Have you heard of José Manuel Mireles?

15 Feb

Well, it’s been a long time ever since I wrote an entry for my blog after all the school nightmare, but it’s been literally ages ever since I published another article of my “Have you heard of…?” series… Sounds like out of a Star Wars shtick, but that’s how the life rolls, baby.

Anyways, I expect that most of you were expecting something gushy or philosophical for this St. Valentine’s Day, or even one of those snarky semi sour rants that have become quite common too as of the wake of pessimism in this new century. Well, even though I have those of spare, I decided to go back to this once-common section of my blog and make something a bit more special for this St. Guy-who-got-beheaded-by-the-Roman-Empire’s Day.
Let’s talk about José Manuel Mireles, shall we?

Jose Manuel Mireles, jefe de las autodefensas de MIchoacan
Most of you might remember a previous post of mine in where I spoke of the Mexican Autodefensa movements that occurred mostly on the state of Michoacán. I even shared a link of a video about Dr. Mireles’ manipulaed commentaries in that very article, but I never delved into his persona and participation on the Auto Defensa movements. And I feel as if I sinned, as he was quite a leading figure of the whole events.

But now, in this St. Marry-soldiers-in-the-dark-a-lot’s Day, I decided to express love by raising awareness on this man. So yeah, I will celebrate this day by giving more media love to a man who was the big thing last year, and that today’s barely touched upon for many reasons.

But let’s talk about him first.

Jose Manuel Mireles, jefe de las autodefensas de MIchoacan
José Manuel Mireles is a michoacano doctor who just happened to get tired of the constant abuses done by the local narco terrorists in Michoacán, who happen to have an interesting name in here: Los caballeros templarios. Translated, The Knights Templars.

That’s right, folks. We’re talking about actual “Templars”. Yes. Kinda like the Assassin’s Creed templars. Go figure. Move along, kids. Too much Internet for today.

Not minding the lack of subtleness of their heinous crimes, these guys spread the terror on Michoacán, until finally the local guys got tired of their madness and decided to do something about it, as I explained it in my last article. José Manuel Mireles leaded one of the several groups, that did gain some terrain after a good while of battle, thus proving the actual corruption and incompetence inside the local police squads, and when the government saw that he was doing quite well his job, well, they gave him what the Mexican government’s good at giving to innocent civilians who’re actually doing their job…

A good time of prison!


I told myself I wouldn’t turn this entry into an Assassin’s Creed running gag thing, but it’s unavoidable…! Seriously! Templars! What the hell!

And so, Dr. Mireles has been on jail ever since last year and nothing new of his has been touched as of February 2015. However, I remembered him during one of my many random Internet treks, and I decided to write about him, just to give some actual love in this St. I-am-most-possibly-a-myth’s Day, and not fall into those two obnoxious categories that happen on this day: that one of the corny and hopelessly in love romantic-o-maniac, or that one of the sour and snarky single person I am.


Somebody…stop me…all the Assassin’s Creed references…are killing me…

I tend to be this last one, but I decided to make something productive in this day and thus spread the word of Dr. Mireles’ heroic deeds and actual initiative to solve his hometown’s problems. It is a Mexican quality that’s becoming rare nowdays; or better said, that’s being suppressed mostly because of the danger that our local government represents.

Usually, as in all the HYHO entries of this merry blog, I add a link that takes to a website that gathers signatures to help this certain activist or initiative. But because I was late to the party, and because it is obvious that the Mexican government will not just listen, I decided to simply limit myself to spreading the word and add this certain link that contains Mr. Mireles’ cell address, just in case if you want to send him a letter to cheer him up a bit.

Mind you, it is in Spanish. However, the address is recognizable, so don’t worry about not knowing that to do.

I hope I can write him too, as did the blogger in the link; I might not tell something significant or transcendental, but I sure would love to give this man some kind of brohug, so he can rest assured that most Mexicans, even though in hiding, are trying to do something for this country he sure loves a lot.

And so it is.
Happy St. Excuse-to-buy-chocolate’s Day!

Thanks for reading!

… …

… … …


…Alright, one last one for today. Happy St. Valentine’s Day, folks!

All the images redirect to their source pages.

French imperialism’z brutal colonial rule

17 Jan


A very interesting article about imperialism; I recommend it, at least to understand a brief chronology of North African struggles under colonial rule.

Originally posted on Moorbey'z Blog:

By John Catalinotto

Algiers, 1960

On Jan. 11, the French imperialist bourgeoisie mobilized and manipulated a massive demonstration in all the country’s major cities under hypocritical slogans extolling Western civilization and alleged “freedom of speech.” Their goal — which they share with U.S. and European Union imperialism — is a reactionary modern crusade against colonial peoples, mostly Muslims, in the guise of a “war on terror.”

One piece of French history that clashes with this ruling-class argument concerns the massacre of Oct. 17, 1961. If you don’t know about this massacre, it is because the imperialist defenders of “French civilization” have made every effort to keep it secret.

Between 1954 and 1962, French imperialism waged a bitter colonial war to hang on to its North African colony of Algeria. As is often the case with peoples of an imperial colony, many Algerian immigrants and their descendants lived in Paris in October 1961…

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The Daily Post Challenge: “Connect the Dots”

15 Jan

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots.”

This post is part of the Daily Post Challenge I tend to participate in, and this time the challenge was about taking the closest book to you and developing a full post with the third sentence of page 82.


The book I found was The Last Report of the Miracles at Little No Horse from Louise Erdrich (a book I recommend a lot, by the way, and one of my favourites), and this was the sentence:

She would fire up a blaze to heat stones for a sweat and to purify herself

Somehow, a fitting quote during a time like this. Who wouldn’t want to relax and purify oneself after so many struggles and hatred and violence of these days…? Who wouldn’t want to set up a little blaze and take a time for oneself and pretend that there’s actual harmony and peace on the world…? I’ve never been in a spa myself, or any of those hot rooms for relaxation (Jacuzzi doesn’t count!), but I’ve been always fascinated by the mesmerizing power of nature to tranquilize our senses and return us the humanity we lost in, curiously, our human creations, like weapons, war, guns…in where fire becomes quite a deadly protagonist.

The book, which is about a woman taking the identity of a priest who travels to an Indian reservation to convert the local Ojibwe, kinda makes it its point. Kinda. Because the woman ends up learning lots of fascinating Indian philosophy and fitting it with the Catholic dogma she preaches in disguise. And this quote itself captivated me by that very reason: how nature tends to be our actual answer for everything and our actual solution for problems, in comparison to the handmade stuff—Church, machines, pills…—and the artificial things.

This sentence comprises so much with so few words, and would fit in any kind of context thanks to that, which is something I’ve liked a lot in Erdrich’s writing. But in this time, I liked it a lot because of the naturalistic interpretation I found on it when I read it out of its context and my actual longing of relaxation…of forgetting…of getting away from all the violence that’s lashing out the world and leaving irreparable wounds…

And fire… Fire! I’ve always loved fire. But not any kind of fire. A sacred fire. Not the one used to set blaze in the buildings or to burn down the houses of innocent families in the brink of war. No. An actual fire. An actual purifying fire. Fire these days has become a terrific element, most usually related to war and destruction, whereas it could mean purity and burning passion as well…

Ah, fire… What if we could turn again fire a sacred element that shouldn’t be used lightly, and that should be revered as a cleansing energy, instead of an ideal weapon to make your foes surrender…? Ah, those good days of the cavemen, in the Age of Wonder, when fire wasn’t a weapon, but the beginning of a new era. A tool for humanity.

I know the context of this sentence is MUCH more different than what I am talking about. But let’s face it: who wouldn’t want to pretend, at least for once, we’re not in a mad, mad world, rather in a most relaxing spa, dozing off, just to open your eyes and realize…

…everything was just an awful nightmare caused by fire…?

And this is my post for the Challenge. Hope you liked it!

Thanks a lot for reading!

The Daily Post Challenge: Getting Seasonal

20 Dec

This is the new The Daily Post entry for its new challenge, Getting Seasonal, about how has your perception towards Christmas changed. Here’s my entry, so I hope you like it!

6 year old’s diary:

Goodness! I love Christmas so much! My family will come, we’ll eat together, and have a fun night, woohoo! I love this year! Everybody’s here and we’ll be dancing and singing together! It’s gifts time! We’ll all receive gifts! We’ll all have new toys! Woohoo! Christmas is the best time of the year to receive free stuff…!

          Ah? Who’s Jesus?

12 year old’s diary:

Alright! It’s that time of the year already! I am so happy. People will come and we’ll all have a good night. Hmm… They no longer want to play video games. But that’s OK! I mean, that’s for kiddies. We’re all grown up, right?

          But I wish they could’ve bought me better gifts… So mean of them! Can’t they see the TV and how the perfect Christmas is that one in where it snows and you receive toys? Have you guys watched TV lately…? Grr…

14 year old’s diary:

They’re here already, but why are they all watching TV? Why is nobody talking…? Oh well, at least that show’s funny, and we’re catching up with each other at dinner. It’s good to be together; I still can’t believe that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, but Christmas is the best gift ever for everybody: it’s the time of the year the whole world is together and better! And besides, I’ll receive gifts from my relatives, so it’s all OK. In fact, if you receive gifts, it means that you were nice, and this season is all about being nice. I can say that I was nice, because being nice is that… Hmm… What is it…?

          Oh my, I won’t receive gifts… I guess it wasn’t really about gifts, now that I see that they’re barely here… Now that I see that, maybe, what made gifts fun is that I had people to share them with…

          Oh my, Jesus’ birthday was today… I am so ashamed… I gave him no toys. And I cried for nothing… I was so selfish… But I thought that I was being good as I never swore or hit people, as TV said… My…

18 year old’s diary:

Most of them won’t come, as always, as it has been ever since a long while.

I really can’t watch the TV any longer, it’s tiring and nothing happens. I am tired that they just dedicate the programming to sell toys and stuff no one really needs, and I am even more tired because they keep using the same moral of “gifts don’t really matter”, and next time they show a commercial of an expensive toy! God dang it, people, make up your mind. To whom do you swear fealty…?

I wish the ones that came could speak more and play a bit more a video game, I don’t know… It’s really disheartening to turn on the TV and watch all…that. I wish they could speak and let me know that we’re still together—that the world is better, and it is not crumbling as I fear…

          Is somebody here?

20 year old’s diary:

Why are we still waiting? Nobody’s coming. Just turn on the TV and watch anything you want already. It’ll say the same: wars, hunger, pests, killings, deaths. Deaths. Deaths. How nobody truly cares about Christmas with all those killings—how it is just another day, a special day for shopping, because no one truly cares it is a supposed day to be thankful and loving to the world. And then another commercial. Another insufferable insistence that Santa Claus exists and that you gotta buy something immediately so your kid won’t lose its childhood… Why, dammit, do you turn its childhood into something that must be bought? Why can’t you teach him that the Christmas you know it’s fake, that it’s supposed to be a Christian holiday that fell in the hands of bigger and more powerful hands that turned it into a season to show love instead of teaching how to love? Why can’t you see that you’re just a buyer? Why can’t you…?

          Ok, Ok. I am eating. Sorry…

22 year old’s diary:

It’s this time again. I suppose I should be happy: there’s no such thing as a Santa Claus that will reward good children and treat them like puppies in need of a treat, and thus this world isn’t entirely ruled by corporative egomaniacs. The fact that no such marketing exchange between the supernatural and the children exists gives me the hope that the world, although not ruled by moral, isn’t ruled by loonies either. So we’re kinda safe, I guess.

Yet there’s no one—not even the memory of Jesus or anything that involves the memory’s essence in this season of the year—that can remind them that the greatest gift is not in a store; it’s not even announced with honesty on TV, no matter how many times they repeat it like stuttering old men. It’s a gift they don’t even believe in, because it is neither sold nor has a price.

          It’s the gift of not humanity. And the world needs it a lot.

          Oh well… Maybe they won’t be the model of Christmas, but I’ll try to be the best in this season. I won’t do much if I keep complaining, will I? And besides, even though we’ll all be alone in this dinner, I still can do something to draw a smile around, so that way I won’t become a useless Grinch…

          Even though the Grinch got that catchy theme song I wish I could have, heh.

Aaaaand this is how my perception changed in undersanding and celebrating Christmas.

Thanks for reading!

Pop Culture

28 Nov

This is a rather experimental post, trying to be far more narrative-poetic than my usual opinion posts so I could add more spice to this blog. It’s just a feeling I had recently, so it’s not a big thing. Still, hope you like it! Because I think that, if you can know the feeling of a situation, you’ll understand more its context—even more than what the actual history books tell you! So yeah… It’s quite an experimental post, hehehe.


Click on this photo so you can read more about the 43 missing students from Ayotzinapa in Wikipedia.

I’ve stepped in this school so many times. What I felt so hollow and dry now was flooded with paper, hanging softly from the windows and the bars. I saw many faces. I saw many names. I saw many insults against the Mexican president. Yet, I walked amongst these hurricanes of dead trees and I felt the melancholy of the printed eyes pierce my flesh, in route to my class…

“Where are they?”. “The government did it!”. “Quit, Peña Nieto!”. “They snatched them away living, and living we want them back…!”.

I felt so tiny. Tiny. Ant-sized. I remembered the day they made the pronunciation against the president some days ago and how lively the students were creating the flyers and decorating the theater area to create a gigantic “43”, each candle symbolizing a missing student, so anybody from the sky—the UFOs, the airplanes, God, perhaps…?—could see and understand the sorrow that the Mexican students are dwelling with right now. Only maybe the people will understand why it rains: even the sky is crying right now for all the tragedies that’s happening in the sky below, that’s supposed to be a heaven for humans.

I felt so, so tiny… So lost… I knew I was walking towards a class, yet the flying papers, the gray faces, the exclamation marks… Everything, mixed with the recent memories of the president’s wife’s house scandal and the government’s cheek and hypocritical declarations that they’re also mourning the disappearance of the missing students… Such mix turned my stomach into a cauldron, brewing anger and an interesting feeling of smallness. I, who had the boiling breakfast bubbling in my gut, could do nothing to end up this madness… I felt so tiny in front of the small pieces of paper waving in front of me. I felt so damn angry…and at the same time so powerless… How can the madness end, if surely the only way out of this nightmare, was with more sleepless nights of anger and hysteria? How…?

I had to focus a lot on the music class to forget the size of my power. The peace I felt was artificial—unnatural, as the calm that comes from anesthesia—but it was enough. The papers didn’t bother me this much and I was able to think positively for the rest of the day, with the assurance that this will be over, surely…

But this was a short-lived feeling of relaxation, for when I turned on the laptop, the name Ferguson—FERGUSON, in caps—popped into the screen. And only this time I knew the world was burning, slowly and painfully. Only this time I saw that the world is truly flying away, burning, losing itself into the universe, prepared to crash itself into a bigger wall of nightmares. I read the news. I read the anger. I read the poison that was boiling so much more people from the north. And even though the fabulous world of the Internet offered me a video to understand the judicial side of the Ferguson incident, I declined. I didn’t want to know the hypocritical side, for I knew the social side, which is, frankly, far more important and powerful than the former.

Only then I felt so much smaller, as I used to blame the United States for all of our problems, and then I realized that we’re all just victims from the same monster. Only then I saw that we’re not small, but rather little water drops, as those hidden inside of popcorn, slowly heating ourselves in order to explode and, finally, occupy the space we deserved from the beginning and without the lies from the Big Ones. Only then I realized that a new culture came, and it was the pop culture, not to be confused with the “popular culture” term, but rather with the new mindset that the world’s getting now that we’re finally meeting the real cause of our problems. A culture that has said “Enough!” and it’s ready to burst and destroy all the injustices of which we’re all victims with just one loud “Pop!” explosion…

I just now wonder how much heat we need so we can finally go “POP!”, now that they’ve discovered that they stole 30 more students from Colula

When will the pop come…


Thanks a bunch for reading!

Daily Prompt: Salad Days

18 Nov

This is is a post for the Daily Prompt challenge, now called “Salad Days“, in where you gotta write about what you would call the “good days” of your life. I wrote mine, so there you go. Hope you like it!


There were many moments in where I felt fully alive and well… Most of them, though, were pre-teenager for obvious reasons, but I won’t fall in all that babbling again…

There was a time in my childhood, which I can’t remember, in where I would happily wake up to play video games or enjoy my discovery of Internet. They were pleasant days, but there’s a specific day that marked what could be the beginning of a wistfulness that I wanted to keep living forever.

It was a Christmas. I received new N64 games—Hey You, Pikachu!, is a vital mention—and I felt cozy at my home, surrounded by good smells, speaking English for the first time of my life, feeling protected, as in a cave in where pleasures abound and in where I can finally feel fully protected. My mother’s not in this memory scene I am describing right now, but I know she’s near—that everybody’s near. I know that my family is near, that no one’s far, that I just need to raise my voice to be heard and stop being alone. My needs will be covered easily, and all that remains is to speak with Pikachu…

I remember a lot the Christmas—the family Christmas, with food, fun, games, enjoyment, laughter… There’s a Christmas I cherish a lot, in which all the cousins finally gathered together and enjoyed a special day as a family, no longer as strangers. Christmas is such a special day for me, because it was the only time I had a truce with life.

I cherish those good days, especially in one in where I consciously told myself “I don’t ever want to grow up. I am so happy this way. I hope I never stop being 8 years old”. That’s where I know the best memories of me were.

And now that my family’s all torn apart, that there’s a war waging in my country, that I am meeting the dark side of the world, that I can be a difficult person as well…

Now that everything’s upside down, I remember how much I cherished my salad days.

Thanks for reading!

Ayotzinapa and the Strength of the Rural Normal School Community

31 Oct


This is an interesting article about the 43 missing students from Mexico… Hope it can help people understand more what’s going on here!

Originally posted on dorset chiapas solidarity:

Ayotzinapa and the Strength of the Rural Normal School Community

Luis Hernández Navarro

La Jornada, 28th October, 2014

Translated by Sally Seward


One, two, three, four, the crowd calls out, not stopping until they reach number 43, and then demanding at the top of their voices: “Justice!”

“Felipe Arnulfo Rosa”, reads out a voice. “Present!” respond hundreds of angry voices. “Benjamín Ascencio Bautista”, it asks again. “Present!” answer the demonstrators. “Israel Caballero Sánchez”…

These are the names of the students from the Rural Normal School of Ayotzinapa who were disappeared by the municipal police of Iguala and Cocula. They are the same people whose faces appear by the thousands on the banners and pieces of canvas that students and citizens carry at all kinds of protests, demanding that the authorities return them alive.

What strange irony. After being separated from national public life for years and appearing from time to time in the media…

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Qatar’s First Anime & Manga Toy Store.

20 Oct


Aww! I am not sure why, but this article made me smile a lot =w=

Originally posted on middle east revised:

This month Doha News has a lovely story about a young Qatari couple Fatma Al-Jassim and Jassim Al-Mass who just opened Qatar’s first manga store, HobbyChan. Chantelle D’Mello writes how the growing local subculture of anime aficionados is fueled in large part by dubbed Japanese cartoons that used to air on local television networks.

For me, this is a piece of art,” said Al-Jassim, referring to her collection of anime figures. “We grew up watching anime in Arabic. Japan has always been part of our childhood. There’s just something magical in these creations and in that world.”

aaasAl-Jassim and Al-Mass //image © Chantelle D’Mello/ Doha News//

Speaking to Doha News, Al-Mass said the shop is the result of around a year of planning and hard work.

We were motivated to open the store after we visited Japan for our honeymoon (last October). From concept to branding to…

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Retratos de escritores hechos con una máquina de escribir

2 Oct Featured Image -- 324


This post is in Spanish, but it is about a Brazilian artist who can draw novelists’ faces with just a typewriter! Cool!

Originally posted on Qué Leer:

El diseñador e ilustrador brasileño Álvaro Franca se ha dado a conocer en todo el mundo gracias a una técnica especial mediante la cual realiza retratos utilizando únicamente papel y una vieja máquina de escribir.

Muchos de sus trabajos muestran a algunos de los escritores más influyentes de los últimos tiempos.

Franca desarrolló este proyecto genial a través de una técnica para obtener imágenes en escala de grises con su máquina de escribir.

maquina de escribir2Así fue como este artista le dio vida a sus 5 escritores favoritos: José Saramago, Clarice Lispector, Jack Kerouac, J. D. Salingery, Charles H. Bukowski; los cuales no solo han dejado una gran huella a nivel literario, sino que también, al igual que Álvaro, utilizaron una máquina de escribir para crear.

El proyecto fue realizado entre el 2013 y 2014, durante su intercambio en la Escuela de Arte…

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Five Natural Haikus

30 Sep

Although I cannot post articles as often as I want, I decided to translate some poems I’ve published in local magazines and share them all with you! In this occasion, for example, I will share you some haikus I published in a magazine called Paso del Río Grande del Norte, which may not ring a bell, surely, because it’s a Mexican magazine that hasn’t been beyond the frontier and Spain, so…

Anyways, I forgot the issue they were published on, so I translated all of these haikus from Spanish. Hope you can enjoy them!


My beautiful boy

of glittering golden locks

caressing me whole.



Most tender bald girl

tarnished by gray freckles,

never let me go.



Transparent rivers

always crash against my face

en route to nowhere.



A silvered sky

melting above our faces,

dripping its silver.



The tears of our soil

who’ll never be able to fly

and fall into the sky.


Thanks a bunch for reading!


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