The dying river and the resolutions of the year

The first days of January (is it still the first days?) and the mental notebook, the one I write while walking, is full of good intentions: losing weight is always first. Yes, the fat militancy is my own, I want to discuss, mock, transcend, the police of the bodies. And yet, no matter how much I devour Camila Alfie’s notes in Las12, there is an inner gendarme who always tells me how many kilos I should lose. The playlist begins with Gorda, by the Krudas Cubensi: in these cases, what we want, think, question, takes longer than necessary to take shape, to become lightness and acceptance. Colonized bodies, they’re right.

But how do I not feel guilty about the sweet bread of the holidays. I return to that founding book that was Body without Patterns, compiled by Laura Contreras and Nicolás Cuello. “It is up to us then to begin the difficult and urgent task of rethinking desire. It will then be necessary to put aside the I desire, to enter into a desire creation, to build it collectively, recognizing ourselves and always being very clear that we do not desire freely or autonomously. It is in our hands to generate new representations, build new imaginaries, give rise to other bodies”, says Lucrecia Masson, in that book. And it sounds Steak, Other Ways.

First target, crossed out.

The list goes on, one less mandate. A frustrated desire that will no longer weigh again and again.

Could it be that that idea of ​​”losing weight”, always the first purpose of each year, was there as an impossible lure? Always jingling like a rattle to search, always far away.

These days, I started reading The Luminous Novel, by Mario Levrero, and I fell in love with the phrase: “That it was impossible was not a sufficient reason not to do it, and I knew that, but I was too lazy to try the impossible” . That quote is at the beginning of the book, and it got me thinking about how many impossibles add up to a list at the beginning of the year.

I can’t avoid drifting towards Chico Buarque, and his Future Lovers. There, the impossible is love: “Don’t drown, no, nothing is now, love is not in a hurry, it can wait, in silence, in the back of the closet, in the mailbox, millennia in the air. And who knows, then Rio (de Janeiro) will be a submerged city”, says the song.

And who knows, then, Rosario will be… a completely burned city, a scorched earth. I keep walking through this beloved place. At 6 in the morning, the breeze allows the walk bordering the Paraná.

All the lost exuberance returns in the voice of Mercedes Sosa, in Río de Camalotes, but that play list does not end there: there is Jorge Fandermole’s Río Marron, when not. Because their songs go far beyond the river, but those that sing to the course of Agua Dulce are incomparable.

Who has seen you and who sees you, river that looks like the sea, according to your Guarani name. 43 centimeters below its level, in a historical downspout that has been going on for three years, every day it is necessary to shout that the river is life, it generates life, it has life, and that it is not possible to continue killing like this. You are looking for a symbol of peace, sings Hilda Lizarazu of the great Charly García. It will be because we want to feel good…

Dystopias are pure present. At one point, I looked around me, and I felt that this was the end of the world, my friend Natalia tells me, telling me about her vision of a torrid morning in the pedestrian Córdoba, before the holidays. All zombies running to buy, the heat, the smoke on the islands, so close but -for some- so far away.

Not everything is indifference: last Saturday, a large group cut the Rosario-Victoria Bridge to alert about ecocide. They meet on Mondays, at 6 pm, in Assembly, to define actions. Without excuses, the Wetlands Law is urgent. This is how Lauphan sang it, in a collaborative video made by the Wetlands Multisectorial.

Between the environmental disaster, the scorching heat -which has so much to do- and the very human custom of establishing cycles, it is increasingly difficult to feel the breeze, the day advances with a burning sun.

How those decimated lives are linked with ours: our own, full of privileges. They should be rights, for everyone.

Privilege or right, a sunset with a friend, on the nonexistent beach down the drain, gives us a silver river. Yes, the twilight reflection turns the Paraná into a mirror, and there we are, watching the birds fly over that river that they seem to shelter in their current helplessness.

With that consciousness situated, what is the point of making that list of goals for 2022? It appears, however, with several imperatives: learn to drive, read more, watch more movies, work less. Does the list always scrape? Why does it scratch?

I always thought -and still think- that there are plenty of cars in the world. It’s not something that occurs to me, of course. And yet, every time I depend on someone to travel, every time I am not able to run a car, I think about how useful it would be to drive, to drive. It was given by addition, in the traditional families of the 70s, that the male child would learn to drive. With women, it was up to the patriarch. Yes, I’m grown up now and I have to take charge: driving is in my hands. And so, satisfy my desire to take Two days in the life, in the voice of Fabi Cantilo.

And yes, those lists are biopolitical devices of oppression. You have to be attentive all day, and build alternative lives. Meanwhile, the days thrown into the reproduction gear of capital. How many words yes, they have a lot to say. How far my little aspirations seem. I just want to walk, feel the (somewhat) cool breeze on my skin and listen to songs. I am walking on that ledge, my balance is so precarious that I remember the song by Ana Prada: “I can walk, you see me, playing snack on the precipice”. And Ana Prada’s music does take me to other places. Although my feet don’t fly, I can feel myself levitate with their songs.

Why would it have occurred to me, on this walk, to think about that inevitable list, the one of resolutions for the year? As inevitable as its breach. At one time, there was a meme circulating that showed how annual goals are devalued, the first one showed: lose 10 kilos, be in a relationship, get a good job and in the last one, everything was on the ground: not gain weight, fuck every once in a while, not lose work. I am content with joy, and yes, every now and then, a National Holiday to the rhythm of the Cumbia Queers. “You have to add a day to the weekend, because that’s not enough…” and so I go around for those impossible wishes.

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