Routes. Routes. Routes. Routes. Roots. Roots. Roots.

Ahoy!! Here I am, just washed ashore in Rio de Janeiro, where I crawled and then climbed up into the green profusion of its rainforest hills to settle into my hermit hole for awhile. I was off for a couple months of vagabondage and checking in with the proper dissertation authorities and libraries back in California. I had little down time to post, though I've taken lots of pictures of vegetable friends I've met along the way (the WV pantry mountain continues to grow ever higher with yet-to-be consumed future posts). So after traveling over routes --> routes --> routes --> routes of hemispheric and ocean criss-crossings, I'm hoping to sprout some fast and glorious roots --> roots --> roots in my recently reinstated tropical environment in as little time as it took this sweet little potato to spread its slender fuschia root-arms in a great big hula welcome to the world. More roots = more vegetables = more WV posts!

p.s. "Routes. Routes. Routes. Routes. Routes. Routes. Routes." is a phrase that runs through my head every now and then. It's from the English translation of Brazilian poet Oswald de Andrade's amazing and confounding "Cannibalist Manifesto," (Manifesto Antropófago), which you can read about here. And here is a pdf of Leslie Bary's translation, which is much better than other versions with cringe-worthy errors that are floating around the web and that shall remain uncited here.