Author: JulioSueco
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Jovita Gonzáles Comment 2
In Dew on the Thorn by Jovita Gonzáles1, the Anglo plays a rather significant roll not because we are not familiar with the eternal binomial in Chicano narrative between gringos and Chicanos but because it is an early ground we have walked upon before. Jovita is a predecessor of Aztlán geography and topology. It is…
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comment 1
I have come to realize that Chicano narrative has fitted quite nicely into American folklore because it is a vision. Chicanos in general all share a vision of what it was and what it might become. That is why Aztlán although despised by most Anglo loving philes can accept the fact that we exist. Even…
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I went to a festival in my small town Sweden were I in turn came under the influences of the spirits. Everybody knows everybody here. Now, am not trying to excuse the fact I behaved inappropriately at the festival, although I haven’t even described this inappropriateness it goes to show how weird this whole charade…
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La araña
I now know Spring is here. Arachnid traces whirl outside my window. The multilayer colored string plays its tune. This silent music rings hollow. I see but the wind play yet its vibrations fall in deaf ears. Yet I delight so in the colors the sun strikes on its silk. How I wish I could…
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Letters
Hopefully it will not be long from now that I can retake my writing. It has been a long time since I really wrote. It’s not until this morning that my preoccupation with writing was what was being a hurdle of sorts in my writing. I worried about being a writer and that sucked loads…
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Cold
I met this guy at work who had suffered a heart attack at least a year or two ago. He was a lot more plump and filled in his face then when I first caught eye of him which then I thought he was too skinny in his upper cranial self then the rest of…
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A mil thangs
There are like a million things going on in my life. Worst yet my immigrant status in Sweden isn’t helping at all. The way I compare and contrast makes the lens I view the Swedish landscape with rather dirty, lopsided and at best old and worn out outlooks. Yet by my own standards, I have…
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losing myself/uncovering the new
Am finally losing it. I really thought I could keep up with the charade my persona displays in the everyday here in the Swedish Highlands. This charade, this coraza or core that shields me from the rest of society is slowly showing signs of fractures, small fissures here and there that allow the Stranger outside…
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Mojado
When I was living in California during the 80’s and 90’s I never felt like an immigrant. I feared the migra and the ghost of deportation haunted me 24/7 no questions asked. But I never felt like an immigrant. I could never relate, for example, to real immigrants, those that traveled land, sea and air…
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the Me in mestizo
I plow the clouds undust the cumulus Santa Ana winds breeze by. It is march idle and restless. Evidence is aftersought. I gather intentions pack them tightly. Pursue wild dreams. This wandering I so easily scared Is a wannabe Heron. This Heron seeks yearround habitats.
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Israeli rain
Yet you instrument death at dawn. Like an old tune in Spring. A cacophony slicing scythe. New year meant nothing. This Aries dusk.
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I bear with you
I.- The eagle landed on a cactus back yonder. II.- Butterflies flew driven by Santana Winds. III.- Yes, I remember Satanta. Like a late autumn. IV.- Immobile I stare, this waft embraces.