In the summer of 1998 after living for a year in Mexico City, I traveled for a few months with a friend I’d met at the UNAM. Our destination? Adventure. Last stop, Havana.
Category: prose
Thoughts on #Love
15/06/16. I’ve been in mourning since Sunday afternoon, when I read about the Orlando massacre.
And it’s been strange to be in mourning just one week after being part of a beautiful, joyful celebration of love and queerness. A gay commitment ceremony in rural Serbia, in a tiny village that all the world’s statistics and stereotypes would say is a place of closed-mindedness, conservativism and homophobia. Our neighbors are farmers and domestic workers, truck drivers and school teachers, artists and students.
rising
My eyes scanned the ground, poised to dodge pits, puddles, dog-shite. I was concentrating on an almost sharp pain in my right ankle, caused, I guessed, by a tight or weak achilles tendon. Feeling my feet seemed to help, and the pain receded to a dull ache. heel-arch-ball-toe flex-reach-aim-land I needed to get beyond 8…
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