A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.

Friday, November 14, 2008


So I am spending the holiest of American holidays in West Virginia, Morgantown to be exact. Many people would say that Morgantown is not really part of West Virginia, but those are the same people that say the city of New York is country unto itself. People like me say that, and I have also said that Morgantown is not part of West Virginia because it is a college town and as such, privy to a modicum of rebellion, mayhem, and subversion. Sure, the kids all wear those curved bill caps and dress like they just stepped out of a rugby ad, but they like to drink and they like to fuck hence they like to keep out of other people's business. Maybe that is the root of all liberal, democratic thought: the ability to realize that your democracy ends where the taboos of your neighbor are aired out in public.
Therefore, my Panda and I are off to Morgantown to visit la Cochina, aka Miss Riivald, our sister in arms and Panda's former roomate. Which is to say that we are going to drive and we are taking our friend Mikey, whom I like to classify in my head as L.A. Mikey because, well, he is from Louisiana and Los Angeles. Explicitly we are going to see our friend Adam, whom was diagnosed with cancer not too long ago. He is going to meet us halfway at La Cochina's house in Morgantown because he lives in Kent, Ohio. So, we want to put together a little zine for Adam because he used to teach in NYC and still has fond memories of being used up, trampled on, and slapped silly by the high school childrens of NYC; the funny thing is I do as well, everyone who teaches in NYC will say the same; it might be the closes thing we have to a mantra.
We are thinking of writing about memories that we have shared with Adam so when he misses the cesspool, the open hydrant and gutterwater, the oily prism of pigeon baptisms, then he can read out little zine and will be cheered the fuck up. Thus, the following are the ten most supreme NYC memories that transpired while I was with Adam.

1.) Adam, Pillipino Elvis, and I bumping butts like transvestite cheerleaders at the Slipper Room for Cochina's barfday.
2.) Referring to the black squirrels in Central Park as cabroncitos, and talking shit about the French because they act like banlieus don't erupt every summer in orgies of disenfranchised violence.
3.) Administering an Atomic Wedgie to Cochina in the parking lot of an Econolodge on the outskirts of Springfield, Taxachusetts.
4.) The Cool Kids show at the Natural Museum and Kanye showed up and we watched from the handicap ramp rung of Saturn, the planet with all that suspended debris.
5.) Hicupping vociferously outside the show because I had had no dinner and needed a slice of pizza to not upchuck the money that I didn't have but spent on six dollar beer.
6.) Taking pics of Panda and you as you pose like Bronx kids, that is pushing your butt out and posturing an aggravated sexuality well beyond your years.
7.) Playing futbol with you and realizing that you weren't lying about people playing soccer in Ohio, although do they play futbol is what we really discursively assessed.


1 comment:

foul ball said...

Dude, I laugh out loud at this list because it is so vici. If I had one for you and our high times and crimes, it would go:

1. I-90 clandestino entourage with minus break pads.

2. Jesus de la mancha miscreants.

3. Random can of "this blows!"

4. Bundesliga arm accuracy with snowballs