My mother is a tough Lady. She always tells us: “Don’t whine”. Uncle Joe is a CPA. We call him “Chief Joseph” to bug him. He grins: “I’m not a Nez-percé. I’m Umatilla.” I tease him: “Wasn’t your great-grandmother a Walla Walla?” My aunt works two jobs, but it doesn’t matter. (Don’t whine). Plus, they…
There is abundant literature on a long-gone race of Travellers who aledgedly roamed the universe. Complex ceremonies have been well documented: Day of the Dead, Sacred city of Tlalpan. Travellers 106 et al. Some sat idly in the street. Traveller 107. Paris. Possible representation of Quasimodo and Esmeralda. Travellers 108 &109. Sacred city of Tlalpan,…
“Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste…”. I am Peter Pumpkin. “Wilhelmina is my name. Witching is my trade…” “Oh Susanna, don’t you cry for me, I come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee…” “Thank you for the colours”, said Peter. “The turret’s a bit askew, isn’t…
When we bought the new house in the South of Mexico city, in the Tlalpan neighbourhood, there was a house nearby, entirely painted with “street art”. Motifs inspired from pre-Colombian lore. Here’s how it looked from left to right. The central figure was a red-hair tree-woman (goddess?) The scroll coming out of her mouth was…
“Garnier, have you seen Lakshmi?” “No, Doudart,” I said. “I haven’t. Who is Lakshmi?” “How can you possibly not have seen her?” Doudart asked. “She walks the compound all night. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!” “Doudart, my friend, Lakshmi is an Indian name. We’re in China, in Yunnan. Don’t you remember? This…
I saw him for the first time in Anzures. He had grey hair. Green eyes. Barely gave me a passing glance. He was coming from Leibnitz Street, crossing Gutenberg Street. I say “street”. It is more wood than street now with all the grass and trees that have grown through the asphalt. He was jogging…
My name is Catrina. Catherine? Kathryn? You can call me Kate. I dance with all. I dance with the old. I dance with the young, Alas. With the rich and the poor The mighty and the humble. I dance with Death. Dance with me. You can call me Kate. Another dancer at the Day of the…
G. had finally found a door to his size. (Montreal, June 3019). And he opened it… An old pick-up & radio was playing a Charleston. Absolutely nothing happened. Ai Weiwei expo. Mexico, 2029. “The wire” wrapped its final season. Then came the eagle, looking for the rabbit. The Chinelo dancer froze. The young girl finished her ice-cream.…
I have many names. Some call me Malaika. Others call me Malak al-mawt. Some call me Red, or the Angel of Death. Others call me Azraela. Who calls me that? Gabriella, Raphaëla, Mikaëla. We are the Angelas. Angelas? Not Angels? Yes. I ‘m afraid some things were lost in translation. Have no fear, dear Reader. We…
I am the High Lord, Red is my colour, Hatred my word, I have no honour. I am the red Lord Sweet is the song of blood Quick is my sword Slaughter, massacre and flood Are my trade. To no end, Mercy you bade. I am the last fiend. Terror is your fate Carnage my…
