"According to Don Armando, the number of pendejos, even as you read this, is innumerable. It has been estimated that if pendejos could fly, the skies would be darkened and we would enter a new ice age. The pendejos would get a severe sunburn."
-Jose Antonio Burciaga
02 October 2011
Freak Wharf, pt. 1
The Dream: A massive, knotty tree twists straight up from a fairy tale, through the countertop of the Torpedo and branching up into the foggy murk hanging over Coney Island. The trunk is wide - too big around to hug your arms around - and is oozing a golden sap. Honey, it would seem, judging from cloud upon cloud of amorous honeybees circling and dozing around it, coupling in mid-air. The black roots of the tree reach down through the wooden sidewalk, splintering the planks and disappearing into the sand and substrate. The wind starts to sweep up off the ocean and, as it does, a few golden leaves drift down to the sidewalk...
The Dream: A massive, knotty tree twists straight up from a fairy tale, through the countertop of the Torpedo and branching up into the foggy murk hanging over Coney Island. The trunk is wide - too big around to hug your arms around - and is oozing a golden sap. Honey, it would seem, judging from cloud upon cloud of amorous honeybees circling and dozing around it, coupling in mid-air. The black roots of the tree reach down through the wooden sidewalk, splintering the planks and disappearing into the sand and substrate. The wind starts to sweep up off the ocean and, as it does, a few golden leaves drift down to the sidewalk...
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