The dragon appears above the Popocatepetl. The fight begins. The volcano observes the battle and its lights flash in awe. The pearl swiftly slides behind his white cape and attempts to escape but the dragon then devours it and I, taking this walk, remember my grandfathers fables. Should I cry or hold it back? When I turn right at the next corner, the pearl, triumphantly shines over the sky and the cape is back in place with a light gesture of the wind.
J-Lopez (dario mariategui)
san diego
05.16.2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Composite Syllogism
Men worthy of faith say that men worthy of faith no longer exist but, Allah is more, or Yahweh, or Jupiter if he’s still around. But, how to believe them? There will be no more sacred rivers for absolutions, only rivers. There will be no need to reach the mountaintop.
If the indeclinable faith has died, we will see, a very shy death of priests, pupils and preachers and then we will be forced to substitute faith with god cemeteries or with the truth which will allow us to be free. Engineers will move mountains and then we will have to initiate ourselves in the faith of denying it all.
J-Lopez (dario mariategui)
san diego
05.16.2010
If the indeclinable faith has died, we will see, a very shy death of priests, pupils and preachers and then we will be forced to substitute faith with god cemeteries or with the truth which will allow us to be free. Engineers will move mountains and then we will have to initiate ourselves in the faith of denying it all.
J-Lopez (dario mariategui)
san diego
05.16.2010
Carpe Diem
He stood at the top of the cliff, “On the last day of the year”, those salty words touched every part of his tongue. The rocks below sounded happy at the end of the abyss.
The calls, the messages, the texts, leaving almost announced. The buses that run and stop at the next avenue, his maroon suede shoes hidden behind the filth of the street, his body spread across the green grass, the old park, his mother crying over the phone begging a never-ending “Don’t Leave”. None of this could hold him back any longer.
The long way down and his soul became one in unified sound and sentiment. “I feel my soul flies. I feel it go,” he says senselessly; “I feel I’m flying. Today, on the last day of the year, the day is mine. Only mine.”
The people on the streets, the music dancing from party to party, and the bottle rockets; blessed rockets, don’t matter. The day is mine.
J-Lopez. (dario mariategui)
San Diego
05.16.2010
The calls, the messages, the texts, leaving almost announced. The buses that run and stop at the next avenue, his maroon suede shoes hidden behind the filth of the street, his body spread across the green grass, the old park, his mother crying over the phone begging a never-ending “Don’t Leave”. None of this could hold him back any longer.
The long way down and his soul became one in unified sound and sentiment. “I feel my soul flies. I feel it go,” he says senselessly; “I feel I’m flying. Today, on the last day of the year, the day is mine. Only mine.”
The people on the streets, the music dancing from party to party, and the bottle rockets; blessed rockets, don’t matter. The day is mine.
J-Lopez. (dario mariategui)
San Diego
05.16.2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Write About Me...
Write something about me. I don’t care what as long as it’s from you. I will not pay attention to your style or prose. I could care less whether you turn me in to a vile and common character or if I’m a badly made-up woman with fishnet stockings, albeit a little torn, with disproportionate breasts that carries the same yellow bag and never shaves her legs evenly reeking of cheap perfume. Or, just write thinking about me as if I were your goddess, your muse, your fetish hanging up on the wall. Imagine the glory of grazing my lips with your eyes closed and to know yourself to be slightly agitated with the excitement I provoke. Make it your mission to care for me for the rest of our lives. I want you to feel my resting exhale every night. Be my charming guardian angel and dress yourself in white in order not to draw attention to ourselves. Whisper an old story in my ear and stare, like an idiot, at me sleeping without wanting to make the slightest sound. Tend to my dreams. Don’t allow the beings under my bed to torment me...be my faithful slave. Ask yourself who is your happiness and then answer: “you”. Swear and vow yourself to never lose me and be with me until death do us part as those who marry tell each other. Be capable of murdering yourself and suiciding me at the same time, all for me. Make yourself a utopia and find it in my arms. Be mine. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. At least write about me. Write for me. Write thinking about me.
The train took longer than usual. I have a few of your writings. Too late; all I have left, now, is to give my pleas and supplications to a cold, gray tomb. I do, however, keep your writings…for you.
J-Lopez ( Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
The train took longer than usual. I have a few of your writings. Too late; all I have left, now, is to give my pleas and supplications to a cold, gray tomb. I do, however, keep your writings…for you.
J-Lopez ( Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
The Cigarette
He lit a cigarette, exhaled the dense smoke and wept a few tears. He never knew if the tears were caused by rage or by the cigarette smoke since, the wind blowing it in his face, fell directly in his eyes.
He stared at a dog with a unique fixation.
The dog played with a dove that, it seems, was too stupid to fly away even upon being aware of the risk of being near the dog’s legs.
The man finished his filthy cancer stick and tossed it towards the dove in hopes it would fly away. Without knowing the full extent of his actions he walked towards the park’s flower shop. He bought a small bouquet and annexed a card that simply read:
“I’m sorry”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
He stared at a dog with a unique fixation.
The dog played with a dove that, it seems, was too stupid to fly away even upon being aware of the risk of being near the dog’s legs.
The man finished his filthy cancer stick and tossed it towards the dove in hopes it would fly away. Without knowing the full extent of his actions he walked towards the park’s flower shop. He bought a small bouquet and annexed a card that simply read:
“I’m sorry”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Pinocchio and Jesus
Both were first borns
Both were sons of a carpenter
Both were sons of an old man
Both were sons of a pater putativus
Both listened to their conscience
Both had perforated extremities
Both were manipulated by invisible strings
Both had a fairy or spirit that enlightened them
Both were driven towards sin
Both, in the end, refused to be dominated by evil
Both played with children
3.28.2010, Prague, Czech Republic
Both were sons of a carpenter
Both were sons of an old man
Both were sons of a pater putativus
Both listened to their conscience
Both had perforated extremities
Both were manipulated by invisible strings
Both had a fairy or spirit that enlightened them
Both were driven towards sin
Both, in the end, refused to be dominated by evil
Both played with children
3.28.2010, Prague, Czech Republic
freedom of speech.
My grandfather tended to express his malaise about the rising price in maize and beans through minuscule, muffled, mumbles. Once in a while the paper that was distributed all throughout the city would come to rest in his hands but he was unable to read it like millions of illiterate Mexicans.
He visited the most prolific circle of political analysis known to man in his time: the barbershop. The barber was master of scissor and comb; a connoisseur and propagator of renovating ideas. The barbershop was the center of the political and cultural universe. And, like hair, ignorance fell from my grandfather’s head (and off every man) only to reappear once again with the passing of time as he exited the barbershop and walked into reality.
Times are so different. Now, I don’t wish to talk about myself but I must. I admit that I find a bit of amusement about the many ways and styles that exist in this country to tell the President to go “fuck himself”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
Prague, Czech Republic
3.28.2010
He visited the most prolific circle of political analysis known to man in his time: the barbershop. The barber was master of scissor and comb; a connoisseur and propagator of renovating ideas. The barbershop was the center of the political and cultural universe. And, like hair, ignorance fell from my grandfather’s head (and off every man) only to reappear once again with the passing of time as he exited the barbershop and walked into reality.
Times are so different. Now, I don’t wish to talk about myself but I must. I admit that I find a bit of amusement about the many ways and styles that exist in this country to tell the President to go “fuck himself”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
Prague, Czech Republic
3.28.2010
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