Bought at a garage sale for a total of $9
forgive me father
This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
There needs to be a film about Batwoman, with Renee Montoya. Renee could be played by Rosario Dawson or Michelle Rodriguez and then I would just die. I am about to die thinking about it.
Who would play Kat Kane though?
Professor: Think back to that girl in high school who dressed like I do, probably had short hair - what did people think of her?
Me: I hope she’s gay and will go out with me.
I really had three girls (all friends with each other) in mind who were a year (or two) above me in high school.
HEY GIRL.
It is not perfume
you left behind -
on pillows,
on bedsheets
or the sort of scent described
in songs about broken hearts.
It is the dust and lint of the laundry room,
the detergent,
the dryer sheets
that lingered on your cotton T-shirts
that I inhaled
head on your chest
legs across the sofa
the flickering light of the TV set -
it is all that I’ve left of you.
I wish I were this donut so that I could say I had Tony Stark inside of me.
‘Do you ever, like, meet people who use Internet Explorer?’
‘Dude!’
‘Oh my God!’
I miss having women around me.
No, no estoy feliz.
I don’t want this to be the standard to which my body is held in order for women around here (in Southern California) to like me.
In the 1980s and 1990s when I was growing up in Long Beach, in my Catholic school, it was frequent that my peers’ surnames were Gonzalez, Alvarez, Rodriguez, Perez, Ramirez, etc. The Southern California landscape blends in with that of Northern Mexico, the titles of our cities and roads eflect Spanish colonization, Catholic missions have been preserved, and even today I can see an English speaking non-Latino turning to a woman and jokingly calling her ‘cochina.’
It is for these reasons, growing up in areas clearly coloured by a Spanish colonial history, it is nearly impossible for me to comprehend how I am not to understand my reality as a Latin American one, how I am not to understand my area - Los Angeles - as a part of what we call ‘Latin America.’ It was in only in the 1930s that Americans living in California (we might call them ‘Chican@s’ now) were repatriated to Mexico. That these people were mistaken for Mexican immigrants and moved from their areas within California should indicate how federal borders are not necessarily cultural ones.
What started me on this track was a recent call for photography submissions for a ‘Latin America’ issue that is a joint project by FStop Magazine & Fostazo:
In collaboration with fototazo, issue #54 will focus on contemporary photography in Latin America; submissions are open to all images made in the region. The selected photographs will be exhibited on F-Stop Magazine as well as on fototazo.com.
Looking at this submission guideline might be fully intelligible to someone else, but for me I have to ask ‘What is the Latin American region?’ Does this mean that if I travel to the US-Mexico border with my SLR and shoot photographs while standing in the US, but with my lens pointed at Mexico, that the photographs are of Latin America and if a Mexican photographer is aiming a camera in my direction that what is photographed is not just the US but specifically ‘not Latin America’? Does the same border problem occur between the Dominican Republic and Haiti or is Haiti collapsed into Latin America? Where does Puerto Rico, a territory (or ‘associated state’) of the US, fall in the definition of the ‘Latin American region’?
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