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Hi, I'm Dani. Everything here is off-the-cuff and unpolished, mostly meandering little thoughts, so I don't live and die by any of it and everything is open to discussion at all times. At the moment this is sort of functioning as a personal journal with some creative writing of different sorts thrown in, and also a space to crosspost fanfiction from ao3 (for redundancy reasons). Many of the things I post will be political in nature, probably in a way that is unpalatable to a lot of people just by virtue of who I am as a person (which is to say, a latinoamerican marxist) so quite frankly if I followed you for fandom stuff I am really not offended if you decide this isn't your thing.
Some things I post will be in Spanish, not because I don't want non-Spanish-speakers to read it but because it's simply a more comfortable language to express those specific thoughts; I suppose if someone was interested enough to ask for a translation I'd probably provide it.
In terms of fandom, I have been writing fanfiction for Star Wars, Andor, Death Note, Jujutsu Kaisen, Fullmetal Alchemist for the most part, but also Severance, Disco Elysium, Star Trek and a couple of other things. I have many other non-fandom interests, which include contact sports, music, BDSM, non-fanfic writing and politics (as I mentioned I am a communist in real life not online).
Permissions statement: Do whatever you want forever. I reject the private ownership of anything I've ever created. If it's shared it belongs to the world, which includes me and you in the exact same measure. "What if I want to-" Yes. Even that.
You can find me on ao3, tumblr and twitter.
Este libro, que salió hace poco, es la memoria en vida de Rosita Silva, activista chilena de los DDHH, y recuenta su historia personal como también su historia política en el movimiento de los DDHH. El material histórico que contiene el libro, tanto en lo que es el relato de Rosita como en artículos y fotos, es de alto valor, y además me pareció muy sólido el punto de crítica y denuncia que mantiene en todo momento Rosita. El libro es incisivo, duro, crítico, sin nunca ser demasiado pesado de leer, y plasma muy bien la visión de su autora.
Es, además, uno de esos libros que uno lee y renuevan la convicción política por la militancia como camino, pues eso es justamente lo que demuestra haber vivido su autora. Por otro lado, también me gustó mucho la prosa, se siente casi como escuchar un relato oral, es fácil de leer sin dejar de lado ideas complejas, y narra lo interpersonal y lo emocional en conjunto con lo político y lo histórico. En general, me gustó mucho y lo recomendaría.
Es, además, uno de esos libros que uno lee y renuevan la convicción política por la militancia como camino, pues eso es justamente lo que demuestra haber vivido su autora. Por otro lado, también me gustó mucho la prosa, se siente casi como escuchar un relato oral, es fácil de leer sin dejar de lado ideas complejas, y narra lo interpersonal y lo emocional en conjunto con lo político y lo histórico. En general, me gustó mucho y lo recomendaría.
Booklog: sagrado corazón by ester reyes
Apr. 17th, 2025 11:04 amEste libro de a penas 80 páginas es una joya. Realmente, la prosa tiene un estilo que no pude evitar intentar imitar inmediatamente al terminar de leerlo. Contiene un amor por el campo, por las mujeres que protagonizan el cuento, por la tierra donde sucede, por el dolor y por la alegría, por toda la emocionalidad y por todo el paisaje, que realmente me llega a impresionar y a conmocionar. Está escrito en minúscula, y la única puntuación que utiliza es el punto simple, no lleva comas, ni marcadores de diálogo, nada. Además, alterna entre la perspectiva de tres personajes, por lo que requiere la plena atención del lector para ser absorvido, cosa que solo aporta a la profundidad de las sensaciones a las que conlleva.
La trama del libro es sobre un convento, donde un día una de las monjas encuentra a una mujer moribunda afuera de sus puertas. Las monjas permiten que la mujer permanezca en el recinto, y el libro retrata principalmente como evolucionan las relaciones entre la mujer, la monja que la encuentra, y la madre superiora. Trata todos estos vínculos con un amor, cariño y profundidad que sorprenden y conmueven. Además, resalta la importancia de los vínculos entre mujeres, y la profundidad de la crueldad de los hombres que las han violentado y las continúan violentando, sin hacer de ello un espectáculo, sinoq ue poniendo a las mujeres en el centro de la reflexión como la principal agente en su vida. El tono del libro es uno de tragedia, desde un inicio deja con la sensación de que la historia terminará mal, pero eso no lo hace menos desgarrador cuando cumple su palabra.
sagrado corazón es una excelente lectura que sin dudas tendré que volver a visitar.
La trama del libro es sobre un convento, donde un día una de las monjas encuentra a una mujer moribunda afuera de sus puertas. Las monjas permiten que la mujer permanezca en el recinto, y el libro retrata principalmente como evolucionan las relaciones entre la mujer, la monja que la encuentra, y la madre superiora. Trata todos estos vínculos con un amor, cariño y profundidad que sorprenden y conmueven. Además, resalta la importancia de los vínculos entre mujeres, y la profundidad de la crueldad de los hombres que las han violentado y las continúan violentando, sin hacer de ello un espectáculo, sinoq ue poniendo a las mujeres en el centro de la reflexión como la principal agente en su vida. El tono del libro es uno de tragedia, desde un inicio deja con la sensación de que la historia terminará mal, pero eso no lo hace menos desgarrador cuando cumple su palabra.
sagrado corazón es una excelente lectura que sin dudas tendré que volver a visitar.
Este libro es una crónica narrada en primera persona y desde la experiencia propia por un militante del destacamento Toqui Lautaro, experimento guerrillero con resultados catastróficos (para el mismo destacamento y para la estrategia guerrillera del MIR en dictadura). Por el sólo hecho de narrar estos acontecimientos desde la experiencia, ya es un testimonio valioso de leer. El libro hace un balance crítico de la experiencia, inlcuyendo - y esto me sorprendio - sobre como se abordó (o en muchos casos no se abordó) la problemática patriarcal en el MIR, ya sea en la guerrilla como en los espacios de masa. De hecho, antes de pasar al tema del destacamento, Jorge da paso a que su hermana Ida también narre su experiencia como mujer militante del MIR en Neltume, además por supuesto de un análisis estratégico de los problemas que hubo en el MIR y que conducieron al resultado final de la guerrilla.
Es un libro que hace que a uno se le retuerza la guata al leer, por el mero hecho de saber a grandes razgos como termina la historia. Hay un dejo de tragedia o melancolía en la narración, que sin embargo nunca pierde su fuerza ni su esperanza, aún al recontar algunos de los momentos más difíciles que vivió el autor. Por lo demás, las partes refirientes al destacamento son emocionantes de leer, llegan a ser entretenidas dentro de lo trágico. Sin embargo, hay muchos problemas en la edición del libro que dificultan la lectura - varias faltas de tipeo, errores de puntuación o de ortografía, etc, pero tambie´n información que se repite en distintas secciones y que se podría haber omitido en algunos casos.
Sin embargo, a pesar de todo, no puedo dejar de recomendarlo por el valor histórico que aporta, y lo mucho que sentí al leerlo.
Es un libro que hace que a uno se le retuerza la guata al leer, por el mero hecho de saber a grandes razgos como termina la historia. Hay un dejo de tragedia o melancolía en la narración, que sin embargo nunca pierde su fuerza ni su esperanza, aún al recontar algunos de los momentos más difíciles que vivió el autor. Por lo demás, las partes refirientes al destacamento son emocionantes de leer, llegan a ser entretenidas dentro de lo trágico. Sin embargo, hay muchos problemas en la edición del libro que dificultan la lectura - varias faltas de tipeo, errores de puntuación o de ortografía, etc, pero tambie´n información que se repite en distintas secciones y que se podría haber omitido en algunos casos.
Sin embargo, a pesar de todo, no puedo dejar de recomendarlo por el valor histórico que aporta, y lo mucho que sentí al leerlo.
Booklog: Conclave by Robert Harris
Mar. 15th, 2025 10:47 amI read this book with a friend after we'd both watched the movie! I actually finished it a few weeks ago and just forgot to post, haha. In general I thought the book was a very fun and quick read, very tense and excitign exactly where it needed to be but never very complicated. One thing to know about me is that I hate the Catholic Church, and this book is very much about one of their funniest rituals, which is the election of a pope. I didn't really expect it to reckon with the church's horrible history or anything, but it is interesting that it touched on those things, usually briefly and superficially. Now, the POV character is himself a cardinal, so it makes sense that he would barely skim the surface of these "scandals" (you know, rape and pedophilia and general corruption), but it still felt strange. The book itself seems much more fascinated by the strangeness and mystery of a conclave than anything else, though, so I wasn't exactly expecting a critical read.
The other thing is that the POV character is very fun to read. He's extremely repressed as one might expect, so learning to read him and read between what he actually writes is a very fun and engaging experience. Honestly, this is a book that's a lot more fun to read if you're predisposed to be wearing fujoshi goggles while doing so, because Lomeli's narration really is fertile ground for it. He's a ball of stress and anxiety who spends his entire time running away from making any decisions at all and hoping nobody even looks at him, except until everything comes to a head and he has to act.
Tension's great, pretty funpace and prose. Solid thing to be reading while at the beach, in my opinion.
The other thing is that the POV character is very fun to read. He's extremely repressed as one might expect, so learning to read him and read between what he actually writes is a very fun and engaging experience. Honestly, this is a book that's a lot more fun to read if you're predisposed to be wearing fujoshi goggles while doing so, because Lomeli's narration really is fertile ground for it. He's a ball of stress and anxiety who spends his entire time running away from making any decisions at all and hoping nobody even looks at him, except until everything comes to a head and he has to act.
Tension's great, pretty funpace and prose. Solid thing to be reading while at the beach, in my opinion.
Interesante recopilación de traducciones de material publicado por 工潮. Si bien la mayoría de los textos datan desde antes del año 2020, se puede aprender sobre la forma y composición de la lucha de clases en China en las primeras décadas del siglo XIX. En particular, me llamó la atención la discusión sobre trabajadorxs migrantes (migrantes internxs según el sistema 户口 que amarra el acceso a servicios sociales al lugar de registro del hogar) y las huelgas en Foxconn y otros gigantes tecnológicos que se dieron al principio de los 2010.
También me pareció atinado incluir un texto sobre la experiencia de las mujeres y las fluctuaciones que las trabajadoras han visto en sus vidas tras los cambios en el sistema económico chino, sin embargo me pareció que ese texto en particular se habría beneficiado de mayor explicación de algunos contextos (no me quedó claro, por ejemplo, lo que es un 单位 y como este funciona). De todos modos, una buena lectura para comprender la lucha de clases en un país que se dice socialista.
También me pareció atinado incluir un texto sobre la experiencia de las mujeres y las fluctuaciones que las trabajadoras han visto en sus vidas tras los cambios en el sistema económico chino, sin embargo me pareció que ese texto en particular se habría beneficiado de mayor explicación de algunos contextos (no me quedó claro, por ejemplo, lo que es un 单位 y como este funciona). De todos modos, una buena lectura para comprender la lucha de clases en un país que se dice socialista.
Es una recopilación de textos seleccionados de Hector Llaitul, escritos durante su actual estadía en las cárceles chilenas. Incluye textos escritos directamente por él, pero también entrevistas a medios de comunicaciones u otros grupos, y por lo mismo la mayoría de los textos del libro (a excepción del uno o dos de ellos) pueden ser encontrados fácilmente en internet con acceso liberado. Sin embargo, no quita de ser interesante y útil tenerlos todos en un mismo libro, y también destaco el prólogo de Igor Goicovic como una buena contextualización para estos mismos.
El análisis y caracterización del período que hace Llaitul me parece acertado, sobre todo en lo que respecta a sonar la alarma de los tratos mafiosos de las forestales y las alianzas nefastas Capital-Estado. El lenguage por lo general es simple y aborda conceptos complejos de manera abordable, pero creo que en algunas secciones sí requiere mayor contexto del lector para entender a cabalidad sus puntos.
El análisis y caracterización del período que hace Llaitul me parece acertado, sobre todo en lo que respecta a sonar la alarma de los tratos mafiosos de las forestales y las alianzas nefastas Capital-Estado. El lenguage por lo general es simple y aborda conceptos complejos de manera abordable, pero creo que en algunas secciones sí requiere mayor contexto del lector para entender a cabalidad sus puntos.
Trying to keep a better track of the books I've read this year, so I don't immediately forget them! I thought this might be a good use for this space. I finished reading House of Leaves at the very beginning of this year. I was reading ti in a two-person "book club", which is to say that I was reading it at the same time as a friend of mine.
Some thoughts
I liked the book generally speaking, mostly for its experiments with form and format. I thought that the experience of having to physically manipulate the book and how I was holding it was very fun, especially in public, and I thought that the blank spaces and other funky layouts often added an element to the pacing and generally contributed to the whole ambiance of the book. The one thing I really did not like about it was its treatment of female characters in general; Karen gets the brunt of this, but the rotating cast of traumatized women that Johnny sleeps with (nearly all of them are specified to be rape and/or abuse survivors, because that's the only kind of thing we can imagine happening to a woman, I suppose) was also grating.
I thought Johnny's sections were amusing, his narration and the weird things going on with him mentally added to the creepiness of the text overall. I know those sections are the controversial ones (my friend hated them), but I think they're pretty essential to the book and how you interact with it as a whole.
I absolutely loathed the ending. Bittersweet suburban white people getting married living a family life ending. Boo, yawn. Extremely boring. Karen deserved better than all that nonsense.
Some thoughts
I liked the book generally speaking, mostly for its experiments with form and format. I thought that the experience of having to physically manipulate the book and how I was holding it was very fun, especially in public, and I thought that the blank spaces and other funky layouts often added an element to the pacing and generally contributed to the whole ambiance of the book. The one thing I really did not like about it was its treatment of female characters in general; Karen gets the brunt of this, but the rotating cast of traumatized women that Johnny sleeps with (nearly all of them are specified to be rape and/or abuse survivors, because that's the only kind of thing we can imagine happening to a woman, I suppose) was also grating.
I thought Johnny's sections were amusing, his narration and the weird things going on with him mentally added to the creepiness of the text overall. I know those sections are the controversial ones (my friend hated them), but I think they're pretty essential to the book and how you interact with it as a whole.
I absolutely loathed the ending. Bittersweet suburban white people getting married living a family life ending. Boo, yawn. Extremely boring. Karen deserved better than all that nonsense.
Dear Yuletide Creator!
Oct. 15th, 2024 04:58 pmThank you so much for writing for me (or considering doing so)! I am sure I will be happy with whatever you decide to come up with, and I'm very excited to see it <3
I will probably expand on this over time, but here are some basic notions about my requests.
( Read more... )
I will probably expand on this over time, but here are some basic notions about my requests.
( Read more... )
A sharper sort of instrument
Sep. 23rd, 2024 01:02 amHello, friend.
I was in Europe recently, spending more money than I really have on a trip that started growing like a cancerous mass from the minute I bought the plane ticket. Since you (amorphous mass that is potentially an infinity of strangers on the internet, but most likely no one at all) and I are such close friends, I'll let you in on a little secret: I hated it. Not all of it, mind, I did get to see my mother and my friends M, D and Y so I can't bring myself to wholly regret it even though my bank account and the frayed ends of my nerves both clearly do. But I did, over all, simply hate it.
( Read more... )
I was in Europe recently, spending more money than I really have on a trip that started growing like a cancerous mass from the minute I bought the plane ticket. Since you (amorphous mass that is potentially an infinity of strangers on the internet, but most likely no one at all) and I are such close friends, I'll let you in on a little secret: I hated it. Not all of it, mind, I did get to see my mother and my friends M, D and Y so I can't bring myself to wholly regret it even though my bank account and the frayed ends of my nerves both clearly do. But I did, over all, simply hate it.
( Read more... )
Pulsión en pixeles
Jul. 15th, 2024 03:02 pmHola, hace tiempo no nos vemos.
Muchas veces escribo desde la pena, o cuanto menos desde un conflicto interno violento como los latidos de un corazón. Probemos otra cosa: probemos escribir desde las ganas y los nervios y el goce y la pulsión.
Entendí hace poco que uno se puede enamorar de una seguidilla de palabras en una pantalla, nada más que una serie de pixeles, es decir, impulsos eléctricos que, al estar o no, determinan una forma que se proyecta una luz por sobre la pantalla. Ya conocía la teoría, he estudiado los computadores y su funcionamiento. Hay una conexión eléctrica que hace que el pixel responda o no con una luz. Todo bien hasta ahí; lo que jamás pensé es que podría llegarme a fijar tanto en ellos, que los pixeles iluminados en un "..." que indican que una persona está escribiendo podrían ser algo que me haga palpitar el corazón y me llena de nervios las tripas.
Impulsos eléctricos, a símbolos. Símbolos al significado. Del significado a mis ojos, y de mis ojos a mis labios que se atreven, tan osados como son, a sonreír sin mi permiso. Elle me habla, nada más que por una pantalla, y no puedo evitar como mi cuerpo comienza a cantar en una ronda de placer. Incluso sin conocer su cara, ni su tono de voz, ni nada más que sus meras palabras, sentí como el deseo me atravesó desde la médula ósea hacia afuera. Un frenesí de ganas me recorrió las venas como una pastilla afuera de la disco, y sentí mi cuerpo arder. Desde ahí que nada más fue suficiente, mi ojos y mi boca y mis manos y mi mente necesitan devorar, y devorar, y devorarle. Tomaría en mis manos todo lo que esté dispueste a entregar, y haría felizmente de ello un festín.
Con timidez le sugerí que me entregara su voz, y sin mayores sospechas me la pasó delicadamente. La tomé en mis manos y la acaricié con ternura, con la ternura de alguien que no sabe si tendrá otra cosa a la cual aferrarse. Luego, tomé uuna ruta circular para llegar a lo que más necesitaba: su cara. Símbolos, símbolos, símbolos - no contienen la imagen de la persona. Pensé que, quizás, podría entender que yo esa voz y esa cara me las quería comer, y que eso le podría dar miedo y ganas de correr lejos. No lo hizo - no sé si nunca lo intuyó o si nunca tuvo miedo, pero no importa. No le dio miedo, y, es más, me siguió entregando la gracia de su imágen.
Estamos entonces jugando al límite y a la palabra. Si yo pido, con confianza y sin juicio, ¿hasta donde me permite llegar? Suena siniestro, quizás, pero no lo es. La realidad de las cosas es que aquí quien más desea, con más ganas y más fervor y más nervios en los dedos, soy yo. No es una competencia, por cierto, es solo un juego - el tira y afloje de las pulsiones. A esa masa de pixeles, que aún no es real, que aún no corresponde para mi a una piel ni a un olor ni a un gusto abajo de la lengua (que quizás incluso nunca corresponderá a ello), no me queda más que rendirle culto con mi palabra. Dejar simplemente que me brillen los ojos al mirarle, decir las estupideces que se me ocurran y reirme cuando quiera. Confiar en que los pixeles se configurarán de la forma que sea necesaria para dibujar una raya en la arena cuando elle así lo sienta. Exponerme, a pecho abierto y sin miedo, a la negación clara y rotunda del deseo - no entredichos ni entre vientos, sino frontalmente. Eso también es un regalo que me entregan los pixeles. Eso y, también, su risa.
Ya me veo soltando el miedo. Ya me veo en la simplicidad del goce del momento. No me queda más que agradercerle por estar ahí y encantarme tanto con sus impulsos eléctricos.
Muchas veces escribo desde la pena, o cuanto menos desde un conflicto interno violento como los latidos de un corazón. Probemos otra cosa: probemos escribir desde las ganas y los nervios y el goce y la pulsión.
Entendí hace poco que uno se puede enamorar de una seguidilla de palabras en una pantalla, nada más que una serie de pixeles, es decir, impulsos eléctricos que, al estar o no, determinan una forma que se proyecta una luz por sobre la pantalla. Ya conocía la teoría, he estudiado los computadores y su funcionamiento. Hay una conexión eléctrica que hace que el pixel responda o no con una luz. Todo bien hasta ahí; lo que jamás pensé es que podría llegarme a fijar tanto en ellos, que los pixeles iluminados en un "..." que indican que una persona está escribiendo podrían ser algo que me haga palpitar el corazón y me llena de nervios las tripas.
Impulsos eléctricos, a símbolos. Símbolos al significado. Del significado a mis ojos, y de mis ojos a mis labios que se atreven, tan osados como son, a sonreír sin mi permiso. Elle me habla, nada más que por una pantalla, y no puedo evitar como mi cuerpo comienza a cantar en una ronda de placer. Incluso sin conocer su cara, ni su tono de voz, ni nada más que sus meras palabras, sentí como el deseo me atravesó desde la médula ósea hacia afuera. Un frenesí de ganas me recorrió las venas como una pastilla afuera de la disco, y sentí mi cuerpo arder. Desde ahí que nada más fue suficiente, mi ojos y mi boca y mis manos y mi mente necesitan devorar, y devorar, y devorarle. Tomaría en mis manos todo lo que esté dispueste a entregar, y haría felizmente de ello un festín.
Con timidez le sugerí que me entregara su voz, y sin mayores sospechas me la pasó delicadamente. La tomé en mis manos y la acaricié con ternura, con la ternura de alguien que no sabe si tendrá otra cosa a la cual aferrarse. Luego, tomé uuna ruta circular para llegar a lo que más necesitaba: su cara. Símbolos, símbolos, símbolos - no contienen la imagen de la persona. Pensé que, quizás, podría entender que yo esa voz y esa cara me las quería comer, y que eso le podría dar miedo y ganas de correr lejos. No lo hizo - no sé si nunca lo intuyó o si nunca tuvo miedo, pero no importa. No le dio miedo, y, es más, me siguió entregando la gracia de su imágen.
Estamos entonces jugando al límite y a la palabra. Si yo pido, con confianza y sin juicio, ¿hasta donde me permite llegar? Suena siniestro, quizás, pero no lo es. La realidad de las cosas es que aquí quien más desea, con más ganas y más fervor y más nervios en los dedos, soy yo. No es una competencia, por cierto, es solo un juego - el tira y afloje de las pulsiones. A esa masa de pixeles, que aún no es real, que aún no corresponde para mi a una piel ni a un olor ni a un gusto abajo de la lengua (que quizás incluso nunca corresponderá a ello), no me queda más que rendirle culto con mi palabra. Dejar simplemente que me brillen los ojos al mirarle, decir las estupideces que se me ocurran y reirme cuando quiera. Confiar en que los pixeles se configurarán de la forma que sea necesaria para dibujar una raya en la arena cuando elle así lo sienta. Exponerme, a pecho abierto y sin miedo, a la negación clara y rotunda del deseo - no entredichos ni entre vientos, sino frontalmente. Eso también es un regalo que me entregan los pixeles. Eso y, también, su risa.
Ya me veo soltando el miedo. Ya me veo en la simplicidad del goce del momento. No me queda más que agradercerle por estar ahí y encantarme tanto con sus impulsos eléctricos.
La nausée - Jean Paul Sartre
Jun. 10th, 2024 12:13 am[I probably won't make a habit of writing in French, but I did read this book in French, so that's why this is in that language.]
Aujourd'hui j'ai términé de lire La nausée, livre que j'avais commencé à lire en février - ça fait, comme même, assez longtemps. Il m'a pris 4 mois à le lire surtout parce que j'ai trouvé que c'était difficil de rentrer dans la tête d'Antoine Roquetin, le narrateur. En effet, le livre est écrit comme le journal d'Antoine, un mec qui souffre de la nausée, une sensation qui l'envhit de temps en temps et lui fait sentir une espèce de distance de la forme des choses. Quand la nausée touche Antoine, les choses perdent leur sense et ne deviennent que des formes abstraites - c'est évidemment un mécanisme par lequel s'expriment les idées existentialistes de Sartre.
( Read more... )
Aujourd'hui j'ai términé de lire La nausée, livre que j'avais commencé à lire en février - ça fait, comme même, assez longtemps. Il m'a pris 4 mois à le lire surtout parce que j'ai trouvé que c'était difficil de rentrer dans la tête d'Antoine Roquetin, le narrateur. En effet, le livre est écrit comme le journal d'Antoine, un mec qui souffre de la nausée, une sensation qui l'envhit de temps en temps et lui fait sentir une espèce de distance de la forme des choses. Quand la nausée touche Antoine, les choses perdent leur sense et ne deviennent que des formes abstraites - c'est évidemment un mécanisme par lequel s'expriment les idées existentialistes de Sartre.
( Read more... )
Never to return!
Jun. 1st, 2024 11:06 pmAdieu, ma chérie ! Je ne serais jamais plus celle que j'étais !
[Fair warning, I think the way this is written makes it a fairly incomprehensible diary entry for people outside my head.]
Last week I was in the United States again, specifically with the purpose of unofficially attending my 5-year college graduation reunion (unofficially meaning I didn't register or attend anything, I was just hanging out on campus). This is a place I go to with... alarming regularity. I didn't go there last year, but I did go in 2022, 2021 and even 2020. I saw one of my partners, who I met in college and who still lives over there, and several of my friends. For the record I did mostly like seeing them all. I do want to say that first of all.
However, as for everything else about the trip? I hated it! It made my skin itch! There was something in the air, something that felt uncomfortable to breathe! I hated the buildings and the roads and the way people spoke and how far apart from each other they walked and I hated how much their words in my mouth sound just like them. It's summer over there and it's humid and hot and normally I love those things but I hated them, I hated them so extremely and the conclusion is inevitable and here it is, it's screaming at me from inside of my bones: To the United States of America, adieu adieu! I am never to return! A full-body allergic reaction to an entire country.
I don't know why. Surely it is a sum of things. The labyrinth of choices unfolds before me and here I am choosing the cobblestones that lead me far and away from that place, far and away from anything that those friends I made back then would expect or could even conceive of. That's one thing: the persistent feeling of un-fitness. As much as I had an allergic reaction to the United States, a puzzle piece that's missing in my brain is whispering that surely if I let myself simply be, the United States would develop a rash about me, too. But that's not the only thing. What A Ghost did last year and her callous disregard for any life outside the borders she so comfortably resides in after 8 years of friendship, must be playing its part because now I feel like I can't trust anyone from there. This was a serious conversation I had with my partner even, when I had to look her in the eye and say, after what A Ghost did, I can't trust you to think of me as a person. You understand, yes? And she did, actually, understand. But it's true, I see now people who wouldn't blink if I was sacrificed on the altar to empire, because I can see every day just how much they don't care. Outside their borders we are empty bodies. Soulless. Eyeless. You can guess of course then the third thing that might be causing this sudden onset allergy and it is of course the continuing enthusiastic participation of the United States in the occupation of Palestine. Of course, it's a country that's been complicit since day zero, in this and a million other things, this isn't new - and I think that's in itself a factor. History weighs more every year. It's just gotten too heavy. And then the very last thing is my grandfather, who swore in the 70s never to set foot there and died in March this year. Maybe I've inherited his allergy posthumously, maybe this is how my body honors his memory. Tata, you've made me allergic too. I love you.
Here is the bottom line: I cannot go there again for a long time, I think. It itches too much.
[Fair warning, I think the way this is written makes it a fairly incomprehensible diary entry for people outside my head.]
Last week I was in the United States again, specifically with the purpose of unofficially attending my 5-year college graduation reunion (unofficially meaning I didn't register or attend anything, I was just hanging out on campus). This is a place I go to with... alarming regularity. I didn't go there last year, but I did go in 2022, 2021 and even 2020. I saw one of my partners, who I met in college and who still lives over there, and several of my friends. For the record I did mostly like seeing them all. I do want to say that first of all.
However, as for everything else about the trip? I hated it! It made my skin itch! There was something in the air, something that felt uncomfortable to breathe! I hated the buildings and the roads and the way people spoke and how far apart from each other they walked and I hated how much their words in my mouth sound just like them. It's summer over there and it's humid and hot and normally I love those things but I hated them, I hated them so extremely and the conclusion is inevitable and here it is, it's screaming at me from inside of my bones: To the United States of America, adieu adieu! I am never to return! A full-body allergic reaction to an entire country.
I don't know why. Surely it is a sum of things. The labyrinth of choices unfolds before me and here I am choosing the cobblestones that lead me far and away from that place, far and away from anything that those friends I made back then would expect or could even conceive of. That's one thing: the persistent feeling of un-fitness. As much as I had an allergic reaction to the United States, a puzzle piece that's missing in my brain is whispering that surely if I let myself simply be, the United States would develop a rash about me, too. But that's not the only thing. What A Ghost did last year and her callous disregard for any life outside the borders she so comfortably resides in after 8 years of friendship, must be playing its part because now I feel like I can't trust anyone from there. This was a serious conversation I had with my partner even, when I had to look her in the eye and say, after what A Ghost did, I can't trust you to think of me as a person. You understand, yes? And she did, actually, understand. But it's true, I see now people who wouldn't blink if I was sacrificed on the altar to empire, because I can see every day just how much they don't care. Outside their borders we are empty bodies. Soulless. Eyeless. You can guess of course then the third thing that might be causing this sudden onset allergy and it is of course the continuing enthusiastic participation of the United States in the occupation of Palestine. Of course, it's a country that's been complicit since day zero, in this and a million other things, this isn't new - and I think that's in itself a factor. History weighs more every year. It's just gotten too heavy. And then the very last thing is my grandfather, who swore in the 70s never to set foot there and died in March this year. Maybe I've inherited his allergy posthumously, maybe this is how my body honors his memory. Tata, you've made me allergic too. I love you.
Here is the bottom line: I cannot go there again for a long time, I think. It itches too much.
A letter, not addressed
May. 20th, 2024 05:13 pmThis is a letter to a ghost.
Content warning for graphic descriptions of violence (drowning) and dead bodies, as well as mentions of war.
( Read more... )
Content warning for graphic descriptions of violence (drowning) and dead bodies, as well as mentions of war.
( Read more... )
Enjoyment and political violence
May. 16th, 2024 12:04 pmI had a discussion with some friends back in February while the coast was on fire. I don't live on the coast, I live in the capital, but the air was still burning red and stained with ashes for days on days. I actually made the mistake of leaving my window open one night, because the heat in my apartment was suffocating, and I woke up to the taste of smoke in my mouth in the morning. The reason for the fires is simple: razed land sells cheap, and you can't build new condos or highway concessions on native forests or inhabited areas. The reason the fires get out of control is that pine and eucalyptus monocrops, which the forestry industry uses to maximize growth and gains, are perfect kindling. In simpler terms, there is an arsonist cartel operating in favor of real estate and extractive capital; there has been for decades, their death toll numbers in the thousands.
So anyway, one of those days, shortly before a few of my friends joined a mutual aid brigade to help reconstruction efforts in the coast after the fires subsided, we were walking around the city center, and there was a poster on the wall of a supermarket that said,
"The real estate and forestry industries murder our siblings. Mutual aid, organization and vengeance!"
Vengeance, huh?
The concept rattled around in our conversation as the sun went down and the heat didn't. Is it appropriate to call for vengeance, specifically, instead of something more transcendental like justice, or something more open like direct action? Whether the poster had said "Mutual aid, organization and justice" or "Mutual aid, organization and direct action", it still would've clearly been instigating the same kind of action, the difference is the wording used to talk about it.
One of my friends was really uncomfortable with calling for vengeance in a political context (the call for vengeance as a political action is not uncommon here, but it is mostly associated with anarchism, especially with more individualistic/nihilistic/insurrectionary anarchist tendencies which aren't his thing) because something about vengeance implies a certain degree of pleasure. Joy, even. Joy in the exercise of violence. To be very clear, all of us agree on the necessity of revolutionary violence and believe that any serious revolutionary movement needs to reach a point of armed insurrection to have any chance of challenging capital, so the question is not on violence, it is on the enjoyment of violence.
( Read more... )
So anyway, one of those days, shortly before a few of my friends joined a mutual aid brigade to help reconstruction efforts in the coast after the fires subsided, we were walking around the city center, and there was a poster on the wall of a supermarket that said,
"The real estate and forestry industries murder our siblings. Mutual aid, organization and vengeance!"
Vengeance, huh?
The concept rattled around in our conversation as the sun went down and the heat didn't. Is it appropriate to call for vengeance, specifically, instead of something more transcendental like justice, or something more open like direct action? Whether the poster had said "Mutual aid, organization and justice" or "Mutual aid, organization and direct action", it still would've clearly been instigating the same kind of action, the difference is the wording used to talk about it.
One of my friends was really uncomfortable with calling for vengeance in a political context (the call for vengeance as a political action is not uncommon here, but it is mostly associated with anarchism, especially with more individualistic/nihilistic/insurrectionary anarchist tendencies which aren't his thing) because something about vengeance implies a certain degree of pleasure. Joy, even. Joy in the exercise of violence. To be very clear, all of us agree on the necessity of revolutionary violence and believe that any serious revolutionary movement needs to reach a point of armed insurrection to have any chance of challenging capital, so the question is not on violence, it is on the enjoyment of violence.
( Read more... )
Of The Wind [Translation]
May. 13th, 2024 01:15 pm[Translation Note: Decided to translate this one to English as well, because the use of an unconventional tense made it an interesting exercise to move to a language with a different structure for that tense. I didn't think too hard about the translation, but it was fun to do.]
Word count: 974
A/N: I was thinking about our people and our land, here in the south of the world and, well, I got a bit inspired. This is partially inspired by La Exiliada del Sur by Violeta Parra and in an even more indirect way by Che's Motorcycle Diaries. Published with very little editing.
Original in Spanish.
( Read more... )
Word count: 974
A/N: I was thinking about our people and our land, here in the south of the world and, well, I got a bit inspired. This is partially inspired by La Exiliada del Sur by Violeta Parra and in an even more indirect way by Che's Motorcycle Diaries. Published with very little editing.
Original in Spanish.
( Read more... )
Del Viento
May. 13th, 2024 12:08 pmLargo: 868 palabras
Notas: Estaba pensando en nuestros pueblos y nuestra tierra, aquí en el sur del mundo, y nada, me inspiré un poco. De cierta medida, inspirado por La Exiliada del Sur de Violeta Parra, de manera más indirecta aún por los diarios de motocicleta del Che. Publicada con escasa revisión.
( Read more... )
Notas: Estaba pensando en nuestros pueblos y nuestra tierra, aquí en el sur del mundo, y nada, me inspiré un poco. De cierta medida, inspirado por La Exiliada del Sur de Violeta Parra, de manera más indirecta aún por los diarios de motocicleta del Che. Publicada con escasa revisión.
( Read more... )
Fandom: Star Wars Rebels, Star Wars Ahsoka
Pairing: Ahsoka/Sabine
Word count: 2405
Warnings: Mentions of genocide. Depiction of post-traumatic stress disorder. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Explicit/graphic sex scene.
Summary: There's something off about Sabine at training. Ahsoka tries to help.
A/N: Originally written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maythe4thbewithyou <3 The SW timeline is a little messy for sure. This is because I failed Star War Timeline 101 in school, sorry.
( Read more... )
Pairing: Ahsoka/Sabine
Word count: 2405
Warnings: Mentions of genocide. Depiction of post-traumatic stress disorder. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Explicit/graphic sex scene.
Summary: There's something off about Sabine at training. Ahsoka tries to help.
A/N: Originally written for
maythe4thbewithyou <3 The SW timeline is a little messy for sure. This is because I failed Star War Timeline 101 in school, sorry.( Read more... )
Dear Creator (Rare Pairs 2024)
May. 11th, 2024 11:32 amHello, and thank you so much for making something for me <3 I already know I will love and appreciate whatever you see fit to create. As long as you stay clear of my DNWs listed in the sign-up, we are good! That said, I have taken the time to comb through my requests and explain a bit about what I love about these pairings, and come up with a few prompts for each of them. Feel free to use them as inspiration, combine them, discard them entirely, etc. If you have any questions, feel free to have the mods shoot me an email as well.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
Chiaroscuro
May. 6th, 2024 05:52 pmEmbarking on a quest to crosspost all the stuff that's on my ao3 on here, because redundancy is always a good thing (I'm haunted by the spectre of the LJ and FFN purges). This was written in May 2013, making it 11 years old now and the oldest thing I have posted at the archive! Very fun to revisit :D
Fandom: Doctor Who
Relationship: Eleven & Clara or Eleven/Clara (open to interpretation)
Word count: 567
Warnings: None.
Summary: Her light feet carry her across your console room and you want to scream in frustration because you don't understand a thing about her.
-
The Doctor reflects on Clara and the mystery she presents, but finds himself thinking of the person she is.
( Read more... )
Fandom: Doctor Who
Relationship: Eleven & Clara or Eleven/Clara (open to interpretation)
Word count: 567
Warnings: None.
Summary: Her light feet carry her across your console room and you want to scream in frustration because you don't understand a thing about her.
-
The Doctor reflects on Clara and the mystery she presents, but finds himself thinking of the person she is.
( Read more... )
Powder Keg
May. 1st, 2024 07:39 pmFandom: Death Note
Pairing: F!Mello/F!Near
Word count: 2014
Warnings: Gunplay. Graphic/explicit sex scene.
Summary: Mello stops by Near's room for a late night visit after getting her photo back earlier that day. Near has a certain... fixation.
A/N: Don't try this at home. I stuck a gun in my mouth as research (not a real gun - it was a rubber bullet gun. Safety was on. Not loaded. Really I only licked it. Scariest 3 seconds of my life), do not try that at home either. Inspired and encouraged by![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neallo <3
( Read more... )
Pairing: F!Mello/F!Near
Word count: 2014
Warnings: Gunplay. Graphic/explicit sex scene.
Summary: Mello stops by Near's room for a late night visit after getting her photo back earlier that day. Near has a certain... fixation.
A/N: Don't try this at home. I stuck a gun in my mouth as research (not a real gun - it was a rubber bullet gun. Safety was on. Not loaded. Really I only licked it. Scariest 3 seconds of my life), do not try that at home either. Inspired and encouraged by
neallo <3( Read more... )
