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AQC Release for Tuesday, January 26th, 2010

 

Tuesday, Janurary 26th, 2010

Desde Antique Children estamos encantados en publicar dos cuentos ‘La Mejor Atracción’ y ‘Los Focos’ por el autor prestigioso mexicano, Guillermo Samperio. Samperio ha escrito más de veinticinco libros de cuento, novela, poesía y ensayo. Ha publicado en diversas revistas de México y el extranjero y ha sido traducido en múltiples idiomas. Samperio ha aparecido en antologías a lado de Asturias, Benedetti, Bioy Casares, Borges, Cabrera Infante, Cortázar, Fuentes, García Márquez, D. H. Lawrence, Joyce y Nabokov, entre otros. Sus más recientes libros son Cuentos reunidos, Alfaguara, México, 2007; La Guerra oculta, cuentos, Lectorum, México, 2008. Samperio acaba de publicar su libro de cuentos La Gioconda in bicicletta que será presentado en la embajada de México en Italia.

[translation]

Antique Children is delighted to publish two short stories ‘La mejor atracción’, and ‘Los Focos’ - by the highly acclaimed Mexican author, Guillermo Samperio. Samperio has written more than twenty five books that include novels, short stories, poetry and essays. He has been published in various magazines both in Mexico and abroad and has been translated into many languages. Samperio has appeared in a number of anthologies alongside Asturias, Benedetti, Bioy Casares, Borges, Cabrera Infante, Cortázar, Fuentes, García Márquez, D. H. Lawrence, Joyce and Nabokov, amongst others. His most recent books, Cuentos reunidos and La Guerra oculta, were published in Mexico in 2007 and 2008 consecutively. Samperio has just published his book of short stories, La Gioconda in bicicletta which will be launched in the Mexican Embassy in Italy this year.

~Hero Mackenzie

Works by Brent Becker and D.M. Mitchell.

ABATTOIR
(for my sister)

D.M. Mitchell


Mary met him on the bridge near her flat, under a treacherous sky like a dirty bruise. Her period had just ended and she'd celebrated with a handful of pills. None of her friends had answered her phone calls; maybe they were out already, in which case she'd bump into them eventually. But she suspected that they were in fact, simply not answering the phone, avoiding her. She was becoming needy. She decided to walk for a while on her own, then check out a few clubs when they opened for the nightly meat-trade.

"In this city everyone preys on everyone else." she thought, adjusting the dark glasses which she habitually affected as they hid the bags that had grown beneath her eyes. She liked to think the glasses made her seem almost tragic, like a doomed heroine in a film-noir. No! She decided she wasn’t tragic. She was predatory - a nocturnal beast, never waking up until at least four in the afternoon, just like her friends and acquaintances whom she only ever saw after dark. Vampires. She was glad she'd left her job, even though the money was starting to get tight.

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Los focos

Guillermo Samperio

Ya en la noche, cuando los focos están apagados y se instala un largo silencio, es cuando ellos piensan mejor. Piensan en la luna llena, las luciérnagas, los arbotantes, en los focos fundidos, en las lámparas de mano de los veladores, en el brillo de los ojos de las mujeres que están de pie en las esquinas, en el foco que se enciende sobre las cabezas de los científicos, los poetas o los filósofos, cuando les viene una idea estupenda, en el centelleo de los charcos después de la lluvia, o en otros focos apagados.
         
Los focos de las lámparas apagadas piensan en los escotes de las mujeres cuando hay fiesta en la casona, en los fuegos leves que se generan en los muslos femeninos que llevan medias negras y tienen la pierna cruzada, en los fistoles prudentes de los caballeros y hasta en sus hebillas, aunque sean un tanto toscas, en los ojos chispeantes de damas y cortesanos cuando la fuerza alcohólica ha subido los grados legales del alcoholímetro, el fulgor erótico en los labios de las mujeres cuando salen a la terraza y segundos después los hombres que van tras ellas con un haz en la frente sudorosa, en las luces leves de las velas que la señora de la casa hunde en pequeños panes de chocolate, canela, mamey o frambuesa, en las súbitas y cambiantes relumbres de la ponchera y del mismo cucharón mientras vierte la bebida alcohólica compuesta de liquido de peras jugosas, ciruelas trituradas y jugo de toronjas, además del coñac añadido al último.
         
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La mejor atracción

Guillermo Samperio

Don Maximino es dueño de un circo; su mayor atracción no es la mujer que va saltando en giros sobre un caballo, ni una jirafa que hace nudo su cuello ni los trapecistas que hacen el triple salto mortal, vaya, ni la mujer que vuela en un avioncito sin cables ni red de protección. No, la mayor seducción es un sapo casi del tamaño de un elefante o quizá un poco más.         

Antes, cuando no tenía al sapo, su consentido era el elefante, pero al comprarle el sapo a la mafia coreana o china, pues en esos países degustan sapos, Germán, el elefante, pasó al peor lugar. Y así como en las cañerías de nuestra ciudad andan ratas del tamaño de un perro, en aquellos países orientales andan sapos gigantes; de ahí que usen coladeras tamaño big.        

Ahora, mientras van haciendo el cambio hacia otro pueblo y lo mismo ha pasado ya en muchos cambios, el sapote va muy contento en su carreta y el elefante, triste y sudoroso, es el que jala la carreta.
         
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Works by Alice and Aaron Lappin.

La mía devota mente, no supe identificarla
Hernan David Camargo Luque


Tiempos vienen en los que la luna grita mi nombre,
Penumbra total corroe mi mente,
Quién sabe qué cosas estarán pasando en aquella dimensión donde se encuentra el amor,
Dime qué es lo mejor para la satisfacción del ser que amar sin restricción,
Pensamientos vienen, locuras corren hacia mí,
Ahora es cuando la idea de la correspondencia se ve truncada por una simple persona,
Pero su simpleza viene de su carne,
Nada raro, nada usual, lo mismo que en cualquier mujer podría encontrar,
Entonces, ¿Qué identifica mi alma que mis ojos no ven?,

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El pacto sagrado
Hernan David Camargo Luque


“Algunas palabras se le han caído a Dios
Han destrozado mi jardín
No puedo descífralas, son misterios para mí
¿Puedes leer mi mente?
Una voz susurró
Estos son los regalos que doy al ser de arcilla
Su significado lo encontrarás en tu última travesía
Solo debes realizar un pacto en mi nombre
No revelarás de dónde provinieron
Solo las asentarás en función para tu vida
Conócelas y transmítelas
Empieza con aquella mujer que te acompaña en tu soledad
Empieza a edificar un significado

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FAMILY
Ray Gonzalez


A man holds a chicken by the neck and a woman in a blood-stained dress waits with a cleaver.  A child peers around the kitchen door as a yellow puddle grows at his feet.

There is a man talking to himself in the mirror, while a woman rushes down the stairs past
a child hiding in a dark closet at the foot of those stairs.

A man sits on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, while a woman unfolds a large map on a table.  Her child looks over her shoulder and stares at the colored lines.

There is a man in his driveway spray painting his car a different color.  A woman walks down the same street alone at night.  Her child has been missing for three weeks.

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Works by Tiago Duarte and Miguel Barrera.

GENITAL EMOTION
Ray Gonzalez


I saw that phrase scrawled somewhere, maybe on a city wall or in a magazine ad, perhaps on a blackboard in a classroom where I teach.  Genital Emotion.  Is it saying the genitals have feelings beyond the standard in-and-out?  Could it refer to the physical power of in-and-out and the kind of feelings the fucker puts into it?  Perhaps genital emotion means that sections of the body have feelings beyond what we know and this has nothing to do with sex, but simply refers to a sensitive, caring penis or a deeply insightful vagina.  Even the idea of the body carrying its sexual organs in various states of being, without relying on the old in-and-out, is an attractive concept that may have inspired someone to leave the words Genital Emotion hanging there.  After all, I can’t find the exact place where I spotted the handwriting the other day, though my mind keeps wandering to the image of a colorful sign, maybe a label on a pair of underwear, even the empty condom wrapper some joker left on the men’s bathroom floor by the classroom, the corridor leading to the urinals one of the coldest places in the old brick building.

Ginger Danto Reviews

Gint Aras' novel Finding The Moon In Sugar


My first impression on reading the opening pages of Gint Aras’ novel, Finding the Moon in Sugar, was one of sadness. Not so much for the subject – though it may be worthy – but for its author. That a teacher of college English and humanities should sacrifice his necessary knowledge and appreciation of language for the sake of a stylistically impoverished prose. When every other word is ‘dude’ or ‘frickin’ or some choice expletive, one begins to tire of whatever context may tie these various terms together, no matter the premise.

But such is the voice attributed to Andrew, the novel’s sorry young protagonist, whose meandering, ill-spelled musings make for a kind of contemporary coming of age story (that I suspect closely mimics Aras’ own experience.) Andrew is severely adverse to syntax - because is ‘cauze’, going to is ‘gonna’ etc.  – except when it comes to brand names, as if this is the stuff that in modern life is truly sacred – Squeegee and Motrin and all manner of impeccably spelled commercial products that have so far informed his existence. Many fictional narrators have skewed language to great success, but Aras alias Andrew is not in their league. Nothing leaps off the page so much as the ennui Andrew is himself attempting to escape, whether by logistical or pharmaceutical means. And it altogether makes this short novel very, very lengthy.

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Showing She Who Measures by Veljko Popović, Bendito Machine (Episode 1 - Everything You Need) by Jossie Malis, and Going West (for the New Zealand Book Council) animated by Anderson M Studio.


*****

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