Yonder Lies It

Americanness

They recognize me as one of them nowadays.
Somehow, somewhere, I must’ve lost it.
That glowing tan that set me as outsider.
Now, they speak to me unflinching;
As I seem no longer newly arrived.
Today, am the one thoroughly shocked.
Since I hardly expect to be talked to it in it.
Someway, I’ve acquired a ”native” look.
At times, I wonder, how this came to be.

Bueno, hoy le toca al español ser el último en quien pienso, bueno, quizá no. Siempre pienso en todos modos en español. Lo malo es que no me queda nada que relatar ya. ¿O si? Bueno, siempre me gusta más este ordenador, siempre tiene los signos que se requiere para verdaderamente escribir en español, uno no lo pensarí­a así­, pero el español tiene mucho signo que el ordenador, bueno, si es que uno esta lejos de algún paí­s hispano, no lo tiene. Es en verdad muy bien dicho eso de PC, Personal Computer. Mi Computadora personal si los tiene. Pero no los de la universidad que utilizan el sistema Linux. Es una lata de verdad. Pues ami me encanta adornar el español como en verdad es. Sus doble signos de interrogación, exclamación; sus acentos en las vocales, la querida y amada ñ, y la diéresis en la íü. Son hermosos en verdad, detallitos que hacen del castellano que hicieron un llano en llamas. What? Bueno, no tengo más que decir hoy.

– The Macmillan Dictionary has an entry for duh.
– Duh! Like I wanna know that.
– Ok, so what, do you want to know?

George sat exasperated; this student was fidgety, looked distressed and nothing of substance came out of him.

– Dunno.

Silence. The room of his office couldn’t look emptier, yet he felt the need this student had.

– Why were you sent here? Do you know that?
– I suppose ‘cause my grades are low.
– Is there a reason why they are low?
– Maybe.
– Humm.

George felt resistance, clearly the boy had something going on in his life, what was it?

– Do you like to go out?
– Can’t, my parents got me grounded.
– Would you like to tell me about that?
– It’s complicated.
– That’s what am here for, to help out when complications arise.

The breakthrough was finally visible, why did the student open up?

– I Got caught smoking weed.
-I see, do you like drugs?
– Sometimes, they make me feel good, I suppose there isn’t any harm in it.
– Humm, your parents don’t think so.
– What do they know … All they do is bitch around all day how am not what they expected me to be.
– I see. So they go around telling you how to be.
– Gets on my nervs you know? Pisses me off man.
– Yeah, I can understand that, I mean, who wants to be bitched at.
– Yeah man, so I try to get back at them, I mean they already think am a loser you see. So I piss them off too.
– Humm, by smoking weed?
– Naaah, that’s just for fun,
– I see. So you do like drugs.
– Not really, it’s just that the crowd I hang out with does it, so I do it too.
– Humm, you’re records show that you been an exemplary student all along until last year, care to talk about that?
– Maybe some other time, gotta split, gotta class to go to. C-ya!
– I’ll put you in for next week, is that ok?
– Suppose so.
– Take care.

The satisfaction of helping made George feel good, it was clearly a step forward, maybe he could put Anthony back in track, despite of the rest of society thinking otherwise.

La vida sigue su curso, entrenchada en la lengua inglesa.

Qué mas quisiera yo estar leyendo algún autor de habla cristiana. Nada en lo absoluto, nada. El dí­a estuvo frí­o, nublado, un dí­a cualquiera. Una visitante a Raza Cósmica llego por correo haciéndome saber el conflicto que une a todo buen inmigrante a Suecia: la soledad, la frialdad adquiere tintes palpantes. Nadie dijo que Suecia era Católica. Ni mucho menos cálida. Pero henos aquí­. En esta tierra no sancta del Imperio Romano. Me gustarí­a decir muchas cosas más, pero henos aquí­.

A ellas

Bajo las estrellas deambula mi alma
Buscándolas con afán a ellas
Al aparecer el destello de su brillo
Me dejan siempre de amor ciego

Son la ambrosí­a de la vida
Que con su alegre movida
Reviven de lo profundo mí­o
Pasiones recónditas muertas ya

Las ama con esmero mi corazón
Palpito mi sangre en su honor
Me rindo a sus pies
A esas mujeres que ama mi ser

de la Baja ’on soy.

– You really haven’t noticed?
– Nope.
– Not once giving it a thoguht?
– Are you talking to yourself again?
– Just hear me out.
– Oh God! Not again. Alright, Spill it out then.

Gardner sat silently and brought out his Stanwell Pipe, a Sixtus Smooth model. He invariably never failed to tell a story about how he got it and his consequent trip to Denmark. Yet this time he didn’t. He lit it up, took some puffs and sat relaxed. He began speaking as Anastacia accomodated herself near the edge of the sofa.

– One often hears of the trinity, body, mind and soul.
– You’re really gonna talk about that!? Oh, Lord …
– Shh Anastacia! Well, as I was saying. A lot of thought is given to the body, in fact, one could nearly argue that it is the domain of the femme. They spend much time in touch with it, they know their constitution like I know my pipes. Then there is the soul, countless of words and dialogues are poured out on this subject so that a lack of knowledge in that area is hardly missing.
– Is this going somewhere Gardner?
– Allow me to expand. The mind is mysteriously absent here, you see what I mean? Why don’t we know more of the mind than what we already know? Something is amiss.
– I can answer that mystery for you Gardner, the mind, my freund, is the place of convergence for soul and body, got it?
– Dear Anastacia, how little you know on this subject, not to say that I know anymore. You see? This is exactly what I mean. Here’s what I’ve come to think thus far. I’ve come to notice how at times am busy writing, a mind activity, and it baffles me how sometimes words just come out of me of which I lack explanation as to their origins, whence come they?
– Your pulling water way over your head Gardner, go read some more. Anastacia raised herself from the sofa and got ready to leave.
– Alright, I gave your fifteen minutes Warhol, gotta go, I’ll see later Gardner, you take it easy ok?
Gardner, kept puffing his pipe, it seemed as if he had giving it a lot of thought for all I could hear was a low, quiet farewell, he said ”Yeah, thanks for the listening, you be good now”, and as he raised up from the chair, he walked to the kitchen, to get his coat. I dashed away.

– You really haven’t noticed?
– Nope.
– Not once giving it a thoguht?
– Are you talking to yourself again?
– Just hear me out.
– Oh God! Not again. Alright, Spill it out then.

Gardner sat silently and brought out his Stanwell Pipe, a Sixtus Smooth model. He invariably never failed to tell a story about how he got it and his consequent trip to Denmark. Yet this time he didn’t. He lit it up, took some puffs and sat relaxed. He began speaking as Anastacia accomodated herself near the edge of the sofa.

– One often hears of the trinity, body, mind and soul.
– You’re really gonna talk about that!? Oh, Lord …
– Shh Anastacia! Well, as I was saying. A lot of thought is given to the body, in fact, one could nearly argue that it is the domain of the femme. They spend much time in touch with it, they know their constitution like I know my pipes. Then there is the soul, countless of words and dialogues are poured out on this subject so that a lack of knowledge in that area is hardly missing.
– Is this going somewhere Gardner?
– Allow me to expand. The mind is mysteriously absent here, you see what I mean? Why don’t we know more of the mind than what we already know? Something is amiss.
– I can answer that mystery for you Gardner, the mind, my freund, is the place of convergence for soul and body, got it?
– Dear Anastacia, how little you know on this subject, not to say that I know anymore. You see? This is exactly what I mean. Here’s what I’ve come to think thus far. I’ve come to notice how at times am busy writing, a mind activity, and it baffles me how sometimes words just come out of me of which I lack explanation as to their origins, whence come they?
– Your pulling water way over your head Gardner, go read some more. Anastacia raised herself from the sofa and got ready to leave.
– Alright, I gave your fifteen minutes Warhol, gotta go, I’ll see later Gardner, you take it easy ok?
Gardner, kept puffing his pipe, it seemed as if he had giving it a lot of thought for all I could hear was a low, quiet farewell, he said ”Yeah, thanks for the listening, you be good now”, and as he raised up from the chair, he walked to the kitchen, to get his coat. I dashed away.

The classical.

He does it. But he does it because he misses those things which bring back to memory those very things which he is far from. I’ve always argued that there isn’t a most fervent nationalist than he or she who is an ex-pat. So he sits there in the kitchen and makes food that he used to eat at home. ”It’s incredible”, he says, slurping and whiffing the warm beans, ”how these smells bring a comfort to this solace. At times it seems that I eat them only because I want home again” I don’t know what he did most, smell or eat, ”Qué ricos!” How delicious!, he said, looking satisfied. I told to him that it was a lachrymose orgasm. Turning around, looking at my eyes, he said ” could be” lifting the plate from the tiled table, ”but its my only gate to the past”. The thing is that he does it so often, remembers. And its frequency increases by the passing of the years. First it was the hot chile peppers, because he needed to prove that he was Mexican. Then fashion brought ancient tortillas to this unholy part of the Roman Empire, then globalization stepped in. So know he buys those canned beans every now and then and engages in those memory rituals. Like and Aztec sacrificing the present for the glory of the Gods of the past.

A mi me parece que el español es una cuestión elitista, por ejemplo, esta mañana, en camino a esta terminal, que graciosamente los españoles le llaman ”ordenador” me di cuenta que es, desde mi punto de vista mexicano, muy huraño.

Los ingleses procuran su idioma por medio de accesibilidad. Hay acceso, hay relatos sobre sus palabras y aunque todos los diccionarios se parezcan, el español, a mi parecer, reniega a ser estudiado. Más bien creo que es por la pobreza, son muy pocos los que pueden o tienen medios para comprarse diccionarios. Y no se diga de etimologí­a. El sueco es un poco igual, sus diccionarios carecen de orden histórico, quizá sea por eso que el inglés me llame mucho más la atención ya que le encuentro entretenido el saber el origen de las palabras. Y no es que no existan los diccionarios en los idiomas mencionados , si no que la accesibilidad es mucho más fácil en los diccionarios anglosajones que en los castellanos o suecos.

Aunque claro, el español vivo, el de habla, el que se oye en las calles es mucho más mejor que el inglés o el sueco, se escucha vida en él. Mientras que el inglés y el sueco me parecen más un alarde, no le encuentro ese tono de alegrí­a en ellos, aunque eso no quiere decir que no lo haiga, para nada.

He does it.

But he does it because he misses those things which bring back to memory those very things which he is far from. I’ve always argued that there isn’t a most fervent nationalist than he or she who is an ex-pat.

So he sits there in the kitchen and makes food that he used to eat at home. ”It’s incredible”, he says, slurping and whiffing the warm beans, ”how these smells bring a comfort to this solace. At times it seems that I eat them only because I want home again” I don’t know what he did most, smell or eat, ”Qué ricos!” How delicious!, he said, looking satisfied.

I told to him that it was a lachrymose orgasm. Turning around, looking at my eyes, he said ” could be” lifting the plate from the tiled table, ”but its my only gate to the past”. The thing is that he does it so often, remembers. And its frecuency increases by the passing of the years. First it was the hot chile peppers, because he needed to prove that he was mexican. Then fashion brought ancient tortillas to this unholy part of the Roman Empire, then globalization stepped in. So know he buys those canned beans every now and then and engages in those memory rituals.

Like and Aztec sacrificing the present for the glory of the Gods of the past.

Lo curioso: no me canso de escribir, pero creo que es importante hacerlo pues me he dado cuenta de una cosa. Necesito utilizar diariamente mis tres idiomas. Lo que se me dificulta puesto que en casa hablo inglés y por estos dí­as solo estudio en el idioma inglés. Muy raras veces hablo español, hay veces que me encuentro con uno que otro amigo u amiga que habla español pero by far es más el inglés que hablo. Sueco lo hablo, si, en ciertas ocasiones. Esta preocupación mí­a facilita el camino hacia mucha lectura y atención de mucho medios electrónicos internet, radio, tv etc.

Marcos escribio una muy buena carta en la Jornada, me gustó mucho. Misiva