[as always, just keep scrolling down for all the latest EZLN communiques]
So, as of tomorrow, the 15th, the communities will be back open for business.
I would really like to urge everyone who had made plans to go down there, and who had perhaps cancelled, to reconsider. And any of those who had been engaged in projects, to carry on. I am afraid that the Red Alert might have had the unintended effect of misconstruing the situation.
Whatever else one might think about any variety of related issues, the communities have been doing the work, our work in the greatest sense. And now, with the new openness, we have more opportunity to see, to share, to contribute and to learn from that work.
Now, back to some gossip...and I have found that the best way to actually get some is to start it here. I am wondering what has happened with plans to publish the detective novel that Marcos wrote with Paco Taibo II? They wrote it in classic serialized fashion [published weekly by La Jornada], and rights were said to have been secured by Seven Stories Press in the States and by Friction [George Galloway's latest fiery, media-friendly venture] in the UK. But I see no sign of it, in either place, though Gorgeous George is publishing one of Taibo's own. Que lástima... I think.
As for other reads [she murmurs ingenuously]...you might have a peek at Revista Rebeldía. It was started a few years ago, about the time, I believe, that the architect Yañez, I believe [still ingenuously], opened a retro cult museum somewhere or other [you guys really do have to do some of the work yourselves, for heaven's sake]. Anyway, I did do a number of translations, and if you scroll down their home page and check out the "más numeros" and scroll down that, you'll find traducciones inglés and you can read a few. Or not, of course.
Quite a bit of the above actually has to do with my previous promise of discussing tedious stereotypes. You can choose your own favorites. For my money, George is the man. Despite, of course, all the good work he's done [and he has], he is clearly incapable of avoiding every predictable flourish or overweaning gesture or tacky suit or florid, kneejerk soundbite in the known universe.
Perhaps tomorrow we might calm our nerves with some Gustavo Bécquer and fino. Qué es poesía, indeed. Or with outing the odd provocateur. Depending on my mood.