Monday, July 07, 2014

my status is Palestine


My status is Palestine
There are no walls between our lands, our skins, our hearts
Palestine is the horizon of humanity
I am Palestine
I am nomad on the longest walk to return to her
Palestine: either we are all free or we are all fucked.
Hold my hand
Hold my body
Hold my head
Hold my tears
From your bed to the workplace
From the long-distance phone calls to your voice
Hold me Palestine
Her first name is love
Her last name is peace
She will hold me
For she is Palestine
The land is Palestine
The sea is Palestine
The sky is Palestine
The moon is Palestine
The sun is Palestine
And

wherever I stand
wherever I dream
wherever I cry
wherever I love
wherever I live and die
Palestine

My status, write it down, is Palestine ...

Sunday, July 06, 2014

ABC's Palestine Free Free Free!


Amantes Yes
apartheid no
Beauty Yes
border walls no
Collective Tenderness Yes
collective punishment no
Democracy Yes
dictatorship no
Equality Yes
expulsions no
Freedom yes
fascism no
Gaza Yes
garrisons no
Hugs Yes
hate no
Intifada Yes
identity cards no
Justice Yes
jackals no
Keffiyehs Yes
kkkisraelis no
Land Yes
landlords no
Mohammed Abu Khudeir Yes
military murderer-monsters no
Nectar Yes
nakba no
Orgasms Yes
occupation no
Palestine Yes
police-state no
Qasidas Yes
qualudes no
Return Yes
racism no
Solidarity soul Yes
settlers no
Tierra أرض Yes
takers no
Uprisings Yes
Untrammeled people Yes
Victory Yes
victims no
Water Yes
weapons no
X of the heart Yes
x of the barbed-wire no
Yearning Yes
Y of the arms open to embraces Yes
Y of the Palestinian flag fluttering in my veins Yes
Zhrah Yes
Zatoon Yes
Zahra Yes
Palestine free yes...

Saturday, May 17, 2014

arnoldo garcía: soledades



















I cannot possess you
anymore than you can possess
the wind, the water, the land
And I will never possess you or the land
Yet all I want is to be buried in you
So that you can possess me
Turning me into
a flurry of wind
dust across your watery back
a muddy caress of your feet...


Wednesday, May 14, 2014

arnoldo garcia: I want to share the moon with you...



















I want to share the moon with you...
holy bread
pale burnt tortilla
pock-marked face
rotting mirror
antarctic slip
wounded smile
loudspeaker of suns
disposable tambourine
frying cymbal
griddled plane
ingestable hands

I want to cut my wrists with the moon...
so all the oceans will come gushing out
becoming impotent crayons and a scar of dark matter
on either tear ducts of your sex

I want to become the moon
transplanet
translucent serpent
transitive kiss
fugitive son
the library of all memories
a bed of erotic servitude
a coyote of sadness
a minstrellated lung
the cyclical war
of time and menses

I give you the moon
a pact of dusks to hold you
an endless unforgetting
shells, caracoles, topographies of soul
my effigy-tongue
to burn as an offering to castigate the men

I make you the moon
a quilt of contradictions
a multilingual kiss
where the sun snipped
the umbilical chord of swallows
drowning your grief with her laughter
strumming the curves of the water
the clan of your eclipse
putting down the rabid sun
the reader of my calloused palms



Wednesday, May 07, 2014

Rebellions | 7 mayo | may 7

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it's right to rebel. -- mao

















my eyes are rebelling
they're tired of seeing for me
they want to see for themselves
they want to see the sun, become the sun unblinding explosions
my eyes say let your brain see in the night without us
you'll appreciate your knees more as a penitent for light.
My ears are joining the rebellion, too.
they're tired of hearing the blues
they're tired of hearing your scratchy voice beat on my drums
they're tired of listening for the ecstasy of your shadow
so my ears just hiss and hiss
Singing a static song out of a B natural note
they scrape the note over and over until the their hissing drives me crazy
and all i can hear is what you said to me the other night
the hissing becomes a womb
gestating the noisiest web of musics, embraces, cries...
my eyes will impose their dictatorship of darkness
my ears their military junta of airlessness
my soul retreats to organize a guerrilla, a little war, in the mountains of my heart and lungs...



Saturday, May 03, 2014

Golondrinagrafía * 2 de mayo | may 2 | *

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La golondrina bebe
las lágrimas de la mujer herida
La curandera la piensa,
la sueña,
la frota de plantitas y oraciones, llantos y colores
Ella ahoga su plumaje
en la menstruación inalámbrica
de la ternura

Su cuerpo bramido
parte soles
para destruir a los soldados
que hicieron guerras contra su horizonte

Golondrina labios acurrucados
vuela a los míos
Tu boca sobre la mia, golondrina
Tus labios, golondrina,
desdoblandose sobre los míos
Se mezclan, se entretejen y haces el nido de nuestra salvación

Golondrina ya bebe de mis lágrimas
Para qué ella descanse
en tu vuelo
sobre tu espalda negrita …



Thursday, May 01, 2014

Primero de Mayo | May 1 | the international movement

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The working class
That international beast of capitalist burden
Used to count the light, the wrinkled skin of stars and cosmos
Now we’re trapped in the industrial smokestack's web of disaster
We used to be Indians, most of us at least.
We donned silk-screened t-shirts with the crocodile trademark over our huipiles
We interspersed the language of money in the crust of our souls,
Banning the sun from the count of human time.

We are in trouble:
Are we workers or are we humans
Are we sons and daughters of the land or is the land dispossessed of the dispossessed
Are we on street-corners waiting for work or are we on the cosmic pilgrimage
to honor Lucy, our first mother, returning the first kiss with the first humanity to be

Dos



Veinte girasoles
Veinte fuerzas
Veinte vientos, polvos, criaturas. aguas, animalitos, hormiguitas, abrazos, veinte maneras de amarte y hacerte el amor
Hoy es el primer día
Nace de mi bravura verde
Con su hocico se traga el dolor, dejando un arcoiris de cicatriz
Después de él nos barre el viento
Nos autogestamos en nuestras casas
Los sueños emergen de nuestro plumaje
La muerte nos arrulla
El venadito vuela
El lunar del conejito cuelga de tus oidos, arêtes astrales
El agua siempre nos bendice ancestros y recien nacidos
Los chiquillos correnm nos aman incondicionalmente, ladran sus corazones
Luego se trepan en la copa del cielo y mis changuitos cantan con las estrellas
Luego la mujer de la tierra, del lodo, de las raíces humanas nos mece entre sus brazos acuáticos
Ella construye una flauta de carrillo que hostiga a los sentidos de los conquistadores.
El ocelote carga los astros de la noche sobre su piel, su ofrenda humana a la naturaleza
que es arrebatada por el águila de la luz.
Luego mi abuelito me recuerda que el aura volará siete veces traspasando el cadaver de los explotadores.


Todas las vida y las luchas empiezan y terminan en el movimiento:
La materia visible e invisible
baila, gira, se tuerce y retuerce en el ombligo del pozo negro,
la cúmbia cósmica del big bang.
Llegando a esta aurora, la tierra exige un ofrenda
Tienes que decidir que parte de tu cuerpo sacrificarás para que la luz no muera.
La lluvia explota con su rabia pura, nos baña con su cristalina voz
De ella brotan nuestros cantos, el éxtasis de estar a tu lado…


Tres














Cipactli
Ehecatl
Calli
Cuetzpalli
Coatl
Miquiztli
Mazatl
Tochtli
Atl
Itzcuintli
Ozomatli
Malinalli
Acatl
Ocelotl
Cuauhtli
Cozcacuauhtli
Ollin
Tecpatl
Quiahuitl
Xochitl
así
es la cuenta
de nuestras derrotas
así
es el tiempo
de nuestras esperanzas
son los días donde nos estremecíamos en las fogatas de la luna
y en los brazos del sol negro.
Todos las noches y los días son sagrados
Hay noches cuando nuestros sacrificios son impuestos
Hay días cuando la explotación cava tumbas en nuestros pechos
Han habido ya más de siete generaciones aguantando, resistiendo
y sacrificándose para parir al nuevo sol…