Little Stars & Stripes Hood

Once upon a time—actually, just a couple years ago-- there lived a beautiful, joyful little girl. She lived in Texas, in a farm not far from San Antonio. She was loved by everyone, but especially by her father. He would have done anything to keep her safe. “I'd kill any filthy Mexican brave enough to even look at her!” was the kind of things this dedicated dad used to say while shooting his rifle. His dad loved her so much, that he went to Wal-Mart and bought her the nicest hood that was on special: it had thirteen equal horizontal stripes of red (top and bottom) alternating with white, with a blue rectangle in the canton bearing fifty small, white, five-pointed stars arranged in nine offset horizontal rows of six stars (top and bottom) alternating with rows of five stars. He also got her a small gun, y'know, to kill small animals and that
kinda stuff. Everybody in the surroundings knew her as Little Stars & Stripes Hood afterwards.

One day, her dad needed his little girl to do him a favor: He needed her to take his credit card to her grandma's, for it was Black Friday and the old woman wanted to update her smartphone. He would have done it himself, but he prefers to watch TV, and honestly, I don't blame him. After all, he may not be the best father, but he certainly is a working man, and other than going to strip-clubs three times a week and stealing staplers from the office, TV is his only pleasure in life.

So, after putting on some make up and her hood, Little Stars & Stripes Hood took her dad's credit card and started her journey. She walked to the main avenue, got in the next 141 heading south, put on her earphones and quickly fell asleep. Once again, the American Dream is not as good as it looks.

When she woke up, the bus was completely empty: even the driver was gone. She was in the middle of the desert. There was only a little construction in bricks, 100 meters away from the bus. Realizing that she f*cked up a little bit, she understood that it was up to her to solve this situation. So she walked to the humble building trying to stay calmed. When she walked in, all the Spanish talking ceased immediately. Obviously, white American girls were more than just interesting to this bunch of not-so-legal immigrants. They looked at her the way a fat American looks at a BigMc. The biggest of all these men stood up, and walking up to her with airs of confidence, he uttered some Spanglish words.

--What you doing here, chica? Don't you know we're locos?
--Yeah, guys, sorry for interrupting. I just fell asleep on the bus, silly me. Soooo, do you know how can I get back to San Antonio?

The men were deliberating in Spanish, but it could have been Hebrew for all Little Stars & Stripes Hood knew. She did not understand a single word. This did not look so well. She decided to try again.

--Hello, guys? Maybe you didn't hear me...
--Sí, sí, I heard, I heard, I was just asking my brodas if anyone here was heading back to San Toni tonight, but as it seems, this is not your lucky day, amiga. You'll have to spend the night here, at the border.

Little Stars & Stripes Hood Hood was pale as the snow she never saw. What would her dad think? How could her grandmother buy her new smartphone? Do they even have a mall at the border or what? Taking a selfie distracted her for a second, but then she came back to reality. She decided to stay with the men she found. After all, it couldn't be worse than staying by herself, could it? But then, right before she could open her mouth, the biggest of the men started talking in what it seemed to be some kind of English.

--Hey, cutie, you don't have a place to crash tonight, and I have nachos & Corona, what d'you say? Wanna learn some Spanish the good old way? Aarghh
--Mmmmmmmm, I don't know, Mister. You see? I am a believer and that sounds pretty sinful to me.
--Come on, don't play hard to get, blond girls love Mexican papacitos.


She didn't answer. The conversation was not very reassuring for the scared little girl. She turned around and walked to one lonely guy on a corner. He had a guitar and was the only one of all of them who wasn't checking her out like a piece of meat. Her hopes raised again.

--Please tell me you speak English and are not a pervert.
--I do speak English.
--The second part is rather important too, y'know?
--I guess only time will show that.
--I don't know why, but I don't feel like trusting you my safety for the night.
--Do you have any options?
--Well said.

She never was so scared in her whole life, but then she thought “Alright, if one of these guys is gonna do something weird, at least I'll choose which one will be”. This sounded better in her head than it does when one reads it. Time passed by fast and it was getting dark. Soon, it was time for everybody to go home. Everybody but Little Stars & Stripes Hood Hood, who had to stay with a completely unknown.

--What's your name?
--They call me Wolfgang.
--They call me Little Stars & Stripes Hood
--Have you ever been in Tijuana?
--No, and to be honest, it doesn't quite interest me.
--Well, isn't that a pity? Off we go.

And off they were to Tijuana, where Wolfgang lived. The trip on his truck to Tijuana lasted around one hour. Little didn't stop talking for a second. Wolfgang, almost unwantedly, now knew to which school she goes to, what bars she frequents, how often she goes out, and things of the sort. Maybe someone should be more cautious...

When they got to Tijuana, they went to a bar, near the border, called “From Dusk Till Dawn”, where Wolfgang said had some business to attend. Once there, Little Stars & Stripes Hood was getting more and more nervous, she felt the danger in Wolfgang's eyes. He was looking everywhere, as if trying to find someone. He was distracted, and she took advantage of this moment to record a video of him and send it to her dad. The only bright moment of this poor girl.

--Ah! What do we have aquí?
--Gentlemen, señores! Here we have a lovely girl, starting her career here in Tijuana tonight. She comes from San Antonio and loves Mexican papacitos.
--She looks fresh.
--She is. Not even I touched her. Yet.

The men laugh. Little is so scared now that she understood what's happening that can barely react. She was being sold to the highest bidder. Unlucky her, he succeeded very quickly. She was sold to a very big, fat Mexican dude who was pretty rich, but who enjoyed cheap prostitutes. The worst period of her life just started.


After two months living in Tijuana as a property of El Señor Rodriguez, Little Stars & Stripes Hood had lost more than just her innocence: she also lost all hope. This felt like a never ending nightmare for this little girl. She thought she was stuck there for the rest of her life. But then, just when everything looked awful, she saw Wolfgang, in the same bar, with another small white girl, just like her. Little walked up to him and said:

--So, Wolfie, now that I am more experienced than ever, d'you wanna spend the night with the monster you created? I promise it's gonna be worthwhile, honey.
--Mmm, I see, I see. Let me finish off my sale and off we go, honey. I got a nice place not far from here.
--You call the shots, babe, I just wanna be yours.

And so it happened. After a while, and when El Señor Rodriguez was not looking, both Little and Wolfgang jumped into his vehicle and disappeared. Already on the truck, things were getting hot. Little's hands were all over the driver, who could barely contain himself. This girl was so hot, and she knew what she was doing so well, he almost ALMOST almost finishes. But no. Not yet. “I need to save something for Uncle Sam”, though the Mexican pimp.


They finally got to his place; it was a small one room apartment in the Mexican side of Tijuana. There was only an old TV, one mattress on the floor, and ashes everywhere. It didn't seem like anything she ever saw, and it's worth mentioning that she was a prostitute near the border against her will for two months. She started taking off his clothes before he could react. He was possessed by this girl's skills. “Mierda that they learn fast, these girls”, said to himself. When suddenly, in the heat of the moment, with a very soft and sexy voice, she convinced him of trying “something she just learned” at the bar. She proceeded to tie him up to the bed with his own clothes. It seemed as though she had a thousand hands. She managed to tie him up tightly without any complain. How? Well, she was proficient at Bj's and two-handed Hj's, basic skills for a girl in this town. After a short time, he was unable to move.

--So, Wolfie, who's the innocent victim now?
--WHAT? WHAT YOU SAY?
--It seems you're not so powerful now, eh, boy?

She tortured him a little bit. Maybe she introduced some things into some of his cavities, maybe not. We'll leave the details to the reader's imagination. Let’s just say, for the sake of the plot, that Wolfgang couldn't sit straight for a couple weeks after the incident.

Little Stars & Stripes Hood then took his truck and headed back to San Antonio. When she got there, her father was incredibly happy to see her again. He attentively heard all his daughter had to say, and then, without a doubt, called his friends, grabbed a handful of rifles, put them on the back of the stolen truck and off they were to Tijuana. Once there, not only they got the cheapest American girls, just like his daughter, and the cheapest weed money could buy, but they also found “a big ass Mexican pimp who walks kinda funny”. It wasn't Wolfgang, but they beat him up and killed him all the same, because that's what a good Murican would do to live happily ever after.

Le fils des crises

Les Européens, comme tous les humains, ont la très sympathique habitude, de temps en temps, de créer des guerres et des crises pour se tuer entre eux. Ça a l'air le fun, hein? En 1936, il y a eu une pas pire guerre civile en Espagne. “¡REVOLUCIÓN O MUERTE! ¡NO PASARÁN!”. Qu’est-ce qui s'est passé? L'extrême droite n'était pas satisfaite de la deuxième république. Rosa Trillo, une simple femme, décide d'aller s'installer dans le nouveau monde. EN MEME TEMPS, au Portugal, les choses ne marchaient pas si bien que ça, puis mon bon ami, Roberto Andrade, lui aussi, il décide de tenter sa chance dans des terres inconnues. QUELQUES ANNÉES PLUS TARD, les Européens s'ennuyaient, puis ils ont décidé de faire une autre guerre, et de l'appeler «WORLD WAR II : Let's kill each other again and see what happens ». Un concepto bastante interesante. Conséquence : le jeune couple de Juan Capurso et Marina Palumbo est parti d'une Europe en feu. Leur destination ? Ce pays là-bas, loin, de l'autre bord de l'Atlantique, que l'on appelle l'Argentine. Quelle belle idée ! Quitter la pauvreté en Europe pour être pauvre en Amérique du sud. .
Aaaaaaaah. Buenos Aires. Ville de personnes d'ailleurs. Là ou se cachent les exilés. Des anarchistes russes, des Italiens pauvres, des Espagnols peu scolarisés, des Anglais exploiteurs (des Anglais exploiteurs ? Je pense que j'ai déjà vu ça), parmi d'autres. Nice gathering. Mais bon. On fait ce qu'on peut avec ce qu'on a, n'est pas ? Le temps passe, on fait des enfants, la vie continue, c'était où l'Europe déjà ?
Roberto et Rosa ont eu trois enfants, dont Gerardo était celui du milieu. Juan et Marina ont su avoir quatre enfants, dont Graciela était la plus jeune. Gerardo et Graciela se sont rencontrés dans quelles circonstances ? Dans une des pires crises politiques de l 'Argentine. C'est beau, right ? Trois enfants et 17 ans plus tard, le divorce. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah, l'amour. But come on ! Everybody was sad during the 90's !
Le temps n'arrête pas. Les années 2000 sont déjà ici. Comment peut-on commencer le nouveau millennium ? Une crise. Again. Nice. I'm starting to enjoy this, eh? Gerardo, ingénieur, fatigué de travailler comme chauffeur de taxi, s'en va au Canada. Wow ! That's new. C'est le fun, hein ?
« Ici, on parle français & that's it ». Mais voyons donc ! Peu à peu, ses enfants y arrivent. Une belle famille dispersée partout dans le monde.

SO, C'EST QUI, MOI ?
Beeeeeeeeeein, moi, eeeeh...
On pourrait dire que je suis 50 % italien, 25 % espagnol et 25 % portugais. Mais non.
On pourrait dire que je suis un Argentin descendant des Européens qui tente sa chance au Canada. Non plus.
On pourrait dire que je suis un citoyen du monde, une victime de la mondialisation. Eh, peut-être. Mais non.
Je suis le fils des crises.

GMT -5

Vayanse todos a la puta que los parió. De corazón.

Parcour

Finalement, j'ai commencé le parcours
pour lequel j'ai quitté la maison
construite par le père de ma mère.
La carte OPUS ne sert pas pour les billets d'avion.

Avoir commencé quand j'étais jeune
ne fût pas assez pour
surpasser la tour de babel qui
se construit devant moi.

Cette fois-ci, je ne suis pas un touriste, non plus
Je ne suis plus ce que j'étais á l'époque,
et par contre, tout est comme je l'imaginais
Est-ce que personne a lu la métamorphose de Kafka?

Les numéros sont pareils, les mots se ressemblent
Je peux tout lire et comprendre,
les livres et les personnes
mais qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour
ne pas garder la plupart de mes idées pour moi?

Les pauses sont de plus en plus courtes,
les mots de plus en plus clairs,
J'avoue que l'été est déjà fini
et que mon printemps vient de commencer.

Bonjour. Je m'appelle Sebastian. Le plaisir est pour moi.

Sentirse vacío es como el invierno a -20°C: Si no te hacés amigo, la vas a pasar mal.

De quien les habla.

Una vez cuando tenía, aproximado, a ojo, unos 9 años, desd mi cama escuché que alguien subía por las escaleras, una chica, muy linda, que creo salía con mi hermano o era amiga de mi hermana o todas las anteriores. "Obviamente,"--me dije--"esta chica viene ni más ni menos que a tener sexo conmigo". Me puse en una pose parecida a la de la minita de Titanic cuando la pinta desnuda, y esperé el momento de la verdad. En un momento dado, me dí cuenta que ese no iba a ser el momento de la verdad y que me estaba engañando a mí mismo. Menos mal, porque el momento de la verdad fue como 7 años después.
Más o menos por esa misma época, también, una maestra de la primaria, revisándome la mochila en busca de mi totalmente inexistente carpeta de matemática adelante de todos mis compañeritos, encontró un Sainte Gouchée (sandwich) de milanesa que ya estaba empezando a desarrollar vida visiblemente. Ese mismo día, y sin relación con esto otro, me hicieron pasar todo el recreo en penitencia abajo de la campana por correr en el patio del colegio.
2 años después, tuve una conversación con un muchachito que ese mismo día salió segundo en la olimpíada nacional de matemática en la que me aseguró que odiaba la matemática, que a él le gustaban las chicas y el porno. Hoy día estudia derecho.
Después de un mes de estar internado, volví al colegio, y mi mejor amigo de ese entonces me quiso abrazar, y yo escapé corriendo por el patio. Que me haya perseguido fue la mejor bienvenida que pude tener. Pasé el primer y segundo recreo abajo de la campana.
En un campamento del colegio, cuando tenía quizá 8 años, durante un juego entre dos equipos, una chica, del equipo contrario, me miró y me sonrió con la sonrisa más tierna que mis ojos podían llegar a entender. Me parecía fea, pero me gustaba muchísimo. Nunca me animé a hablarle.
Cuando tenía 6 años, mi mejor amigo de ese entonces se fue con la familia a vivir a Córdoba. Me partió el corazón. Se iba Lucas, no lo podía creer. Su último fin de semana en Buenos Aires, fuimos a su casa, 3 amigos y yo. Me acuerdo que en su habitación tenía una red muy grande, que funcionaba como cama. Me pareció la mejor habitación del mundo. Nunca volví a saber de él, pero me sigue gustando la idea de la red.
Uno de mis primeros besos fue con una total desconocida, en la unión entre dos vagones de un tren en movimiento, después de juntar valor para ir a hablarle durante dos horas. Estuve orgullosísimo todo el viaje. No le conté a nadie hasta años después. Al otro día Dante Mazzini quedó en segundo lugar en la olimpíadas matemáticas argentinas.
Me pasó con dos chicas distintas, y con años de diferencia, violar la misma propiedad privada, y salir huyendo. La segunda vez tuve más miedo. No pude ni darle un beso a ninguna de las dos chicas, imagino, que porque no me animé. Solo a una de ellas, mucho tiempo después, sí besé. La otra creo que hace poco tuvo un hijo, o algo así.
Una sábado a la noche, yo tenía 4 años, estaba jugando en la escalera de mi casa con dos amiguitos, hijos de amigos de mis padres, casualmente de mi misma edad. Uno de ellos, al poco tiempo se mudó a Estados Unidos y nunca más volví a saber. Los otros dos nenitos que ahí estábamos esa noche, ahora vivimos juntos en Canadá.
Siempre que hacían algún tipo de reunión social en mi casa, y dejaban en el garage 20 sillas de plástico desparramadas, cuando todos se iban a dormir, yo, comiéndome la comida que hubiese sobrado (sanguches de miga, de preferencia), reordenaba las sillas de forma que imitasen el contorno de lo que claramente era UNA NAVE ESPACIAL. Y jugaba por horas como un champion a estar en la nave. Qué maestro.
Una vez estábamos jugando con un amigo un juego en el que éramos una especie de violadores intergalácticos, o algo así, y resulta que íbamos a planetas random a, según decíamos, tener sexo desenfrenado con las mujeres del lugar. Entre otras cosas, teníamos la habilidad de mandarnos como mensajes de texto, pero telepáticamente. Era un juego parecido a lo que solíamos jugar. Pero ese día tuvo la particularidad de que él me mandó un mensaje de texto a mi mente que decía "No juego más". Yo re quería seguir jugando. Qué mal. Hoy día, uno de nosotros es puto y el otro está en Canadá.
Mi primer trabajo pago para alguien que no era mi mamá, fue organizando libros en una editorial en la calle Juan Carlos Gomez 125. Ese día a la noche, y con la jugosa paga en nuestras manos, fueron a mi casa por primera vez quienes se convertirían en mis mejores amigos sin duda. Llegamos los tres a mi casa con abundante vino, y habían hecho papas fritas. La casa estaba llena de gente. Mi vieja no estaba. Hoy día, hay dos de esos de tres chicos todavía no nos suicidamos.
Estábamos en una mala racha. Hacía dos fiestas que ninguno de los dos le daba un beso a una chica. El asunto nos estaba empezando a poner mal. Fuimos a una fiesta con los muchachos. La fiesta era un pequeño club de barrio, y la cerveza estaba 2x1. Nos volvimos a encontrar afuera. Él me dijo que estuvo con una rubia. Yo le dije lo mismo. Días después, nos enteramos que estuvimos con la misma rubia. Esa chica, hoy día, tiene un innegable parecido con Mariana Fabiani.
Llegamos a la casa de un amigo, cuyos padres estaban de vacaciones. Nos abrió un amigo nuestro en bata, fumando porro. Buena señal. Cuando entramos al departamento, nos dieron un papel, donde había que anotarse si te querías cojer a la mina que se escuchaba gemir a una pared de distancia. Sin dudar, agregamos nuestros dos nombres. Él tachó el mío para ponerse él primero. No le llegó el turno a ninguno de los dos. Esa misma noche, el dueño de casa me dijo "nunca estuve con una mina que se moviera tan poco, me sentí un poco necrofílico". No sé absolutamente nada de ese muchacho. Le deseo lo mejor.

Espero no borrar este blog como borré el otro.

This is far from being "Whiteness witness"

We shall not forgive the innocents for what they haven't done, and certainly don't get used to ideas we didn't look for.
Lying to the mirror is as much a lie as it is worshiping it, even when it's cloudy and messy and you give yourself the non-sensest speech your sweet and lovely first girlfriend could ever hear in her entire, sleep-as-much-as-you-can-to-bear-the-week life.
Since preaching with the example is exactly what they shouldn't be doing, I'll erase this words and none of you will ever read them. Not even myself.
The engines of their trains are roaring in silence. The peaks of our graves have been climbed by our youngest and most reckless children, tearing apart the underwear of our deepest shyness. Beloved are those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
Humming my own Requiem, my ribs are leaving their places. My teeth, they won't stand much longer. Will my eyes fall? Luckly, by now, it happened only a few times.

For I am a whiteness witness.

Since I don't have you, my lyrics are better.

Peace out, m'boys.