sono.tino

these are the words and photos that depict the world in which we live.


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The dirt falls from my fingers,

Because I spend my days toiling in the fields. It’s back breaking, thankless, and the least likely thing to deliver happiness in this curt life we lead. My muck boots may have fine laces, but they are still made from heifer leather. My sleeves still roll when the going gets tough, though the cuff may be French and initialed. Our backs pain together, arched over our handheld technologies. The steel is either hand-ground for an edge or polished to a shine. The tool is our cross roads between working harder or smarter, where grunt meets hmmm. This has become the most opportune moment to sit back and strategize. A bonobian brow is raised and a chimp’s fist comes down with a thud. This is a moment of evolution, something that uniquely sets us apart from those who came before. Though the action may be small for one human, it is but a leap for humankind. This is why those with the weight of the world on their shoulders seem to have the strength of an army and the vision of an oracle. Divinely inspired by something that is anything but…the inching forward of ACTG into another helical duet that leads to another and so on, until something is from what was not. Great contemplation has no relation to contempt, because creativity is the photon packet of man that no shallow dish of human emotion can refract or distort. When the flash of brilliance passes like a solar flare, our noses return to the laws of gravity and we return to what we were doing before the nano-stretching of the fabric of life made us step outside of ourselves. Then we take comfort in the dirt again, so familiar, so grounding, so now.


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We All Believe In Something,

I just tend to believe in it more than the next guy. When you find something to believe in, you stick with it. When you find something you are good at, you stick with it. I’m a protestor for hire and I support causes. Gender causes, racial causes, environmental causes, political causes, class-warfare causes and any other cause that causes you to have a cause. You can say that I quite literally live a cause and affect relationship. A cause is bigger than us. It has life, yet is lifeless. There is energy akin to cold fusion in causes, and when I tap into it I can protest forever. On my feet picketing, on my ass starving or on my stomach in handcuffs – I support the cause. I would take nails through my hands for the cause. I am the master of props in supporting the cause. I once wheeled an old woman out of a convalescence home for a cause. She had no idea who she was or where she was. It’s not like I mistreated her, as a matter of fact she was doing more than she had done in years. We stood outside of that pharmaceutical laboratory and we let them have it. Science for better living, they say; my ass, I say. You produce the most lethal type of warfare imaginable, the kind that people truly believe they can’t live without. I understand the marvels of modern medicine as well as the next recipient of a few more years of quality living; more than I would have had on my own, but they play a different game. Get them early with ritalin, adderal and welbutrin. Keep them forever with vasodilators, ACE inhibitors and pain relievers. We all know people who dodged the addiction bullet, and we all know some who took it between the eyes. We can’t allow anyone else to get hurt. Like poor Materna here in the chair, she will never know her grandkids because your Allegra failed to make her happy…and we all view happy in a different way. For some it means no more restricted air passages, for others it literally means being happy. Don’t judge them, because we aren’t them. Support them, as you would want them to support you in a time of need. See how this auto-support can be addictive. Doing good is truly addictive. The only way to break an addiction is cold-turkey, but even I could protest against that. Stop devaluing the social benefits incurred by our national holiday of Thanksgiving. Take the opportunity to see how it brings families together and spurs individuals to give selflessly to others in much greater need. Warm turkey is a foundation of humanity and inextricably linked to our cultural underpinnings. And our culture is about making ourselves happy…now. Actually yesterday, if it were at all humanly possible. I support the organic production and distribution of happiness. As long as it is sustainably grown and harvested, it seems like there should be enough happiness to go around. This is why I support sharing, like the WiFi that I am borrowing from my neighbor to post this supportive cause of the representation of self-fulfilling causal support.


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news from the mogotes

so now we are two.  starting as a group of six strong, going to eight and then to five and now to two.  we remain to tie up loose ends, give off the items brought to donate to those who need and see a few last sites.  baseball gloves, insoles, soccer balls, toothbrushes, pens, paper, carabiners, powdered milk, sugar and plastic containers.  everything must stay with those who need.  then the climbing gear is given to a trusted local source who can give it to he and she who needs and deserves it.

other news is that the project went.  for days i could feel the soreness in my left shoulder from the multiple large gaston moves, especially the one in the last boulder problem.  in reality, i should have sent the climb my third go and changed my foot beta just a hair, but enough to guarantee a victory, clipping the chains just an hour before the guy who bolted the route, Yarobys, clipped the same chains.  The name is Huracan (hurricane) and I think it goes at 13a.  Definitely agreat route, with three boulder problem cruxes and a mean core tensions sequency crux at the top.  my favorite route in two years, as it is rare that I get the moves of a climb stuck in my head so that I can´t think of anything but it.

Tomorrow we are going to a new crag to bolt a couple of routes to prepare for the national competition.  Normally Cuban climbers don´t climb really strong on average, so these routes will hopefully become classics and be enjoyable for many as time passes and more people come here to clip bolts and crank on the limestone of the mogotes.   The best Cuban climbers are in the mid 5.13 range, but the majority are breaking into 5.12.

As my language gets better I feel a hurdle with three languages.  You start to think about a word and end up referencing all three when you should be able to go and focus solely on one.  maybe once I break through this hurdle will I ultimately understand more about languages, or at least more than I already do.  Such a determinable link to culture and the people, expressions and intonation alone mean so much.

The people become more and more like family, playing a nd joking and giving signs of affection that we normally do not see in the US with people other than close friends and family that you´ve known fo ra long time.  It is such a nice feeling that a sense of community gives.

The day I sent the project I traveled out to the crag with Yarobys on a Guagua, one of the local Cuban buses.  It was so chill and talk about economical.  I don´t know why we have taken so many taxis when it is completely convenient to take the local travel methods and thus pay local prices.  Ten cents for a ride instead of six bucks.  I know how that sounds on the absolute scale, but on the relative scale it is much more astronomical.  and as for convenience, it is only a limited factor as some friends of ours took a taxi, paid for half of the ride and then the  guy never came back for them.  after walking five dark miles on Cuban roads did they find a place with a phone where they worked their Spanish and called a taxi.  luckily by that point our friend, Raytheon, knew something was wrong and asked our host to go and get them.  Thus we could all eat a fine meal together and laugh about the incident.  Oddly enough it was the day I took the local hitchhike and bus option.

So I stare here at the two holes on the sides of my finger that are the remnants of my work on the project.  my sequence included a solid five feet or so of pulling on a mono with my right hand as I pull into the clip, lock off, clip and pull a few more feet to a sloper.  When such work culminates in a victory you often have no more than the vestigial feeling of elation, a few photos and perhaps some worn down skin.  It all grows back and then you are left with a memory.  How does this end up changing us in the end. That for a small period of time we are infatuated, fully in love and head over heels for this climb and think and dream about it like a stranded castaway dreams of water, friends and comfort food.  Then after this zealous fit of emotion it is gone.  Does this make us callus to intense emotion after a while, knowing that we will be changed just for period of time and then life as usual goes on?  Hmmm.

In the end, I sit here with less skin then yesterday, four minutes left on my tarjeta, and thoughts of family and of the political discourses that separate such incredible places that have so much in common, and only 90 miles of water between their secured borders.

When will our governments see the light, that we are all brothers and sisters under the same sun with the same passions and family that resides on both sides of the line.  How much it would benefit both parties for us to open borders.

Anywho…it is time to go as the seconds tick by on this card and it will probably take all 56 seconds for this blog to load.

Saludos