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(POST-)PANDEMIC MELANCHOLIA The Real? The peeling away of masks a breach of security Producing antagonism a biopolitical war of bodies in common against each other Breath re-circulated Floating germs creep into the nasal and mouth infesting the host Coughs, sneezes, loud talking Handshakes, hugs, intimate space shared The doors closed windows gaping, and faces filled with enjoyment Pleasures explode in the social Anxieties surge in the body The mask a barricade against facial emotions and airborne disease The breach a production of new desires: the re- introduction of social play The catastrophic death of the virus a condition of a human experience of the pandemic a history of forgetting The breach a site for crossing the territory of death and survival: a reality smothered under the weight of happiness of risk in pleasures Narratives of government capital immunization bodies virology production sociality human life and ecological disaster Population Statistics Death-rates Confusion Brain damage Terminal lifetime The ecstasy of re-integration and re-socialization a social encounter of the habitus New patterns old motifs The virtual digital and cybernetic a material dimension of the cyborg experience The naked human life as the new desire for living-with-others again What is a pandemic in its afterlife? una lloradita tranqui // negative vibes You ain't even touched me in so long… —Omar Apollo No mames, no me mires a los ojos, que me vas a hacer llorar… —Ed Maverick There’s something to be said about crying alone. There’s something to be said about not crying at all, lost to the feeling, incapacitated by the sadness. No matter how one feels about the atmosphere of depression, I find myself listening to the sounds of desire—for love, for lover(s), for touch, for attention, for a hand to walk together. There’s something to be said about the fictional and the need to share this with another. There’s something to be said about not feeling any of this at all. How do we find each other again, in the ruin of our existence? How do we not burden the other with our pain? How do we avoid the abandoning of emotion lost to non-physical presence in the last couple years? I find myself eager to speak, I find myself enthusiastic to share the company of another. And the feelings breakdown in a nervous paralysis. I tune in to the sad artists. Those who remind me that I feel in a brown, güero body. I tune in to the negative affects of anguish, hopeless love, mourning the loss of a companion. I remember in these brown sounds, the lyrical mourning, and the desires for intimacy the life and love of my quantum entanglements. How the warm embrace of my love for another is near the soul, reciprocating the need for company. I am pulled into the singularity. I am loving, as much as possible in the finite existence of my life. As the Xicané mystic and facilitator of emancipatory queer politics Kim reminds me of in tarot readings or wholesome letters, hope is a gesture of living the best life I can. Friendship I am on my bed with my Nintendo Switch, a portable video game console with a charging port to connect with a television. It is the early months of 2021, and I am playing The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. I am obsessed, nostalgic for old times. Convincing friends to also purchase a Switch, we play online and FaceTime each other, sharing virtual space. We play Mario Kart 8: Deluxe and race on tracks, trying to be in first place each circuit. We scream, we laugh, we mourn. Sooner or later, I am purchasing a PlayStation 4 (PS4) from my brother. My obsession becomes an addiction. Ramón turned us all onto Fortnite not so long ago in our video game obsession, so I download Fortnite on the PS4. We play day in and day out, night after night. Sometimes Gustavo calls it a night and leaves us to read his two chapters. Maritza invites their sister to play with us time to time. Ramón’s between playing with family and us, sometimes converging and other times not. Joel is busy learning the mechanics and techniques to be a better player, and he laughs when we are so terrible at this game. The best part of listening is hearing the dogs bark, the roommates in the room talking on the phone, the “what the fuck!” from Natalia watching television, or the loud, asthmatic breathing my friends always remind me I am doing on the mic. If there’s anything about playing video games online, it’s listening to the voice and space of my friends. It’s hearing them laugh, hearing them angry, excited to listen to the chismes or the slow days of school that bear down on us all. I hold onto this feeling. I hold onto my friends.
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Here we post our writings of thoughts we have, essays we have written, poetry, social commentary, news reports, polemics, and other kinds of writing. We hold it valuable to our hearts the written word in the spirit of the huehuetlahtolli, and we aspire to be intellectually on point as well as accessible to our gente from the barrio to the academy. Archive
November 2022
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