Ele Jou: cinco, no mayo

(heriberto frias, street where we are living)


ladder without man

tiled surrounds with pigeon in window


tourist under glass


my Mazatlan dream fixer


SENSUAL ASSAULT is too strong and not exactly accurate.
sense parade? sense circus?
Round-the-Clock Sense-o-Rama!
Ola Mexico!

here is a game i like to play:
i ask myself this question when i travel anywhere
- how do i know I AM where i am?
using rational thinking is against the rules. it's all about sense cues -
roof lines, building materials, ambient sounds, smells, tastes.

being a person who is, by my own assessment, RIDICULOUSLY sensitive
(for instance, virtually disabled by the extreme receptivity of my hearing and smell), Mexico comes at me like gangbusters the minute i step out of the airport.
in addition to a LOT of people trying to suck us into timeshare promotions,
like jackals circling fresh roadkill, i'm SMACKED by new SMELLS and SOUNDS.
diesel fuel, ciarette smoke, cleaning products, cooking odors, personal hygiene items. radios at high volume, competing machine sounds, squeaking brakes, funny horns.
WOW - complete new olfactory and auditory palettes.
SENSE-o-RAMA-drama!

walking into our apartment: sense alarm!
WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
is it a propane gas leak? fresh paint? shellac from woodwork?
after a day of two, it all calms down and my schnoz acclimates.
the glorious and regular ocean breeze freshens the landscape
and restores my equilibrium.

the bicycles driving by with loudspeakers advertising Big Sales
at various stores, the power tools droning into the evening, the
children's high pitched laughter on the street all begins to fade
into the highly textured fabric which is Mazatlan.