#bflecha

Bflecha, El Guincho y una de mis favoritas ahora mismo, han venido a alegrarme lo que queda de tarde dominguera (every day is like sunday).

BFlecha - Sinfín ft. El Guincho

June 5th, 2017:

Bflecha, Kwalia (2017) Best Tracks: “Apnea,” “Kongo No,” “Sinfin” Weakest Track: “Enigma” Rating: 7.3/10

It was a busy weekend. Our third Art & Rec on June 1st and our seventh Warehouse Takeover on June 3rd. Each of those days filled with mind numbing anxiety; each of the days after filled with sleep-deprived, substance-abused hangovers that made the edges of towering bridges seem desirable. On the last day of that weekend, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and drove to Mexico to see the ocean and my mother. I laid in bed, rested and then we left to drink coffees by the beach while picking at a circular piece of cheesecake. The air was quiet, and for most of the getaway, I felt regretfully fried.

Sitting over the chest of the beach that evening, my mother broke my silence with stories of the coast, and how on the junction where the waves met the sand, there used to live a neighborhood there. Buildings, commerces, houses, families, kids, paved roads. And then how one day, a storm swept and raptured the structures, entombing the coastal block under sand and ocean. My mother said she was 14 when it happened, and ever since, the ocean has yet to retract the impact of it’s violence. The weather was grey and kids, teenagers and families walked by when she told me of the disaster. I imagined kids playing in the beach and heads rolling on the shore years later. Sand castles built on the debris of second stories. Bricks underneath boogie boards. We left shortly after. The corn hustlers kept on selling and in the overcast, the surfers and children kept splashing in the waves like always.

What any of this has to do with Bflecha, I don’t know, but I’m sure in some cosmic way, it connects. I sort of trust it has to. The Spanish, maybe? Whatever.