Juliana Aragón Fatula


Finalist in Montana High Plains Book Award

imagehigh plains book award in Montana

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When is too much, too much?

chocolate cosmos cowgirl You see it all started about 25 years ago. When I gave up the party. I grew up. I settled down. I buckled up. I rode in my first rodeo for the last time. I fell in love. I met someone who completes me. I met him on a blind date. It was 1990 and Prince was still the artist known as Prince. May he RIP.

My blind date was 29 years young. I was 30ish39. I can’t remember how old we were but we were hot still. We’re still hot. I’m hot. He’s hot. We’re hot, ok?

My sister became an angel about 1989. Her daughter, my niece, the angel Victoria, introduced me to my husband. It was predestine in the stars. Her husband worked with my blind date cleaning windows on high rises in Denver Metro.

My Vance, as my deaf father called him, was so respectful. Vince was handsome, yes, but didn’t know it. Still doesn’t know it. But he is trust me. I have to fight off women all of the time from stealing him. I just say to them these three little letters. “OCD.” He’s a handful and then some, but he works three jobs, so I can stay home and work on my writing. Yes, I run the household, the finances, the family, blah blah blah, but he works hard for the money, so hard for it honey. Remember we met in the 90’s.

So what is my point? I forgot. What were we talking about? Oh. Yes, love. In my writing I create elaborate romantic scenes where my characters dance to Culture Club, Prince, Isaac Hayes, Ruben Blades, Sade. They disco, salsa, tango, dirty dance, bump and grind to music on the dance floor, any floor, anywhere. The sex is only in their imaginations. Their daydreams, their wet dreams; because LA and Tony Tong are not doing the nasty. Not with each other anyway, except for in their dreams. She has nyctophilia. Prefers night to day. Night the cover of sinners. LA investigates under the dark cover of night.

I want to write something like the 70’s TV show, Moonlighting. Or the 90’s show, Northern Exposure. I want the idea of sex to be lingering in the atmosphere ready to burst at any time. I want the sexual tension between these two main characters, the murder suspect and the Private Investigator, to be filled with desire and hot thoughts. I want the two of them to dream about each other every night and in their dreams to dance and make love, and laugh, and play, and laugh. I want them to be the perfect ideal couple. But the two opposites. One is brave one is a pussy.

The female character defends the male character. She is strong, tough, smart.

He is sexy. He is weak. He is not a woman. He loves a woman incapable of love.

She is a celibate Chicana. An educated Chicana. And a Chicana Woman. Lethal combination.

So what does this have to do with my 25 year old relationship with my husband? Well, he is my second husband. I am his second wife. So I guess when we were  younger we were both married to other people and might never have met. But devine intervention blew into town and swept us both off our feet onto our asses.

My mom and dad had a special love. They were each other’s sweethearts. They  met when my mom was a little girl and her older brother brought home his bestfriend, Julian Aragon. She didn’t know that one day she would be Mrs. Julian Aragon. They were also each other’s second marriage. I’ll tell you that love story some day. If  you ask nice.

Well, I’m only happy when I’m writing so I’m going to say adios. I’ll keep you posted on the progress of my murder mystery comedy love story. If you ask nice.

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April Poetry Month

My language is my identity. My own unique voice: no longer silent or shameful of not being Indian enough to be called Indian, and called a pocha: like a musician who knows how to play an instrument but can’t read music. I write stories about my culture and code switch between languages. Spanglish is the story, the rebellion, the music, my voice. I refuse to be ashamed of my tongue. I land right in the middle.

SkywardStonehenge – 2007

She hands me the dowser.

my hands—stones,

jagged blades,





Eyes etched

in treasures,

sea caves,

ancestral graves of jade.

Everyone is surprised when the dowser moves towards Stonehenge. My traveling companions take it as a bit of a magic trick, but I hold the rod and I know there is no trick involved. They move on; I remain behind to say a prayer. I kneel on the damp grass and begin to pray. My head begins to be bend toward the ground. I pull my head up. It begins to bow down again. I feel this eery sense of magnetism drawing my head down to the earth. It looks like I am bowing while praying, like a Buddhist monk. I close my eyes and live in the moment.

My companions yell for me to join them in the gift shop before the bus returns to town. I fight the urge to spend the night at Stonehenge. To curl up in a blanket and lie under the stars and discover what other ploys nature has up its sleeve. My desire to purchase something that says Stonehenge, a postcard, a keychain, overwhelming. I can’t believe I traveled all this way for my dream to come true only to leave after twenty minutes. What a gyp!

On December 21, 2012,[1] I’d love to be at Stonehenge or Chichen Itza[2] for the moment when the planets align and the world ends. I will lie on the ceque, spirit path, to receive my dream-time, when the land strengthens and energies flow through me, fertilizing the land and receiving my spiritual message, to be part of Mother Earth, to transcend, to be magnetized, to feel the pull of earth in my bones one more time before I join my loved ones in the spirit world and wait to be reborn in the fifth world.

[1] The end of the Mayan calendar.

[2] Chichen Itza meaning “at the mouth of the Itza well”, is a Mayan City on the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico, between Valladolid and Merida. It probably served as the religion center of Yucatan before the Spaniards arrived.

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