Water, in its geological nature, belongs where Mexico City now stands. The valley, now home to over nine million people, used to be the lacustrine system of Texcoco, a body of water extending over 1,200 square miles...
Inside a bar in the neighborhood of Old Havana, on the corner of Tejadillo and Aguacate Street, a bartender pours out glasses of rum. The thick sound of a microphone echoes from afar, blending with the hideous sound of street drills coming from an apparent destruction, or reconstruction of the street. The bar and the bartender are, perhaps, an ode to the daily life of such a corner in the innards of Old Havana, but the rest of the elements around are perceived as action and reaction regarding social unrest, evident in the micro-scenario of this space, revealing the isolated struggles for and against freedom of speech.
Located on the outskirts of Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca, Casa Wabi is a non-profit organization offering residencies and opportunities for long-term projects for international and local artists.
Hippias Minor, one of Plato’s early dialogues, has been, if not controversial, one of his most misunderstood works. In it, Plato details a heated conversation between Socrates and Hippias, a renowned sophist polymath. The dialogue is prompted by their opposing ideas about what constitutes a “better man.”
Daniel Kehlmann’s new novella, You Should Have Left, is a masterful experiment about the limits of literary realism. At first a banal narrative of the everyday struggles of marriage, fatherhood, and screenwriting, the novella leaps into an apparent paranormal narrative that seeks to bend the boundaries of reality.
Iris Garcia Cuevas' work captures the atmosphere of violence that marks one of Mexico's historical contexts. The author creates borderline characters (prostitutes, drug-dealers, serial killers) typical of noir fiction, but draws them through a radically new and transparent perspective. These stories are part of Ojos Que No Ven, Corazon Desierto, published by Editorial Tierra Adentro.
It is not me. The woman lying with wide open legs, dressed in the ridiculous robe that ties with two strings around my back, it is not me. I have always been scared of needles.
Virginia took the young man's hand. A small hand, very small, the hand of a malnourished boy. "Come, I will bathe you," she said, and led him into the room. "I don't like bathing." She clicked her tongue, and took off his shirt anyway.