Category: non-fiction
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Prayers to the Saints of Prison (excerpt) (duplicate)
The vowels are in solitary confinement The consonants are being beaten by sadistic dictionaries . . .
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Prayers to the Saints of Prison (excerpt)
The vowels are in solitary confinement The consonants are being beaten by sadistic dictionaries . . .
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Becoming Buddha | Vallecitos Mountain Refuge retreat (July 1993)
Miracles are hard work: because breathing, because calmness, because conscientiousness is required. That is how Vallecitos appeared in Oakland, where I lived. Seemingly out of nowhere, a letter arrived at our offices in Oakland offering a scholarship to one of us at the National Network for Immigrant and Refugee Rights to participate in the first-ever…
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Ceremonia | Ceremony
Ceremonia Our dead will never die Our life will never end We carry each other into the blue and brown realms, the red and black songs the yellow and the milky ways We embrace and trade places to reach the edge of space I accompany the migrant ghosts on their viaje/trips to drink together from…
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Azlant: Migrants in the kingdom of the real estate
Knowledge, transformation, affiliation… Migrants don’t travel. Migrants are at home on the road. There is no point of departure and return — return is the dream of all migrants. The seasons –winter, spring, summer, autumn, winter– are our places, our suns, our times and spaces for momentary rest, momentary placement. Displacement, movement, roots as sails,…
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Abecedario de las liberaciones
Autonomia sí Automotores no. Besos sí Bombas no Corazones sí Corporaciones no Che sí, siempre Chiónes no Datura sí Dictadura no Elotes sí Europeizantes no Familias sí Fascismo no Guadalupe sí Guerras no Heliotropes sí Helicópteros no Isla cubana sí Imperialismo no Jacarandas sí Jacales no Koatzín sí KKK no Lágrimas sí Lastimadores no Mujeres…
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Madre-abuelita (for manuela & josé)
I long for my grandmother’s tortillas her bold hands that seized fevers and captured ghosts her guidance, her comales, where chiles and tomatoes sang she nourished us with food and prayer to plant flowers to surround us with family, community and hope she didn’t want anyone to die she preferred to die first than see us…
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arnoldogarcía | WINTERINGS
In winter, my dreams dream themselves, the stories play on our beds And life is life again making love to procreate spring… Every season has her nights and days moons and disasters Every season depends on winter to rest, to recover our voices, To renew the roots of the spring that cannot be stopped:…
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arnoldo garcía: Migrant ghost heart
She is now just an idea, a deep memory an ancestor a sister a woman a ghost heart in my mind in my veins in my half life Her body was her own utopia she gave herself over to one man only gave birth to sons who married and had daughters and one son…
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The art of the commune: La comuna
You are invited to contribute, participate, and publish your writings and art here: Welcome to the Art of the Commune: La comuna, our blog for poets, writers, organizers, activists and other cultural workers and community builders to share their dreams, uplift their concerns, make active words and work to change the world with deep community and…
Welcome to La comuna: ART OF THE COMMUNE 