mahabalipuram

there's a man on the ground half alive and barely breathing flies on his wounds eyes pinched closed unable to move he's planted himself on the ground. naked wounds exposed to the unforgiving sun he's landed right in front of a store with a sign that reads: medicine. i walk by scoping the streets for a cyber cafe someplace to check my emails write some words down. getting good at saying no. "come see my shop? not far walk. close. good prices." NO. today a woman holding a child asked "you want a baby?" NO. "take it." she offered. handmade crafts. nothing like it in the world, a man promises. i apply some more sunscreen and search for shade.

i'm alone. we arived two hours ago in mahabalipuram, a small beach town south of chennai, where there are many other travelers more than we've seen thus far, lots of dreadlocked british twenty-somethings looking for a party. after negotiating for a hotel price we liked and settling in, the gang went off to the beach. i took to the village, wandering aimlessly soaking up the sun.

stone carvings the sounds of marble chipping as i walk. fish drying in the sun. shells on strings. fabric blowing, bleaching in the breeze. i have so much laundry to do. everything i have is filthy. remembering chennai. we visited a school for "spastic adults" (mentally handicapped) and i clowned with them, pretended to get stuck under their wheelchairs, stole their drool hankie and dropped and slipped on it and picked it up and returned it.

as i write this a small boned dark indian woman in a shawl sweeps under my feet with a branch.

in chennai we were greeted by usha a woman who uses her shoulders a lot when she speaks. kinda like she's shrugging off the parts she doesn't like, constantly discarding something. she has sweet eyes and a classic smile and she takes us to a dance performance which is amazing. the music was incredible and the performers faces told stories there are not enough words to tell.

we have now performed ESCAPE ARTIST for over 12,000 people. articles with pictures of us have been popping up in the local papers daily, and yesterday's daily chronical had a few quotes from me. i got interviewed by some camera crew and a chessy capped-teethed reporter as well. they asked me what i ate to be able to fall down so much.

children outside are coughing and screaming words i can't know. cars are honking. it smells like fish and spices and sweat and diesel fuel.

it's too hot to stay in here. i need to pay my 40 rupees and find a place with a/c.

more soon.