"Take for example, hermeneutics, the science or art of interpretation. It is generally agreed that the founding father of hermeneutics was the German philosopher Friedrich Schleiermacher. What is not so widely know is that Schleiermacher's interest in the art of interpretation was provoked when he was invited to translate a book entitled An account of the English Colony in New South Wales, which records the author's encounter with Australian Aboriginal peoples. Schleiermacher was concerned about how we could undestand the beliefs of this people even though they seemed desperately alien to us. It was from a colonial encounter that the art of interpretation was born" (Terry Eagleton, After Theory).


1. "The Christians were able to create poetry only at the point where they practically negated Christian theology and worshiped the female principle as the divine principle. As artists and poets, the Christians found themselves in contradiction to the essence of the religion as they conceived it and as it constituted the object of their consciousness. Petrarch regretted, from the point of view of religion, the poems in which he had deified his Laura".

2. "Time is the source of poetry. A glimpse into the past is an incision in the heart that opens the poetic vein. Past time is always beautiful time; it shines in the moonlight of memory; it is idealized because it is now only an object of imagination. The oldest history is everywhere poetry, and the first songs or a race sing only of times and people that are no more" , op. cit, p. 282).

* From "Preliminary Theses on the Reform of Philosophy (1842)" and "Fragments concerning the characteristics of my Philosophical Development", diaries 1834-1836 in The Fiery Brook: Selected Writings of Ludwig Feuerbach.



Postmodernism’s key notion, maybe the notion that sustains most postmodernism’s quackery. Through the illusion of hybridism contradiction is obscured, turn commodity. Not able to recognize and accept the other in its complete otherness, we turn it into hybrid, i.e., half me, similar to Us. (Not Other). Not Either/Or but always proper. That is, property. Not completely stranger. ‘Mixed’. In denial of otherness we constructed ‘hybrid’. We have naturalized the ‘hybrid’ category so much, that the mere mention of this category as purely cultural, artificial, contextualized (in imperialistic epistemology) seems a ‘menace’, an evil return to ‘Nationalism’ or ‘Pure’. Using the ‘hybrid’ category we have remained Hegelian. We arrive to syntheses. (Isn’t that wonderful, daddy?) We prevent radical dialectics to take place. ‘Hybrid’ has taken control of cultural industries, such as music were fusion has become institutionalized. Such happens also in the arts and writing communities, where being ‘hybrid’ is the key to enter. In the same way, ‘activism’ is replacing ‘revolution’, ‘hybrid’ replaced ‘contradiction’—and denies the real relationship with One and the Other. Otherness. Hybrid is sameness. Hybrid tends to become Happy Hybrid. That’s why the hybrid category plays so well in ‘postmodern’ discourse. A capitalistic notion to kill rupture. No negation anymore! Let settle down with hybridism, ok? Don’t even talk about resistance. But resistance is what really takes place where hybridism is now used. Resistance doesn’t mean borders or ‘essences’ are not transgressed. To the contrary. It means participants enter into a strong relationship. A magnetic field where attraction and repellence both take place. Resistance is all about magnetism. And the hybrid category is all about denying resistance.


I think Piombino is pointing at one of the next moves related to the building of a meaningful community of language workers:

"The question that must be asked now is: how can cultural mental illness be treated? How can an entire sector of the population be freed from a cult infected with paranoia?... If lecturing, exhorting, explaining, won't work, what will? How should a large, maybe a majority of the society be related with by a smaller part, which is in better health psychologically? This seems to me to be one the most important, yet complex and frustrating tasks facing the remaining members of society who still have (of course, in varying degrees, at various times) some ability and willingness to think for themselves"

Read here: Fait Accompli


"In order to rationalize our industrial-military complex, we have to destroy our capacity to see clearly any more what is in front of, and to imagine what is beyond our noses"

R. D. Laing, The Politics of Experience


1. The news today is that American forces conduct surveillance activities on oil installations in Mexico. This was completely unheard. It seems these operations inside are part of the 2002 NorthCom (secret) agreements.

2. Wal-Mart is now installed inside the Teotihuacan ceremonial center, where some archeological findings have been happening even during the desecration was taking place. Some confrontations between students and activists and authorities have been happening. The Mexican president hasn't respond to the protest against the transnational. Teotihuacan is Mexico's main prehispanic set of monuments and most importantly our main sacred land.


To my American friends:

We have reached the Bush degree. This is actually good news. The United States has reached its lowest point. A majority of the American society validates the atrocities of the Bush regime. Not only outside the U.S. but equally inside. As you know, civil liberties are going to diminish. It is not impossible the U.S. can become a totalitarian State or a society-government completely run by corporations, a society that thinks that «democracy» means participating every four years in a bipartisan poll. Remember the end of Orwell’s 1984. It seems the United Status loves Big Brother. But this is the biggest opportunity the United Status has ever had. After approving Bush, only a revolution in action and thought can follow.



a talk with a few comments

First I would like to say two things:
      One, I believe poetry exclusively occurs when it is discussed. [i.e. “Poetry” as a privileged structure is an anachronistic notion. I can only stand poetry in the context of prose].
      Two, Americans should leave Afghanistan and Iraq so writers and clerks can move to more boring topics.
      I’ve learned something over the years. [I noticed how my English derives from clichés, as if I was writing from the debris; what Eileen Myles said at the conference after telling her story reading in English at Russia and the reaction of the audience, “Writing with a filthy language”].
      “I I’ve learned something over the years”. The instant we’re talking about a crisis we are hidings ours.
      [This comes from my Mexican background and my training in Gestalt psychotherapy; the projections we make, how to recuperate those projections in order to reorganize the self, to not impose on the world was it ours. It also comes from Guangfan’s “There is nothing in the whole universe that is not you”; the basic Upanishad teaching “Thou are you” and Hegel’s comment at his Phenomenology of Spirit regarding philosophy starting only once we recognized ourselves in/with the absolute other. Mexican popular culture says: “No the hagas pato” (lit. Don’t make yourself a duck, meaning, don’t pretend you are not you, don’t turn into a third person in order to not assume the responsibilities of knowing you are the person you accuse, don’t become 3 in order to not accept you are both 1 and 2].
      [I take “crisis” as a crisis I too am provoking. At the same time the victim and the agent of imperialism in every case. Something I share with Americans].
      Iraq, for example, is Bush’s way to hide he is the crisis itself.
      Bush is our way to hide we are Bush.
      It’s easy to blame governments when they in fact do represent awfull societies.
      I only can call poetry the most critical voice against every order, including its own.
      I suspect as poets we take advantage of times of crisis to try to offer poetry as part of the solution. Maybe to hide poetry is part of the problem.
      In saying “Poetry in a time of crisis” I certified poetry.
      I certified it as part of a time.
      As part of a time of crisis, which is something really good for poetry.
      Poetry in a time of crisis must be useful. At least in that phrase.
      That phrase is optimistic.
      It makes poetry look good.
      Part of the solution. Not part of the problem.
      But I think poetry is part of the problem.
      In a way Bush does poetry too.
      I may say his poetry is pretty bad but it’s poetry too.
      Bush tries to cling meaning. He tries to make the audience feel the ecstasy of words. He performs.
      The president behaves similarly to poets I know.
      I am now doing what Bush does much better than me.
      No wonder why poets decide to be poets. They become Bush.
      There’s only one step from the blank page to the White House. I’m in it.
      I am Bush.
      Poetry in a time of crisis can also mean poetry is an emergency measure.
      Poetry as something you reuse or return to when things get worst.
      For example, if you’re depressed. Or there’s a war down there in Iraq.
      You can make an anthology out of emergency poetry like this.
      Poetry is part of the problem.
      Emergency measures follow a psychology of panic.
      Red or yellow alerts.
      Put some poetry into the dying nation, into the dying discourse.
      Poetry in a time of crisis. Poetry in yellow alert. Or red.
      How can poetry help?
      Somebody may offer this clue: poetry can help not getting in the way. For example promoting the end of speeches. A country where every politician that tries to give an speech –especially a speech to the nation—is killed.
      [I liked Walter Lew’s approach, ‘talking again’ about Spirit as something you need before doing poetry. And after. No spirit, no poetry. What he meant by “Spirit” I think was the beyond-deep-cultures-are].
      Yet that clue would only be a pretty bad joke.
      The way poetry does not help.
      It’s not part of the solution but just part of the laughter.
      México and the United are nations that resemble each other too much. They should be completely different, so different that they would go on war every two or three months. Instead they go to bed every four years.
      Countries that laugh too much. Part of the problem is laughter.
      How come you laugh when a political joke is done?
      Why SNL?
      How did we get to this point?
      Because poetry worked.
      What poetry aim at, building the common I, the Nosotros, the We / was achieved.
      Homer wanted to praise the heroes. He did. The heroes were praised.
      Whitman sang America. He achieved his goal.
      Poetry is full of successes.
      Poetry has been historically linked to war.
      Poetry is always trying to put an end to a war that continues wars that poetry helped to instigate.
      Whitman is full of bullshit American poetry hasn’t get rid of.
      Whitman was very American. Free verse means having no meters. No limits. Respecting no borders. Free verse breaks the territories, makes it bigger. Free verse was how poetry materialized on the page the imperialism of the United States. Why being American was the best thing that could happen to the rest of the continent.
      Free verse explains how Mexico was stolen of half its territory through a take over, an expansion of the map of the United States.
      In fact, Whitman supported that war.
      Whitman wanted to construct a space-time where/when everything fitted. That’s why Whitman broke the conventions of how much text could be written, how long could the line be. That’s why Whitman wrote so much. Wrote those heroic lists, those listings. Groceries of History. The many landscapes. The different peoples. Every thing: America.
      [I am here trying to start a discussion on how from Whitman to Stein, the way “America” writes reflects/refracts the imperialism this writing is developing under, developing in its own structures. Acker would have agreed on this I think].
      So, from this point on we are going to call “America” the image of a space-time where/when everything is there/then. The containment of All. What Pound called “Vortex” and Borges “Aleph”.
      What we forget conceiving such a total-time/space is that a system of simultaneous realities taking place at once would make all of them absurd.
      “America” is a comical nightmare.
      Viewing poetry in a time of crisis doesn’t help to put an end to the crisis, it only helps to make poetry (again) a possible solution, a praxis that can really mean something good for the culture it belongs to; viewing poetry in a time of crisis puts the emphasis on the time of crisis, erases the fact that the institution of poetry is part of the crisis, that poetry is in a crisis itself.
      [My reading of Efraín Huerta, Nicanor Parra, Renato Leduc, etc, gave me this ideas from the start: we received literary ‘poetry’ from the Western tradition, at one point we dominated that and even contributed our own thing to It, but let’s not forget ‘poetry’ is part of the Western colonial heritage, a post-colonial self-critique stand implies a going beyond ‘poetry’].
      Times of crisis help poetry hide its own crisis. I think instead of thinking how can poetry help in a time of crisis, think how poetry has collaborated for the production of a crisis, how that production of a crisis makes a culture risks itself, and thus having to strengthen the strategies to perpetuate itself using the institution of crisis as an excuse.
      To make poetry a possible measure. To make ourselves forget we live in cultures that are dying, cultures that want to kill.
      I think poetry is part of the obscurity.
      I think poetry is the place where people go when they want to miss therapy.
      The place people go when they are to snob to go to the movies but they still want to pretend their life can have meaning as their moon, an elevator to acquire more power or at least meet the readers.
      The readers, that group of people who want the same stuff poets crave for, but don’t have the courage even to write.
      Or to corrupt themselves in order to publish.
      What I am saying is I don’t believe poetry can fix.
      Nor I believe poetry should be saved.

      (How much more I would have enjoy 9-11 if the twin towers had been full, completely packed, with poetry books].

      I think Wittgenstein was right when he realized he should concentrate on proving philosophy could do basically nothing.
      When crisis arise I’m one of those persons that think words can help prevent the catastrophe. This is one of the reasons I consider myself a poet. I believe in alerts. I’m part of the problem.
      Poetry should not look for ways to survive. But the poet, at least, should make an effort to disclose all the information she or he has historically used to gain authority.
      Show even a dying cultural practice like poetry can be more honest than usual politics.
      Poetry should unveil where its authority comes from. Should push its own contradictions, let them come out of the closet. Should push the crisis further until the authorities that created it to remain in power are remove by the continuation of the crisis until nothing remains.
      I came from all the way from Mexico, made lines, ask for a permit, say hi to American Immigration agents, lie in the airport, ate peanuts, had a ride, I came all the way from Mexico to basically accept I have nothing to say.
      I only come here to do what I think poets should do every opportunity they have: contradict ourselves all we can right in front of the audience we once tried to convince poetry was something good, something we should share, something that helped. Publicly and very openly contradict ourselves until the laughter stops, until there’s no credibility left in the authority we inherit or won ourselves, until it is made clear those who have authority have stolen it.
      The function of poetry is to lose its function. The function of poetry is to diminish the general notion of authority.


"Tijuana and San Diego are not in the same historical time zone. Tijuana is poised at the beggining of an industrial age, a Dickensian city with palm trees. San Diego is a postindustrial city of high impact plastic and despair diets. And palm trees. San Diego faces west, looks resolutely out to sea. Tijuana stares north, as toward the future. San Diego is the future—secular, souless. San Diego is the past, guarding its quality of life. Tijuana is the future... Taken together as one, Tijuana and San Diego form the most fascinating new city in the world, a city of world-class irony"

Richard Rodríguez, Days of Obligation. An Argument with my Mexican father



Santa Cruz. The Arcade.
Santa Cruz Arcade has a section on the Classics. Pac Man. Donkey Kong. Space Invaders. Nobody there. But the presence of that Corner is important. The Arcade is the representation of videogame’s History. From Kung Fu fighter to [ ]. They haven’t changed that much. The other sections: take your turn at the bat (virtual baseball), machines wars (really disturbing ones), dance or music playing machines. The Santa Cruz Arcade, small, corny, contains the History of videogame. The space is very conscious of this function. Shops that sell “The Ice Cream of the Future” (The Future Now, i.e., no future anymore); and please don’t leave the place without your Old Portrait or your old car classic card. A place where representation is the issue. NEW videogames, they look old. The Videogame is over. From it’s beggining the videogame’s destiny was to repeat another media's visual history. That’s why videogames had a very short history. The genre had to stop soon. The reason is obvious: videogame would stop once it look pretty much like TV, preexistent cartoons, movies or Reality itself. Videogame could only be hyperreal. No more. It’s last resource, once its image resembled other previous media (TV/Movies), was the interactive mode. But that came soon to an end. Graphics and resolution couldn’t surpassed but only go as far as other monitors and visual technologies. Interaction can't go further than cars and planes. A videogame is a dream or the promise of a plane that is not, that's why from the videogame to the army there is only a step, the videogame directs us to hiperreal action of the front, the hiperreal life of the navy, of how we imagine killing the Other to be. The videogame is now part of a nostalgia. This Arcade is all about the past, how it only has quoting repercussions, how this representation’s only chance is to interact with its History. Playing there means we are now playing after Game Over. The End already happen. We are the boring after-party. Again Sunday. Nothing new is going to happen. Don’t worry. We arrived to the future yesterday. Hiroshima? Auschwitz? Vietnam? Done! Done! DONE! History has already happened. Even the Soviet Union and Al Qaeda is part of the Reagan era. Our latest war? Irak! The Second Part. Are only chance to experience is sequals, ph.D.'s, revivals, make overs, remakes, etc. Maybe a third Bush! And what about 9-11? What about it!!! It order to be true 2 towers had to be built, one wasn't enough!, and both had to collapsed, because in America everythings happens, at least, once more. Nobody knows how many Iraqs gonna take to do the job, how many restarts to never arrive to que Finish, or to arrive again and again, or prove we arrive there thanks to steroids or rewinds. Even war is now safe. Interact with it. This and that, revisited from the start. Videogame, the recreational and pre-nostalgic reloading of a history that began already finished. Played for the second first time.

Santa Cruz. The Carrousel.
I was watching the carrousel. “round and round”. I even had chills. The carrousel is impressive. Everywhere I see one I need to stop. It’s freaky but at the same time beautifully mythical. “Carrousel” is always part of the past. & Santa Cruz is especially nostalgic [American small town], very interesting place, almost a display. I usually watch Mexican carrousels. “Kids”. Now I was watching American kids, their waves of movement, this continues cycle, the age behind it all… The institution of “Sunday”. The praxis of “Walking”. Does the carrousel portray the way life moves? What do the empty seats transmit? Nostalgia? Samsara? This otherness the carrousel launches, this familiarity. After some time I had this very basic idea on what the carrousel means: of course, the circular structure of life, each of us develops in this circular way, death takes place there, we return seated in a different place, our lives consist in re-appearing in the next cycle seated somewhere else, interacting with the others, almost a ballet, a weird event, a ritual about Becoming. I was almost crying seeing these American kids, seeing their death, their provisional places in this world, seeing myself there, this chapter of a quick trip into California, the on-going cycle of Life! The Continuous Round and Round! EVERYTHING IS A NON-STOP CYCLE! Oh God it was sublime and so fucking Simple…But then the carrousel stopped. I was wrong. Even the simplest technology means cycles came to be provisional. Cycles are now a part of linear fragmentary time. This is why poetical rhythm, its images / mere illusions.


Democracy. A buzz word. Democracy always takes place. D means power-by-the-people. Societies always rule. Every government represents its society. Cada pueblo tiene el gobierno que se merece. ["Every....has...the......it deserves"]. I call this regime. In fact, a dictatorship reflects even better the power relationships that are taking place of that culture, the stage in which a culture is, what it wants or feels it deserves. Dictatorial democracies, electoral democracies. We are always a democracy. We rule ourselves through figures who represent us but we deny. "It's him". The myth of the separation of the Government. 'Democracy' as we understand it is just an excuse to not accept there is no way to divorce a government from 'society'. [I can use Leibniz here in a funny way]. We are all this regime. [Have to insist in this 'concept']. Democracy, unfortunely (sic) always takes place.


Imperialism. Fill it yourself. The idea is already here. Feel free to feel free.


The future looks tapped.


Israel as Lebensraum.


Counterculture. The eStrategy of the West // Oxidente // to eStole ideas from other cultures once it eStole all the gold, oil or wood.


I don't like writers. They are just like me.


Poetry is the power the writer has; the power s/h/e needs to fight, this power within, not the power we invent as not-related-to-me, the power-of-the-other, the one I can criticize to be heroic, to be a Poet. Write against your own act.


I'm telling you what to do. Writing [thinking] / Fatherly. Or motherly. Poetry is part of my family. Love / hate, 2 words instead of 1. I'm telling you. The reader, this son. Become just like me [wise], your pap mom. Writers are always embedded. Their vision: propaganda for the superiority of their own regime. Propaganda for a regime they don't even like.


What would I do if I had been born in a time prior to the existence of language? This questions comes when I cannot be sure if I am writing well the question, getting into another language, the suspicion you're not entirely in it yet, you're behind, before, outside?. No. I'm in it in some way. Maybe not in the Way, but in it. What would I have done (?) in a time prior to the existence of language? Dunno. I guess I would only keep silent. Not even an animal. Monk is out of the question. Not even silence. Don't have any idea how would I be before language was. Language can only speak of its own history. It lacks the talent of speaking of the really interesting part.


If you have no eSpirituality please don't act. Especially if you have good intentions.


Wizzdom starts with a phrase I don't have.


Bad-Poetry is the way writing protects itself from a certain epoch, individual or club. Bad-Poetry convinces some to leave poetry alone, to stop trying to do something, even though you-re intelligent is something cannot do. Well. Fuck! That really hurt my feelings! That's why I have so few & cliché of them. I mostly have ideas. I should stop trying to write. Bad-Poetry. Prevents "some" to continue [being bad]. Bad-Poetry is great! It even returns poetry where it belongs. The pEoPlE, that hideous event.


The worst is not that Iraq is turning into Vietnam, the worst is that Vietnam became Iraq.


Some time ago I wrote this essay on María Sabina and Mexican culture:



Karoake. Karoake represents us as foreigners just learning to acquire the most simple legacy. Karoake means having fun —afterwork fun— repeating the roles, moods and voices that make up our emotional culture, our culture on emotions. We not only sing those lyrics (turn the text into song) but we do it as foreigners. Beginers. The beginer does karoake. The beginner feels she or he arrives to culture a decade after. Culture is to the beginner a karoake. The beginner just came in. What's old is new to him or her. Even him or herself. He or she is innocent. He or she can afford going into stage fright. The karoake makes this possible. A culture that has ended but that we barely know. This is our first time experiencing it or how we show we came to be one with it. The beginner sings, close enough to the real lyrics, close enough —giggling— to the original voice, its harmony. To the beginner culture is pure joy. Karoake helps when we know the culture we live in is no longer ours. We transform this alienation into a fun pain, an adventure into being seen by others, a funny shame or a singer's security; how we perform how we would behave or look life if this culture we live in was ours.


Data gets lost in memory.
Info gets lost.
We forget images.

Content merges into form.


Looking for masks. Looking for them. Not remembering the most important mask is not visible. This mask is a sound.
      Voice, main mask that is not seen.


I haven’t written in English for some months. But last night I dreamt of my mother dying. I was in an airport. My mother hasn’t taken a flight in years. She’s too old. Has no one to visit in the South. Every member of his family is now in the U.S. She was the only one that stayed. She is indifferent to the States. Last night she died in my head. In that airport people told me she took the flight, and felt sick there, lost control of her hole, and died of diarrhea, and was thrown by a window and became lost in the sea. I think I dream of her death, because yesterday —April 4— I forgot it was her birthday. When I call her in the night, she assumed I knew. I realized oblivion. She too noticed it. We didn’t say anything about it. This is not common. Every year I remember.
      Everyone in the dream explained me how that was good news to me. I explain myself how my mother’s death was good news for me. I had no need to support her anymore. I could go on living my own life, say good bye to Oedipus, farewell mother-son. When I woke up I knew this was my time to return to the nightmare of written in English, the return to a game consisting of writing in English everything that a think of and would write in Spanish. Every note here. No mother anymore. A nice nightmare.


People like to talk about prophets to separate them from the Now. People —We, Mr. P.— invent the «prophetical» to: a) make people who talk about the present time look anachronistic, as someone belonging to the Past, or b) make the people who talk about the present time are probable right but are someone who is describing what is going-to-come, The Future. We invent «prophets» to not recognize the discourses that describe the present describe the now. The nightmare is us.


The purpose of philosophers is the detailed planning of utopias. To become part of the history of ridiculous architecture.


Who’s the sadist. Who’s the masochist. Undistinguishable.


The world is going to be destroyed through language.


A little weirdo explains Humanity explaining a movie that other persons are looking right with him. Every 15 minutes he stops the movie. His explanation lasts 15 minutes. The others want to appear as if his explanation tells them something they didn’t see or understand profoundly enough. Interpretation exist because we want to pretend we lack one sense, we only have five. Because we want to pretend just a few understand profoundly enough, they are the circus-of-truth. And those who interpret are nothing but the worst ones: they pretend they have the privilege to Understand and Explain. They are the better ones that see-further, they can tell others what others don’t see, those who interpret and explain describe culture, put Reality to rest, explain what others have agreed just a few see. The Few accept. They accept because they see All, except one fact: All is understood by everyone. They too obliterate.


The structure of the world is suicide.


The threes have the form of the wind. The wind has no form.
      You move. You acquired the form of something else. Something with no form. You have something else’s aspect. Your body looks like an unrecognizable force.


Marriage. “You wouldn‘t last a day living like that”. Not a day! A whole life.


Line is horizontal. The poem, vertical. That’s why poetry is never going to agree with itself.








afternoon notes

writing in spanish for me is getting into my mother. obscurity happens too much there. as i am sure happens too for natural born english users. i call ‘mother’ the state in which thought and language are one. this is not what happens to me when i write in english. when i write in english mother disappears. first, i think, then i stop. language in this case is not what comes simultaneously with thought. i need fabrication.


language can come after anything, before anything, between anything. language is a dimension. not a subject or a set of relations. language shapes space in a similar way times does. language deforms space, and finds in it other ‘gravitational’ forces. language is also influenced by time and the prior three dimensions. sometimes language becomes trapped in them. or confused with them. language appears to just be another inhabitant in them, losing itself in that thought or position. but originally language is dimensional. language is present after, before and between time and the prior three. goes through them. what language does, how language is, how language tunnels, flows, divides, how language attracts, separates, indetermines, is indescribable.


lao tse came close to describe how the language dimension operates. he called that ‘tao’. strings-theory is also a very close methaphor. language is part of that kind of system of laws.


language is nor a flux nor mechanical. language is both. so at the same time language is natural and artificial. not a particle not a wave. language opens. language is fundamentally an opening in the space-time complex. what is between me and the telephone? a series of histories, a series of thoughts that builds a field of action and emotion in the space-time between, among, before and after the telephone and me. language puts other objects, subjects, events, feelings, images, between the telephone and me. the space-time created, the field of though, feeling and action created is different from the physical and temporal distance between us. writing i’m trying to grasp what language really is. i’m getting close, but then language makes it’s functioning invisible, unthinkable.


loves operates in a very similar way to language. loves also con fill and deform space-time. it also brings and separates. language and love could be two aspects of one single force or dimension in the universe.


after you stop drinking, many things go, but the thirst stays. a thirst which is never satisfied with what you sacrifice to it. drinking you try to destroy the hole, put liquid into. of course, the hole gets bigger. sharks start to live there. the hole takes the shape of a religious place, a fountain or ocean you don’t want to show to anybody, because in that secret body of water may lie god or death. then you stop. the hole disappears, the water dries. you suffered too much from it. but the thirsts doesn’t go. that thirst is the possibility of bringing the hole again or the possibility of transforming everything into a liquid state.



it appears you are not going to find the way out soon. not until you let go your sick desire of total control.

what follows is confusion or entertainment. what follows is shadows.


the only way i had of loving her was to be totally drunk. i was in denial of another love. so i was drunk all the time. “i was in love”.


it is impossible to be autobiographical in writing. “i” can never happen here. even if we intended to be confessional, cannot happen. cannot.


i’m studying a master’s degree in psychotherapy. but i’m becoming more ‘insane’ every day. i’m even in a point where i sometimes feel ‘happy’.


to write. a waste of time. a proof that existence is even less significant.


i really admire american writing. it has an edge not everywhere is being pursued. but sometimes it’s too technical, too desperate to be less and less human, just like the government.


the greatest mexican thinker may be guillermo bonfil batalla. he concluded in one of his last writings, mexico was immersed in a project of substituting our culture. why? our history is to heavy to carry. we want to be more ‘light’. that’s why we are turning ‘american’.


living is not always possible. how to survive is the key.


letters we wrote. opportunities we fail.


"technically speaking, we lost vision"


i don't understand, therefore, i exist in this epoch.


the u.s. is becoming the new model for a totalitarian state. this is very interesting. the soviets, the chinese, the 'others' were to quick to install total control. they were vulgar and explicit, desperate. the u.s. waited. the u.s., as mexico in it's own domestic way, secretly aspired to achieve a perfect dictatorship, an invisible one. this is history unfolding, making itself clear: the u.s. is the main force in the world to slave others. market driven politics. the u.s. is going to lose itself, without even the opportunity of having known what the 'u.s.' meant, because it meant nothing. it's a sad thing, but lets be honest about it: the u.s. was created purely for explotation purposes.


time creates space. space creates action. action creates subjects. subjects create community. community creates values. values create judgement. and it all began with "time".


national identity is not a collection of features, eternal ones. national identity is a pattern, a series of patterns, on how to transform yourself. mexican identity is dissappearing. this is for me the central knowledge which calls me to write. we are dying.


i've been reading to much kierkegaard. realizing his quest of paradox pre-wrote the tractatus. kierkegaard is seen as the father of the existential crew. that reading is very superficial. what kierkegaard accomplished was making the writing subject absurd. just like pessoa. voice is unavoidable. but voice can be play with. mocked. voice can be simulated. i sometimes get lots of fun reading writers who think they have no voice, because fragmentation brings them closer to a new center, a no-center. this project is heroic, but it's useless. in a very strange way is part of the romantic project. voice grows anywhere. i'm not talking/writing in behalf of voice, by the way. just in recognition of a terrible path: voice appears in writing because god has not been forgotten.

music makes.


i decided this morning is going to be a morning of writing with no book purpose. this morning comes after several months of equlibrium in which i lost the fear of chaos. to celebrate writing is something else and not what i think it is. i always have definitions, this is why aphorisms come so immediately to me. but writing is not well defined, and this is something i remember when i write not in my language. i can imagine others are surprised about the fact itself of writing, i feel that too when i write in spanish, but when i write in english i feel something else. writing is really weird. writing wasn't supposed to be. writing we get closer to something we are not, something which is nor god nor animal. 'othernes' is here a word that can help, but not very well. we get lost by writing. we get anywhere. but this is an illusion, buddha would say, this is not real, this is just maya, he would say before writing himself.

an orgasm is nothing but the body's desire to destroy itself in a beautiful way. orgasms were created by the mind in order for us to reach aesthetic deaths.


to write forever the same, over and over to write the same. writing is always a mistery, always a common place. to write brings. those forces that haven't been described yet, as if yet could be. who's the one who writes? who's the one who's two? writing wanted to be liberated from history, wanted to escape the law of gravity, and let the spare parts divide until no object nor subject could be described or named. describing or naming became imposible facts. sometimes i don't write in a certain mode, sometimes i practice a kind of silence, that doesn't mean, of course, real silence is there. silence cannot be reach. between A and B there's no natural C. C comes after.



“He said it”. I hide myself there. Knowledge builds phrases. Phrases convince the receiver “is” takes her or him closer to the essence of something. “Is” feels: now-we-know. Every week other people’s words help us in that way: we delude ourselves with Truths. That which you think you now know is mere Applied Syntax.


Last September 12, "Mexico illuminated," an art exhibition opened in Reading, Pennsylvania. One of the participants was Marcos "Erre" Ramirez, who chose to place a public art piece on a billboard next to the Bingaman Street Bridge. He decided to display (as in Highway signs) 8 cities bombarded by the U.S, and to record on the billboard the dates of those attacks and their distances from Reading.

But the display company refused at the last minute to rent the space, and the piece couldn't be put there. The "community" didn't like this kind of art againts the military to be part of their public space.

Instead, Ramirez mounted an imagen on the gallery on how the piece would be seen if it had being installed. There's a good chronicle of the events by Mike Davis. Clicke here.

The reaction to the piece gives a good idea of the the inability of most Americans to face their own History. The billboard has nothing but facts, and if somebody doesn't want to view those names and numbers it is because they immediately understand there's an American pattern of violence against others.

Preventing the billboard from being displayed is not banning the object itself, but preventing the relation between the object and the individual to take place. It appears American don't want to have a memory. Don't want to see their history as a totality and see the links between the facts, maybe wanting to stay fragmented, dispersed, in order to not make evident what they have been doing, and what other think of them.

A pattern of attacking and invading other countries that started with Mexico, and illegally taking half of our territory in 1848, a date still not forgotten for many Mexicans. Facts that American don't want to take seriously or remember, because American history is full of these kinds of attacks against others and oblivion about it. This is why Americans want to escape from reality. Electing Schwarzenneger for example. Substituting reality with illusory figures.

Marcos Ramirez (aka Erre) is one of the most interesting Tijuana artist, by the way. His piece gives an idea of the growing critical tendency of Mexican culture toward American foreign and national politics.



I write too much. I can write forever. To me the mistery is why sometimes I don't write or I can't. A mistery why haven't been writing at least a sentence or two (like these) in English. Not a mistery, a question: why not write?

Writing waits. Writing spies.

I learned a second language, a second way to make mistakes, so I could write more. Why stop? Writing knows.

I just know a few words of this language, but I keep combining them all the ways I can.

I, for example, know and use a lot the word I. And the word "ways".

Writing is also a word I use a lot. A lot too I use.

Writing keeps.
Writing asks.
Writing is a remnant of something else. Maybe a first tongue, a second body, a third state.

Writing remembers well or forgets beneath.

Writing is either untrue or endless. It can be use for fiction or for lies. Writing writes.

Writing is not a door. Open or closed are not 1 or 2.

Writing is represented by letters. Letters appear in numbers.

Writing descends in clouds
of quotes. Writing has an East.

Writing times.

Writing waits. Writing spies.

It repeats.


Writing is not mechanical nor a flux. Writing goes and comes.

Writing reappears in a different place or a future now.

Writing is another here.



1. A very intelligent idiot.

2. The past all of us once had—before learning to read.

3. Prose is not what she thinks it is.

4. Read your national poetry as if you were a foreigner.

5. Maybe not a 'music' anymore.

6. She doesn't get it. She doesn't have to.

7. E = N = V = Y

8. Dear, primitive means Complex. Try again.

9. She is plain nasty // She defends nice poetry.

10. "Not in a theory of what poetry should be". She theorizes in a long essay divided into 7 different parts.

11. Easy targets :: Easy attacks.

12. The 'Post-post' 'joke'. Heard that before. In general, you-re pretty previous.

13. No doubt. You've made it to the poetry history books. Sorry for that.

14. Everything changes, except the avantgarde. Paul Valery said it. You're not Paul Valery.

15. Haven't read Fence. Now I want to read it.

16. You're too readable. Don't try so hard. Nothing inside.

17. The need for coherence appears to be basic. Perhaps even neurological.

18. There's a clear link between poetry and therapy. Try it.

19. Thank you I now understand Language Poetry better. The need for it. The context. It's the context, stupid.

19. Do you really like that kind of poety? Or that-kind-of-poetry you call meaningful helps you not to like other kind of poetry?

20. Capitalism does exist.


"Why not? How does this version differ from the original? Only in its words. And since the words don't count, since they don't have to be best, better, bad or in any way related to any potential meaning, my poem is as "good" as the original. In fact, I would argue my poem is the original. It is exactly the same poem, albeit with different words—but neither set of words makes any difference to the meaning" (Joan Houlihan).

"If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise" (William Blake).

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