Tejana Power: Letty, Carolina Monsivais & Liz
So I found these pics, specifically this slide show of "A Week With Caro and Letty" today when I needed them most. So unnerving, to be messing with the mixed layers of one's life, in the ephemera and momentos and printed matter that matters in the end. I became sick again, after filtering and filing and letting go. It started monday night, my anniversary. Bummer. Then last night. I bought tickets for Pato Banton. We were going dancing -- helps get my yayas out. But something else wanted to come out instead, so I couldn't go, not even to pick them up and sell them or give them away. I had a friend over who was going to babysit. I made ocean scallops empanizado, sockeye salmon with dill, lime, lemon pepper and butter (with a dash of fennel and a couple of other things, and a rice pilaf with fresh baby spinach and peas. I couldn't eat any of it. And after serving everybody I had to go to bed. No Pato Banton for me. (although I do like having the opportunity to say his name: Pato Banton.
Hard to do anything when I feel that nausea. The world shrinks along with my energy which seems to go down a giant swirling drain.
Trino's death (a fellow Tejano), worry over the health of Alfred Arteaga and raulsalinas, worry for all those people who have dedicated their lives to art and others -- at the expense of their wallets, and now, their health. Worry over who will continue this rare and rich legacy, this cultura locura que cura. Poetry: "What does it do to take away the sadness?" My father asked me, on one of the last times we spoke. Sadder to be reading the accounts out of Lebanon. Monday I ended up describing to my son a father in Lebanon watching his 9 year old son lift into the ceiling by the force of a bomb and come down in pieces, and the horror of him sitting there for days, just staring, "already dead" with shock as the news account said. I remembered myself at 11, the fodder of the neighborhood boys, the television with its My Lai massacre on rerun, the hoses aimed at children with skin the color of mine. The dogs set loose on them. The smirks. The epitaphs. What will he remember? I try to explain amid "immigration reforms."
Me da asco.
Now these faces. These long lost friends of mine I've let go in the isolation. That's the thing about the internet, this web of affections we can weave with will and light and the moderation of the dark.
It makes me good just to see them: Chicanas at the Jung Center, the Rothko Museum, reading, being friends.
Do check out Carolina Monsivais's book of poetry, Somewhere Between Houston and El Paso: Testimonies of A Poet from Wings Press, awarded the Premio Poesia Tejana along with other fine young poets in the series. In it, Caro stays to the light while shedding the dark. Powerful.
And check out Liz's other fotos. She's a excellent photographer. Some of you might remember her fotos of the Houston evacuation. I like the ones of the art houses in Houston.
Sigue, sisters! Stay as bright as you are. You bring a light.
Now, I'm ready for sushi & miso soup with seaweed.