By A. Cruz-Malavé
In the culture of the Latin American testimonio, this can be the tale of Juan Rivera, a.k.a. Juanito Xtravaganza, a Latino runaway formative years who finally ends up homeless within the streets of recent York within the past due 70s and turns into associate of the the world over well-known Nineteen Eighties Pop artist Keith Haring in the course of probably the most frenetically effective years of his short existence, as advised to the writer and retold via him. A hybrid textual content - half testimonio, half linguistic and cultural research, and half paintings feedback - this can be additionally a historical past of recent York Latino neighborhoods in this interval of devastating disinvestment and gentrification, in addition to a private, heart-felt meditation at the paintings of listening and the moral limits of representing queer Latino lives.
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Additional resources for Queer Latino Testimonio, Keith Haring, and Juanito Xtravaganza: Hard Tails
Sample text
And I felt like, “You fucken . ” And I came real close to beating his ass, which I could sense was what he wanted. And he kept looking at me with his eyes challenging me to freak on him. And I felt he could almost taste the beating. So I walked out and wouldn’t give it to him. One of These Days! AC-M: Didn’t you ever think of walking out of hustling altogether? JR: I tried, believe me I tried. But every time I’d go out and tried to get a job, they’d hire me, and as soon as they found out I couldn’t read or write .
Was in his late forties and kind of attractive. And he’d always pick up some real goodlooking guys. He had a method: he’d call for delivery, and when the delivery boy got to the apartment, there would always be some porno magazines and a few lines of coke accidentally left out on the table, and before long he’d be carrying on with the delivery boy. Or he’d wait till the subway rush hour—which he’d always time—and go out into the street butt-naked, wearing nothing but a long trench coat and a butt plug.
Feel like a rag . . But back then I’d always have my sister to defend me, ’cause she was real butch, and nobody was going to beat up on her little brother! So she’d take care of all the boys who wanted to beat me up. So I’d get mad, but couldn’t hit him, and I’d end up taking it out on my shit. I’d smash my stereo against the wall, or throw the TV out the window, and it got to the point where I’d go through maybe one TV a month. And all along he’d be there cucándome and saying, “Why don’t you .