Parque Machia -- Week Two

I can’t even believe that two weeks have passed since I've been here. The days go by so quickly. When you don’t have a day off, it feels like you just live in the park with the monkeys and once in a while you get to go back to your bed to sleep for a few hours. Sort of the same feeling with lobster fishing, you just live on the boat with the lobsters and bait, then you get to hangout on land and sleep for a little bit. So anyway, today is my first day off, although I'm fairly sick. I didn't go to work yesterday either because I ate some bad food and ended up puking throughout the night, but the puke was so acidic that it drastically burned my esophagus and it instantly swelled up and I couldn´t sallow, and if I did attempt to sallow it was the most excruciating pain and would drop me to my knees, my mouth was producing heaps of saliva that I had to keep spitting out. I was actually quite scared during the night because I thought I was having some allergic reaction to something I ate and thought my throat was going to close completely. So, once the morning came I went to the local hospital, they told me what had happened and the pain was from layers of skin in my throat being burned off and bloody from the acid I puked up. They gave me two injection, one in the arm and another in my arse (the second ass shot of my travels, I'm gunna see how many I can collect before I leave South America), and some anti-inflammatory pills. Spent the whole day in bed. I'm doing alright now but my throat still hurts a wee bit.

So, the only problem as of now is that some of the other volunteers have these strange power complexes, and will tell you every single thing you are doing that they think is wrong, even if it doesn't make any difference for the monkeys, if it's not the way they do it they get all bent outta shape. And everyone contradicts everyone else, but oh well, that's just human nature for ya. But other than that I'm doing pretty well. I can now identify all 29 monkeys at just a glance. Some seem like my best friends and others are like spoiled little brats with some serious attitude problems. One little bastard monkey named Mickey bit me a few times the other day, broke the skin but nothing serious; he's the son of the alpha female so he thinks he can get away with anything, and still breast feeds even though he's years past the age where he should have stopped. They're just like humans; they can be so different personality wise. Another monkey named Octavio is the sweetest little guy ever, if you walk up to him and pull out the bottom of your shirt he'll instantly climb right up under it, wrap his arms around you and make these delightful happy noises, just his little black head will be poking out the top of yer shirt to look around and see what's happening. And if you're lucky you might just get a little stinky surprise before he decides to hop out. When the sun is setting low behind distant mountains, illuminating bugs of microscopic dimensions, the jungle breaths and undulates like the ocean, continuously feathering and flowing in and out as it's done for millions of years. I sit with its fusing heat holding close my furry friends, singing Dylan songs into their little human-like ears as the sun kisses forth its own calming tune. And the monkeys never complain when I'm off key or fudge a line or two. I'm planning on leaving to Argentina in two weeks, but I might stay here longer, but we'll cross that dresser when we see her. Until my next day off in two weeks..........

Talk of Man

Since time, the Talk of Man
Ponders and bewilders the
Essence of the Talkers;
They're plastered to thought, creative
Reasoning of the unknown for a
Meaning to fill our celestial void,
I too work the mind in pretzels
Of confusion and circular despair, only
To arrive before the beginning,
So, Thought and Talk have their golden
Thrones high upon society's mind, but
The Doer, the Fool, who sings life and
Dances reality has this Game in slight command
Banished and badgered by the masses,
(who falsely fumble through this world),
Give mirror-like, reflective disapproval
To the Fool –the Doer of pure action
Far submerged in damp corners, lightless
And cold, musty men and wretched women
Ponder and bewilder still the Talk of Man
Over the faint taps and cordial chords
Of the humble Fool
LIVING
Ages away in the sweet morning grass

Parque Machia

I’ve been a week here at the park. Better than what I expected. You don't tell them that you're coming before hand, you just show up, and if you only stay for 2 weeks you work in quarantine with the sick (or crazy) animals. But, if you promise to stay at least a month they put you to work directly with the spider monkeys, capuchin monkeys or the pumas. I'm staying a month so they put me with the spider monkeys. If you aren’t too sure what exactly a spider monkey is than give 'em a quick google search and educate yourself. Unfortunately, they have a bad stereo type of masturbating on everything -- which is completely false, I've never seen them rubbing-one-out as of yet, but basically they are long and lanky, totally black, extremely affectionate, and look like little furry ninjas. I only work with 3 other people, and there are 29 monkeys, each with their own name and personality (at first they all looked exactly the same, but now I'm beginning to see the drastic differences). Basically every day we start at 7am, bring buckets of bananas up to their playground area in the park, let them out of their cage where they sleep and out they come, exploding from the cage doors like black fire rockets into the morning light. Only seven are on collars and long chords (which we switch to different runner throughout the day), but the rest are free to roam and swing amongst the vines and trees of the jungle. We then cuddle with them for several hours making funny little gurgle noises and playing with the babies, then clean their cage which they have been pissing and shiting in all night, clean their little blankets that they snuggled under and then prepare lunch consisting of an array of fruits. After lunch we do a little more cuddling and some more affectionate squeaky sounds, a bit more snuggling and then make 'em dinner which is a medley of veggies. At 6pm we call 'em back to their cage for bed (which is about as easy as getting a 3 year old to file your taxes), and the day is done. Quite rewarding and satisfying. It's just so nice to actually be doing something. I have something, actually a gang of somethings, to take care of; a purpose besides what beer to drink or which club to go to. I absolutely LOVE it. I never thought I would be able to get so close to monkeys unless I had some damn Master's degree in Zoology or something. Words can't explain the feeling of a big furry monkeys running up to you, jumping on your chest, wrapping its spidery arms around your body, nuzzling its face into you and making strange adorable loving monkeys noises. Once in a while they'll get mad at you for some reason or another, but mostly because you did something stupid that they didn't like, and once in a while they'll get in fights with each other, but basically it's one of the most refreshing and spiritually rewarding things I have ever done. I'm becoming so attached to them already, I'm already sad to leave in 3 weeks.

La Paz........Still

This place is hard as hell to leave. You can't leave when you want to, and you can't leave when you don't want to....if that makes any sense. I've been here in La Paz for about 3 weeks -- way too long. The 100 room hostel I'm staying in has become a drunken Groundhog's Day movie, I'm sick of the loud ass, drunken Westerners, blabbing endlessly about how drunk they were -- or are. It's all good and fun for a day or too, but this isn't traveling, this has nothing to do with the culture of this country, I might as well be in some dark dusty pub in the middle of London. The roads to the south are blocked because of protesters cutting them off, and I need to get to the animal refuge place which is unfortunately south of here. I'm getting on the next open bus out of this cold ass, drugged up city.


Our Gift

Time, our gift
Wasted on coke and beer
Precious and ticking, we
Tightly grip comfort
Frozen in fear of knowledge,
The wise feast on vibration
The coward starves in the stagnant