Adentro no hay nada: el rumor del aire condicionado, la cadenita del ventilador golpeándole levemente al foco, los reportes de genocidio viniendo del otro lado del mundo.

Por fin tengo espacio y tiempo como para ponerme a escribir. Pero siento que mi ser se tiene que limpiar de alguna manera, que estoy arrastrando un algo desconocido. No, ni eso. En lugar de escribir o de concentrarme en los proyectos en los que debería (y quisiera) enfocarme, caigo en los loops de Yutúb. Empecé con un escritor norteño que dizque hizo un repaso de la literatura del Norte de México sin mencionar ni una mujer. Después escuché unos poemas y entrevistas con Raúl Zurita, después pasé a un video de Cecilia Vicuña, luego unas travestis me enseñaron como hacer tostones y posteriormente vi un documental sobre Pinochet hecho por unos franceses y así y así. Por lo menos estuve maquilando libros durante mucho de ese tiempo. Hoy otra vez tengo la oportunidad de escribir o de ponerme a trabajar y sigo envilecido, sigo brincando de un video a otro. De Susana Chávez a Bolaño a Juan Rulfo. Oy, no sé si esto me va a ayudar a escribir. Siento que extraño el español. Que extraño su presencia en mi vida. Aunque claro hablo en espanish con la mayoría de mis queridos, pero igual, extraño el sentirme rodeado de español. Ma da ganas de escribir aquí en el blog de nuevo—como la hacen mis amigas a las que leo en sus blogs. Ay, el blog, tan de otra época. Aunque me da pavor ahora el Feis y no puedo terminar de convencerme nunca a postear allí. Siempre escribiendo y borrando comentarios y posts. Así que bueno, a seguir surfeando y tratando de convencerme a ponerme a (realmente) trabajar.

Perhaps the primary distinction of the artist is that he must actively cultivate that state
which most men, necessarily, must avoid; the state of being alone. That all men are, when
the chips are down, alone, is a banality—a banality because it is very frequently stated,
but very rarely, on the evidence, believed. Most of us are not compelled to linger with
the knowledge of our aloneness, for it is a knowledge that can paralyze all action in this
world. There are, forever, swamps to be drained, cities to be created, mines to be
exploited, children to be fed. None of these things can be done alone. But the conquest of
the physical world is not man’s only duty. He is also enjoined to conquer the great
wilderness of himself. The precise role of the artist, then, is to illuminate that darkness,
blaze roads through that vast forest, so that we will not, in all our doing, lose sight of its
purpose, which is, after all, to make the world a more human dwelling place.

- James Baldwin "The Creative Process"

You should be angry. You must not be bitter. Let me show you why. Bitterness is like cancer, it eats upon the host. It doesn't do anything to the object of its displeasure. So use that anger, yes. You write it, you paint it, you dance it, you march it, you vote it, you do everything about it. You talk it. Never stop talking it.

- Maya Angelou to Dave Chappelle in this video:

 

Yesterday and today I wrote two long posts. And then I decided to remove them.

Years after starting a blog, I still don't know quite what this space is for me. Or what I am to do here.

What is the collective emotional investment in a white male artist’s fantasy of black female artistry in a milieu that is overwhelmingly dominated by white money, power, and tradition? Why does that milieu take great pains to mask the reality of white dominance with a fetishistic display of black bodies and style? 

 - Coco Fusco. More here.

Russian as Threat / Русский как угроза

Russian as Threat

On language politics in Ukraine... Can the Russian language threaten the governmental security of Ukraine? Super interesting... With Елена Фанайлова - Может ли угрожать русский язык государственной безопасности Украины?


Even the air, the light feels new.
The dark matte finish on the boxcars idling under the freeways.
The freeways spinning wildly above, out of control.
A memory of trees singly and in clusters silhouetted against the orange nightglow.
The man in the loose T-shirt walking by is not aimless; he is headed to the United Pacific lot to gas the cars.
Everywhere work, movement, Cokes.
Cattails in a clump in a depression around the highway supports.
So many words for so many flowering things.
A certain tiredness, joy.
Is description ever a way out of a conundrum?
If not, be cursi if you want, not like anyone is watching.

We are on the verge of losing youth’s voices in the same we way lose elders to death; we lose them to displacement; we lose them to the prison industrial complex and the scarcity mindset that kicks in producing a discourse of mine/territoriality which feels similar to Minutemen stalking men, women and children in the U.S.-Mexico desert.  

Don’t come here; this is mine.  

People turn other people into suspects.

- Raquel Gutiérrez on the blog

When going to art shows stuff starts to feel like work, it's time to stop going for a while.

- A friend Someone I know

¿Me pides un consejo?

Haz lo que sea, pero que implique movimiento y mundo.

 - Lorena Mancilla (Más aquí)

Now that I am updating the Antena site all the time, I'm not posting much here anymore, just random fragments. Which I think is fine, just letting you know.      

:)



Крокодил Гена и Чебурашка - Я играю на гармошке

(текст песни №1)


Пусть бегут неуклюже
Пешеходы по лужам,
И вода - по асфальту рекой.
И неясно прохожим
В этот день непогожий,
Почему я весёлый такой.

Припев:
Я играю на гармошке
У прохожих на виду...
К сожаленью, день рожденья
Только раз в году.

Прилетит вдруг волшебник
В голубом вертолёте
И бесплатно покажет кино.
С днём рожденья поздравит
И, наверно, оставит
Мне в подарок пятьсот "эскимо".

Припев:
Я играю на гармошке
У прохожих на виду...
К сожаленью, день рожденья
Только раз в году.