{pan ducle en OXXO. for no reason.}

GoooooooooL for today: 

(because I still have a really hard time doing this.)

to write something in my blog AND PUBLISH IT

..ublish it. bulshi it. Aaand there we have it! Bullshit! 

(You see? Do you see how my brain can work sometimes?)


Now, be warned. This rambling came out in Spanish and English.  I don’t know where I was going with it, but I started talking about displacement and tumbled into Heroic Procession and some of what all that is about. The links go to a video- if you want to one incarnation of it.


Estoy cansada por ese manana y no me importa sobre cualquier dia grande.

Hoy es el dia de independencia – de nuevo. El Grito – de nuevo. Tocan las campanas – de nuevo. Pero yo no soy mexicana. No soy una gringa tampoco. Me siento como una extrana. Aqui, en San Diego, en Chicago, en Webster soy rara. 

I am diaspora from a non existent Europe. The French I would have spoken is mutating in Canada. The giant black bows I perhaps would have worn on my head are for the tourists and those special cultural occasions. 


I learned Spanish in high school instead of French because I had to choose practicality over ancestral pride. I did not have the capacity for both while juggling anxiety. 


Quiza puedo aprender frances ahora. Jej. 

Y claro que sí, puedo comunicar en espanol. Entiendo! Puedo hacerlo.

But what ever.  

                             Escribiendo no es hablando… 

Estoy atrapado dentro idiomas. A otros no me entiendan…

Entonces bailo. No hablo. Pero quien comprende me cuando bailo?


I have at least one more scheduled performance of  my collaborative piece Heroic Procession coming up in October. This project is so timely that it has grown longer legs that I expected. With politicians forgetting what year it is and saying the darnest things you ever heard, why, it’s no wonder we continue getting chances to address the masses about emigration, migration, immigration… 

Es chistoso-

Thinking of migration, my mind goes to an impressive flock. The Vikings. Boy, did they leave an impression. And for that, many people are enamored of the Vikings. But why? Why, honestly? Generational Stockholm Syndrome? 


Vikings moved about and that was- uncomfortable. In the same vein, the Mongolians moved about and that was- also uncomfortable. 


But then, ok, so, Mexicans, El Salvadorians, Guatemalans, Syrians… moving about are worse some how? They are thieving, murdering, disease ridden, rapists some how? All of them? People struggling away from poverty, violence, no opportunities and no education are going to do what? Make your food at your favorite restaurant? Clean some floors? They are going to destroy the cotton fabric of a society that was picked by the hands of the impoverished?


If you come humbly to prune topiaries and build houses (and railroads, at one time) you are worse than organized gangs of hooligans who steal offerings from your churches and livestock from your land?

You can respect force, but not humility? And America is a ‘Christian’ culture? Really? 

Suddenly there are so many question marks on the page. Because I have so many questions! So many things do not make sense.

When it comes to emi- immi- mi- gration, you can have what ever opinions you want. Just remember people change,  culture changes,  laws change. And change is not a thing to be capital lettered, boldfaced FEARED.

Miro al mundo, mis ojos ven infantilismo. La ignorancia. 

Me cierro la boca en frustration. Bailo.

Published by AserehT tm

Make good art. Or else.