when one is used to long long car trips
four hours feels like nothing.
and when hours and hours and hours of driving
usually requires an audio distraction,
shorter distances can be all conversation
(and you can fall in love all over again,
even without first falling out)
our walking tour of the historic sites of stonewall and gay Greenwich Village
was postponed, likely to be canceled, without notice
for a Lady Gaga concert scheduled to begin
in seven and a half hours
and if that isn’t the perfect metaphor
for the commercialization and lost history
of Pride
i don’t know what is.
(the end of a trip)
things we will miss:
-walking everywhere
-IncaKola
-how quickly coffee is made
things we are excited about:
-our own bed
-seeing (and cuddling) our animals
-a warm house
-being able to fill our entire lungs
-long hot showers
-bagels
-feeling safe enough to be gay together in public.
when coming to Machu Picchu
many people call it a
‘bucket list trip’
to be there
to hike the entire Inca trail
it has also been called
‘a professional photographer’s dream’
and
‘spiritual’
but what happens when the busses
splattering mud
spewing diesel
cart tourists up and down that winding mountain road
all day long?
are we really experiencing something fantastic
before we die?
recording in image the beauty of long ago?
connecting spiritually to the past?
or are we simply a cog in a (money-making) machine?
how much of our respective ‘esposos’ can we talk about
and laugh
before the commonalities become apparent
and our wedding rings begin to look too similar?
(on homosexuality being illegal
but not necessarily punishable)
kipventures 