The candle in his altar is always on fire and our curtains are always drawn. When the lamp is on, baña the entire living-room in rojo. Sometimes, the speakers blast hardwave, more often technobanda or cante jondo—although yesterday it was cantos greogrianos that woke me up from my siesta. I smoke at a table outside of a downtown bar ahora, trying to read Plato.

by Román Luján |
mira a esos grasientos quedarse con nuestros trabajos / míralos multiplicarse chinches liendres /
contaminar nuestro sistema educativo / agotar nuestra reserva de fórmula infantil / míralos al sol con sus bigotes ralos / con sus frentes ajadas sus nudillos bulbosos /
sus ganas de inmolarse en huertos de manzana / bad hombres intrusos malolientes / quémalos con una lupa enorme oh dios / mientras cruzan el desierto de arizona

By Tim Z. Hernandez | At 10:15 a.m., a twenty-one-year-old aspiring terrorist posts a 2,356 word manifesto on the internet, outlining his justification for the act he plans to commit sometime within the next six minutes. He writes: This attack is a response to the Hispanic invasion of Texas… He’s driven eleven hours from his home in Allen, Texas, all the way to El Paso, my home.