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insomnia

And if Latin America no longer exists? If you were a mirage, the obsession of a few politicians, an illusion, an ideal footprint extinct, a trap, a hole, a ghost or a zombie, a lie, just a dream? What if you suddenly discover that instead of a routine health examination, Latin America require an autopsy? And if Latin America was only to put it dramatically, an unburied corpse?

The sudden disappearance of the typical Latin American dictator resulted in the simultaneous retirement of the typical Latin American guerrilla [...] the fall of authoritarian regimes became obsolete revolutionary struggles and those who survived had to take off their masks, hang their coats, cornering their superpowers and reinvent themselves as ordinary citizens.


Unlike the realism of the past, narco's novel, does not support moral judgments, does not intend to preach to anyone and just collecting a critical tool, but as the authors strive to recreate millimeter speech and customs of its actors, their lives wild and horrible deaths, has ended up becoming the only remnant of social criticism of our time ...

As the drug-related violence began playing in several countries, its writers were quick to incorporate it into their texts, first as a backdrop and then as the epicenter of action. In a bland and aseptic era, dominated by mistrust of politics, these powerful forces outside the law took on a role: poor teenagers, recruited by the mafia to become professional murderers, beautiful young women used as currency; gunmen faced no other reason than the existential void, heroes and villains pathetic, not even easy to distinguish from each other; a universe dominated by danger, unpredictability and death clumsy and poorly paid police, always sold to the highest bidder, and of course a few bosses converted multimillionaires who own private armies and estates ...

If anything Latin American literature has not disappeared entirely, due to the persistence of this social scourge that has become in its new-and perhaps only-brand. A formula = Magical Realism in Latin America today is opposed Latin American narco = Novel.


* Jorge Volpi. Insomnia Bolivar. Mexico: Discussion. 2009. 259 p.

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Bolivar Cultural journalism at the time of the globaphobia


"What puzzles me a little is that bad maybe Carlos Rentería thinks a countercultural magazine should not be sold in Sanborn-Fadanelli and apparently thinks so when he says:" Our distribution [is Mold concerns ] is useless, precarious, accidental, but I prefer to be in a fucking Sanborns "- but in the libraries of the State, such as network Educal Books and Art. Accordingly, a magazine like ours [Replicator], produced with our money and our effort, should not tarnish, to show off shamelessly in detestable Sanborns, the virginal purity of the counter-anything that's in the Digital Age of rampant globalization. But, yes, editors should ask for (and to require sombrerazos, as some do) CONACULTA grants and subsidies (after scholarships are up for the holes Fonca fonqui, H. Yepez dixit) and perhaps dare negotiate humble exchanges with bookstores, restaurants, bars and small businesses. "

" I am sure that the evil Carlos plays with me. Everyone knows that your magazine [ Generation], from which no one doubts his counterculture lineage has survived a lifetime event by the State and also boasts of not paying contributions. It's just not a business, says Carlos rogue, as if to clarify: a treacherous and dirty business. " And how do I say that Replicante think it is? Or rather, it wants to be. As are businesses that Carlos buy alcohol, food, clothing, shoes, medicines, books, CDs, appliances, gifts for him, his family. And alcohol. And as the businesses that buy the paper for your magazine and the printing and binding. Because I know, no free lunch in this world (or CONACULTA), and if we can pay to the many writers, illustrators, designers working with Replicant going to do, even if modestly, but not want-and for that we are looking for the damn advertising. (Do not know why the gods, and officials are smiling every time you mention the word "counterculture."

* Rogelio Villarreal. cultural journalism in the time of the globaphobia. Mexico: Ediciones no name. 2006. 107 p.

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After dark


"A motorcycle stops outside the hotel entrance Alphaville. A large late-model Honda. The man driving a helmet that covers the face. Leave the engine running, as if to be ready to escape in case anything happens. Tight black leather jacket and jeans. High boots. Gloves. The man takes off his helmet and left on the fuel tank. After looking around air cautious, takes off the glove of one hand and pulls out a mobile phone pocket. Press a number. He is a man in his thirties. But brown ponytail. Broad forehead, sunken cheeks, sharp look. Maintains a brief conversation. The man hangs up the phone and saved. You put the glove, wait ... take the case, puts, calls the prostitute with a gesture and it is mounted on the bike. The woman grasped with both hands. He turns, looks at Mary, look at Kaoru. You are about to say something, but best serves his automatic pistol. Give a strong pull of hands, full throttle, it goes. The test tube noise echoes majestically in the streets, late at night. "

* Haruki Murakami. After dark. Spain: Tusquets. 2008. 248 p.

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Bukowski's dilemma


"The war between Televisa and TV Azteca is not released in the field of ideas, nor is it to raise the level of programming. When passing through the small screen Octavio Paz and Juan Jose Arreola amply demonstrated the futility of this media seemingly noble purpose. Behold the Nexus program or political parties or concerts by the National Symphony to scare viewers, even the most docile. The people what they ask, Azcarraga said, and people seem to ask for more trash, more morbid and denigration, more entertainment abject, more stupidity. The War of the television is the war of greed and manipulation, is a desperate battle for control of the market and rising rating of the whole thing. Whether infumables Chespirito or stuffed animals, the feisty Cristina or leguaraz nalgona Brozo and preverbal, the talk of Paty First Chapy or impact or always late on a Sunday, the proto-fascism of Luis Pazos or chronic stupidity Force Informativa Azteca, the TV is that and nothing else: do not try to save or to intervene: they have already won the battle, we are defeated. "

" The first of January 2000 were completed years of an uprising that seems to have Frozen: How long can you be revolutionary? There would be nothing more pitiful to witness the transformation of Subcomandante Marcos in the uncompromising and deranged Colonel Kurt Apocalypse Now, isolated in the darkness of the hidden jungle of Chiapas, surrounding a few faithful Indians, muttering neoliberal slogans and hoping that his fans will transform the world once and for all. Originally being one of the most peculiar rebel movements in Mexican history, the Zapatistas and their leader seem to bet more visible by suicide than by the exasperating and interminable democratic transition. Beyond the speeches and statements of Marcos, it can discern what is the social project that proposes ... perhaps a socialist country, free of defects and vices of the deceased actually existing socialism? "

* Rogelio Villarreal. Bukowski's dilemma. Mexico: Ediciones no name. 2004. 365 p.

What Virtues Of Athens Appealed To Pericles

Elementary Particles


"I've never understood feminists ..." said Christiane at half cost. Spent their lives talking about washing dishes and sharing tasks, as the dishes the literally obsessed. Sometimes they said a few sentences about cooking or vacuuming, but the big topic of conversation was washing the dishes. In a few years managed to transform the guys next to them in helpless neurotic and grumpy. And at that moment, a mathematician, began to have nostalgia of manhood. End his men planted the fuck a male Latino of the most ridiculous. I've always been amazed at the attraction of intellectuals by the sons of bitches, the gross and jerk. So he threw two or three, sometimes more if the aunt was very fuckable, then became pregnant and gave the home baking sheets with cooking Marie-Claire. I've seen the same scenario repeated dozens of times. "


" Men do not make love because they are in love, but because they are excited, it took me years to understand a fact so obvious and so simple. All the people who lived around me so I moved in half released, but he felt the leading to less pleasure or seducing. "

* Michel Houellebecq. elementary particles. Barcelona: Anagram. 1999. 320 p.

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The Insatiable Spiderman


"I do not know where you live or what to do. I know nothing. Someone told me that she married a millionaire psychiatrist who lives in the Cape Cod and has gained a lot. I do not know I fell into a depression that lasted years. It was terrible and I do not remember the time, depressed, angry, mad, confused, drunk all day, no food, no money, claustrophobic, with suicidal intentions, every day I tuning to a different black. Sometimes they beat me crabs. The searching among the most vulgar and prosaic in my neighborhood. I like to hit when it was stuck and they were held back with my sadism. Perhaps that was what saved me: the drinking, women, release anger, throwing it all to hell, do not expect anything from anybody. And writing. At dawn, drunk, wrote stories of everything that happened to me. It was great fun. And kept going. And here I am. "

" ... Twenty years have passed. From here I look at that stage of my life and I am amazed at how easy it is to achieve and maintain a high level of stupidity. I have no choice: I am now a bunch of doubts and uncertainties of all kinds. Sometimes accumulate so I get to the absolute bewilderment. "

* Pedro Juan Gutierrez. The Insatiable Spiderman . Barcelona: Anagram. 2002. 211 p.

Bagger For A Snapper Rider

The other side of Rock Hudson


" When my mother went to give me the news that my father came, I already had enough pants to start living alone. Papers the Johnny away for me was simple and did not leave much money but gave me enough to rent a room and leave the house now remember not without some bitterness. "

* Guillermo Fadanelli. The other side Rock Hudson . Barcelona: Anagram. 2004. 142 p. Neither