Dende “El
Hawar” (en sentido lato) Estroncio*
I guanna be a portenio/ I don´t wanna be a
santiaguenio/ I not even neither goanna be a guarani nor fueguino/ I guayana be
a cheto portenio (not cerro portenio)…
Later standing on the couch eating cucuruchos I sentí (feel) que no estaba conforme not comfortably being a santiaguenian numb. Then, an inconformist
spirit possessed me and I wanted to be at
least a coolish santiaguenio, or even more a portenio ´cause it is better
than this ser-del-Interior para, en resumidas, to have the best things, the
power and for all that lucha de clases
stuff (where los portenios always wins)
Therefore, I looked around and I took the remote control of my ser to connect the
other, la another side, la dark side of the provincias.
I pushed the fast-forward of my life
as a fofe and slow pajueran to temple
myself as a new hard gamer in a metropolitan style. The sleeping santiaguenio awake and he comes to heard all
those typical exclamations like “chango”, “ia-veo”, “culiao”, “te-has-pasao”,
“te-bandias” como una hilarious native cosmovision that we must leave behind ¿donchu?
Sin embargo, after my decision of to be a
different person without the sino of the provinciano
cabulero, adormecido and boquiabierto, pasando al new pibe born in Capital Federal o por lo menos en la pampa bonaer-sense, presto a vivir Miamizado o Niuyrokized…
algo vino de las estrellas, something from the space exterior fall into my barrio, my home. It was the very strong experience
of Being in these days: the insinuante
apparition of La Gorda Chechena. ¿Who´s
this girl tan parecida a una madonna renacentista pero del Cáucaso? ¡Guow! She was on a wave of immigrants
post la debacle or descalabro of the
Soviet Union. ¿But why they choose this provincia cagada de calor si vienen del mucho
frío? ¿Acaso ellos wanted to changear totalmente de vida? She not manejaba not
much the castelanio así que tiraba un
más-o-menos inglish: Jey Jaguar you? Fine, zenks. Do you want to think an ice-cream? To
think? Did you thinking an ice-cream? No, to eat or drink ai´ser. Anyway, vamos.
La Dagor me despabiló los planes, she appreciates
my santiaguenian mood. We fall in love softly en el mientras tanto compartiendo
los little morones, that green herbal infusion from Misiones and some tortillas
de El Parque Aguirre. With la so-sweet and weights-a-lot chechena takeamos
a walk across El Centro de la city and we make also la ronda de los so-called Foolish Love Seekers in La Plaza
Libertad. Of course, we took sendos
ice-creams of “Cerecett” o “Limar” y así. Bue,
agbvio que una birra con maní not puede faltar, acompañada con un lomito para no desfallecer very drunk. This lovestory with La Gorda
Chechena me hizo olvidar lo de ser portenio pos ella hallaba muy encantadora my
tonada y le gustaba la “Rubia Moreno”
(auch!) and the galloper groove (sic) of “El Puente Carretero”. Al fin, glosolalia
mediante, trajinando baldosas de lapachos florecidas, acabamos tras las closed windows de la casa en la siesta
del amor en las provincias -as it is said by el vate Rosenberg (a.k.a. El Zoco)
Devengados los pequeños dreams cultivados en plastic vasitos, unfolding the primary feelings that provides the cure and
closing the session of virtual expectations that overruled my universe of
desires… I extended me all along on the Chechenian Girl. Her charm and deep warming voice let me down to the Yellow Submarine of
Love´s Universo. Ha-ha-ha, do you remember the portada (cover) of that “Love”
álbum? Yeahs! I think our álbum musto be something like that…
I forgot my porteniosity obsession en benefit to
my chechenian love ballad. Katya suddenly me trajo a renewal of my post-native
emerging provincian Self. Then, tank-god, with other colleagues después we
formed a grupo named “The Galloping Trusas Gave a Chaniar Band” -abridged “La
Gave Chaniar”. We played a style que nos bautizamos el folkatón rock (a too-late-night
mix of rock, northern folklor y reggaetón) and as a band we only make sickteen presentations in public before La separación. The idea fue
tocar no mucho para no terminar peleando. Our band toured around the provincias del Norte acting in comedores
de estaciones de servicio, terminales de ómnibus, playones de autos
usados y motels or hosterías. La
última presentación fue en el extinto restaurant “La Buitra” de Ciudad del
Buque (distrito zona franca de la ciudad de Santiago del Estero). Mientras duró
la Gave estuvo integrada por Katya Grozny-a-bell (lead voice and guitar),
Carlos “Zé Carlinhos” Gómez (dobro guitar and voices), Fabio “Fantasy” Barajas
(guitar, synths and flute) El Guille “Rosa Kipi” Zeppa (drums and programming)
and me in bass, cello and voices;
ocasionalmente se sumaba “El Senior Grilho” as a DJ. Grabamos dos limited edition demos con seis temas
cada uno: “Rollo in the Laundromat” y “A place for God in the Big Bangkok”. These recordings are now unconsegueables and only in the Multimedia
Archive of The Congress of the Union de allá hay copies to listen with a good
pair of headphones.
In
lo atinente a me, with Katya me había tirado a la pileta mal o sea a fondo es
decir it means a full. I will never forget her. She was a
savage wind to my helechos wings, an echo into my waste valley, the locus of my goce. Once, in the gas
station de El Xarillal, me confesó que tenía un hijo en Chechenia y tenía que
volver a verlo. Oh, go, Katy, go! El
nene (doce años) se había quedado home
alone con su grandma porque el dad se había pirado a Hong Kong. Hace un año que Katya me dejó
a me and Ciudad del Buque una fría y muy afternoona
tarde de otoño. Few days ago I sent a message to her: “I really miss you K”. No answer yet. Ella tenía un Huawei.
Previamente publicado en Revista Cabeza.
