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Author Archives: ilcocoabean

Link: Claiming Casualties

Claiming Casualties

The thing with poems is that I usually just take random fragments and string them together. I think about the placement of the words and the meaning they give each line but that’s about it. I don’t look for deeper meaning. I think about a general theme or emotion I want the final piece to evoke but ultimately I don’t write towards it until I have lines I can move around to create it.

This one started out as lyrics from a song then to words from old fics I saved for later I ended up deleting the list of them because they were awful and words that came to me as I did chores. It’s a method I’ve come to appreciate since it allows me to think of other things besides the poem. The idea is I let the words or phrases stand out on their own from the daily influx of language I get on a daily basis.

It also mimics the way I naturally am. I don’t know how long I’ve been doing it but it’s only recently that I’ve come to accept it as a daily routine of mine whenever I’m listening to music or with other people. I’ll focus on certain things they say and repeat them in my head, over and over again. It might be a coping mechanism for my anxiety, idk.

When I was younger I’d trace the word on whatever surface was available, mostly it was my thigh. I’ve stopped the tracing but I haven’t stopped repeating words. It can make conversation difficult, especially when I suddenly forget the phrase and I end up ignoring people as I try to remember it.


Link: Woven Wishes

Woven Wishes

The name of the pueblo San Valen was inspired by my mother’s name and her pueblo Santa Ana which I visited for a couple days during my first visit to Mexico. Mostly stories set in this collection are magical realism. I’m borrowing from sayings I’ve heard from parents and other family members and I’m spinning them into something new.

This particular story was something I wrote in the fall of my Senior year for a class called Social Science fiction. The prompt was fishes since we’d read Judy Budnitz’s short story, “Flush.” The original draft was shorter and didn’t have quite as much Spanish since back then I was still struggling with the idea of including my native tongue in my fiction. Everyone in my class enjoyed it and were curious to read more about the relationships between the women since there weren’t any mention of men.

Now here I am, more than a year later knowing full well men are not welcomed in this pueblito and that magic and Gods are.

Link: The Holy and The Broken

The Holy and The Broken


I’ve been staring at this story for like… two years. No seriously. I wrote this in Junior year of college and it’s gone through three workshops since then and I’ve wanted to submit it places but they don’t allow other languages which is frankly BULLSHIT but whatever.

This is part of a larger short story collection which I’ve been plotting for over a year. It serves as a history for another trilogy set in the future where space travel and colonization is finally a thing but you know me I have to focus on the ramifications this has on people and how it suddenly gentrifies and changes homes. But anyway this collection is an homage to my home city. But with more lesbians. And bisexual/gay/trans/asexual men, women and non-binary people. BECAUSE REASONS.

Become the Hands

A rejected submission I’ve decided belongs here.

I know we are made of stardust. There is evidence which tells us that the iron in our blood and calcium in our bones came from explosions in the spacious void. There is the hydrogen in the water that floats through our systems and the carbon in our very genes. Stars rose and fell for our bodies.

While my body might be the product of stars my mind is not.

It is made of echoes of the past. The touch of cold aluminum as Mamá wrapped it around my abdomen to help the stomach ache I had. The scent of citrus I’ve come to associate with the green prior to autumn. The hot tears that leaked from my eyes as I stood holding a book above my head in a corner.

My mind is not stardust. My mind is a cramped room. Read the rest of this entry

Link: US Immigration Reform Protests (023/100)

First things first, there’s been a change in the blog name. I decided that “rusty” really wasn’t the right word. Many of the entries on these blogs are backed up from my LJ or they’ve been carefully thought out and edited several times before published. I’ve used the word “sanded” before and I just felt like in this case, that felt far more appropriate.

Originally posted at livejournal on 14 December 2014 @ 02:53 am

US Immigration Reform Protests (2006)

Read the rest of this entry