My Name Is Harbor Freeway

A NEW CHAPTER ADDED 15 October.
The story unfolds. The newest chapters are at the end. The oldest chapters are at the beginning. This is how it works for now. Gradually a story will unfold, says the Ounja Cat, although I don’t know yet whether I agree.

CHAPTER ONE
My Name is Harbor Freeway
Ten things I want to tell you about this place where I am now.
One: it’s not either the places i was cursed–and I was cursed twice.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/12/my-name-is-harbor-freeway/ 

CHAPTER TWO
About a Tick and a Beat
In this place, it takes a long time of listening
before you know what is really being said.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/14/about-a-tick-and-a-beat/

CHAPTER THREE
And This is How I Feel About the Other
I might as well tell you that there are millions of ellipses connecting
the place where I am now, and the place where I used to be.
In the place where I used to be, the clocks move their hands
but make no sound. They are silent, but not still.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/17/and-this-is-how-i-feel-about-the-other/ 

CHAPTER FOUR
Be very careful around shrines to a woman in tears
In this the other place, there were two chickens.
It was the year the touchables invaded from all directions,
a hungry sea of mandibles.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/20/each-time-your-letters/

CHAPTER FIVE
before the blessings were the curses.
visas, migrations, history of famine, departures, arrivals, exiles, homeland (they use these words in both places)
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/26/before-the-blessings-were-the-curses/

CHAPTER SIX
resistance accompanies all deployments of power
That’s not how it was explained. how it was explained was first i got a stomachache, and then nightmares. They showed me woodcuts of the cow killing the butcher: I think that was a form of explanation, but it didn’t really help.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/27/resistance-accompanies-all-deployments-of-power/

CHAPTER SEVEN
consider coalitions based on affinity
Ah, but you see, there is the thread, as smooth as that narrow strand of honey that becomes ever so slightly thinner and thinner but does not break. The web lifts and at every vertice there is something unexpected, oh we didn’t know that was there, oh not at all and yes, it is so beautiful - the skin cell, the small hairs, the tiny part of someone’s toenail. and then a bit of candlewax, a rhinestone, an eyelash, a cuticle, a droplet, a flake of soap, a gnatwing, a bit of turquoise paint, a smidge of glitter…
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/06/27/47/

CHAPTER EIGHT
Dr. Dengue and the Ouanja Cat
Dr. Dengue is in the office, and she will see you now, says the maid, sharpening her fingernails in a conical, fang-like apparatus. By way of a greeting, Dr. Dengue tells me: The cat will soon arrive with her four paws. Two paws are curses. Two paws are blessings. One paw is orange, and one is black. One is white and one is grey.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/07/26/the-ouanja-cat/

CHAPTER NINE
The Qi of Dr. Dengue
You would expect Dr. Dengue to cry a little, being a woman, and being both the cure and the cause of a dreaded tropical disease. The world weighs heavy on her shoulders — inside her lavendar silk dress she has sewn a cow-rib to keep her standing upright with an attentive posture.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/07/26/52/

CHAPTER TEN
In Which Dr. Dengue Almost Admits to the Falibility of Pure Science
As she tweezes the hair from her knuckles, Dr. Dengue mutters something about her shortcomings - it’s a rare moment, as unexpected as a sudden scent of orange blossoms. There were curly black hairs nesting in her silk dress. My world collapsed, and recreated itself anew.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/08/07/dr-dengue-prescribes-a-book/

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donda Estaa La Gelateria Dolorosa?
There are three things I care about today: semantics, color, and new words. I am learning new words from varigated language. I am learning inaccuracy - the very best kind of accuracy there is. There is a joy in incompetence. I am unlearning the use of things. Within Dr. Dengue’s parlour, I have a lapful of embroidery thread. The colors are singing to me, in varigated frequencies. They don’t care that I do not know how to sew with them - they are content to be petted and admired and allowed their freedom.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/08/31/so-long-and-thanks-for-all-the-fish

CHAPTER TWELVE
Boa Tarde, Yom Ha Zikkaron
I may have told you I am writing this book - slowly, without much reason or intent, without making much sense, much progress. Without even addressing the very nature of…..well, there you go. All I really have to say is a small and insignificant row of dots, conveying only mystery and ignorance, when what I seek is answers and knowledge.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/09/13/boa-tarde-yom-ha-zikkaron/

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
the love in rua santa catarina
In the dark, a man appeared — bald headed, with a sweater knotted across his shoulder. He went to fill a bucket at the waterless cistern. The cistern flowed into his bucket, a gallon of water. A miracle, it seemed, or else he simply knew which lever to turn, what words to chant. They came together in madness and fear, he told me. I knew immediately who he spoke of. The two, the two who had the cistern, who had the pine needles and the arbors and the birds that flew through their hands and into the trees, the two who had prayed beneath the distant crosses.
http://sarasud.wordpress.com/2007/10/15/death-at-the-secret-hotel/