When your mother hits you, do not strike back. When the boys call asking your cup size, say A, hang up. When he says you gave him blue balls, sayyou’re welcome. When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you’re a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won’t have anything to grab when you head-butt her. Then head-butt her. When a guidance counselor teases you for handed-down jeans, do not turn red. When you have sex for the second time and there is no condom, do not convince yourself that screwing between layers of underwear will soak up the semen. When your geometry teacher posts a banner reading: “Learn math or go home and learn how to be a Momma,” do not take your first feminist stand by leaving the classroom. When the boy you have a crush on is sent to detention, go home. When your mother hits you, do not strike back. When the boy with the blue mohawk swallows your heart and opens his wrists, hide the knives, bleach the bathtub, pour out the vodka. Every time. When the skinhead girls jump you in a bathroom stall, swing, curse, kick, do not turn red. When a boy you think you love delivers the first black eye, use a screw driver, a beer bottle, your two good hands. When your father locks the door, break the window. When a college professor writes you poetry and whispers about your tight little ass, do not take it as a compliment, do not wait, call the Dean, call his wife. When a boy with good manners and a thirst for Budweiser proposes, say no. When your mother hits you, do not strike back. When the boys tell you how good you smell, do not doubt them, do not turn red. When your brother tells you he is gay, pretend you already know. When the girl on the subway curses you because your tee shirt reads: “I fucked your boyfriend,” assure her that it is not true. When your dog pees the rug, kiss her, apologize for being late. When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Jersey City, do not move. When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Harlem, do not move. When he refuses to stay the night because your air conditioner is broken, leave him. When he refuses to keep a toothbrush at your apartment, leave him. When you find the toothbrush you keep at his apartment hidden in the closet, leave him. Do not regret this. Do not turn red. When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
divendres, 22 de febrer de 2013
divendres, 4 de gener de 2013
There was a time (when I lived in Spain and had no money) I used to participate in every contest I came across on the Internet. Most of them were raffles to get tickets to go to concerts I was interested in. I even won some of them, and after receiving an email confirming my chance to go I realized that I had to work that day or I didn't have a way to get there. What became even more disturbing was the fact that some of the artists I refused to see started to die or have fatal accidents: Amy Winehouse was found dead in her apartment, Micah P. Hinson had a car crush, and so on. Even though I would never recognize to be superstitious in any kind of way, I even imagined myself on a possibly remote past life winning tickets to see the Beatles, not going and watching on TV how John Lennon got shot a week after; or refusing a ticket to see Joy Division and hearing about Ian Curtis suicide after a while. I promised myself not to decline any opportunity that life had to offer me (I know, it got me in a pretty intense moment of my life). After that I had to deal with some boring concerts, but it also brought me some incredible opportunities and crazy situations. Some of which I attempt to write about here.
Publicat per littleannnnn a 14:04