Expreso Matador

Cuando hagamos las paces

2009-10-24T05:54:00.000-07:00

I hope you kiss my cheek.

Triste Cancion de Amor

2009-08-21T05:24:00.001-07:00

Ella existió solo en un sueño
El es un poema que el poeta nunca escribió
Y en la eternidad los dos unieron sus almas para
Darle vida a esta triste, canción de amor
A esta triste, canción de amor

How to apply a 13-year-old song to your current life

2009-05-31T00:44:00.000-07:00

The recent link, explained.

My life at this juncture is suspended in constant motion. The overwhelming amounts of work to be done hasn't piled up yet, but it's come close to that in the past week. The greatest fortune for me is that I love the work itself, even if it feels slightly less humane in the cubicle and button-down spectacle. Dejame ver que hay para saborear esta vuelta.

The proximity to power, in its many battling forms, really does have an effect on the outlook of life. Loco de pensar que se disputa el poder y la gloria. Sanity long considered overrated, the struggle, and again I pause to consider the adequate uses of such word, is elsewhere. This world, in its most prudent management, is designed to make us feel comfortable despite our human condition, as battles over influence, resources, and rights rage around us. Cuanta verdad, cuanta mentira y cuantas palabras, y todo este motor para devastar tu inconciente.

In that sense, I know the target audience. If nothing more, I grew up in the middle of the road. The pavement, lighting, and landscape were different. But I was right where I could call myself average, with my only slight (or perhaps most meaningful trait) was that I belonged to a religious minority. Coming to discover that the most grandiose way to tackle big issues was to speak about small matters has been ironic at best, and perhaps heart-wrenching. Esta ironía con qué se cura, si el final es en donde partí.

The symptoms are familiar. Si, esta noche no puedo dormir. And the intrinsic solutions, too.

Because with rapid intellectual advancement, and despite garnering more confidence about the mission at hand, the capabilities needed, the fast-approaching results, and the way that it all connects within the societal experiment and the individual experience, reason does not seem destined to win in all counts. El corazón, tiene razones que la propia razón nunca entenderá.

And so I carry with trepidation because I cannot understand the entirety of this moment. Nor do I understand why the direction has shifted. A year ago, I contemplated an abandonment not only from the political system, but also from certain relevant interpersonal institutions. And now I am faced with an odd moment that can be very tragic. Y a donde voy , siempre voy a buscar lo que es mío. Yet a door remains open for surprising developments.

The person at the other end of this conversation is also asking this type of question in a self-managed conversation. At some point, maybe there will be courage for a dialogue. No llores más, dáme la mano contáme tu suerte...

The lesson is to give songs (or poems, or ideas, or proverbs) a chance, even if they never made much sense to you before, or only make sense to you after.

Palabras que se disputan el poder y la gloria

2009-05-16T00:22:00.000-07:00

Y en que lugar, habrá consuelo para mi locura,
esta ironía con qué se cura
si el final es en donde partí.
Y a quién llamar a quién golpearle la puerta tan tarde,
con quien hablar cuando no hay nadie,
si esta noche no puedo dormir.

Dejame ver que hay para saborear esta vuelta,
la verdad, la mentira y la mueca de tu ingenuidad.
Cuantas palabras que se disputan el poder y la gloria
y cuantas vidas se pierden en el frío de un reino mortal.
Loco de pensar queriendo entrar en razón y el corazón,
tiene razones que la propia razón nunca entenderá

Una vida teórica

2009-05-09T07:34:00.000-07:00

El enamoramiento es una ilusión que poco tiene que ver con el amor; es justamente su ausencia. - Cordera

Post-it notes

2009-04-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

Undated, and collected with Stickies. Spanning a long period of time, a number of lovers, and a troublesome menagerie of writing inspirations. Implications abound.

Quiero ser academico, historiador, filosofo, muerto de hambre, feliz, quijotesco, padrino, soñador, amante, campestre, ciudadano, intelectual, cumbiero, traficante, sagaz, cocinero, hermano, futbolero, trabajador, escritor, atorrante, sabio, optimista, influencial, piropeador, sonriente, sorpresivo, libertador, guia, payaso, salame, tranquilo, consejero, hamburriento, abogado, carpintero, lider, humanista, politico, elegante, globalista, boyescau, cantautor, caballero andante, peluquero, tio, sobrio, desgraciado, dador alegre, intrepido, fulbolero, honrado, decisivo, campeon, medio bobo, acurrucador, simplistista, humilde, buen cabeceador, testosteronico, insolente, compasivo, buen mozo, piloto, armador, representante, honorable, maloliente, cachirulo, aventurero, parrandero, idealista, comediante, libertario, radical, senil.

Y tambien quería imaginarte junto a mi.

Pero sé, que en esta vida, no se puede ser todo lo que se quiere.

----------------

I have found the way in which I can be at peace with the Christian faith, as my intellect moves towards a higher truth in a manner similar to how my flesh already has. But as I move back towards discovering the absolute, the higher truth, and how you and i are going to shape it, the calling to re-examine the sacred texts becomes stronger.

Let's say, for example, that I could learn one hundred verses on the bible. Nothing fancy, but really just the ones that make up the canon. The ones that make the set core of beliefs. The ones that might not be politicized, but reflect the human ideals delineated in a spiritual realm.

It's the legacy of globalization on religion.

And I almost wish you could do the same, and then we could compare each other. And discover each other. And love each other.

---------------

i admit that i have a
seemingly everlasting
existential anguish based on the broader combination
of my life experiences,
but calling me emo? thats offensive

---------------

El libro era la frontera que separaba mis confundidos intentos y tu forzada apatía. Las paredes, semiblancas, entonaban un silencio tan profundo que se escuchaba todo. Acurrucado en tu hombro, escuché mis miedos, dos infancias, 7 años de sueños fallidos, tres de leyes, lo poco que te quedaba de Angelina, y al amor, que empacaba sus cosas despacito, porque no tenía ganas de irse. Y encima yo no creía en las fronteras. Que boludo.

---------------

Fundar una productora de documentales.
Fundar una caridad.
Ser fiambrero.
Viajar a cuatro paises, al menos.
Ir a Israel como parte de mi derecho judio.
Ir a los Emiratos Arabes Unidos para una conference internacional.
Visitar la biblioteca de Bs. As.
Ver una obra en el teatro Colon.
Free hugs.
Volver por Canada.

---------------

Maybe I did understand her. In the end, I knew she was going through as tough a time as I was, yet without any of us facing real suffering. A deep consciousness haunted us, because our connection to our respective background gave us a terrible sense of guilt about our privileged ways. Our simple privilege.

He was a strange figure, who I wanted to know more about. I also wanted to give him a snarky comment. Stab him with words. Pierce him with a stare. Destroy him with a handshake. But I knew that there would be no winners. Just three losers. Someone had to give it up first. And I didn't want to let it be me.

I'll remember the turtles, the drawings on your hands, and that big rock in Gayley.

Tysons Corner

2009-04-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

Retrospectively.

The cigarettes spread out in the rocky decorations across the concrete. His hand gestures and lost gaze made him look anxious for the first time, despite his otherwise ever-present coolness and grace. For a moment, and certainly for the first time, I saw in his eyes a gleam of self-doubt. A bit of confusion. A sliver of anger.

Yet this moment was more about opposite observations. Who I was, perhaps, had eventually become more strange in his scope of understanding, wised by time and experience beyond mine. To me, this moment was already written out somewhere and the cloves just needed to burn a bit longer. I had not been surprised about anything for a long time. Certainly months, maybe years.

There had to be anger somewhere. He was too human to exist otherwise.

Cambiando de ruta

2009-04-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

Bienvenidos a la ciudad del ajedrez. Los saluda el caballero negro.

Por ahora: seguir viviendo con una melancolía crónica y un espíritu independiente, explorador y bohemio. Enseñar y aprender, construír y destrozar, dormir bien y mantener la salud.

Dejar ir aquellas cosas que no puedo controlar. Moldear los ambientes a los que tengo alcance. Leer bien. Hablar mas. Escribir aquí. Volver a cantar?

Random thoughts

2009-02-14T23:37:00.000-08:00

Things I thought to myself lately:

-"Pessimism" by Joshua Dienstag might have been the most important book I read during my college years. I ran into him yesterday.

-Pop radio: Why is the word "rubbers" (in reference to condoms) censored in Eminem's song "Crack a Bottle", but the words "condoms" is not censored when Asher Roth's song "I Love College" plays? I find this puzzling, and of course, do not condone censoring the slang "rubbers". Safe sex, please.

-Why are L.A. progressives who spent their lives working in community development, non-profit sector, coaltion building, etc, all up in arms and concerned about my willingness to go out to a dance club located in a low-income, mostly immigrant neighborhood?

-That girl Sophia. She's up and coming.

No se puede detener

2009-02-14T23:27:00.000-08:00

Esperando el impacto

2008-11-17T00:25:00.000-08:00

Maybe i'll go back to sleep

2008-11-13T01:17:00.000-08:00

If I were to note this moment in history, it would make me seem vulnerable and unsafe. Pride and defensiveness are victors tonight, winning over the delicacy of admitting what just happened. I am just here to note that it happened.

Me puede, vieja, esa mujer me puede.

Maybe I'll go back to sleep.

While in Nevada...

2008-11-03T02:14:00.000-08:00

I am a witness of nascent love.

A person of the utmost sobriety in character is transforming into an impassioned, irreverent, inarticulate victim of the enchantments of that exact feeling. It's enchanting, but also slightly cloying.

Meanwhile, I talk of the past and pretend to know the future.

Corporate

2008-10-20T00:24:00.000-07:00

Can I ask you something?"

I think this may be an Americanism. In the midst of healthy, seemingly open conversation, the other person will stop to ask for an enquiry permit. It always throws me off, but I think it often has to do with the peculiarity of the conversation, and the fact that regularly accepted social norms of etiquette and restrain may not yet have been tested on the particular subject. Questions have usually abounded in the conversation, but something else is coming, and it needs a preface like that.

"What do you mean? Can I respond?"

For what is a question with such a prelude but nothing more than a doubtful statement, an admission of ignorance, a fear of painful learning? And what alternatives are out there? Suppose I say 'No' and turn the potential dismissal of that question straight into a complete rejection of the rights to enquiry itself. What happens then? Do you transfer curiosity over to me? Does that shy wonder become your ashamed secret?

"Oh, yea, nevermind, well..."

I am sorry I threw you off like that. I had been watching you play with your hair and fiddle with your hands as the train left the station. And I knew that the small talk was not going to persist if our eyes stayed intently focused on each other, with only sporadic stares out the window and through the real world, which jealously reminded us that it was still there. Still, I did not foresee the transitionary formality. We had just been asking everything of each other, without permission of train guars, bosses, or whoever that was who you mentioned was waiting for you at your stop. Yea, him. Oh, boyfriend, you say? I remember now. Lucky guy.

"Ask ahead."

I do mean it. Your original question was, in short, naive and out of place.

"Well, I was just going to say, do you think you are ever gonna go corporate?"

Hmm... is there anything from our conversation that hinted at you that such secretiveness was warranted for this question? Did you think that would offend me? I see you feel naked now, because I offer the killer, chilidish, pedantic smile that tells you I was in ESL class when you were playing the violin in Catholic school. The truth is I don't know what I could even offer them, if nothing more than validating their existence. I lecture you on how we should be safe enough to ask each other anything, and answer kindly that I do not plan my life too much in advance, at least not yet, and that I'll let you know if and when I do.

But I was lying, there are questions that we hold back sometimes. Here's mine:

"Are you scared of how I am judging you because I know how our lives are headed in different directions after we get off this train?"

Response not needed.

My dream world

2008-10-14T18:48:00.000-07:00

My dream world is better off without me trying to describe it. It would rather inhabit exclusively in its natural habitat. My dream world, you see, is shy and humble. It doesn't really want to travel anywhere. My dream world is probably gonna stay in my dreams for the rest of my life, and maybe for longer.
My dream world says, "you got everything you need where you are standing right now, as long as you are standing with everything you need". It talks like that, so I can't really explain its intricacies to you. Plus, it would not want me to. My dream world likes it when I keep my words to a minimum so I can say more. Specially if I am talking about it to others.
My dream world does not like the big city, or even it's urbanized surroundings. That is why my dream world does not visit where I live. It stays back, mixing cocktails of childhood and progress; decorating cupcakes of irony with chocolate chips of joy. My dream world is corny like that. I don't know where it buys its ingredients, but it's a good end result in my dream world.
My dreamworld does not like the countryside either, nor the jungle. In fact, it does not care much about the soil. Or the sky. Or the wind. Or your family. Or your friends. Or your citizenship. Or your religion. Or what any of the aforementioned think when I tell you to escape with me to my dream world.
My dream world tells me it would love to pour a soft rain over our heads as we lean over for a kiss. It fantasizes about our love with a strength only matched by the rationality we have put into being apart.
If my dream world had wishes, they would be like me. It would talk, and talk, and think, and act, and love, and hug, and make love and pray. It would raise good kids and drink good wine. And it would not be able to help the abrupt endings to its nightly sleep. And it would die.
My dream world is happy where it is.

You promise?

2008-10-13T21:47:00.000-07:00

"What year are you in school? What's your major? Oh, poli sci? That's cool, man, mom must be proud. You are almost done. Listen, I know what you are feeling, man. I have been called a nigger while in uniform. Sometimes, you gotta swallow that shit up and know, in your heart, that you are better than that. That you are better than them. Promise me you are gonna do that. You promise?"

I promised.

Backhandedly, I learned that I should have gotten in more fights in high school. After all, all it would have meant was to learn a big life lesson in a practical manner, rather than in a theoretical way. That way it felt emptier.

Always careful and rational, I missed the lesson that the classroom, church, or the bedroom could not have taught me. In essence, I understand the situation to be detrimental in a short-term: detentions, reputations, bad vibes, and distractions. And potential for it spiraling out of control.

My only fights, displays of anger, threatening shouting matches, and dealings with policemen were during my last year of college. And they were for all the reasons that the previous outbursts did not happen. It was the same desire to learn that prevented them before.

Hindsight, they call it.

Kites

2008-10-12T14:14:00.001-07:00

Seasons of disillusion,
Kites of my heart,
Roam with no good reason,
Back to the place of our first love.

Scribbles in my notebook,
Remember the tone of your voice,
Evoking your ways of being,
A girl in woman vase.

But when the Southern wind blew,
Dragged me to your latitude,
And I look for you in the back of this bar,
Or the streets of any city.
Kites of disillusion,
Everything changes as I change too
I am afraid of that truth,
If I find you,
What will you see?

Give me one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Where did you hide,
And where are you going,
Send me a letter,
If by chance you remember,
All those days
They were only ours.

As this sensation floats on,
Just like that flying kite,
Nonetheless it’s all an illusion,
And I am a ghost in transition.
And today’s wind is not enough,
To push you in my direction,
I would need more than a hurricane,
Or the strongest forces of the Earth.

Give me that one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Why did you hide,
And where will you go,
Do send me that letter,
Because I know you remember,
All those days,
They were only ours.

Seasons of reconstruction,
Kites of my heart,
Tied up on a light pole,
Like all our divine and blue dreams,
Kites of dissilussion,
Everything changes as I change too,
I am scared of knowing that truth
If I find you,
Then what will you see… in me?

It's here

2008-10-07T20:19:00.000-07:00

It's in California.

The ambassador debates well. But he is just an ambassador. Still, he looks terribly familiar. I wanted to hug him and buy him a beer. While he was cool and self-restrained, those yuppies were there throwing caca in his words. Fuck you Ivory tower idiots.

Letter to self, circa April 2007

2008-10-05T00:31:00.000-07:00

Found during room cleanup:

It is astounding that at this part of the process you still find yourself thinking outside the box of that which you represent. But, what do you fear? Where do you want to go? Whose ideas will you challenge and how much are you willing to give up?

Remember everything about this process because it will never happen to you ever again in your life. You are privileged to know these things and ensure that others can understand the life of multiculturalist movements.

Find answers for others and yourself. I don't want to forget where I am coming from nor who who has been there at the worse moments. Try to love but not fall in love. Learn people's names. Make people smile. Stay humble. Dress calmly. Smell good. Read more.

In more concrete terms, remember this as a moment of concientization about the powers of privilege, the balances of power, the way in which the things you say are perceived. Challenge yourself. Be an intellectual. Be daring.

Recognize that fighting apathy is nearly impossible, and doing so might have to be as complex as the tools needed to manufacture consent.

Be fair. Let go. Grow up.

Honor your father and mother.

Change people's minds.

Live on other people's shoes.

Remember we are a people of advocacy. No flashy promises.

Fight (with a smile on).

Retraction

2008-10-04T22:47:00.001-07:00

I do have a different role in Public Allies.

I talk a lot and I have, given previous my previous apprehension to do so, opened up a lot. A simple activity of surface-level life stories where all participants spoke for an average of 10 minutes turned into an activity of its own that included Samy's death and my other cousins deaths, my being called an 'indian' in school, mom's hospitalization, my roamings around Westwood, and my eventual spiritual departure from the United States, as well as the last-minute drawback from whatever that was. The tirade lasted 45 minutes. I suspect I will still leave after Public Allies.

On Thursday, I texted ten friends with the not-so randomly selected word "breathe". Two former roommates of utilitarian tendencies asked "Why?", two reluctant lovers asked "how did you know", and some did not respond. I still don't know who won. I think I did.

Thoughts at night

2008-10-01T23:52:00.001-07:00

-Got a haircut today on 7th and Hill. The stylist was a Puerto Rican that taught me the difference between gel and pomade, and what type of occassions call for each one.

-My teacher for "Intro to community organizing" is a Marxist. We are going to clash soon, but I still have not decided when.

-The blog (undergroundundergrads.com) is going to pick up soon.

-I feel very creative and my thoughts outpace me a lot of the time. I don't say a lot lately.

-I am out of love. A crushing blow of rationality has left me content on my solitude, and the train is my only lover. This is what it would have been like in Lanus. Except I have Enrique, Margarita, and Sophia instead of Lucia, Adolfo, and Gisela.

-I am already the class clown in Public Allies. So much for taking on a different role.

-Steven has a son. I failed as a jr. high youth group leader 6 years ago.

-I want to be good at soccer again. Joining a saturday league.

Two weekend lists

2008-09-21T14:57:00.000-07:00

Friday Night: List of songs I performed at Karaoke night for the Downtown Labor Center staff (for Susan's last day on the job).

1. I can't freaking remember. Some song I did not choose, but jumped up and sang.
2. Queen's - "Bohemian Rhapsody"
3. Los Del Rio - "Macarena"(duet with Liz)
4. Outkast - "Hey Ya!"
5. Nas - "I Can"
6. Usher - "Caught Up"
7. Black Eyed Peas - "My Humps" (duet with Liz)
8. The Mamas and the Papas - "California Dreamin'"

Saturday Morning: List of books I gave Facundo for his philosophical explorations in the coming school year, his second at UCSD studying computer science, arranged by date of publication.

1. Machiavelli, "The Prince"
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "The Social Contract"
3. Karl Marx, "The Communist Manifesto"
4. Friedrich Nietzsche, "On The Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo"
5. Albert Camus, "The Rebel"
6. Noam Chomsky, "Government in the Future"
7. Paulo Freire, "Pedagogy of the Oppressed"
8. Jared Diamond, "Guns, Germs, and Steel"
9. George Lakoff, "Whose Freedom?"

Friday night

2008-09-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

I am not good at remembering the things I said I would write about whenever I got in front of the computer. Also, I find myself as a multiple personality writer with regards to what goes on this space, and others.

Finished first week. Public allies retreat. Two busy work days. Lots of public transportation.

Currently reading... Let Them In: The Case for Open Borders by Jason L. Riley. Libertarianism, eh?

There are places I remember

2008-09-12T23:33:00.000-07:00

Last day of summer

2008-09-07T23:37:00.000-07:00

I am remodeling what will now be my room, and making the rest of the family adapt to my wishes. Sophia landed a TV/DVD player combo as well. The living room now hosts a computer that adds to the clutter. My new bookshelf, a craigslist purchase that looks brand-new thanks to a two-day varnish inspiration, has sections on religion and philosophy, as well as a giant stuffed ant looking over the bed and out the window.

Not much else is familiar to me right now. I am not leaving to Argentina anymore, and thus cancelled some visits, scratched some plans, and stopped logging on to couchsurfing, where those who agreed to host me will have to wait. My cancellation was short and generic, nothing like the introductory emails that feigned the right amount of pioneering excitement.

I feel like I am personally regressing, yet moving forward in life. But I have more time to do the things I want to do. Hopefully that time availability will still be matched with energy by the time routine kicks in. Exciting three days ahead at the Public Allies retreat, followed by a banquet on Thursday, one of many union events to come in the next 10 months.

Today I shed two tears while watching Inside 9/11 on NatGeoTV. I can only do that when it's impersonal.

Conversation on the RNC

2008-09-04T19:20:00.000-07:00

Courtney: so...cindy mccain, sarah palin or michelle obama?
me: i had a dream
Courtney: as a MILF
all 3?
me: that i was dancing cumbias with michelle obama
with barack taking pictures
Courtney: haha
me: but since its barack
i couldnt do that
so, palin
she looks like a freak
this is what i would do to her:
first, she reads the bill of rights
Courtney: omg
me: then, i dress as a vietnamese prison guard
and she is a fighter pilot
Courtney: omg
me: ok?
ok, im done
haha
Courtney: ok good
me: my own thoughts were starting to disturb me
Courtney: yeh, me too.
me: i am turning more republican by the second
Courtney: lol
sometimes i feel bad for him that he can lift his arms
me: i know
but thats good cuz he gets to always underhug
which is the best way to hug
girls get away with it most of the time
Courtney: lol
do you think about this?
me: you gotta think about the things you gotta think about

Disturbing thought of the week

2008-09-03T22:56:00.000-07:00

Question:

What impact, if any, do you think my moving back home and staying up late has on my parents' sex life? Dad is 49 and mom is 45. It's supposed to be great times for them, right, with the Viagra and whatnot?

I am launching a full investigation on this issue. Results to come at a later date.

Edit: this question was not supposed to have any type of Oedipean implications. The inquiry is based on the proximity between the rooms in our household, difference in sleeping patterns, and such considerations.

Thoughts

2008-09-02T23:40:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been, once again, changing my course. This time I want to go to law school.

I fear grad school in political theory will leave me restless, and I am figuring out that philosophy itself is something I like to do in my free time, not as a career.

Plus, I kinda-sorta figured out that academia is a little bit like this and often times students are like that.

Welcome September

2008-09-01T22:36:00.000-07:00

I visited New Orleans for the first time in March of this year. I abandoned the Clinton Global Initiative Conference for some time, looking to mesh with the locals and share their stories. After learning how to eat crawfish with a bartending fratboy in Bourbon Street, I ended up sharing drinks with two Marrero-based cab drivers in the Harrah's Casino. They cussed out at the crime rates, and talked about their plans. Their lives, like everyone else's there, were changing and moving on up.

"I am going back to school at the community college and taking some hotel management classes."

"My wife and I gon' take a trip soon, wanna see the Niagara Falls."

But their dream-sharing was different from mine. They were not presented, like the elite college-aged world changers at the conference I was ditching, with a world of opportunities and empowerment. Their optimism was different in that they had nowhere to move but up. An innocent optimism of sorts.

It reminded me of my brother and I, alternating between couches at the Sumac living room for a few adolescent years. It's still blurry when I think about it. But we had nowhere to move but up and that we did, somewhat. This time more people are okay, and Gustav seemed to have been no Katrina. But the more things change the more they stay the same. They knew it, too.

"Man, you've been talking about that damn Niagara trip forever now. Can't see the day you go to fuckin' Niagara"

"Well, I don't think you ever setting foot in a college again, bitch."

As time goes by

2008-08-31T10:32:00.000-07:00

The perks of borderline insanity

2008-08-24T23:27:00.000-07:00

Last night, in a dream, I spoke to Ralph Bunche by the statue of his face in North Campus. He told me to re-write the POC tour. Then we were talking about his family, which apparently is the family of Andy Pinedo because all of a sudden he was a Peruvian and we were in the Crystal Cathedral.

The night before I dreamed of penis envy and policy fellowships. True story!

I say keep 'em coming!

Last hurdle

2008-08-19T23:27:00.000-07:00

"If you end up staying, what's gonna happen to all those people that promised to buy you drinks if you left?"

Decisions, decisions.

Un poco paranoico

2008-08-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

Hay que pensarlo bien. El hecho es que los factores no se entrecruzan. En sí, no se conocen. Y ese es el motivo por el cual la desconcentración y la confusión se fortalecen. La frontera entre lo ético y lo estético, dijo el seductor, dejando entrever que las decisiones aquí tomadas poco tenían que ver con salarios y momentos, y todo con una vida que debía saberse vivir.

Mientras tanto, sonaba la decadencia con un nuevo recordatorio de que los amores, como los caminos, siempre estaban llenos de curvas, idas, y venidas.

Guelaguetza

2008-08-11T00:08:00.000-07:00

I threw up in the Union Station bathroom.

I was waiting for Puchero to pick me up and take me home after another week as a vagabond.

This time I started with touring UCLA with El Polaco and going to SPS. Then it was the cabin, a red-eye United Airlines flight, the Contemporary Resort in Walt Disney World and the cabin again, albeit a different host.

In Orlando, the monotony that Disney has over the city is sickening, from the time one first gets off the plane. There is never-ending stimulation of the senses, either through music, characters, or tour guides.

Yesterday, Andrea and I went to the Guelaguetza festival in Koreatown. We ate chapulines (crickets) that we bought from the Oaxaqueños and bought Tepache from the Comunidad Tlacolulence de Los Angeles. My first time having either one. We laughed a little, shared horrible sex stories, and stole beers from a Mexican wedding at the Greek Orthodox Church.

Then I slept. But not so well. I am back home now.

nightmare

2008-08-08T05:23:00.000-07:00

y si hubiese crecido en guillon, quien seria hoy? en el sueño estaba la señorita mabel, arquitecta de lecturas y aprendizaje, parada delante de un contador gigante que no paraba para reflexionar.

cuantos hay como yo? como llegaron a serlo? porque todas las bendiciones que he tenido se terminan convirtiendo en pesadillas? porque llegan a ser pesos irrevocables? si nadie me manda, quien me manda?

como sera la rehabilitacion? como estare con la morocha? cuando podre derramar estas lagrimas que me sofocan? cual es el precio del desahogo? y donde lo compro?

perdoname otra vez. escuchemos la de gardel, la que dice que las estrellas van a estar celosas. pero nunca me digas que si. no me lo merezco.

Old post-it note, vol. I

2008-08-06T23:59:00.000-07:00

I had stopped writing for a while, except I would randomly open up a post-it and pen up random shit. Here's some of that random shit, about Arepa's rendition of a Soda Stereo song:

El tributo es difícil. Desde que Caín, siendo un tontito granjero, se calentó con Jehová,e inventó el ateísmo, las miles de ocasiones en que los seres humanos han ofrecido tributo, ya sea a dioses o otros humanos, han llegado con respeto, controversia, y hecatombe.

La ultima edición del tributo como ritual pagano es la versión de Arepa de "Te Para Tres", canción original de los rockeros argentinos semi-divinos Soda Stereo que la nueva banda angelina ha re-mezclado y re-editado hasta formar un nuevo gusto: el Te de Mierda.

Hay demasiadas incongruencias en la versión arepeana de Te de Mierda. Primero, es una mierda porque es una combinación vacía de una guitarrita y las cuerdas vocales de Polly Salas, la cantante/modelo/actriz/viudanegra del conjunto. Hicieron, entre dos, un te para tres. Que gran pelotudez.

Segundo, es una mierda porque, al mantener las letras de la original, dejan a la pobre Salas con ciertas tendencias lesbianísticas que no se presentan en ninguna otra letra. En sí, le dejan la boca, como dirían en el lenguaje local, llena de mierda.

Tercero, esta mierda no es Arepa, señores. Si hasta ahora la fama sub-local se la ganaron por hacer bailar al pueblo, no se conviertan en la versión pobre de Ely Guerra. Porque aunque vale la pena tomar lecciones de ella, también hay que saber que la Ely no haría tanta mierda.

Por último, el pueblo yanqui myspaciano seguirá buscando a alguien que ocupe el trono abandonado por Ozomatli, aquel de sonido latinotendencioso más original del sur de California. Quizás algún día llegue a ser Arepa, pero no mientras nos tributen este te de mierda.

I go to Florida tomorrow. Promoting Underground Undergrads.

Perspective

2008-08-01T12:26:00.000-07:00

Punches you in the face sometimes, reminding you to hug your mom more often, spend time loving, and don't lose a moment.

I made a phone call for the usual bantering and some catching up after a prolonged game of phone tag and the occasional text message. Summer school over, deadlines extended, thinking of cruises, story ideas and, like always, politics. That conversation will have to wait.

As you know, it's hard for me to pray about these things, but I'll defer to my mom to pray for your uncle.

Puedo confiar en el Señor, no me va a fallar,
Puedo confiar en el Señor, no me va a fallar,
Si el sol dejara de alumbrar, y no brillara nunca mas,
Yo igual confio en el Señor, no me va a fallar.

Reliquia

2008-07-31T01:57:00.000-07:00

Monograms

2008-07-28T16:54:00.000-07:00

- Love is the power to see similarity in the dissimilar. (122)

- Not least among the tasks now confronting thought is that of placing all the reactionary arguments against Western culture in the service of progressive enlightenment. (122)

- Love you will find only where you may show yourself weak with out provoking strength. (122)

- Imagination is inflamed by women who lack, precisely, imagination. They have the brightest aureoles who, turned unwaveringly outward, are wholly matter-of-fact. Their attraction stems from their lack of awareness of themselves, indeed of self at all: Oscar Wilde coined the name unenigmatic Sphinxes for them. (108)

- Women of exceptional beauty are doomed to unhappiness. Even those favoured by every circumstance, who have birth, wealth, talent on their side, seem as if hounded or obsessed by the urge to destroy themselves and all the human relationships they contact. An oracle gives them the choice between calamities. Either they shrewdly exchange beauty for success. Then they pay with happiness for its condition; being no longer able to love, they poison the love felt for them and are left empty-handed. Or the privilege of beauty gives them the courage and confidence to repudiate the exchange agreement. They take seriously the happiness that the person promises, and are unstinting with themselves, assured by the admiration of all that they do not need first to prove their worth. In their youth they are free to choose. (109)

All taken from Theodor Adorno's Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life

Revolucion

2008-07-28T14:56:00.000-07:00

I will risk disappointing more than one, but I will now have to state that this revolution, our generation's revolution, is not going to be fun. In fact, it's gonna have to be boring and seem uninterested.

Back to sleep.

Accident

2008-07-28T08:37:00.000-07:00

The whole experience left him out of sync, walking around the house, marking a trail in the carpet across the living room all the way up to the kitchen. When his muscles started aching, he would get up again and open the fridge, staring at the assortment of multicolored Tupperware but not looking inside any of it. He would hold his empty stare into the fridge for a few seconds, before deciding he wasn't hungry enough. He would do this a couple of times each day, eventually succumbing to some reheated chinese food or cold pizza.

The insurance agent called again that morning. Dem Franchise Boyz busted through the silence for almost a minute before the call went to voicemail. He stared at the phone as it rang. I gotta change that stupid ringtone, he thought. Better yet, I gotta get rid of that phone. The call didn't wake up Steven, though he nudged inside the sleeping bag where he was carving a place in the corner of the dining room. There was a message.

Hello, Francisco, it's Sharon from Progressive again, and I left a couple of messages last week and we really need to talk about the accident and I hope you are feeling well and I wish this bitch would stop talking to me like she knows me. He had a pervasive dislike people who were paid to be friendly to him. He took out that angst against as many telemarketers, sales representatives, and customer service agent as he could.

Inside, however, he wished he had friends. He longed for the times when he wouldn't systematically push people away. He wanted a better shrink, a new girlfriend, and some food from that fridge but was too lazy to sort through the Tupperware. He closed the fridge and grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the counter.

His neck didn't hurt much anymore, but the scar on his leg still looked vicious, according to Steven. Now 11-years-old, Steven was trying to be a cool kid and used words like vicious. Francisco had been a role model to him. Old enough to be an uncle, but never grownup enough to make anyone forget he was Steven's cousin. Now, the roles were beginning to change and Steven found himself babysitting what was left of his big cousin.

Pick up your fucking phone, he yelled as Dem Franchise Boyz interrupted the silent morning again. And change that fucking ringtone, for gods sakes.

Francisco got up and grabbed the phone. It was not Progressive, AT&T, or any refinance opportunity. It was Laurie. He put the phone back in the table, letting Dem Franchise Boyz finish the chorus. A thousand memories ran through his head. The sights, sounds, smells, laughs, fights, and, above all, the sex. The museums and concerts, and that time when she surprised him at school with balloons on his birthday.

Maybe I should go back to school, he thought, as if he had ever given it a real chance to begin with. I wonder what the hell she wants and if she misses me. Come on, baby, let's give it another try. There was another message.

Hey Francisco, it's me Laurie and I heard about your accident and I hope things are going well and I am moving out and do you want these clothes back that you left here long time ago and this must really be over if she called me by my first name.

I'm going out for a drive, he told Steven. Nothing big, he just wanted a Slurpee. This time he would stay in the road and avoid any mysterious head-on solo crashes against the freeway wall. He still didn't know what to do with his life. No more accidents, though.

En la vida hay amores...

2008-07-27T02:19:00.000-07:00

... que nunca, pueden olvidarse.

Aparición

2008-07-23T16:28:00.001-07:00

Their dreams had never matched, but a young, instinctual attraction had always accompanied their moments together. Neither had their opinions or priorities, even less their backgrounds.

In fact, each of them privately thought, their chances of ever meeting had been slim in the first place. More so, they often fought, disagreed, made each other nervous.

I met them later on my college years, they were in their teens. They broke up last week.

Questions

2008-07-17T23:53:00.000-07:00

I slept atop a pile of pillows in Patty's apartment, in the exact spot where Ibeth's bed would have been a few weeks ago. This was the last night of my road trip, which had seen me sleep in a UCSD van, the Doubletree hotel in Berkeley, the Goldman School of Public Policy, the UC Berkeley Foothill student housing, Ben's apartment in the Castro, Jesse's apartment in Westwood, and now, finally, these pillows.

I walked to class armored with a heavy backpack, a gym bag full of clothes, and Ron Currie Jr's God is Dead, a funny dystopian novel I picked up at the UCLA store.

As I was crossing the street that separates the dorms from the rest of campus, I came across the AFSCME 3299 service workers, which were holding up their picket signs and trying to hide from the scorching morning sun. Like all my other recent decisions, I didn't think about it much, letting out a scream:

"Que vivan los trabajadores!!!"

A few of them cheered and smiled. At this point, I noticed that Currie's prose had taken me away from my fellow pedestrians, a group of young gymnasts. One of them sought to break that disconnect.

"What does that mean?", she asked.

I missed her at first glance. She was miniscule, must not have reached 10-years-old yet. I smiled at her with a sense of journalistic pride.

"They are the ones that clean up the school, and they don't pay them enough." Again, I had let the words come out without thinking much, or scoping the surroundings for parents who don't appreciate strangers politicizing with their children. In this case, it was a protective gymnastics camp counselor.

"Don't bother the nice man, (inaudible name)." I threw her a dirty look as she hugged the inquiring young girl away. Currie got my attention back rather quickly as I I kept walking down the hill that leads to the middle of campus.

I hope that young girl always asks questions.

Why I am not going to graduate from college

2008-07-15T02:34:00.001-07:00

Because when I have an easy 6-page take-home midterm to write, I spend two hours reading about personality disorders and trying to match people to them. Now, I am going to get to work, maybe.

Pick up

2008-07-14T17:51:00.000-07:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Caminito al costado del mundo

2008-07-13T15:20:00.001-07:00

I have heard this song a good 15 times in the last 12 hours.

With Ben

2008-07-13T00:30:00.000-07:00

Quiet night in San Francisco. Just me and Los Piojos. I gave up the fuzzy sweater for a bright orange Holland jacket earlier today. I shared the future life plans, he shared the story of Aimee's trip to Nashville. We walked about 3 miles to grab Argentinean empanadas. I wanted a piece of home and some peace away from the drunken calamities of the previous night.

We also talked about me sneaking back in through Canada. The future cannot come soon enough.

Morning walk

2008-07-10T15:37:00.000-07:00

"Where else am I supposed to walk? There's no sidewalk!"

I suspect that, at that moment, his aviator glasses hid a dumbfounded gaze, as if he had been caught being the human representation of an irrational situation. I could not be blamed for using that 3-feet long median as my walkway if there was no other option.

"Well, just be careful then."

As the Berkeley policeman drove off, I kept on walking in the median, much to the amazed look of many drivers who stared at me as if I had been a previously unknown specimen, a rare walking creature interrupting the monopoly of engines and asphalt, a pedestrian in the bridge connecting the city and the marina.

I assume not a lot of people walk from the Berkeley Marina to the UC campus. I missed the three half-full 51's during my 50-minute morning walk.

I am here until Sunday.

The only advice I can give you

2008-07-10T14:12:00.001-07:00

Today I am debuting a new section called "The only advice I can give you". This will be a recurring list of life-changing wisdom

The only advice I can give you is...

Do not assume that when you buy a 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner it actually get the job done. Shampooing and conditioning are two very different skills, each needing a specialist for its assigned duty.

Now go on and be fruitful.

New look

2008-07-09T02:20:00.000-07:00

A sort of premeditated impulse.

The Times

2008-07-08T23:15:00.000-07:00

Miguel texted me at 6AM saying I looked cute on the newspaper. The online edition did not put the picture up, but the article reads well and presents a different story.

I will have a stronger IDEAS post up soon. Here's the link: A degree of anxiety.

Cheers to the underground undergrads!

The Joker

2008-07-08T10:56:00.000-07:00

It was our tribute to Heath Ledger. And a great accessory for the Gentlemen Pad in the Valley. That bus stop won't miss it, and the movie is going to have a great opening weekend anyway.

Fun times.

Jehova and Gandhi

2008-07-07T01:10:00.000-07:00

This was the inscription in my graduation frame:

Mati*s Nicol*s Ram*s Goralcz*k
Graduación, Universidad de California Los Angeles, Junio 2008
Porque Jehová da la sabiduría, y de su boca viene el conocimiento y la inteligencia.
-Proverbios 2:6
Sé el cambio que quieras ver en el mundo.
-Mahatma Gandhi

I chose the proverb because that's my favorite book in the Christian Bible. What I mean by the Lord giving me, as a student, my wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence (if I have any), is that he put my parents in place. I have no way of knowing so, but if they consider me and my siblings a gift to them, I still have no way to prove they were not a gift to me. The Gandhi quote serves to add a social justice front to the inscription, and to break the Western monotony.

The frames themselves included a wallet size picture, a Royce Hall postcard, and the inscription. La Abuela Lucía is delivering them. Her flight back to Buenos Aires leaves tomorrow.

Anaheim

2008-07-07T00:41:00.001-07:00

I should have been friends with those guys.

The whole moment symbolized our high school years. I got there late, and they had been playing for a while. As they played cards, I sat right outside of their game, watching it unfold and having the insider's perspective through Ben's cards. The conversation was, for the most part, cordialities about experiences and future plans.

Ben, a freelance writer with law school plans, remains an odd friend of mine and someone who always offered a good vibe. His oddity is a joy to get to know, from the appreciation for obscure sports and rock bands to his keen, almost gimicky idealism represented in shoes, pants, and political savvy.

Mark, Jimmy, and Byron are those guys I always knew but never got to know. The type of Asian males that I had, at one point in my life, seen as not much more than the brainy-type. But as they taught me their card game, I thought that the four years in between high school graduation and tonight taught us to put aside model minority myths and other assumptions.

Mark is going from Cal State Fullerton to two years of non-profit work in Vietnam. Jimmy is coming back from Berkeley to a consulting job in Downtown LA. Byron is leaving the Michigan cold and embracing the warmth of UCLA Law School. Ben is still going to be writing around San Francisco.

I don't think they understood the magnitude of my decision to go back to Argentina. What else could be more normal than a return trip to the place of one's birth? So, to those that always expected me back, and those who witnessed me wallowing around in Loara High School, this trip is not earth-shattering.

Those who I love most have had the harder time so far. But people understand. I'm off to reinvent myself and when I come back things won't be the same. But maybe they will be like tonight. I think they might be better.

If North Were South

2008-07-04T23:54:00.000-07:00

Some thoughts:

- This song is still incredible relevant 12 years after its release. In fact, I think this song will outlast me.

- It would be interesting if someone with an affinity for songwriting had an inspiration for "If West Were East". I assume it would have to be written in Arabic or Farsi.

-My favorite line: "Y si la deuda externa nos robó la primavera, Al diablo la geografía se acabaron las fronteras..."

Las Barras y Las Estrellas

2008-07-04T14:17:00.000-07:00

Hoy es cuatro de julio, día de la independencia de los Estados Unidos.

Sentado en el balcón de casa, me puse a pensar que tipo de significado, si es que existe, tiene la fecha para la gente de este barrio. Encrustados en el medio de una de las ciudades mas anglosajonas del condado de Orange, aproximadamente 300 familias viven en el barrio de Cinnamon Tree. La mayoría tiene sus condominios apretujados, y los menos pudientes ocupan departamentos apretujados.

Me senté un rato en el balcón porque adentro me sentí, también, apretujado, aunque la casa estaba semi-vacía. Facundo había desaparecido con amigos a Los Angeles, y mis padres compartían una rutinaria actividad eclesiástica en Anaheim. La abuela dormía una siesta bonaerense importada, y Sophia se unía a los millones de jóvenes y niños (yo incluído) que dejaban pasar la vida mirando un monitor.

Lo único que se escuchaba eran los pajaros y el ventilador. Había apagado el celular para que no interrupiera el silencio de la tarde y seguía pensando en eso del cuatro de julio.

En Placentia no se notaba mucho la diferencia porque las barras y las estrellas flameaban en las avenidas todo el año. En este tipo de suburbio el patriotismo vacío y privilegiado se derrochaba facilmente. Pero la gente de Cinnamon Tree era la excepción. No había mucha identidad para esta comunidad Latina aislada, y el dia de la independencia también iba a pasar desapercibido.

Los ricos lo ignoraban por exageración y los pobres se esmeraban en ignorarlo. Ningún hecho político de hace 232 años atrás podía importar hoy, porque hacía mucho calor, el gas estaba muy caro, y mañana hay que trabajar porque sino quién paga las cuentas.

Aí se fue desapercibido el cuatro de julio.

Rapid Eye Movement

2008-07-03T02:02:00.001-07:00

I am becoming quite adept at the art of lucid dreaming.

More specifically, I use the WBTB method, going back to sleep between 30 to 45 minutes after waking up. I usually try to sleep on a well-lit room, allowing the morning sunlight to interrupt my sleep, and then wake up to read the morning news, check email, etc. After that, I am ready to ignore breakfast hunger and start transitioning directly between wake and sleep, by prolonging an imagined situation in my mind as I get tired again.

In the past, I have imagined a walk through the Pyramids of Egypt, flights through the UCLA campus, and an afternoon of soccer in La Bombonera. Yesterday, I thought of myself sitting in a Buenos Aires coffee shop on an autumn day. Everything in the coffee shop was different shades of brown, as were all the people and things visible through the window. The coffee shop looked just like the set of Cafe Libre, the Christian TV show at which my sister used to volunteer. Nobody was there, however, at least not in the tables and chairs in front of me. A man cleaned the bar, and listened to AM radio.

That's where my phone rang in my dream, and I picked up, talking to a friend in Norcal. I don't remember what we said, but I don't think it was much more than our usual contentious witticisms. Later on, I took a taxi to my grandma's house and walked around the house. The dream ended there.

Funny thing is, hours later I checked on my phone and I had an actual received call at 8:15AM that morning, from that friend. I had been on the phone, in my half-asleep state, for four minutes, and I thought it was all part of my lucid dream.

I don't know if this is a case of reality filtering into the subconscious, or the opposite, or simple absent-mindedness. I just think it was a phenomenal experience.

Moving

2008-07-01T18:51:00.000-07:00

Unforgettable night and busy morning during my last hours in 555 Kelton 101. I played all my sad songs, and none received a positive review.

Today, I spent the morning loading my stuff up to Ivan's car, then drove to CPO for a free meal. It seems I might have taken the vanpool program for granted, and they may not have room for me.

The infamous bed went unsold. It sat by the 4-arm tree as I drove away, festering the sidewalk. /stupid joke.

Today, Fabulosos Cadillacs returned to stage. I am going to go to a concert on that tour. I'll let you know where (Mexico City, L.A., Buenos Aires?)

To fit all the occassions, I spent the afternoon listening to their happy songs.

Babysitting and Grandmasitting

2008-06-29T21:00:00.001-07:00

I wonder if watching "The Lost World: Jurassic Park" means that Sophia (my 5-year-old sister) will have nightmares tonight. Or maybe Lucia (my 79-year-old abuela) will have them instead.

The movie sucked, but it allowed me to redesign this page in the meantime.

Latino veteran Bruin.

2008-06-28T06:33:00.000-07:00

I was supposed to have lunch with Jess at In-N-Out on Friday. The restaurant remains, years after I stopped working there, a preferred place for me because of the great food and the oddly relaxing sounds of spoiled Westside teenagers munching on animal-style fries.

Jess was supposed to drive to my apartment and honk, because she did not have her phone on her. 45 minutes after she was supposed to be there, hunger won over my will to wait, and I left a note in my door saying I was walking by myself and to meet me there instead.

On my way, I bought a copy of the LA Times, and picked up The Onion before going into In-N-Out. It was just past the lunch rush, and the place was starting to empty out. I had one of those odd cravings for a special order. I asked for a triple cheeseburger with grilled onions, well done and wrapped in lettuce.

Once I got my order, I took a seat in one of the small tables near the back entrance. Being by myself, I figured I would avoid the booths that the teenagers prefer, or any of the window tables near the line where people order.

A few minutes later, an short 82-year-old tapped my shoulder. He was wearing a "US Submarine Veterans" hat, a blue jacket, and velcro shoes.

"I like your shirt," he said with a broken smile. I was wearing my "Legalize LA" t-shirt from American Apparel, and he had just read the JFK quote gracing my back. As he smiled, his eyes became really small and cheerful, as I would come to learn over our two and a half hour conversation that followed.

His name is Rudy Galaviz and he is part of the UCLA Class of 1952, having studied International Relations. Before coming to Westwood, he attended local schools in San Clemente and enrolled in the armed forces right out of high school, to serve in WWII.

The happy old man was a riot, calling McCain, "a young racist", and asking me about my love life. He was excited about my trip to Argentina, blaming his early marriage in his inability to fulfill his world-traveling dreams. He told the stories of his service as a radar operator in the Pacific, and his current fight against racism and ageism in his last days. "I could write a book about how people treat me differently when I am wearing this hat and when I am not", he said, taking off his blue baseball cap. "Some think I wear it to express pride, but I'm only doing it to protect myself from the Americans," he said, only half-jokingly.

He spoke highly of his 'gringa' wife, and invited me over to meet her someday. As we left, he gave me a big hug and told Jess, who had caught up with us, that I had made his day.

I know it's cheesy, but he had made my week.

Filosofia Corderiana

2008-06-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

Gustavo Cordera, cantante de Bersuit Vergarabat, habla de lo que Argentina (y latinoamerica) tienen. Y que a los EE.UU. les falta.

"Preguntarse verdaderamente que estás haciendo en el mundo, que sos, enamorarte, juntarte con amigos en los bares, cambiar el mundo, soñar, discutir, ir a la cancha, los domingos encontrarse a comer un asado con amigos, con tu familia, seguir a una mujer por la calle y decirle piropos, cositas lindas. Pasan muchas cosas en argentina, pasan muchas cosas en latinoamerica."

Drexler

2008-06-25T21:02:00.000-07:00

It's gonna be hard to write this thing, because my brain is wired in a bilingual code, mixing parts of all my worlds in every sentence.

But while procrastinating right now I heard, for the first time, the actual lyrics to Jorge Drexler's "El Otro Engranaje". The last stanza:

Clara, evidente, manda la libido,
la fidelidad, brumosa palabra,
con su antigua lista de gestos prohibidos,
muerde siempre menos de lo que ladra.

TRADUCCION:
Clear, and evident, the libido rules,
fidelity, foggy word,
with its aged list of forbidden gestures,
always bites less than what it barks.

Add Freud to the list of people that would have listened to Drexler.

Long time no see

2008-06-25T15:41:00.000-07:00

Damn this year changed me a lot. I think we can mark the date of the last entry as a turning point.

Evo spoke of the immigrants in a recent letter. Check it: Evo's letter to the EU. I don't like Evo, and I don't like his opposition. But I really want to go to Bolivia. I need real events, history, people, debates, smiles, and coca leaves.

Personally? Nowadays I can't even lift my mood with the depressing songs that usually do it for me.

Genio de la Música

2008-06-17T18:07:00.000-07:00

Una canción esencial, de Fito Paez:

Al Lado Del Camino

Me gusta estar al lado del camino
fumando el humo mientras todo pasa
me gusta abrir los ojos y estar vivo
tener que vérmelas con la resaca
entonces navegar se hace preciso
en barcos que se estrellen en la nada
vivir atormentado de sentido
creo que esta, sí, es la parte más pesada

En tiempos donde nadie escucha a nadie
en tiempos donde todos contra todos
en tiempos egoístas y mezquinos
en tiempos donde siempre estamos solos
habrá que declararse incompetente
en todas las materias de mercado
habrá que declararse un inocente
o habrá que ser abyecto y desalmado

Yo ya no pertenezco a ningún istmo
me considero vivo y enterrado
yo puse las canciones en tu walkman
el tiempo a mi me puso en otro lado
tendré que hacer lo que es no debido
tendré que hacer el bien y hacer el daño
no olvides que el perdón es lo divino
y errar a veces suele ser humano.

No es bueno nunca hacerse de enemigos
que no estén a la altura del conflicto
que piensan que hacen una guerra
y se hacen pis encima como chicos
que rondan por siniestros ministerios
haciendo la parodia del artista
que todo lo que brilla en este mundo
tan solo les da caspa y les da envidia.

Yo era un pibe triste y encantado
de Beatles, caña legui y maravillas
los libros, las canciones y los pianos
el cine, las traiciones, los enigmas
mi padre, la cerveza, las pastillas, los misterios, el whisky malo
los óleos, el amor, los escenarios
el hambre, el frio, el crimen, el dinero y mis 10 tías
me hicieron este hombre enreverado.

Si alguna vez me cruzas por la calle
regálame tu beso y no te aflijas
si ves que estoy pensando en otra cosa
no es nada malo, es que pasó una brisa
la brisa de la muerte enamorada
que ronda como un ángel asesino
mas no te asustes, siempre se me pasa
es solo la intuición de mi destino.

Me gusta estar al lado del camino
fumando el humo mientras todo pasa
me gusta regresarme en el olvido
para acordarme en sueños de mi casa
del chico que jugaba a la pelota
del 49585
nadie nos prometió un jardin de rosas
hablamos del peligro de estar vivo.

No vine a divertir a tu familia
mientras el mundo se cae a pedazos
me gusta estar al lado del camino
me gusta sentirte a mi lado
me gusta estar al lado del camino
dormirte cada noche entre mis brazos
al lado del camino (x 3)
es más entretenido y más barato
al lado del camino (x 2).

Civitas Peregrina

2008-06-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

Augustine’s civitas peregrina advocated as the only state of freedom, against the state of oppression, that of pilgrimage: tearing oneself away from places to accomplish universal mutual assistance, but also tearing oneself away from any identity (including one’s own) in order to accomplish subjective fulfillment in the boundlessness of caritas.

Women leading this transnational movement

2008-05-31T15:22:00.000-07:00

"But there are historical stakes involved in attempting to mesh our institutions with the demands of the polynational societies that are coming into being today, around us and with us. The maturity of the second sex will be judged in the coming years according to its ability to modify the nation in the face of foreigners, to orient foreigners confronting the nation toward a still unforeseeable conception of a polyvalent community. Before reaching that moment, which will remain for a long time a distant ideal, we have a generative utopian thought - a world without foreigners."

-Julia Kristeva, "Nations Without Nationalism"

This is the mission of our lifetimes. Cheers.

The Debate Debacle

2007-11-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

What happened last night...

I was invited to participate in the Bruin Democrats vs. Bruin Republicans quarterly debate. Although I'm not a member of either group, the Democrats asked me to debate in favor of the D.R.E.A.M . Act, along with two of their members, Flavia de la Fuente and Curtis Whatley.

After Flavia delivered our opening statement, the Bruin Republicans proceeded to make fools out of themselves. Ignoring any notion of meaningful intellectual discourse, they took a soft pro-D.R.E.A.M. Act stance and then went on to do what pleases them the most, which is to mock the plights of historically marginalized communities. They do this on a rotating basis among Blacks, Muslims, and Chicanos. It happened again last night.

Their opening speaker pretended to be a member of "MEChA" who had been invited by the BRs because they were unable to debate against the meritorious D.R.E.A.M. Act. He went to claim, in a mocking tone, that Chicanos ("and Chicanas") do not need legalization because they are already rightful owners of the land, that the border wall should be built around the southwestern United States to prevent further "white-man immigration", and other lousy generalizations that have exemplified the Republican Party's fixation with MEChA and other progressive cultural organizations over the years.

Later on the debate, they blamed Democrats over the D.R.E.A.M. Act's failure and went on to tell the crowd, partially composed of some of the hardest working student immigrant advocates with whom I have had the pleasure to work, that they should mobilize and organize, rather than simply complain afterwards. Their ignorance over the issue they claim to support was quickly exposed, as they had no knowledge of the historical background of the legislation, and of how their party's leaders had consistently prevented the DREAM Act from becoming law, just like they did with AgJobs, CIR, or any other bill for legalization.

Now, if I had the ability to see beyond human basic needs, or if I could reduce their lives to the level of products and commodities, I may be better able to understand their stances in all the issues debated prior to the D.R.E.A.M. Act. But I can't understand them, and in a way, they seem to be unable to understand the hypocrisy of their party. There was no response given to the accusation that their party stays in power by playing on people's fears. Blame immigrants. Blame "gays". Blame the poor. Blame minorities. Even if you know the legislation makes sense, do not enact it if it benefits those who you can use to advance your corporate agenda.

I don't know what else their student group does. I only hear about them every once in a while, often because of their incendiary programming. And I'm not here to talk to them, because what they do does not need my validation, or deserve my recognition.

I want to talk to all the members of MEChA, IDEAS, Dreams to be Heard, Conciencia, LASA, SURGE, Espiritu, etc. All those of you who in different ways put their efforts day in and day out for something greater than themselves and to empower the Latino community. Also, to those in the crowd from VSU and APC who were there to support, and to the Bruin Democrats for giving us the opportunity to touch on one of the issues that students of color in this country are still affected by. I know it gets tough sometimes, but even in the worse times, there's hope and an opportunity to teach others about what our families and communities do, and what they need.

Thanks to all those that came out last night, and la lucha sigue.

Duerme soñando

2007-10-25T09:44:00.000-07:00

Decidieron ni discutirlo. La Opinion: Bloquean debate sobre el DREAM Act

"La gente solo observa la ropa y los hechos,
mas nunca sienten lo que hay dentro de sus pechos.
no existe entre ellos una real conexión,
pues creen tener siempre la razon?
la razon justa y procesadora,
de lo correcto que se hace cada hora.
Pero en este sueño tu estas sumergido,
mas no te sientas nunca afligido,
porque con en este sueño tu estas protegido,
y aunque te sientas un poco distante
tu alma lo dice a cada instante."

2007-09-12T21:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not strong enough for this.......

Let me tell you

2007-09-10T13:49:00.000-07:00

I am writing here because I am failing this damn class, not caring about comparative politics, missing out on life, and overall disappointed that this is going too fast for me to stop it, or control it.

I will be coming back more often.

Evo trying to end "El lamento boliviano"

2006-09-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, Argentine rockers Enanitos Verdes cleverly summarized their agonizing love feelings in comparison to Bolivia's age-old cry over being poor and land-locked in ocean-happy South America. The lyrics, from "Borracho y Loco", one of my favorites:

Es mi situación/ una desolación/
soy como un lamento/ lamento boliviano/
que un día empezó/ y no va a terminar/
y a nadie hace daño.

Loosely translated:

My situation/ is a desolation
I am like a lament/ a Bolivian lament/
that one day started/ and will never end/
and it doesn't affect anybody.

Well, it definitely affects sweater-boy Morales, who will make his sea demand in the First ever Land Locked Summit in Cuba. Bolivia used to own an exit to the sea through the Lauca River, until Chile claimed it along with the Atacama province in the War of the Pacific (1890s).
Also happening in Cuba this week, Iran's Ahmadinejad makes his nuclear proliferation pitch to all the other Non-Aligned Nations in a more important summit.
With Castro and Chavez also making appearances, I'm sure Bush is thinking he could kill four birds with one stone on this one.

To all this, what is CNN Español showing? Fall fashion, of course.

Guglear o no guglear, esa es la cuestion.

2006-07-19T11:43:00.000-07:00

El confuso estado de la lengua castellana se ve reflejado en la última propuesta lanzada por los directivos de la Real Academia Española, quienes estan discutiendo si deberían aceptar el término Guglear.
I used to be a language purist, back when I was a Argentine teenage brat frowning at the use of "troca" and "parquear". But I like this one, Guglear, derived from the recently added English verb to google.

Me voy. Facundo necesita guglear imágenes pornográficas. :)

Delayed World Cup review

2006-07-18T12:51:00.000-07:00

As it turns out, Italy won the World Cup. I was happy to see them earn a well-deserved victory over the Germans in the semifinal and remain assertive in the penalty shootout. Penalties, as it has been said for years, are a sub-par way to decide who the victor is for a competition of a somehow related activity (soccer). Alsa, FIFA is a pussy and will never adopt a more creative tiebreaking method (like, say, forcing teams to gradually remove players from the field, thus creating more scoring opportunities). The truth is, the game's purists are a bunch of repressed girliemen who won't even accept simple innovations such as the addition of a second on-field referee. Just give them their old-time football and it's good enough for them.
On a personal level, I was crushed, disappointed, depressed after Argentina's quarterfinal loss in, of course, a penalty shootout to Germany. For some reason, I always get the right feeling before these things. I was sure we would beat Mexico in our Confederations Cup penalty shootout last year, but some reason (maybe Franco, maybe Lehmann) I knew going in that Argentina's world cup was over. See you all in 2010, hopefully I will be wandering the streets of Johanessburg as the games take place.
Last, thanks to Zinedine Zidane for saving Marco Materazzi's life. A true hero of world football.

Mean.

2006-06-22T00:03:00.000-07:00

I was recently called 'mean'. As in, "man, you say mean things".

The person who made the claim is an overly sensitive attention seeker who lives to push my buttons at the end of the worst days, and she got caught up on a direct, witty, borderline asshole-y comment.

Anyway, I replied that "I am nice without saying nice things". Fixed it!

Truth is, I am a mean sonofabitch.

Oh, by the way, it's already summmer.

A day without an immigrant: tomorrow.

2006-04-30T16:42:00.000-07:00

As the now infamous day without immigrants approaches, many are alarmed over the rumors of ongoing raids throughout the nation. Apparently, there has been a few in heavily Latino neighborhoods in the L.A. area today. Although no online services have shown any information regarding this, two of my contacts have already expressed some concern.
Are the immigration authorities trying to scare off immigrant families on the eve of May 1st or is this simply another case of paranoia regarding the seemingly-defenseless demonstrators? More on this later.

May 1st approaching

2006-04-30T00:04:00.000-07:00

Two days till what is seemingly going to be a historic day for the immigration reform movement. The photo above pictures the thousands that marched in Phoenix last month.

Ouch.

2006-04-29T01:26:00.000-07:00

Ever since the last time I felt life was treating me the way the above-pictured bull is, well, manhandling his matador I decided I needed to put my thoughts into writing more often. So here I go.