Monday, December 10, 2012

Ghost Hunting at San Pasqual Battlefield


Soundtrack to listen to while reading this spectral tale:



On my way to the San Diego Wild Animal Park this Sunday, I took a detour to stop and visit some ghosts.


The “San Pasqual Battlefield” is one of the dozens of spots around San Diego County that are purported to be haunted. Ghost lore from around the world suggests that places which have seen suffering, emotional anguish, bloodshed, and pain are especially prone to the phenomenon we call a “haunting”.

If this is the case, San Pasqual is a prime candidate.

Monday, November 19, 2012

En Busca de los Chaneques: "¿Acaso son Espantos?"

[La segunda instalación en mi serie de ensayos sobre los míticos chaneques...]


“Mi amiga me dice que hay una casa aquí en Ensenada, no muy lejos de esta colonia.

En esa casa espantan. Entras a la casa de día y no ves nada. Puedes cerrar la casa bien, cerrar las ventanas, las puertas, encerrarte bien allá adentro de la casa. Pero no importa—siempre aparecen los chaneques allá adentro de la casa. Es que ellos siempre están allá adentro. Si te quedas en esa casa de noche, se te van a figurar. Se te vean a aparecer los chaneques—esos duendes chiquitos que van corriendo por la casa. Tú los vas a ver si te quedas allá adentro toda la noche—o los verás, o oirás las pisadas de sus pequeños pies. Van corriendo por la casa toda la noche.

Dicen que la casa está a un lado del panteón. Yo creo que es por eso que espantan en esa casa…”
-Habitante de la Colonia 89 de Ensenada, B.C.


Les aseguro que, hasta la fecha, no me atrevo a entrar a la casa que se menciona arriba. Algún día les juro que lo haré—y en cuanto lo haga, publicaré un texto al respecto.

No es que crea precisamente que podría ver algo—es que creo en la posibilidad de ver algo. Y lo que más miedo me da es la posibilidad de toparme con algo que no se limite a las leyes de este mundo físico. Toparme con un fenómeno que pueda superar cualquier frontera material para espantarme es una posibilidad que me parece sumamente tenebrosa.


Friday, November 9, 2012

Entre la Violencia y la Ceguera: entrevista con Regina José Galindo

Una entrevista con Regina José Galindo, artista y poeta guatemalteca, que realicé en la ciudad de Antigua, Guatemala, en septiembre del 2012. 

Esta revista se publicó en octubre 2012 en la revista mexicana, "Agoraspeed". 
Publicación original:
http://agoraspeed.org/boletin_5/boletin_5.html  (en flip page)
http://agoraspeed.org/pdfs/agora_speed_bole_No_5_pag_ch.pdf (para descarga en pdf)

(Fotografías cortesía de Prometeo Gallery di Ida Pisani, Milán, Italia.) 

- - - -





El primer lunes de septiembre 2012, fui a Antigua, Guatemala para entrevistarme con la poeta, pintora y artista de performance, Regina José Galindo. Esa misma semana en el periódico guatemalteco Prensa Libre, salió una nota sobre tres pandilleras adolescentes que habían matado y desmembrado a una mujer de 38 años y a sus dos pequeñas hijas. En la misma edición del diario, se informa que una niña de tres años fue acuchillada en el cuello. Otra niña de la misma edad fue matada a golpes…y mordidas.

Las obras de Regina José Galindo hacen frente a esta violencia brutal, abrumadora, espeluznante, que se ha vuelto tan común y cotidiana en la sociedad guatemalteca hoy en día. A veces con obras de performance de singular contundencia, a veces con poemas, a veces con obras plásticas de carácter sutil, la artista reflexiona sobre la violencia. La representa, la asume en su propio cuerpo, a menudo de manera drástica. Con “Himenoplastia”, la artista se somete a una cirugía para reconstruirse el himen. En “Looting”, altera la forma de sus dientes de manera permanente con perforaciones. En otras obras se somete a la tortura de “waterboarding”, ingiere sustancias tóxicas, se permite golpear, deja que le agarren el cabello y la arrastren por el piso del museo. Asume, de manera personal y casi cristológica, el sufrimiento de la humanidad.



Monday, October 22, 2012

Chaneques en la Baja California


“Yo iba manejando por la carretera en el Estado de Puebla, de noche, cuando hice parada debajo de un puente. De repente aparecieron decenas de seres pequeños; salieron de las sombras. Yo los vi claramente a través del parabrisas. Comenzaron a brincar sobre mi coche, riéndose como locos. Al otro día vimos que el vehículo todavía traía las marcas de sus pies diminutos…”

* * * *
“Crecí en un pueblo pequeño, por la Costa Chica de Oaxaca. De niña, vi los chaneques en varias ocasiones. Una vez iba caminando al lado del río con mi hermana menor y oímos unas voces extrañas; estaban hablando en una lengua desconocida para nosotras. Miramos hacia la orilla del río y vimos dos chaneques—una hembra y un varón—sentados en el suelo, platicando entre sí. Me dio mucho miedo, pues sabía que esos animales hacen maldad. Entonces agarré una piedra, la bendije en el nombre de la Virgen, y se la aventé a los chaneques para espantarlos…”


Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Really, Oliver Stone?? A movie review of "Savages"

“I have seen much of the rest of the world. It is brutal and cruel and dark. Rome is the light.”

-Maximus Aurelius, Gladiator




North American drug dealers are noble, altruistic men with chiseled abs and beautiful hair. They develop personal relationships with the ill people who need their medical marijuana. They spend their free time setting up water purification systems in sub-Saharan Africa. They are sensitive souls, pained by the violence implicit in their trade.

Mexican drug dealers are brutal sadists who torture people, rape women, set men on fire, and chop civilians’ heads off.

At least, this is what Oliver Stone’s film Savages would have us believe. 


Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Cannibals and Savages: Racism and images of Haiti




A link to one of my latest articles published, in a Canadian magazine titled "Canadian Dimension". A discussion of racism in perceptions of Haiti, framed through my personal encounter with a dickhole missionary.

http://canadiandimension.com/articles/4879/

Cannibals and Savages: Racism and images of Haiti

“…the black man in his own home is a barbarian and a beast…when emancipated and removed from the crushing competition of a superior race he…descends step by step down to the original depths of his ignorant and savage instincts…” - The New Orleans Bee, 1861.[1]

A Dark Country

The passengers in the Miami airport terminal had self-segregated, the Haitians occupying one end of the room while various groups of foreign volunteers and church workers congregated at the opposite end. The largest group of missionaries, apparently from the Midwestern United States, wore matching powder-blue t-shirts which fit snugly across the flabby breasts of the men and women in the group...

CLICK HERE TO READ ENTIRE ARTICLE

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Friday, September 7, 2012

It's Dangerous Over There

Before I left San Diego, California for Tijuana, Mexico, a San Diegan friend warned me: "Be careful, David. It's dangerous in Mexico."
I smiled at him.
"No, I'm serious, David. Be careful. Mexico isn't safe. Trust me, I know."
This is a friend who has spent a total of one weekend of his life in the Republic of Mexico, in a resort hotel in Puerto Vallarta.

* * * *

As I was on my way to the Tijuana International Airport, the taxi driver asked where I was headed. "Mexico City?" he said, incredulous. "Man, you better watch your back there. Mexico City is a dangerous place. Lots of crime."

* * * *

I had coffee with a friend in Mexico City. When she heard I was headed to Oaxaca, southern Mexico, she told me a few anecdotes from friends who ran into some trouble. "Don't travel at night, and be on your guard," she warned me. "Oaxaca isn't safe like Mexico City."

* * * *

Once I reached Chiapas, at the southern tip of Mexico, multiple locals warned me about crossing the border into Guatemala. "Things are really violent in Guatemala," they told me. "Don't go out at night, don't talk to anybody, stick to the tourist areas. And don't even think about going into Guatemala City, the capitol. That country is very dangerous."

* * * *

I'm leaving for Nicaragua tomorrow. The bus will cross through El Salvador. Some Guatemalan friends have told me, "El Salvador is dangerous. Be careful, David."

* * * *

I can only imagine that this pattern would continue, ad infinitum, if I were to continue traveling southward. Nicaraguans would warn me about Costa Rica, Costa Ricans would warn me about Panama, and so on and so forth, until I reached the tip of Patagonia, where the Chilean locals would warn me:

"Don't even think about crossing over into Antarctica. The penguins will rob you and stab you."

Monday, January 23, 2012

Mistaken Identity

Feodor was walking through the forest, when he was suddenly overcome with a terrible thirst. He searched the woods for some source of water, looking for some creek, mountain stream or well…
Suddenly, Feodor happened upon a small butterfly sitting on a rock.
“Well look at that,” he exclaimed. “A refreshing mountain spring! Why, I’ve been looking all over for a drink of water. What a refreshing, beautiful sight!”
The butterfly, pleased at the attention she was receiving, smiled and looked up at Feodor. “I know, right? I mean, look at my wings, they’re, like, the most beautiful wings ever!”

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Diálogo en el Bosque

Iba Filiberto caminando por el bosque, y tenía mucha sed. Caminó por todos lados, buscando algún arroyo, pozo, río, alguna fuente de agua…
De repente encontró a una mariposa sentada sobre una piedra.
“¡Por fin, he encontrado un manantial! ¡Qué cosa más hermosa!” exclamó Filiberto.
La mariposa respondió con agrado. “Gracias, señor,” le dijo. “Ya sé, tengo unas alitas bien bonitas, ¿qué no? Son de pelos, ¿no crees?”

Friday, January 6, 2012

Escaping Christmas

I thought I would escape from the saccharine glee of gringo Christmas traditions by heading deep into Mexico for the holidays.
No such luck.
In the town of Tequila, Jalisco, birthplace of the intoxicating liquor, the hotel TV played non-stop Hollywood films about the joy of the season. With a Spanish overdub, Tim Allen’s soul is somehow redeemed because he learns to derive happiness from decorating his house with an eight foot tall snowman. While the actors who lend their voices to Tim Allen and Dan Akroyd in ¡Una Navidad de Locos! are Mexican, they lend no touch of Mexican realism to the gumdrop-and-sugar-cane film. It’s still dripping with amphetaminic cheer…just like every other U.S. made program that appears on the television this month.
Santa Claus haunts the markets of even the smallest towns of Central Mexico, threatening to overtake and swallow whole the manger scenes that sit in his obese shadow.