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.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014



There are several worthy charities in Los Angeles; the city of Angels purports a great amount of wealth and affluence, but there are also deep pockets of poverty and criminality. Hard N Da Paint is an organization that has been running programs in Los Angeles for the past 5 years through Self Help Graphics & Art in East Los Angeles.

The students and facilitators have made incredible gains over these past five years; it’s time to take HNDP to the next level. Over this time, HNDP affected thousands of youth with their popular open-mic series, and have individually mentored hundreds through the group's intensive music development workshops. The good people at Hard N Da Paint are giving teen Angelenos an alternative to institutionalized lives of poverty, low-expectations, and criminality.

Their programs give adolescents the confidence they need to value the things they dream; therefore, would you please consider donating to this amazing organization and spreading the word so that this group raises the monies they so desperately desire to become mobile and affect a greater outreach of their efforts, knowledge capital, and know-how.

Kickstarter campaign: here

Tuesday, June 17, 2014



Dear Elana & Camilo

I wanted to write something to help you document the impact “Grand Rounds” had on my life as a working-class denizen of Los Angeles; at the same time, I wanted to create a response to your project that labored against the projected impermanence of your project. While the objective of your project was certainly not to record the “proceedings,” I thought I might write something that recorded the proceedings as my closed-circuit televisions system interpreted them. This letter are those thoughts; or more importantly, the letters of this letter comprise that letter which is itself a cipher for something larger than what it refers to (and cue the etcetera barges, etc.).

First off, I need for you to know that it was a pain in the ass to get to “Grand Rounds," an informal discussion (and free, brown-bag lunch) at Grand Park in downtown Los Angeles (courtesy of Elana Mann and Camilo Cruz) because I had to take the Long Beach line in to Hope and 7th Avenue. At the same time, the fact that I was able to get to Grand Park through Los Angeles Metro should be noted as a civic victory, wouldn’t you agree? I especially think this in a city where car manufacturers and highway developers colluded so egregiously to eradicate public transportation. In addition, I walked to Grand Park from the terminus of the Expo Line (again, Hope and 7th), which gave me a good ten minutes of fl├óneuring. And, it was a super-nice day; I half expected there was going to be an earthquake because the day was so super-freakishly nice. But, as a pain-in-the-ass east-coaster, half of my operating directive (charm) is to refuse the impulse to own a car; the other half is spent complaining about the public transportation I do utilize. You and I both know we need me to tell everyone why they’re doing it wrong.

I accepted Camilo’s invite because I was interested in the admixture of city, county, and non-profit overlords that were scheduled to participate in “Grand Rounds" on that particular day. I figured at the very worst, it was going to be like a super-awkward interview, and at the very best it was going to be like talking to the supervisors of all the agents and telephone associates that put me on hold for inordinate amounts of time. However, once the free lunches started getting passed around, people let down their guards and opened up a little. I enjoyed participating in “Grand Rounds," because I felt like the ship I run as an English teacher in the L.A. County Jail is the same ship being steered in other public-service sectors of Los Angeles city and county cliques. As a patient of psychotherapy, I’ve learned the aim of talking to a psychologist is to get yourself to enunciate your ailment, and declare your prowess for change; in much the same way, “Grand Rounds," allowed me to talk to people (people just like me) who do too much with too little; and, we got to enunciate our ailments, diagnose our better practices, and share an authentic brown-bag lunch at high noon in Grand Park.

Thank You Immensely!

Yago S. Cura

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


Mata, martial chipper, finisher, PhD in Double-Tap
Striking Viking
James Rodriguez, Monaco buzzflap, scalpel incubator,
Colombian Dolomite
Matty Ryan, General in Yellow, Sergeant of Arms of Arms,
Flipping Booter
Aissa Mandi, wizard of dribbling, he springs goals from
their penitentiaries
Jo, daddy long legs, works the box like a boxing bag with
Sine Loco jabs
Aguero, el Kun, B Boy Big Kahuna, face musher,
hockey body checker
Neyman, smirker, Dirk Diggler juggling most fluorescent
tennis ball
Dempsey, goofball, Howitzer technician, shoots from
outside the Possible
Boateng, floater, cumulous bombardier, galloping
cloud seeder sans spurs
Podolski, femur blaster, leg munitionist, Germany’s
Roiling Rockette
Forlan, tiny witch, hand-to-hand crone spanking
the snot out the balon