Tag: horoscopes

Mala Leche Vol. 1, curated and edited by Eduardo Aparicio and Herculito Tropical, published February 1992 is zine from Chicago dripping in excess of satire and authentic latine queer play. In this fully Spanish resvista antiestica, “antiaesthetic magazine,” unfolds a collection of writings that enraptured me in nostalgia and warmth of the kind of queer exchange that occurs in latine kinship. A mixture of confessionals, stories, cultural analysis, an avant-garde interview, lesbianfied reworked novels, and your monthly horoscope. I could walk you through the marvels of these slaps in the face that leave you grinning with a red mark on your face or I could simply translate for you. We have the opening statement:

“What does “BAD MILK” mean? MALA LECHE* is a discursive violence. It is that discourse reduced to a monologue that wants to be made heard. It’s what comes out of us because if it doesn’t, we explode. Our mission is to express our vision of actuality with a squirt of MALA LECHE. Signed: Eduardo Aparicio and Herculito Tropical.”

*Leche (milk) is a common slang for semen, cum, and various sexual secretions. So this leche? Has gone baddddd…

The first story is titled Mi primero experencia, “My first experience,” by Erudito Alavio Leta. Details snapshots of first queer experiences and moments from when they were a young boy and “multiplying experiences.” Small windows of his experiences as a young gay man, moments that seem that have stuck to him like glue. One as young as 8 years old: “I still remember the sensation leaving with slippery cheeks.” Sincere in tone, these stories amounted to the specific experience of working at a clothing store in the luxury women’s clothing section. A male client who he was familiar with came in one day to shop “for” his wife and asked to try on the dresses himself in front of Erudito.

El cogio un vestido, se fue al cuarto de pruebas y salía sin zapatos, con las patasas todas pelúas, caminando como si tuviera tacones bien altos, paseandose por delante de los espejos, mirándose por delante y por detrás, que ni Bette Davis le hacía la competencia.

“He grabbed a dress, and went to the dressing room and left without shoes, with totally hairy steps, walking as if with very high heels, strolling in front of the mirrors, looking at himself from the front and from behind, not even Bette Davis could compete.”

Ultimately we are left in a cliffhanger: ¿Qué influencia tuvo esto en mi? En la próxima les contaré. “What influence did this have on me? In the next one, I will tell you all.” We are left wondering if this exchange continued, if not then how does Erudito walk away after this?

The following story titled COMIENDO MIERDA DESDE TEMPRANO, “EATING SHIT SINCE EARLY” by Mochito Cienfuegos, also leaves us an accidental cliffhanger. The story is missing its final page, but we are left at the beginning of a raunchy detailing of a night out at “AN ULTIMATE LEATHER BAR.” Mochito addresses the shiteaters directly, that may be the reader: you, me, us; or someone else entirely. The aggressive warm, from the heat of the branding iron they have as teeth, welcome they give us in the dedication tells us all:

Estos versos escotológicos y comemierda se los dedico o los que en un momento u otro se me han cagado en la madre. Con sentimiento y sabor caguense en lo suyo.

“I dedicate to you all these scotological and shit-eating verses or to those that in one moment or the other have shat on their mother. With sentiment and taste, shit on yourselves.”

The teeth of this tone leaves you with (skid?)marks all over your body, slightly infectious too since it is definitely not sanitary, but you leave with a smile of laughter because you liked it.

The following section told me how truly this zine was made by Latines for Latines. Because if it was by and for anyone else it would make me question how the hell they got this niche information from! And what is that information? That circumcision is an unheard-of practice in Latinoamerica… which leads to this highly specific investigation on classifieds. ¿Quién es esa persona que te busca? “Who is that person that searches for you?” by Cheito Chupaman is an uncovering of advertisements and announcements that have been received by Mala Leche to distribute to the community classified style. This “report” starts with a “personal classified” that was sent to Mala Leche specifically about a white American in search of a “serious and affectionate Hispanic man.”

This leads to a question of these types of classifieds. Chupamán searches and finds examples of these types of classifieds in various magazines.

Se me ocurre preguntarme si los gays estadounidenses que leen es tas publicaciones consideran que estas tienen lectores latinos que encontraran esos anuncios. A continuación te informo dónde fue que encontre anuncios de hombres que buscan latinos y te doy algunos ejemplos, para que tengas una idea.

“It occured me to ask myself if American gays that read these publications consider that they have latino readers that finds these announcements. Following I inform you where did I find these announcements of men looking for latinos and give you examples, so you have an idea.”

To much of my amusement, the conclusion to this incessant search for latino men by american gays is that latino gays are not circumcised so: Muchos de estos hombres sienten una fascinación por hombres que no sufrieron esta operación al nacer. “Many of these men feel a fascination for men that did not suffer this operation at birth.”

Following this, we have a switch-up to an anti-academic visual culture essay analyzing the convergence and queer dialectic exchange between a billboard advertisement and graffiti surrounding it. Los languages de violencia, “The Languages of Violences” by una chica de Puerto Rico que ama a otra chica, “a girl from Puerto Rico that loves another girl” is an extremely intelligent and riveting queer theoretical essay using this image as a point of origin:

La imagen que tenemos a nuestra vista es, entonces, la de una tensión que supera las dinámicas internas del cartel. El cartel invita a la transgresión pero opera desde una impostura. Mientras el graffito es en efecto la expresión de una letra que circula por el espacio de lo ilegal y lo prohibido, el cartel delimita con severidad su inclusión dentro de la ley.

“Then, the image that we have in our view is one of tension that surpasses the dynamics inside the billboard. The billboard invites a transgression but operates from an imposture. While the graffiti is effectively the expression of a letter circulating through the space of illegality and the prohibited, the billboard severely delimits its inclusion inside the law.”

She details how the graffiti and the billboard are in conversation, the wall being a space of metaphor for this play. She materializes in full animacy the graffiti, the wall, and the billboard. The power to enlarge the gaze of the viewer to understand the dialectic exchanges occurring queers the gaze towards this conversation, passing beyond the legal bounds of marketing.

El cartel, impenitente, abraza al graffito como a un hermano, cual un Judas, insistiéndole participar en la orgia de violencia y poder en la que soñandamente se homologan. Sin un dejo de compasión, le urge imperativamente que desvista a ese cuerpo inerte, a ese cuerpo sin voluntad propia, a ese cuerpo cifra de su poder, a ese cuerpo que le permitira saborear uno y cada uno de esos falitos erectos que se avisoran en la cajetilla ya abierta. Le urge que desgarre esa resistencia aparente, que se imponga sobre ese metal que cede ante la imponente voluntad de un dedo. Esa cosa/caja femenina que es sólo un pretexto y nada mas. Que desvista a esa cosa femenina. A esa cosa femenina.

“The billboard, impenitent, embraces the graffiti like a brother, like a Judas, insisting participation in the orgy of violence and power in which they dream of homologating themselves. Without a hint of compassion, urges him imperatively to undress that inert body, that body without any will of its own, that body that is the cipher of his power, that body that will allow him to savor each and every one of those erect phalluses that can be glimpsed in the already opened pack. Urging to tear that apparent resistance, to impose on that metal that yields to the imposing will of a finger. That feminine thing/box that is only a pretext and nothing more. To undress that feminine thing. That feminine thing.”

There is a strong eroticism to the exchange of seduction past the limits of gender, in the transgression of objects past their subjection. The graffiti is part of the announcement navigating past the lines of dress and undress, simulating fragmented and unfragmented lines of legality and gender. Announcing the tempting act of undressing, a feminine act, a phallus object of the cigarette, not only announces loudly the transgression of gender but does so by animating an object, inherently a queering: to humanize the sentient subject that has become dehumanized. Through the scope of enlarging and transsizing the viewer’s gaze to observe past lines of legality to a dialectical method of transgression. This small but transizable essay by A Girl From Puerto Rico That Loves Another Girl* is poetic and nasty in its intelligence. An invigorating read and leaves you sullied in its chokehold of argument. This essay left me in a state of electricity, in it capacity to witness through a language of a caliber that is high-intellect but anti-academic, inspiring in its unwavering poeticism but grounded in quotidian queer language.

*Si me escuchas, chica de Puerto Rico que ama a otra chica: buscame. Al menos una amistad, te ruego. 

Circulating back to parts of this zine that are under the category that amazed me in its particularity of inner community specifics. This blog post is not an analysis or criticism of the dynamics of immigrants by any means, nor do I mean to start a diaspora war Olympics, but it is a fresh air to be reading something made in the U.S. that feels like something that did not have the U.S. in mind as part of its audience even though it was made in Chicago. This is rare. We immigrants, and many of those who have been here for a long time and/or past generations, tend to subscribe to living under the gaze of whiteness and Americanness to be able to be understood. I am not immune to this: out of survival we learn to code switch, only pay attention, and make known and salient parts of our culture, voice, and way of being, that white people already know or are comfortable with. Not erase but we simply do not water the particularities of ourselves, the untranslatable parts. This zine is littered and glittered with specifics that I could never translate for you, and I would be lying if I said that doesn’t make me happy. To read something that reminds me of home, but in a queer way?! Ways of being that go past slang, ways of song that are innately part of the way we speak. Even simple and small things like the difference between American versus Estadounidense. In Latinoamerica, we do not call people from the U.S. “American” because “America” is also Latin-america. We use “estadounidense” because that is the name of this country, is it not? I have always found it incredibly ironic and telling on the centrism of this country that there is not even an English word to refer to “estadounidense,” only “American.” That is nothing here nor there but even Spanish writing in the U.S., I have seen this exactly translated! To “Americano” instead of “estadounidense”… small things like that tell me your audience is only within the borders of this country to be able to understand this. This zine is very evident, from the first couple of pages, that is not this. I know this was all done in the affect and mindset of us by us for us. The following section is the most evident and beautiful transgression of this though.

The first couple of pages of Tetas Postizas, “Artificial Tits” by Herculito Tropical, is an interview with Kitty, whom I assume is a transformista and/or drag queen. I say assume because the first couple of pages are missing, but somehow this accidental mishap adds to the boundless close culture practice of it all. I will not be translating the entirety of the interview because it is antithetical to the most wondrous thing about it: its untranslatability.

Kitty is from Ecuador but grew up in Puerto Rico and is detailing her life as a transformista in the U.S., starting off by saying she wants to give back to her community with competitions such as “Miss Gay Latina International”, “Miss Northside”, “Miss Hispanidad”, and “Miss Southside.” She is talking about her life, childhood, future, hopes, likes, dislikes, and even love life.

Antes eramos muchachos que nos quitabamos la peluca, los brazieres, y ese era el termino del espectaculo de todo transformista. Ahora tu sabes que no, que hay el silicon, hay la hormona, hay el cache, la bisturí, las jaladas de los pellejos, tu sabes…
“We were guys before that would take our wigs off, our bras, and there would end the spectacle of everything transformista [even this context: drag, but could mean trans]. Now you know that isn’t the case, there is silicone, there’s hormones, there’s the cache, the scalpel, the skin tuck, you know…”

The conversation is very comfortable and fluid, and innately Caribbean. She ends with a beautiful note that speaks to many queer Caribeños, including myself:

“Well I haven’t mentioned it, but in the future, maybe in 92’, this year I hope to open my own place. First, I believe in God; secondly, in my father Obatalá, and my mother Ochún. If they give it to me, what I want this year, I will open a transformista club for Latinos.”

In the Caribbean, God is… God but in conversation with the seven potencias, Kitty highlights two: Yoruba Orishas Obatalá of creation and Ochún of water and fertility. Being in the archive and reading the hopes and ideas of the future by people in these zines makes me feel like they are in conversation with me. I hold the heavy weight of representing the future for them as I stand in the present they speak of in futurity. I do not know if this came to fruition, if they granted the club to Kitty, but I hope so dearly.

Aside from the wonderful actual text and narrative of this interview, what is so enlightening is the interview questions themselves. If you haven’t noticed you can see that Herculito (Little  Hercules but also a pun for “Her-little ass”) says questions such as “¿Blablablá, bablá?”, “¿Fuiqui fuiqui cucú?”, “¿Fifí fofó o fufú?” This could be read as a gag and a subversion of interview questions, simply making fun of interview styles and queering it all. Maybe they did use questions with formal and clear sentences and then switched them out to these fun alternative questions. However, I believe differently. Latinos, especially in the Caribbean speak often in sounds. I frankly don’t have many ways to explain it other than it is highly contextual and musical sounds that can be understood in colloquial conversation but are untranslatable. The equivalent of humming sounds that indicate “yes” or “no” but instead with full onomatopoeia sentences that are sung in conversation can mean full moods, opinions, directions, thoughts, emotions, etc. Orchestrated on actual sound, rhythm, and application, showcasing their meaning. Granted this is not often written out because it is an overwhelmingly orally dependent tradition, but this interview changes that. Queers a Latino tradition by making it even more opaque on the page. You could argue that this was still in replacement of actual questions, but I would like to live in the fantasy of this conversation being comprised of this oral echo of culture. What adds to it is that it does make sense. Reading it out loud, those are the correct sounds for the types of sound-questions that were asked according to their answers.

Additionally, the phonic echos of this tropicalia elevate Kitty and her presence. The best interviews are those of conversation and exchange of kinship, where there is a vulnerability braided through the interchange of human connection rather than interrogation. The side of the blade that cuts in this case can be that then the interviewer can overpower the interviewee, at the end of the day I want to know about Kitty. By queering the interview style with a queering of these cultural phonic echos into the zine, Kitty’s words are heightened and bright by simultaneously still maintaining the affective presence of Herculito with the sound of his voice. She does not blend into the background but reigns on the throne constructed by the wounds of home. Everyone is present and sensorially opaque past and through a multiplicity of dimensions. And just like that, taquití táka tá.

Lastly, we end in finales to magazines and newspapers that I deeply miss and should be brought back: horoscopes. In the camp and queer tradition of the beloved Walter Mercado, Doña Masas Los Guía y Los Revienta…, “Doña Masa Guides and Blow You Up…”  is not your average astrological reading but a reading. This horoscope reading is provided to you by “The artificial satellites of Doña Masas and her ensemble ‘The Astrologists’”. This horoscope is messy, kitschy, shady, and more. Dripping in slang and particularities, it was everything and more to read. Doña Masas does not tell you what you want to hear but what will set you straight and leave your mouth agape. For example, Sagittarius:

“Sagittarius: Generous, beautiful, the big whores of the Plaza [a pun, and also euphemism in this context for the streets], I mean, of the Zodiac.  No other sign is more faggotty, more scatological… I mean, they talk and eat so much, but so much shit that they have continual verbal diarrhea. This month, not even an exaggerated dosage of Peptobismal saves y’all.”

I highly urge you to read your horoscope if you are Spanish-speaking and get some humbling laughs. I leave you in celebration of Aries season with this translation:

“Aries: How are you all behaving, crazy spider women? Well, the truth is I don’t know because Jupiter is parked in front of Mercury and he, damn annoying, doesn’t let me see anything. Arieans are so gray, so uninteresting, that regardless, I don’t care.”

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Valeria is interning at QZAP this semester. She is in her senior year at University of Wisconsin-Madison studying Gender & Women’s Studies. She was born and raised in Valencia, Venezuela and now lives in Teejop land (Madison, WI).