19 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

08/19 Nazare, Portugal

The train station was a short walk outside of town but after only about fifty yards or so Jim began complaining. I was at the point where I didn’t even hear him anymore. He threatened to pack his shit up, fly home and didn’t like my “Go or stay but just stop complaining because you’re giving me a headache” response. My thumb attracted a truck that had also picked up a pair of French girls who, like us, got off at the campsite. (more…)

22 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

08/22 Algarve, Portugal

I’m an early riser and that provides advantages. Like in the morning, there were no lines leading to the showers. I walked around until breakfast and then took the shuttle down to the beach where I planned to spend that entire day on the sand. When I reached the bluffs I began exploring. Jim followed duplicating every picture I took. It is just better to ignore his competitiveness than to give it thought it doesn’t deserve. (more…)

22 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 043 Rhythms of distortion

Rhythms of distortion, dancing above the flame,
changing, behind the scenery, which never stays the same

It’s inconsistency still dancing, as if it were the wind,
moving apart, the pieces, I once spent time to mend

Yet it still keeps flowing, upward, again and again
until all, is turned to aches, for it’s the flame that brings the end

23 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

08/23 Algarve, Portugal

Thank God everyday was a sunny beach day. I began the day with some hair of the dog in a small grass shack that hugged the sand leading toward the water, just like yesterday. I struck up a conversation with a young lady who had given me a strange gesture after a fly had landed on her shoulder. We all look from different angles don’t we? She was disgusted with the idea that the fly was attracted to something on her body. I on the other hand would be more concerned with what the fly might have brought to me. It’s a wonderful world that has more than one color. (more…)