Air exposes its essence to what we create with it and how we apply her to life. El Negro has arrived to Buenos Aires. I heard the screams from the tarmac. They reached my 15th floor balcony 37 kilometers away. I am not certain how or even why– disconcerting. Were they screeches perhaps? Sharp like an eagle or hungry like a vulture? I could not paint sounds with colors, a gift I have had since I can remember– a peculiar way I create with the air. The block was unconscious and indecisive, possibly it was bad circulation. The shadow tarried in a moribund black as the red, white and blue cautiously arbitrated the celeste and white. I chose the sun. I chose the sun and looked directly at it with open eyes as it glazed the surface of the Río de la Plata and I, as if we were two sisters admiring ourselves in a lateral mirror. Etta James sounded on my iPod and we forgot about the screeches, or the shrieks, or the screams, setting off from the south of the urban cone. I envisaged a tepid white forearm that belonged to Etta, flipped belly-up ready to fillet- upturned over her left thigh like a dorado, furtive in a powder room of the radio station, helplessly submitting to a silver needle that would silence the internal screams– guttural from the innards and exposed in streams from the beaks of demon eagles trapped in her that would subsequently transform and morph while voyaging through her great redeemer. 15 minutes later over the broadcast to a %99 listener majority of a vibrant white, her vocal chords redeemed it all. Staring at the sun I thought of El Negro and Etta. I sucked the mate gourd to a quagmire that synthesized my overall posture as the sun veiled me and my sister. Chavez gifted El Negro Las venas abiertas de América Latina by Eduardo Galeano. What about the Open Veins of Etta James, or the Open Veins of Billie Holiday? Chavez is dead, so is Galeano, Etta, and Billie, too. Maybe the Engineer will give el Negro a book. Civility and Barbarity by Sarmiento? Or Bases by Alberdi? Operación Masacre by Rodolfo Walsh? The air is truly good today, but Etta would have belted out redemption, unleashing those internal gryphons to pluck the eyes of demagoguery, and pecking at the air to silence the misused air of the screeches and screams– belting from the tarmac.
March 23rd, 2016