and tongues. at some point, our destination was really a distraction. we were in the voyage; in the jungle of discovery; batting at the other and then retracting and sitting silent in the next street unfound, map to nose, thoughts simmering.

words: maybe the most valuable. our voice: unretractable.

after waiting for hours to get this computer in my hands, to spill my "profundities" on words and engagemant, i was interupted. a young British man started me in chatter that lead to depth. the kind of talk that you both somehow reach an end, only out of the sort of need for analytical meditation.

back to the computer. words...all that is said and wrestled with in verbal atmosphere amongst the vagabonds, locals, intellects, common woman and more. but this leads me to the negative space, what about those words unsaid?

those of faith, speechless at the gates of disbelief, the words tucked under their tongues and in their diaries; the lovers sweeping their frustrations of self identity below sweet words; politicians leaving their reality of self for the luxuries of plastic.

it is these words that come from the darkness, the mildewy crevices of our haphazard path that come up when put on the edge. as long as the gypsy spirit can tamper with our wires, we can whip these words from their isolation and throw them in the mix.

keep talking from the bottom up and from the inside out.