#mapochoe

[el-zorro-chile]

Santiago, Chile

#chile #chile tumblr #original photogrpahy #original photographers #santiago #mapocho

[rodreyes]

En la mañana del sábado.

#chile #rra #santiago #cerveza #mapocho #2023 #beertime #beerporn #birra

[winxys]

just rewatched the best piece of media w vianey

#some of u will never understand the beauty of juan carlos bodoque y el mapocho and i think that's so sad.. #m.text

[heronetworkgg]

Super Japan Expo 2024: Confirmados los primeros invitados de lujo

La Super Japan Expo 2024, evento que se ha calendarizado para llevarse a cabo del 9 al 13 de mayo en Estación Mapocho, ya tiene sus primeros confirmados, y promete ser un evento inolvidable para los amantes de la cultura japonesa en Chile. Por primera vez, se reunirán siete actores mexicanos de doblaje, voces clásicas […]

Ir a la noticia completa

#Estación Mapocho #Super Japan Expo #Curiosidad #Entretenimiento #Eventos

[elwndelamochilaverde]

#mapocho #santiago de chile

[valentinobaos]

Se viene este tremendo Festival estaremos tocando el 11 en el cierre junto a The Patio 😁

#jazz festival #jazzfest #festivaldejazz #musicaenvivo #chile #musicachilena #recoleta #mapocho #the patio #jazzrock #jazzfusion

[seryhumano]

Feria Internacional del Libro de Santiago (FILSA) 2022

Feria Internacional del Libro de Santiago (#FILSA) 2022 Se realizará del 11 al 20 de noviembre Y la Librería Chema estará presente para el encuentro en vivo con sus lectores

Este año el invitado de honor será “Chile, Patrimonio Literario y Cultural” como eje central de su programa donde se pondrá de relieve a nuestros creadores, y sus obras que forman parte esencial del acervo cultural nacional. Se realizará del 11 al 20 de noviembre @chemalibreria Feria Internacional del Libro de Santiago (FILSA) 2022 Una nueva jornada de la Feria internacional del Libro de…

View On WordPress

#2022 #Chema #Chile #cultura #estación #Feria #FILSA #Internacional #Leer #Libertad #Librería #libro #Mapocho #Patrimonio Literario y Cultural #Santiago

[satorugojowidow]

Welcome to the first edition of this humble reading club! In this first round we are doing poetry with an open conception about what poetry is. Each member of the club will be posting a piece of literature of their own country (in english and the original language). There will be one post per week every friday. Every member will post from their own blog respecting the style and using “les tumblrinas du mal” as tag. The discussion around the piece of literature will be on the same post in the section of comments (only). The club is open to new members, everyone can interact with post without being part of the club.

................

"Manifesto (I Speak For My Difference)" by Pedro Lemebel

Pedro Lemebel (1952–2015) was a Chilean artist, writer, and queer revolutionary. Lemebel first made their mark on Chilean literature through a series of performances and readings made in the 1980s. Their writings (including poetry, short stories, and non-fiction pieces) were known for their boldly queer and provocative stance, as well as for their ability to commemorate the beauty and the grit of working-class queer life in Chile.

In 1986, there was a large gathering of left-leaning opposition groups in the Mapocho Station of Santiago. It was here that Lemebel would make their defiant entry into Chile’s literary culture, dressed in high heels and with a hammer and sickle dolled onto their face. It is this context, of an intransigent public intervention against the established left in Chile, that the poem should be read.

credits to Sebastian Sanchez

I Speak For My Difference

I am not Pasolini asking for explanations

I am not Ginsberg expelled from Cuba

I am not a fag disguised as a poet

I don’t need a disguise

Here is my face

I speak for my difference

I defend what I am

And I am not so strange

I hate injustice

And I don’t trust this democratic dance

But don’t talk to me about the proletariat

Because being poor and a faggot is worse

You gotta be rough to bear it

It’s crossing the street when you see those lads on the corner

It’s a father that hates you

Because his one and only son has a limp wrist

It’s having a mother with hands cut by chlorine

Aged by cleaning

Cradling you when you’re sick

Because of bad habits

Because of bad luck

Like the dictatorship

Worse than the dictatorship

Because dictatorships end

And then comes democracy

And right behind it socialism too

And so?

What will they do with us, comrades?

Will we be tied by our braids into bundles

bound for a Cuban AIDS sanitorium?

They’ll put us on some train to nowhere

Like on General Ibáñez’s ship

Where we learned to swim

But none of us made it to shore

Because of that Valparaíso dimmed its red lights

Because of that the whorehouses

Poured out a single black tear

For those fruits feasted on by crabs

That year the Commission of Human Rights

doesn’t remember

Because of that, comrade, I’m asking you

Does the Siberian train that

reactionaries decry still exist?

That train that passes before your eyes

When my voice starts to get too sweet

And you?

What will you do with that childhood memory

Of us stroking our cocks together (among other things)

While on holiday in Cartagena?

Will the future be in black and white?

Will the difference between night time

and the working day always be clear?

Won’t there be a faggot on some corner

Throwing the future of your new man off balance?

Will they let us embroider birds

on the flags of our free homeland?

I leave the rifle to you

Who is cold-blooded

And it’s not fear

I lost my fear

Of dodging knives

In the seedy basements where I spent my time

And don’t feel attacked

If I speak to you of these things

And check out your bulge

I’m not a hypocrite.

Don’t a woman’s tits

Make you lower your gaze?

Don’t you think

That alone in the mountains

Something would happen between us?

Even if you hate me afterwards

For corrupting your revolutionary morals.

Are you scared I’ll homosexualize your life?

And I’m not just talking about putting it in

& taking it out & taking it out & putting it in

I’m talking about tenderness, comrade

You don’t know

How much it costs to find love

In these conditions

You don’t know

What it’s like to carry this leprosy

People keep their distance

People understand and say:

He’s a fag but he writes well

He’s a fag but he’s a good friend

Real-good-vibes

But I’m not good vibes

I accept the world

Without asking for those good vibes

But either way they laugh

There are scars of laughter on my back

You say I think with my ass

And that with the first shock of the electric prod

I’d let it all slip

You don’t know that I never learnt

My manhood in the barracks

The night taught me my manhood

Behind a post

That manhood you boast of

Was drilled into you in boot camp

By a murderous pig

Like the ones still in power

I didn’t get my manhood from the party

Because they rejected me with sniggers

More than once

I learnt my manhood participating

In the struggle of those years

And they laughed at my faggy voice

Chanting: And it’s gonna fall, and it’s gonna fall

And although you shout like a man

You’ve brought nothing down

My manhood was the gag

It wasn’t going to the stadium

And getting into scraps for Colo-Colo

Football is another form of repressed homosexuality

Like boxing, politics, and wine

My manhood was biting down on my tongue

Eating my rage so I didn’t kill the whole world

My manhood is accepting myself as different

Being a coward is much more difficult

The only other cheek I’ll turn,

Comrade, is on my ass

And that is my vengeance

My manhood waits patiently

For the chauvinists to get old

Because at this stage of the game

The left is trading its limp ass

In parliament

My manhood was difficult

That’s why I won’t get on this train

Without knowing where it’s going

I won’t change for Marxism

Which rejected me so many times

I don’t need to change

I’m more subversive than you

I won’t change just

Because of the rich and the poor

Give me a break

I also wont change because capitalism is unjust

In New York fags kiss on the street

But I’ll let you chew on that

You who are so interested

In the revolution not rotting away

To you I leave this message

And this is not for me

I am old

And your utopia is for those who are to come

There are so many children who will be born

With a broken wing

And I want them to soar, comrade

I want your revolution

To give them a piece of red sky

So they can fly.

...

Hablo por mi diferencia

No soy Pasolini pidiendo explicaciones

No soy Ginsberg expulsado de Cuba

No soy un marica disfrazado de poeta

No necesito disfraz

Aquí está mi cara

Hablo por mi diferencia

Defiendo lo que soy

Y no soy tan raro

Me apesta la injusticia

Y sospecho de esta cueca democrática

Pero no me hable del proletariado

Porque ser pobre y maricón es peor

Hay que ser ácido para soportarlo

Es darle un rodeo a los machitos de la esquina

Es un padre que te odia

Porque al hijo se le dobla la patita

Es tener una madre de manos tajeadas por el cloro

Envejecidas de limpieza

Acunándote de enfermo

Por malas costumbres

Por la mala suerte

Como la dictadura

Peor que la dictadura

Porque la dictadura pasa

Y viene la democracia

Y detrasito el socialismo

¿Y entonces?

¿Qué harán con nosotros, compañeros?

¿Nos amarrarán de las trenzas en fardos

con destino a un sidario cubano?

Nos meterán en algún tren de ninguna parte

Como en el barco del general Ibáñez

Donde aprendimos a nadar

Pero ninguno llegó a la costa

Por eso Valparaíso apagó sus luces rojas

Por eso las casas de caramba

Le brindaron una lágrima negra

A los colizas comidos por las jaibas

Ese año que la Comisión de Derechos Humanos

no recuerda

Por eso, compañero, le pregunto

¿Existe aún el tren siberiano

de la propaganda reaccionaria?

Ese tren que pasa por sus pupilas

Cuando mi voz se pone demasiado dulce

¿Y usted?

¿Qué hará con ese recuerdo de niños

Pajeándonos y otras cosas

En las vacaciones de Cartagena?

¿El futuro será en blanco y negro?

¿El tiempo en noche y día laboral

sin ambigüedades?

¿No habrá un maricón en alguna esquina

desequilibrando el futuro de su hombre nuevo?

¿Van a dejarnos bordar de pájaros

las banderas de la patria libre?

El fusil se lo dejo a usted

Que tiene la sangre fría

Y no es miedo

El miedo se me fue pasando

De atajar cuchillos

En los sótanos sexuales donde anduve

Y no se sienta agredido         

Si le hablo de estas cosas                  

Y le miro el bulto

No soy hipócrita

¿Acaso las tetas de una mujer

no lo hacen bajar la vista?

¿No cree usted

que solos en la sierra

algo se nos iba a ocurrir?

Aunque después me odie

Por corromper su moral revolucionaria

¿Tiene miedo que se homosexualice la vida?

Y no hablo de meterlo y sacarlo

Y sacarlo y meterlo solamente

Hablo de ternura, compañero

Usted no sabe

Cómo cuesta encontrar el amor

En estas condiciones

Usted no sabe

Qué es cargar con esta lepra

La gente guarda las distancias

La gente comprende y dice:

Es marica pero escribe bien

Es marica pero es buen amigo

Súper-buena-onda

Yo no soy buena onda

Yo acepto al mundo

Sin pedirle esa buena onda

Pero igual se ríen

Tengo cicatrices de risas en la espalda

Usted cree que pienso con el poto

Y que al primer parrillazo de la CNI

Lo iba a soltar todo

No sabe que la hombría

Nunca la aprendí en los cuarteles

Mi hombría me la enseñó la noche

Detrás de un poste

Esa hombría de la que usted se jacta

Se la metieron en el regimiento

Un milico asesino

De esos que aún están en el poder

Mi hombría no la recibí del partido

Porque me rechazaron con risitas

Muchas veces

Mi hombría la aprendí participando

En la dura de esos años

Y se rieron de mi voz amariconada

Gritando: Y va a caer, y va a caer

Y aunque usted grita como hombre

No ha conseguido que se vaya

Mi hombría fue la mordaza

No fue ir al estadio

Y agarrarme a combos por el Colo Colo

El fútbol es otra homosexualidad tapada

Como el box, la política y el vino

Mi hombría fue morderme las burlas

Comer rabia para no matar a todo el mundo

Mi hombría es aceptarme diferente

Ser cobarde es mucho más duro

Yo no pongo la otra mejilla

Pongo el culo, compañero

Y ésa es mi venganza

Mi hombría espera paciente

Que los machos se hagan viejos

Porque a esta altura del partido

La izquierda tranza su culo lacio

En el parlamento

Mi hombría fue difícil

Por eso a este tren no me subo

Sin saber dónde va

Yo no voy a cambiar por el marxismo

Que me rechazó tantas veces

No necesito cambiar

Soy más subversivo que usted

No voy a cambiar solamente

Porque los pobres y los ricos

A otro perro con ese hueso

Tampoco porque el capitalismo es injusto

En Nueva York los maricas se besan en la calle

Pero esa parte se la dejo a usted

Que tanto le interesa

Que la revolución no se pudra del todo

A usted le doy este mensaje

Y no es por mí

Yo estoy viejo

Y su utopía es para las generaciones futuras

Hay tantos niños que van a nacer

Con una alíta rota

Y yo quiero que vuelen, compañero

Que su revolución

Les dé un pedazo de cielo rojo

Para que puedan volar.

#reading club #les tumblrinas du mal #pedro lemebel #i decide go for a chilean author this time since i have both nationality argentinian and chilean #and because yu is part of club and she will gave us some argentinian content for the third week #if you want to be part of the club just send an ask

[weirdlittlegirl]

what is your job? that place looks gorgeous

i work in an art gallery/cultural center called estación mapocho...... it used to be a train station but it now hosts concerts, workshops, book fairs, etc... i guide people through the gallery and i write down the attendance 🙂

[ylliasbell]

OÍR-RÍO

Re-existir desde la memoria De Máximo Corvalán-Pincheira

¿Escucharon? Es el sonido del río que nos susurra acerca de un (mal) orden que atenta contra la vida.

Es el sonido de un pasado que se entremete en el presente mediante una multitud de experiencias de las que hemos sido escindidos.

Re-existir desde la memoria es develar lo que ha permitido encontrar sentido al continuar existiendo, pese a la adversidad, a la negación y al olvido.

Es el sonido del agua como metáfora de vida y equilibrio de biodiversidad, que al mismo tiempo, arrastra la deshumanización de los cuerpos, su descomposición. El día que fue el día, era noche. Y noche será el día que será el día. (Marcos, 2012).

Es el sonido del "no-olvido", que está marcado por el movimiento del recuerdo. Es el sonido de una sociedad fracturada que quiere recomponerse. Verdad y justicia.

Es la potencia de la ausencia que nos devuelve algo sobre el sentido mismo de la vida.

Es el sonido de una arteria del río Mapocho y su entorno, que nos interroga y susurra las historias de las que ha sido testigo a lo largo de su historia.

Es así mismo el sonido del agotamiento físico y social de todo tipo de naturalezas, que nos advierte sobre la vida en el planeta y su crisis irreversible: energética, ambiental/climática, financiera, geopolítica y social.

Es el sonido del agua como límite, como origen de todo, como recurso sobreexplotado, contaminado y en crisis.

Es el susurro del río que nos habla de la condición rota del ser-de los seres humanos y no-humanos.

Pero es también, el sonido de la vida que se asoma tímida y frágilmente para mostrarnos la capacidad de imaginar -colectivamente resistir y re-existir. nuevas formas de

Son memoria, son presente.

¿Dónde están?

#OÍR-RÍO #intervención #memoria #arte #museo de bellas artes #mnba #chile #santiagochile #parque forestal #historia

[el-zorro-chile]

Mapocho. Santiago, Chile

#chile #chile tumblr #original photogrpahy #original photographers #cieloazul #santiago #mapocho

[rodreyes]

Estación Mapocho en 1963 Santiago de Chile

#santiago #chile #1963 #tren #mapocho #train

[leftistfeminista]

Exhibition: The Body of Memory (El Cuerpo de la Memoria)

October 12 @ 18:00 – December 1 @ 17:00 LONDON

An exhibition by performance artist Janet Toro’s radical work responding to Chilean dictatorship at

Peltz Gallery 43 Gordon Square Birkbeck College London WC1H 0PD

Exhibition opens on October 12 at 6pm and runs until December 2023

Janet Toro’s performance series El cuerpo de la memoria (The body of memory), rekindles both individual and collective consciousness of the coup d’etat in Chile – that took place 50 years ago. This exhibition of photography and video documentation of performances refers back to 1999, when the artist presented 90 performance-installations as part of the second Biennale of Young Artists that was held at the National Museum of Fine Arts in Chile. Walking barefoot for kilometres and subjecting herself to physical constraints, Janet Toro pointed out sites of political detention and torture implemented during the civil-military dictatorship in Chile. Pushing at the limits of her body, Toro experienced 62 methods of torture, that recollected the horrors employed by the dictatorial apparatus to suppress and obliterate anything deemed a threat to their project. Such methods are the basis of Toro’s radical works.

The Performances and Installations were made inside and outside the museum at places related to torture and detention. Additionally I did barefoot walks from those places to the museum and from the museum to those places, through the city of Santiago.

I always walked with some physical sign of limitation of the body, tying my legs or my arms, etc., walked miles in silence and carrying a fragment of a white canvas stained with blood of slaughtered animal (as a shroud), which I had used 9 years earlier, in the Performance: "The blood, the river and the body", at the riverside of Mapocho River, at the height of Pio Nono Bridge, Santiago, 1990. This canvas I kept for 9 years and later I used it, teared it, fragment and knotted it in these performances.

For this cycle I realized a long investigation about various methods of torture, which were practiced systematically in Chile during the Military Dictatorship and which are currently used in many countries of the world. These methods of torture form the basis of my performances-installations, in which I approach the limits of my body and social limits, therefore there was an experience of permanent risk. There was no rehearsal.

This work makes an inner journey to the pain that underlies the collective memory, to the pain that was inflicted on thousands of people, through torture and the systematic violation of human rights in our country.

These actions expose the memory as a corporal and emotional echo, through mute minimum acts, opening the folds of the dark memories of that harsh reality, attached to the organism. Memory is not only a functional activity of the mind, but a bodily experience: "we remember with the body". That is the premise of this work.

#london #chile #political prisoners #women's rights #feminist art #womens art #performing art

[heronetworkgg]

¡Última oportunidad! AEX 31 - Anisong Matsuri 2024: No te pierdas el evento del año

La cuenta regresiva ha comenzado y las últimas entradas están volando para AEX 31 – Anisong Matsuri 2024, ¡el evento del año para los amantes del anime y la cultura otaku en Chile! Esta edición, que se llevará a cabo los días 2, 3 y 4 de febrero de 2024 en el Centro Cultural Estación […]

Ir a la noticia completa

#Anime Expo #Anime Expo 2024 #Chile #Estación Mapocho #Curiosidad #Eventos #Música

[insantiago]

De un cité en Mapocho

#chile #santiago #color #street #photography #streetphotography #photographers on tumblr #original photographers #cat #cats

[isabel-does-blogging]

Santiago!

We have exactly one day here between arriving in Chile and heading off to patagonia, so we did some sightseeing and tried our best to stay awake. We’re both pretty stupid after not sleeping enough on the plane, but at with two stupid people you make fewer net mistakes than when you’re by yourself. (Meda informs me that in healthcare they refer to this as the “Swiss cheese model” of redundancy.)

So in the morning, we took the funicular up Cerro San Cristobal and had a look at the huge statue on top and the view of Santiago all around. It turns out that Santiago is a little like Denver in that it’s a big city with some big mountains nearby, and also in that the air quality is terrible. Unlike Denver, however, it has a great subway, lots of houses with cute little courtyards, and restaurants and food carts everywhere selling REALLY GOOD JUICE. So we are naturally having a great time.

After the funicular we were feeling very hot and sticky and tired so we got popsicles about it:

And then at the magical hour of 1pm we could check into our hostel and take a desperately needed nap. After that, out again to find a free walking tour of the city!

The muddy muddy Rio Mapocho, not much flow because it’s the summer.

The presidential palace.

After the tour we decided we can work on staying up for dinner at the proper chilean hour tomorrow, and got some happy hour sandwiches. We had a nice walk back to our hostel, did a few errands in the cool of the evening, and saw so many cats. Now we are about to go sleep forever. And tomorrow, on to Puerto Natales…

No idea how the wifi situation will shake out, but I’ll keep posting when I can!

#south america 2023 #travel