Untitled - Image Factory Art Foundation

100 Pages·2016·7.62 MB·English

BAFFU8
contents
1. Francis Ruiz
2. Carlos Quiroz
3. Felene Cayetano
4. Marvin Vernon
5. Adriana Smith
6. Carolina Maite Dominguez
7. Rasheed Palacio
8. Rudy Thompson
9. Gerardo Polanco
10. Katie Usher
11. Maja Skenderovic
12. Chante Pascascio
13. Kesha Peyrefitte
14. Yasser Musa
15. Sean Gibson
16. Mercy Sabal
17. Alfonso Galvez
18. Paul Stevenson
19. Briheda Haylock
20. Tony Rath
21. Keyren X
22. Michael Gordon
23. Cricel Castillo
24. Kevin Baizar
25. Yassine Boutouil
26. Abdulmajeed K Nunez
27. Ansel Diego
28. Evan V. Evans
29. Marlene Sulker
30. Sean Taegar
31. Alex Ellis
32. Nia Alulaij
33. Ellen Joseph
34. Patrick Peyrefitte
35. Avery
36. Kyo D’Assassin
37. Ansel Diego
38. Gerzon
39. Margaret Reynolds
40. Janai Garnett
41. Cindy Burgos
42. Jemuel E. Robateau
43. Keisha Diane Rodriguez
color tone of Baffu8 =
cover image of Crisel Castillo by Ernie Alpuche
FRANCIS RUIZ
CARLOS QUIROZ
UNTITLED
Felene Cayetano
One at a time
I want his toenails
to slowly discolor
painfully fall off in his sleep
one each day
disrupting his dreams
causing everyone who sees him
to increase his anxiety by commenting
with encouragements
to try one bush remedy after the next
as the final toenail drops.
I want his teeth to have a similar fate
but they will fall publicly
especially around people he loves
respects or wants to impress;
dentists will give him hope
that they could save the others
but nothing will help.
The day his last tooth falls
his bones will turn brittle
starting with the smallest bones
on the trigger finger
basic actions will cause excruciating pain
daily until he is neither willing
nor able to move and his spirit
is forced to reflect upon his bad choices
malicious ways and the recipients
of his hate
to the point where his mind torments him
enough to beg forgiveness
from all the gods he knows
and these merciful entities
will send someone to wipe the filth
his embalming physical self has become.
12:21pm Jan. 23, 2016 Guyana time en route to airport. Turning unshed tears and anger
into something for GD to laugh about when he wakes up.
MARVIN VERNON
ADRIANA SMITH
Thisness Down it,
Swallow it,
Savor it sip by sip
Carolina Maite Dominguez
Lick it on my lips
But I wonder
I am dizzied by kitchens with a gazillion gadgets, but-
If this thisness exists here
tons, beeps
Or if it’s buried with the bones of those who toiled
Frozen meals zapped with no zest
the very land they are buried beneath
“wah pah di seasonin deh?”
I wonder
Sitting in solitude, sharing a meal with the internet
If it exists in these mansions, that really are a battle
Diiiizzzzy and dazed and full on faux food
fields, battle homes
I hunger to be in kitchens where heat cannot be con-
Barriers, brick walls, keeping out thisness
tained,
I wonder where thisness lives
fiery frustrations burning on the kamal- “he no deh
On the corner of streets, sleeping in between bank
do noting,”
buildings and garbage dumps?
passionate pleas mixed into the stirring of stew peas,-
Does thisness live here too?
“mija, mija, es la fe que necesitamos”
I believe it does
prayers sizzling with the plantains- “di good Lord wah
I try to find it in between the jugos de guayaba, chivir-
kohn troo”
icos, and taki chips on corner store shelves
kitchens where each moment of life is a sacred mor-
I search for it in the streets of Hialeah
sel savored like the spoon-scratching in the bottom
And Coral Gables too
of pots
And the moments of alegria
Of cortaditos y pastelitos con papi
I hunger to rise like creole buns in gas ovens
On the way to work, la nueva lucha
Where women, burned by the fire of men, rise, rise,
But thisness, ahh, I cannot feel alive in all of this, cha-
rise
os, busy-ness, business
And feed families, and more families
But, ahh, I listen for it
So their children too can rise rise rise
I listen to grandmothers with alzheimers
Above the hells
Who haven’t forgotten “la precia de la libertad”
Underneath their feet
Who can still dance with intoxicating rhythm
The hells blazing on each corner-
Shining, swaying, salsa steps- like theres diamonds
Each inch of their streets
shining in their souls
Like the silver, diamonds- and dignity- they swallowed
I am suffocated by the traffic
Si si for liberty!
Deafened by the honks that perpetrate through my
They crossed the sea hasta Miami
shields of glass
La orilla de Cuba carved in their curves
Shielding me from the noises- and air- of the world
The curves I called home, the home I nestled in as a
alone on these busy streets
child
I am deafened by the rush outside this glass
Thisness
Alone and lost in my head
Exists here
I scream to hear the noises of the day
Too, on the thighs of mami
Taaaamaless, mawnin’ miss, aftanoon, jammed bike
Where I was rocked to lullabies on abuelas white
chains, screeches, dollaa van!, dukanu, clothespin
wicker sillon, “esta nina linda, que nacio de dia…”
pinches hanging sheets on the line
Falling asleep to the songs of my ancestors
Ayyy, I can almost smell the blanco nubes infiltrating
As a child, waking up to liberty
my nostrils
Now,
Intoxicating me with life
I sruggle to shut up my snooze button
Drunk on memories
Slamming my phone
I want to taste this,
Already angry that I am awoken by the ticks of tech-
thisness
nology that make me tick and turn to its terryfing
Gulp it,
power At the end of the day
Angry that I am not awoken by the voice yelling Ta- It’s the struggle for joy that’s sweet
males, yelling into the wind and into windows- awak- Oh thisness
ening me to acknowledge the hunger I have for the Que dulce eres.
day- and too for a tamale – rather than a 100 calorie Sobering up to the sugar on my lips
pack of emptiness Oh,
I shuffle like a zombie to the espresso machine I taste thisness.
Before I am even cognizant that I am awake
4 shots of espresso in my mug
and I down them all
to feel alive
to take the day
to buzz though the business and busy-ness
forgetting that I want to feel, to find
thisness
because I am so drunk on Café Pilon
I walk past el sillón
Without noticing abuelos imprint
Thisness
Sitting right there
But I am too busy to sit in his company
Forget that he is gone
There is not time to even greet his ghost
Ahhhhhhhhh
I am dizzied
Drunk
Deaf
Have I forgotten what matters most?
I listen to what’s around me
Am I asleep or am I awake?
Am I stuck in this dream,
The dream of those before me-“ la suena para una
mejor manera de vivir”
The dream for a better life
Am I in a kitchen- the oils burns my skin
No, I’m on la calle, the street- I hear the howls, I feel
the heat
But I’m not moving with the movement
I’m stuck on my feet,
I’m listening I’m listening, I’m feeling I’m feeling
It’s coming from within
This thisness
It sounds like my abuela
I can taste it, like the sweetness of her tres leches
pastel
I can hear it like the screaming of Azucar!
Saying,
Singing,
“Porque al fin de la dia
Es la lucha para la alegria”
RASHEED PALACIO