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…
Super quake, Saint Tremor, King Tremor, Great Earthfreak. Riftmaker. Great splitter, terror of the Cuauhtémoc Earthly indigestion, urban rattle. Thirty years ago, in Eighty-five, From Acapulco to the District We felt your fury, O King of the Quakes. Today along the city streets Between car and tortilla fumes, The rumour spreads in…
“Morning Scotty. Morning everyone. Apa kabar?” “Morning Captain. What news ? Not good, I’m afraid. Just got a report on a possible alien hydrant invasion in Asia.” “Bad news indeed. What is the source?” “Our agent in Kuala Lumpur, Captain.” “Stéphanie Lung? She IS our best agent in the region. What evidence did she send?” “A…
An old dilapidated 19th century house at the end of an unkempt garden. The door was open. To an uncanny display. I was expecting yet another series of altars to the dead such as the one above. Or an offering of corn, arranged on volcanic earth, framed by flowers. (Stage right) Or, stage left, a…
