Vomit!

The town used to be called Chaouen, meaning The Hills, but now it is known as Chefchaouen: Look At The Hills. I sat up on the terrace at the Hotel Andaluz looking at the mountains the other day and noticed a harmony between the silhouette of the mountains and the curving crest of rooftops. I began writing and quickly became overwhelmed by more and more ideas, flooding me, not letting me actually do anything. It was both marvelous and terrifying in how potent and impotent it made me feel.

Over the same mountain, I saw a white bird and a black bird flying together and at first mistook the black one for the white one's shadow. I saw a black cat and a white cat walk up to me the other night. I cut my finger on a fresh notebook I'm using for this larger piece I'm about to start on. It drew blood, and I'm taking this as either a very good or a very bad sign. Once again, I am surrounded by omens, only I haven't been feeling their strength as gutturally as when I was in Italy.

've met several travellers, spoken several languages, and have found one or two people compelling enough to talk to for more than half an hour. Worked on a poem for a good 4 or 5 days, finished it and promptly got food poisoning. I threw up for the first time in over 11 years. Just like riding a rollercoaster--not as bad as the anticipation of it. My fever cut immediately and I woke up in the middle of the night thinking to myself, "I fell like Jesus' son." Don't ask me.

Trying to get my feet under me today. Just thought to say hello.