What could a future home for Flamboyan look like?

Imagine, a two-story, multi-use cultural destination designed to bring together theatre, visual art, music, literature, podcasting, food, nightlife, and community programming under one roof.

The proposed center will combine a 120-seat professional theatre, artist studios, podcast production facilities, classroom space, a gallery, a bookstore/gift shop, and a Puerto Rican-themed bar and lounge.

The Arts Center

The Arts Center will bring together multiple artistic disciplines and provide space not only for performances but also classes and conferences.

The 120-seat theatre will have projection capabilities for screening films and recording/streaming live theatrical performances.

The art studio and gallery will allow visual artists to make and present their work to the public.

The podcast studio will allow for the creation of narrative podcasts as well as interview shows.

The book store and gift shop will allow a space for authors and arts and crafts to be sold.

All with a Puerto Rican focus, featuring artists from the diaspora and the island.

The Bar and Lounge

Designed as a welcoming Puerto Rican-themed bar and lounge, the space will combine nightlife, live entertainment, community programming, food and beverage service, and private events.

It will be designed with enough open space for dancing while incorporating comfortable couches and chairs that encourage people to stay, socialize, and return regularly.

Live Performance Stage

A dedicated stage will accommodate a six-person band and will serve as a platform for:

● Puerto Rican and Caribbean musicians

● Poets

● Comedians

● DJs

● Singer-songwriters

● Community performers

● Open mic performers

The lounge will feature weekly open mic and karaoke nights, creating consistent programming that encourages repeat customers.

Coffee & Sunday Programming

On Sunday mornings, the lounge will transition into a coffeehouse environment.

The bar will offer:

● Espresso and coffee beverages

● Pastries from local panaderías

● Community gatherings

● Book clubs

● Cultural programming

● Informal social events

Puerto Rican & Caribbean Beverage Program

The beverage program will emphasize Puerto Rican and Caribbean culture.

The bar will feature:

● Beers from Puerto Rican and Caribbean brewers

● Caribbean-inspired cocktails

● Signature house drinks

● Non-alcoholic beverages

● Coffee and espresso drinks

The beverage program will be designed around both cultural identity and strong margins, making food and beverage sales an important component of the center’s operating model.

This is not just a concept, we are actively pursuing opportunities to make this a reality. Contact us at jon.marcantoni@gmail.com if you’re interested in learning more!

OFFICER LOPEZ

You don’t like me pointing this at you? I thought you were a soldier, aren’t you used to guns in your face?

(He presses the barrel against UXBAL’s forehead)

UXBAL

You never get used to it.

In Pitiyanki, Officer Lopez, a Estadista-supporting, white supremacist Puerto Rican, terrorizes our hero, Uxbal, a Marxist, independentista-supporting Puerto Rican Army vet. The tension between the two men comes from Uxbal having lived the life Lopez always wanted (being a soldier) even though Uxbal’s morals and beliefs are the exact opposite of Lopez’s. To add insult to injury, Officer Lopez comes from a middle class, stable household where he didn’t have to enlist, whereas Uxbal was raised in a working class environment, and his inability to escape poverty forced him into enlistment. The two men are diametrically opposed, but whereas Uxbal doesn’t need others to be like him, Officer Lopez craves validation through similarity.

But in this moment, another difference is highlighted, Officer Lopez, being a cop, knows what it is like to aim a weapon at another human being, but not to have the same done to him. Being a soldier, however, involves being not only shot at, but being attacked with grenades, artillery, nerve gas, and under the pressure of dehydration, sleep deprivation, and extreme hunger. Soldiers are placed under severe duress, while cops drive around town in their safe vehicles armed to the teeth, intimidating and demanding authority from everyone they encounter.

Uxbal expressing that one “never gets used to” being threatened by a gun emphasizes yet another chasm in the gulf between the two men. The enforcer and the victim. Yet the victim is the one who shows restraint and dignity in the face of danger, while the enforcer believes himself to be a victim in need of defending his honor.

In 1978, ten armed police officers in Puerto Rico ambushed, tortured, and murdered two unarmed independentista activists in what became known as the Cerro Maravilla murders. In the official story, the police claimed they were the ones under assault and had defended themselves while labelling the victims terrorists. When the true story came out (in large part due to police incompetence and infighting, which included allowing the one witness to the murders to go back home unscathed) one of the details that stuck with me were the last words of the younger of the two victims, Carlos Enrique, who was 18 when he told his assassins, “Si me vas a matar, dame el tiro en la cabeza, pa’ no sufrir”. If you’re going to kill me, shoot me in the head, so I don’t suffer”. In my play Puerto Rican Nocturne, this line is repeated throughout, and in the last moment of the play, we hear it one more time, but shortened to “Si me vas a matar, dame el tiro en la cabeza!” Leaving out the part about suffering, the phrase takes on a more direct call to arms. A ‘fuck you’ in commanding one’s killers to do the job on your terms. I may be beaten, I may be bloody, but I will tell you how this will end.

The plea to not have to suffer doesn’t negate the bravery of the first half of the phrase, but it speaks to one of the most heartbreaking aspects of colonial existence—no matter how defiant we are, we do so with our hearts open, pleading for mercy even as we deman dignity. To ask not to suffer communicates something else to me, which is that on some level, there is an acceptance of our place in the world. We are the ones who suffer, who die young, who bear the brunt of corruption, poverty, lack of natural resources, lack of hope for a future, and so if we can ask for anything it is for this suffering to end quickly.

Puerto Ricans are immensely resilient because if we weren’t, we would just whither away and die. We make danceable music about heartbreak, we make art that strives for beauty that emerges from ugliness. Our stories have dark, cynical humor, graphic violence, and deep skepticism that things can go well for us because of our fellow Puerto Ricans. When we are allowed to express hope, it has to be tied to being saved by a white person—through a job, a scholarship, marriage and kids who we won’t teach Spanish.

But Puerto Ricans saving each other? Que mierda es eso?

Since 1493 we the people have existed with a gun to our heads, one we never get used to but we do adapt to, and in most cases, we spend our lives trying to appease it for just a few choice moments of peace. To live. To breathe. To have access to water. To have access to electricity. To have an education. To have medical care.

And when times get bad enough, we disregard the threat, we take to the streets, we might even overthrow someone in power, and have a flicker of hope, only for the replacement to be worse, and we take to the streets again, to elect a new leader, only for that leader to fall short in the vote count, and in our disappointment we feel the gun against our temple again, and we go back to the cold comfort of asking for permission.

The man with the gun gives us the same answers when we ask for relief. Which branch of the military would you like to serve in? Maybe you’ll get the chance to point a gun or two, see how good it feels to be on top. Or would you like to make some music for white people and do your little dance for them? Would you like to be a white person? We have people who can help you with that, and of course, no matter what you choose, drop the Spanish.

The cycle repeats. Si me vas a matar, dame el tiro en la cabeza.

In collaboration with Cultura Agora and BoriCorridor, we are honored to present the first stop in a US tour of the award-winning Boricua film Esta Isla! Through the month of September, Puerto Rican community leaders, artists, and organizations will be presenting this powerful film throughout the diaspora, and we feel blessed that Flamboyan is a part of this momentous event.

The screening will be at Denver’s first Boricua Social Club, Aguanile, on August 25th from 7pm-10pm, and will include a raffle with the chance to win art from local Colorado-based Boricua artists! The screening is also a farewell party to founder Jon Marcantoni, who is leaving to establish Flamboyan New York, leaving the Colorado branch to his good friends Damaris Santos and Nicole Torres. Tickets and the raffle benefit both branches of Flamboyan, ensuring that the next chapter in the theatre starts off with a bang!

Tickets are $20 but with a suggested donation of $50, and raffle tickets are $5 for 3 tickets, with all proceeds going to Flamboyan New York and Colorado!

Purchase tickets here (there are only 50 tickets for sale! Get yours Fast!)

TICKET LINK

I am excited to announce our upcoming line up of projects for Flamboyan as well as our new model for producing plays. A leading producer recently said non-profit theatre’s are dead, numerous articles have been written about Broadway’s struggles to keep the lights on, and theatres around the country have struggled in a post pandemic economic malaise we have yet to escape from. Shit is lookin’ bad, and I have no idea if my idea will be the answer to any of it, but I do believe it will help Puerto Rican writers and theatre creatives by reinventing the way that new plays are developed, and focusing that methodology on Puerto Rican stories, which are woefully undertold and underrepresented. It marries 21st century technology with the ancient and independent spirit of a group of misfits putting on a show, and it helps playwrights stuck in the endless hell of endless readings and overdevelopment escape that cycle.

The sequence of development for Flamboyan plays will be:

1. Playwright submission

2. Director (Jon Marcantoni) reviews the submission, and if he likes it, send it to the Dramaturgy Team.

3. Dramaturgs review the submission, and if none of them wants to work on it, the submission is rejected. If one of them does want to work on it, then the dramaturg will negotiate the price for dramaturgy with the author, ensuring that it is affordable for them. 10-15% of the charge goes toward producing a podcast version of the selected play.

4. Dramaturg and Playwright spend 3-6 months editing the script. Dramaturg arranges private or public readings. At the end of 6 months, Dramaturg tells the Director if the play is ready to be a podcast. If not, Director, Dramaturg, and Playwright will meet to discuss what is needed and how much longer it will take to work on the script.

5. Director assembles a cast and sound engineer for the podcast, which is recorded over 2-3 days.

6. Once the podcast is released, the Production Team will shop the play around to investors, and market it to build an audience and demand for a full production. The podcast is promoted extensively so that even if a stage version is not made, the podcast stands on its own. The Playwright is also able to shop the work around to other theatres. Flamboyan will have one year to find the funds to produce a live show.

To supplement this system, we would seek sponsors who are willing to “Adopt a Playwright” in which they would fund the dramaturgy and the podcast production. This program would be geared toward low income playwrights, particularly those living in Puerto Rico.

We would also seek advertisers and sponsors for the podcasts, and host events in Puerto Rico and the US where theatre producers would be invited to meet the playwright and crew, experience scenes from the work, and have the work pitched to them in a dynamic showcase.

While efforts are made to bring the show to the stage, the podcast will be able to build an audience online. By seeking out Puerto Rican plays in Spanish and in English, we will be able attract global audiences and tap into the worldwide interest in Puerto Rican culture and stories.

The podcasts will feature music, sound effects, and be an immersive storytelling experience. Flamboyan has already produced two podcasts, Empire of Solitude and Denise, both of which rack up dozens to hundreds of views each month since their releases in 2024.

There is also the possibility of making video podcasts. If the play is produced for the stage, we would also film that performance so the largest audience possible can experience Puerto Rican stories.

While this process is open to Boricuas no matter where they live, our Microteatro series will be exclusively for island-based playwrights. These short form shows will be recorded for podcast and filmed, with special events and screenings in New York, Denver, Tampa, and San Juan.

Our arrival in New York will coincide with a variety show fundraiser with our community partners Juventud Unida Por la Independencia (JUPI) which will benefit Boricua students at UPR. We also will dedicated money from future iterations of Circo Flamboyan and community events to island-based non-profits and organizations dedicated to improving the environment, healthcare, and food sovereignty on the island.

Our theatre is only strong if it directly benefits Boricuas beyond entertainment. And those of us in the diaspora have a responsibility to give back to the island so as a people, we have each other’s backs.

We can only offer these programs and shows through fundraising. We know that there is a lot going on and many people suffering these days, but this work we are doing is not for vanity, it is for nuestra gente, nuestra comunidad, y nuestro futuro.

Please consider donating by visiting our campaign page.

DONATE TO FLAMBOYAN

The independence of the Puerto Rican people will be determined not only by polical processes, but also by a radical social and psychological change. One of the greatest challenges of a post-colonial society is that the colonial infrastructure is rarely dismantled, and it is human nature to default to what is known rather than fully immersing in an unknown, novel system. As a result, revolutions historically begin as radical and then progressively become conservative. Some of this tendency is based in the human desire for stability and comfort, even when that comfort is toxic and abusive in nature. Better the devil you know, kind of thing. But this tendency also comes from patriarchal norms never being replaced, so now instead of being fucked over by men in another country, you’re being fucked over by your own men. Men being the common denominator. Even when a woman is in power, as our current governor is, we see in her behavior masculine tendencies—the aloofness to the suffering of others, the evasion of personal accountability, the corruption—she is following a patriarchal playbook, and there is a real and founded concern that an independent Puerto Rico would repeat the mistakes of the past rather than transcend them. But let us be clear as to root cause of this fear—Puerto Rican men.

If independentista men are unwilling to address our own sexism and misogyny, then we might as well remain a colony. A free Puerto Rico must be one that features female leadership, especially Afro-Boricua female leadership. Otherwise we will be free in name only, as Euro-centric patriarchy will continue to be the status quo.

The number one indicator that you aren’t enlightened, is thinking that you’re enlightened. Even pointing out this bullshit won’t necessarily fix it, but we gotta point it out, and I challenge any men who engage with this to do the hard and continuous work of being a work in progress. We owe it to ourselves, to the women in our lives, and ultimately, to the future of our island, and can only be overcome by men stepping up and making female empowerment their issue too.

For Puerto Ricans to be truly free, our men need to confront our limited view of female humanity. This takes the shape in our sense of entitlement over women’s bodies, minds, and self-actualization.

We can try, as progressives, to dismiss the conservative, Catholic view of women as either Madonnas or Whores as the central conceit of how men regard female bodies, but that worldview is so pervasive it effects even lapsed Catholics or people who never stepped in a church. We expect our women to cook for us, care for us, and fuck us on demand. We all know this particular brand of sexism and so I’m not going to dwell on it. The reason I bring it up is because much like latent racism, which exists under so many layers of passive aggression and obfuscation, that progressive men can convince themselves that they are allies and male feminists when in actuality, they are just hoping that their radical leftist girlfriend secretly wants to be a trad wife.

Progressive men work the hardest at learning the language of feminism in order to get laid, because let’s be real, a lot of guys get into progressive politics trying to pick up women, and they use progressive ideals as a way to bolster their ego and appear to be “one of the good ones”, for this reason, progressive men are often the least self-analytical about their bullshit.

By reducing women to roles of servitude, I have often seen in independentista activist circles men only wanting to give speeches and do photo ops and position themselves in “masculine” roles within the movement. Meanwhile, the women organize the events, coordinate with community partners, fill out the paperwork, contact media, make the pamphlets, construct the signs for the rally, coordinate food for events, and all of the real grunt work that is done behind the scenes, and is essential to making change actually happen—meanwhile the men don’t show up until the crowd forms, the reporter is looking for a quote, or the cameras are rolling—and never, ever, do these men give credit to the women who made these events and actions possible for their dumb fucking faces to show up in time for a speech (a speech, it should be noted, that is only possible because of the A/V set up that was likely done by a woman).

And then, after the women have done the Mother work of making magic happen, the guy turns around and pinches her ass and makes a move on her. After all, that speech was so hard to make and he needs a treat for that hard work.

I almost vomited in my mouth writing that, because I recognize that I have been guilty of reducing women into those roles. I have also been the asshole feeling oh so proud of myself for a stupid fucking speech while not contributing anything else. In a just world, the men should be doing all the primer work while the women make the speeches, and here is the thing, it is entirely within our power as men to make that just world happen. The women who put their bodies on the line at rallies, marches, and community gatherings deserve to be more than just bodies. Their voices are just as vital, and yet we men can only focus on what the women in our movement do to make us look good.

Which brings me to women’s minds. Since so many Boricua men are mama’s boys, have you ever asked your mom about her personal philosophy on life? What her political beliefs are? What her aspirations outside of wiping your asses are? What are her interests? Her hobbies? Have you ever asked your sister those questions? Have you ever asked a female friend those questions? Do you even have female friends?

For those of you in the movement, let’s say you’re a part of a group with female leadership, have you ever engaged with that leadership about what they want to see change in Puerto Rican society? Have you ever asked what you can do, as a man, to get out of their fucking way and really support them? Or do you approach female leadership with a laundry list of all you can do for them and how lucky they are to have you on their team?

Do you treat that leadership as easier to access because you’re not intimidated by women the way you are with other men? Do you outwardly promote that female leadership but in truth feel like they need you to really do anything big? Do you secretly hope you’ll get in their good graces enough that you can replace them in a leadership role?

Maybe you don’t view them as replaceable, but have you ever asked yourself these questions, which are really about how you, as a progressive man, ought to show up in these spaces so as to actually embolden and support women? Have you ever considered your role in a movement that doesn’t center you? Because guess what, women have to ask themselves things like this all the time.

But Jon, I’ve never made a woman feel that way! I believe women! I support women!

Shut the fuck up, no you haven’t, and you know you haven’t.

I have seen these dynamics play out repeatedly in meetings, at rallies, at workshops, and hearings. Women have to undergo so many humiliating tests to have their very ideas be considered worthy to be spoken, let alone be discussed or adopted. And this not only happens in independentista circles, it would absolutely happen in an independent government if we don’t address and fix it.

Finally, there is self-actualization. Which is to say, one of the privileges of being a man, regardless of your race, is that you never have to prove your inherent value. You walk into a room, even if you aren’t your most presentable, and people will listen to you. There is an inherent expectation that your ideas are always considered to one extent or another. If there is some disagreement, you don’t feel like you’ll be physically threatened, or harassed for that opinion. It could happen, sure, but its not the default expectation. The default expectation is that you are free to voice your opinion, and in fact, at times, it may even be your duty to do so.

Men have been trained by society to believe that if they only believe in themselves, they will be rewarded. They can embody a dream and find support for said dream. Even if its difficult to achieve—or really, its preferable for the task to be difficult, because once they achieve it, there will be so much admiration for what a visionary man you are (that’s a good boy! Yes, you are such a good boy!)—

Not only do women not experience that, but they have to watch what they say and how they say it, because at all times people are not only doubting them, they’re judging everything from their physical appearance to their tone, to whether or not they show enough respect to the men in the room. Women are not allowed to self-actualize, in fact, they are actively discouraged from doing so. Saying the wrong thing, popping off at the wrong person, fuck, even just telling a man ‘No’ can lead to bodily harm, harassment, and worse. Progressive men may think that doesn’t happen around them. That they’re feminist allies and women naturally feel safe with them.

You’re one of the good ones, right?

Tell me this—what have you done to earn a woman’s trust? Do you ever think about earning their trust? What about their respect? Or do you assume you have it because you’re in the same movement? I would argue we aren’t in the same movement at all, because too many independentista men aren’t doing the internal work of dissecting how we show up in spaces with independentista women.

Have we sat down with our female comrades and discussed the power dynamics inherent in our society? Have we done enough to address what a truly feminist, free Puerto Rico looks like? Have we thought about the work we need to do on our egos and our attitudes toward women so that women do in fact feel safe being their full selves around us? Do the women in our organizations feel like they’re our equals? Do they feel that their leadership is not questioned?

Have we made any woman in our life, feel the kind of confidence a mediocre man has when he walks in a room and spouts his unsolicited opinion?

Look, I’m not even sure if I’ve done that. Full transparency, what inspired me to write this is that there have been recent times when I have felt like I have let women in my life down by not listening enough, by not considering them enough, by not doing the work to earn their trust and respect, by not empowering them when I should, by not doing all I could so they feel like I’m interested in them as human beings and not just pretty faces.

I’m as flawed as the next guy, I’m not saying this as an enlightened person talking down to my fellow men. This is a heart to heart. I cannot say I’m socialist, feminist, and independentista if I’m letting my Boricua sisters down as much as I have. Nobody’s perfect, but I can do more, and so can you. It’s not just a personal failing, it affects our movement.

The liberation of Boricua women to be their full selves in a free Puerto Rico where they can lead, where they can serve, where they can do and be anything they want to be, does not happen if Boricua men are not fully invested in liberating ourselves from patriarchal, misogynistic attitudes that have ruled us for 500 years. We will otherwise hold our Boricua sisters back, and hold our nation back, from realizing a just, equitable, and thriving society. It won’t happen overnight, it’s a daily struggle, and we should have had this talk a long time ago, like before I was even born. The least we can do, is start today.

Make it your mantra: There is no Free Puerto Rico without Free Puerto Rican Women.

The exercise was to clear my energy. On my back, eyes closed, her hands grasping my arms, then calves, then placing ointment on my forehead. Like any good curandera, after saying prayers and laying her hands on me, the imprint that was left was held down by ancestors, and the voice of my querida abuela Rosaura, her voice resonating in my head, calling out my name to assure me of her presence. My therapist picked up a drum and stick and with each impact, each bomba of the instrument, I saw in my mind dancers, they were in New York, inside a cafe I have only seen in my dreams. Everyone was dressed traditionally, long skirts, hair wrapped—each pounding of the drum a blue spotlight would pulse and I’d see, for a blink of an eye, the dance, hands clapping, the conga players in full rhythmic harmony. Hands clapping, faces smiling, a single woman in the middle, posing, still amidst the chaos of drummers and dancers moving manically yet synchronized. Bomba. Dark. Bomba. Spotlight. The woman looks at me.

She is you.

My therapist beats her drum one more time. Darkness. She tells me to open my eyes. Center myself.

I have seen what my future looks like. It is with my people. No more trying to make a place for myself in the hopes others will join me. My people already have a place for me to enter, for me to feel at home instead of constructing a fascimile of home I would want to call my own. This would be mine, and not a single building, nor a single town or city, it would be an island.

One whose shores extend to every Boricua anywhere in the world, but there are certain places closer to its heart than others. I need to be closer to its heart, to hear its rhythm, to inhale it, savor it. To be the wind that moves its seas, the water that caresses its coastline, the rivers that nourish its lands. To be the palm tree, the guayaba, the flamboyan. To hear the coquis song and to be the coqui singing. To march along the cobbled streets of San Juan, demanding liberation.

This is where I belong.

But before I can go to my island, I have to go to our adopted one. I have unfinished business. A dream of being an artist pursuing creative expression that I was not ready for previously. To prove myself in New York, where in the 2010s I got to be an artist one trip at a time for 48 or 96 hours, once or twice a year. I have the material. I have the knowledge. I have the abilitiy and self-belief. I want to be part of the community there, and work directly with the island, build my bridge one relationship and opportunity at a time, and then step foot once again in San Juan, not as a visitor, but as a resident.

I will find that cafe, the one where you dance to the music of our ancestors. The ones who crossed oceans, who adapted, who survived, who created and overcame all the suffering of a history of whips and dismissal from the world they inhabited, but which could never inhabit them. The human spirit cannot be contained in chains, neither physical nor esoteric and it is that spirit that inhabits the drums that move us closer to each other. That helps us forget the weight of the day and give in to the possibilities of tonight.

Will you recognize me from across the room, as the one who dreamt of you?

The last few months has felt like life was on hold. I have existed largely within my head, trying to find space in my outer world for the inner life I had been cultivating to come forth. I am tired of old narratives and tendencies and hiding myself. I live in so much fear of being seen. I sometimes resent that my way with words clouds the value of my actions. I can get on a stage and be charming. I can communicate a beautiful sentiment. My words demand respect for our people, and are my most powerful weapon to protest and advocate for a free Puerto Rico. My words can be vulnerable, but I feel like they are too flowery, poetic in order to hide the brutal sincerity of simple desires.

I don’t want to go through this life alone, either alone with myself or with a partner who makes me feel alone. I want to go through this life with someone who sees the best in me, and who I can expect the best from them. A person I trust absolutely. Who I can grow with, and who will be a full partner, supporting each other, cheering each other on, and be dedicated to our passions. A partner who is just as much of a fighter for Puerto Rico and for Puerto Ricans as I am. A partner I can be stupid with, like silly to the max, and serious, philosophical, deep, dark, and then light and joyous again. I want to feel free to be my most authentic self, and I want her to be her most authentic self. I want us to be free, as individuals and as a couple, and to be fully invested in choosing each other every day, in ways large and small.

That last paragraph was difficult to write. It feels naked. It feels corny. It is so hard to talk about my desires openly. There are always caveats and fears and pessimism but why can I be bold about professional pursuits while shrinking when I speak of personal ones?

I can make this life. I have to listen to the music within me. I have to trust that the dream I see for myself is a reality that has yet to manifest. It isn’t a fiction. It is a promise. A light that never dies, like the stars themselves, crossing unimaginable time and space to arrive within our view, on a night when a chorus of coquis calls to me to walk down a street I don’t recognize yet intrinsically know, a drum beat in the distance that inches closer, and I make a turn into a cafe filled with bomba musicians and dancers, and the spotlight this time doesn’t flash on and off, its illumination fixates me to watch continuously, until the moment you emerge from the dancers and pose, your face turning in my direction, and our eyes kiss.

Do you recognize me from your dreams too?

The dissolution of the self has been on my mind a lot this week.

The Western concept of the self places one’s own journey, the individual, as the source of freedom and highest cause. What are your dreams? Your reason for being? The ‘being’ an expression of the individual above all else. The Great Man theory of history (if you’re unfamiliar, the fact that it centers around a ‘Great Man’ tells you all you need to know) places the individual as the driving force of life itself. And that the individual has inherent value that supersedes the collective.

The ‘East"‘ (a colonial term since it places Asia as ‘east’ of London, the center of the Anglophone world, a designation the Americans would continue, moving the demarcation to Washington D.C., but the result is the same), is famously collectivist. The individual functions within a ‘whole’, and The Heart Sutra is an expression of this. “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form” being the central tenant, as the speaker searches through the essential aspects of life, and finds them to be empty of inherent existence. Hollywood has made countless apocalyptic films about the last people to survive a disaster, who are battling against the elements to continue to survive. Oftentimes, the “Last” person meets others survivors, but the presence of others is to be a witness to our protagonist, to see how he (it is always a he) will make the world right again. But these films (from I am Legend to Waterworld to The Road, etc) emphasizes the individuals impact on shaping the future. Westerners understand that nobody likes to be alone, but they don’t understand that nobody likes to be alone because we need others to survive and have meaning, westerners instead think we don’t like being alone because if nobody is there to witness what we are doing, did it happen at all? Who will tell the maginificent story of myself once I am gone?

The Heart Sutra teaches that an element, set apart from the interdependence of existence, is just an element. What gives it meaning is how it contributes to a larger system. The lone man is just a lone man. An existing element traversing its surroundings but aimless. Living but for itself. What makes an ecosystem dynamic is the way each piece of that ecosystem contributes, and humans are the only creatures who attempt to exist above an ecosystem, thinking the environment serves them, instead of the other way around. Our value is tied to our relation to other things, and therefore truth and reality are contextual. “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form”, life is empty, but also emptiness is life. It is a matter of perspective as to whether something has value or not, but that also means that value itself is tied to perspective. You cannot have one without the other, and since objects move in space and that space shifts based on the situation, then reality is never just one thing, or two things, reality is infinite. Truth is adaptable, then, rather than a fixed object. And this fluidity means we are never above a situation, we are in relation to a situation. Self is emptiness, empty because one’s self is conditional on the context of a moment.

In essence, we are never alone. We are functioning within an ecosystem that we are inextricably and eternally tied to, and recognizing that larger—shifting—reality, is empowering because it means that who we constantly change, and if we are constantly changing based on the context of the moment we are living, then anything is possible.

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about my next steps. I want to do some big and different things in my next revolution around the sun. Earlier in the week, I was trying to force myself upon these things, insistent that it is I who will make these things manifest. I became increasingly enamored of the i who I want to be. And then things slowed down. Progress shut down. My body shut down. And I am left, this morning, increasingly aware of how little this i I have focused on really is. This i cannot accomplish anything on its own. There is nothing in this new year that can be done without others. This self who turns 42 next week, is empty, and as I write this on a Saturday morning, I feel empty because I’ve lost the thread connecting me to others. Life does not serve me, I serve life. As this next week unfolds, how will I serve the collective? How can I eradicate my attachment to expectation and allow life to happen, and serve those outcomes instead of forcing the ones my ego desires?

Ruminations on who I am as I turn 42.

As the nerds know, in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the number 42 is the answer to the question “What is the meaning of life?” and so perhaps this is the year when my own meaning makes sense. Whatever that meaning ultimately is, I think a lot about how much my own perception of the possibilities of that meaning is through the prism of things that have happened to me, rather than things I do. I have said in conversations with friends and therapists that my life is dedicated to service. But the reasons for that feel a bit disempowering.

The first book I wrote, the first publishing house I established, the first play I wrote, all came from me trying to justify my continued existence after friends of mine died young and in tragic circumstances. I often frame to myself that the work I do in the arts and in the community are a tribute to those friends. But this negates my own desire and satisfaction in helping others.Maybe I would have been just as generous, just as committed to creating opportunities to others, maybe I would have been just as compassionate, without losing those people.

A memory that I have clung to throughout my life. When I was 5, maybe 6 years old, my abuelo and I were sitting on the balcony of their house in Fajardo, where I would spend the happiest moments of my childhood, and he said to me, “Jon, you’re a good person.” Maybe the memory is inaccurate, this was decades ago and there is no way I am remembering it exactly as it happened, maybe it was “good boy” “good kid” but the sentiment was the same, and I held onto that memory after his death, which would have been just a few months later. I held onto it because for a long time, it was my only memory of an adult relative expressing a belief in my goodness.

Sure, I was a child, but as a parent, I have found that essential qualities of ourselves are present at the youngest ages. Were you a stubborn toddler? You’ll probably be a stubborn adult. Before the world got its hands on me, I have been told that I was a joyful baby, and even when I’d cry, I would quickly self soothe and start laughing.

So maybe the kindness, the compassion, the wanting to make others smile, was always there. My friend’s deaths created a focus on how to bring light to the lives of others but was not the reason for it.

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I never wanted to be a victim of circumstance. I have strived to take control of my life in spite of my circumstances. Poverty, military service, having children in my early 20s, these were not excuses for avoiding being productive and creative, they were motivators. I wonder if I had taken easier, more lucrative or comfortable routes to my life, would I have accomplished as much as I have? One of the insights into humanity I have discovered in my years as a book editor is how many authors are middle aged men who have never been published, or have only had one or two small things published, and when they describe their lives, they’re pretty privileged. Not a lot of challenges in their lives, and they torture themselves over not having done more artistically, but it seems to me that the self-torment comes from having lived a life largely devoid of real struggle.

There is a destructive propensity of men to need to prove themselves through struggle. The starving artist trope is literally man-made. Prior to the mid-20th century, literacy was almost solely reserved for the elites of society (and in some places, to be literate merely meant you could write your own name). While there were genuinely poor writers in the past, far more were what we now call bohemians–that is, rich people who rebelled against their families in order to live “poor” but could always get money if they needed it, and who were educated and grew up in comfort. The pursuit of poverty is an absolutely stupid idea that only a rich person would do. Nobody born poor wants to be poor, which is not the same as wanting to be exorbitantly wealthy. In fact, poor people often find value in things other than money, unlike rich people, who are so detached from humanity they think they have to starve in order to feel something in their dead souls.

I’m not saying all of these deranged rich people are men, but most of them are. And the attitudes of these morons have infected the arts world with ideas like the Starving Artist. Needless to say, these are also White attitudes. The Black and Brown people of the Global South are raised to be resourceful, innovative, to be persistent and to overcome obstacles, because our lives are built on those obstacles. Yet in the United States, Black and Brown people who should know better also subscribe to the idea of the Starving Artist. After all, the White man told us that artists struggle. The narrative of killing yourself for your art was created by people with thin skin who couldn’t handle the pressures of the system they forced on the rest of us, but now the victims of that system have taken on the same narrative. The difference is that we people of Global South have the strength to endure starving for our art, but the reality is that we shouldn’t have to.

We have adopted the narrative of people we outwardly hate and internally envy. If you protest white supremacy, why are you living white supremacist values? Have you benefitted from them aside from cursory moments of acceptance by the white establishment? And given the depravity and injustice that colonialism and racism have wrought upon our communities, why are you working so hard to be accepted by the people who made you hate yourself in the first place?

I have thought a lot in recent months about the Oscar-run for the movie Sinners, my favorite film of 2025. Ryan Coogler was honored by the NAACP Awards, rightfully so, and during his speech he proclaimed how much he loves being Black. The great comedian Godfrey then made a video online asking the fundamental question–Why do Black people value a white institution like the Oscars? Why doesn’t the Black community value the NAACP awards more than the Academy Awards?

This then made me think of how, in 2019, when the classic film Parasite was on the awards circuit and became the most Academy Award-nominated Korean film ever (and eventually would be the first foreign language film to win Best Picture), the director Bong Joon-ho was asked how he felt about the Oscars recognizing his film and gave the ice cold response of, “The Oscars are not an international film festival. They’re very local.”

His statement scandalized many of those in the American media, how dare this filmmaker remind us that there are 8 billion people in the world and only 300 million Americans? How dare he expose the bubble of the American narrative that disregards the vast majority of humanity? Yet within that bubble are oppressed people of color whose greatest oppression is their inability to imagine a world without the United States. We treat these narratives as though they are global, universal truths, rather than white American propaganda.

—---

What does this say about me? The greatest definition of my life is being defined by others, even in a positive sense. What is positive or negative about my life has largely been told to me, rather than what I truly believe those positive and negative things are. What is the meaning of my life, and has that meaning been devalued by the narratives that have both shaped and distorted it? Can I ever really know who I am? Can anyone?

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My most recent play, Pitiyanki, has been on my mind, almost to the point that I’m sick of it, which isn’t great because I’m embarking on what could be a couple of years of getting this story produced and therefore, talking about it ad nauseum. But also, I love it. I think as a work of art, it expresses some of my biggest concerns about the state of the world in a compelling story with some of my favorite characters. Even as I might be ready to move on to the next thing, there is just so much still to say about this world I’ve created.

It occurred to me a couple of hours ago, just before I started writing this (again, at 2am, because for some stupid reason I went to bed at 8pm last night), that a central theme is how people act in a moment of crisis, and how that reaction reveals their true character. We can define ourselves in any number of ways, through politics, cultural identity, racial identity, sexuality, etc. but when things start burning down and shots are being literally figuratively fired, who is the you that shows up?

How have I shown up? Time and again, I run toward the problem. I seek solutions. I provide comfort. I have been brave at many times when others would be cowardly. I have endured enormous pressure and made it through the other side still cracking jokes.

I have held onto many narratives in my life, especially the negative ones impressed upon me. I was contacted by someone yesterday who I used to think loved me, and they made an assumption about me that was common during our relationship–that I must be struggling so maybe I couldn’t do something they needed me to do. When I told them that I’m actually doing pretty well and would be able to do this thing for them, they were clearly caught off guard, and proceeded to praise me.

And in another time, I would have been flattered, and maybe felt like I accomplished something by getting their recognition. This time, however, I reminded myself that the praise didn’t come naturally, it was a reaction to my dispelling of their narrative. The narrative they were using when they reached out to me is how they actually thought of me, and in a moment of clarity, I could see how this narrative couldn’t live up to the reality of me.

The narrative that does live up to the me who has shown up in hard times is that moment at my abuelo’s house in Puerto Rico, when my abuelo insisted that I am a good person. Maybe that is the most meaningful thing my life could be.

We are offering a new class that pulls back the curtain on the ups and downs of producing theatre. Learn how to take your project from script to stage! Classes are Mondays starting May 18th, and if you can’t make them live, they will be recorded. There is also an interactive Signal chat where you and your classmates can discuss the topic and ask questions.

Producing is difficult but deeply fulfilling work, and especially for BIPOC creatives, it is essential for getting stories made that otherwise would have an uphill battle even getting read. We hope you will join us, and please share the opportunity with others!

REGISTER HERE

The reason I wanted to dedicate my life to writing was the first time I read Langston Hughes’ “A Montage of A Dream Deferred”. Gabriel Garcia Marquez opened the door to me reading Latin American literature. La guaracha del Macho Camacho awakened me to the possibilities of Puerto Rican literature and challenged me to be bold and unapologetic in my expression. Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon is the benchmark I hold myself too as a storyteller in creating narratives that are as much philosophy as they are entertainment. Literature has had an enormous influence on me, and yet, it pales in comparison to movies.

From the time my mom would take me and a group of neighborhood kids to the movies, sneaking in candy and homemade popcorn, to when my dad introduced me, at way too young an age, to mob classics The Godfather, Goodfellas, and A Bronx Tale, movies have had the greatest impact on me as an artist and as a person. The movies taught me how to be a person in the world. Whether I am trying to be cool, romantic, or a positive role model, I am more than likely copying the behavior I saw in films, which aren’t the best examples to take from, admittedly, but I could do a lot worse. At least I recognize that romantic comedy behavior is psychotic and that manic pixie dream girls are also toxic masculine bullshit that degrades women to superficial male fantasies.

Cinema is the defining artform of our lives, and much like painting and literature, captures humanity in a time, a place, and a worldview. I’ll never forget watching Battle of Algiers, the greatest war movie ever made, and being caught off guard by how that film depicts violence toward Europeans versus violence against Africans. Which is to say, it forced me to confront the fact that it was first time I saw the deaths of Africans being treated with empathy and sorrow, while the indifference to European death was exactly how Hollywood had framed non-white death—as an afterthought. The movie challenged my biases and blind spots in a way that no other artform could.

My desire to meld the various artforms—Music, visual art, dance, theatricality, poetry, and narrative—into a single expression—is because movies do it all the time, and I want to do it in a communal sense. I want to meld all of the artforms into a new expression based in African roots and from the point of view of the Global South, to make art an experience in an intentional and all-consuming way, with the goal of transforming performance and artistic expression to exist outside of the white lens. Of course, the lens I wish to capture it through is Puerto Rican. Much like México’s La Raza Cósmica, I see Puerto Rico harnessing the capability of artistic expression that is both unique and redefining, specific and universal. Multi-modal, multi-discipline unification of human expression, which is cinema’s ultimate goal but not its singular goal, and without cinema the possibility of such artistry would be unthinkable.

So what are the movies that have shaped me the most? Below are my essential films and why they are essential. If you don’t know these films, I hope you’ll check them out!

Spike Lee films (honestly I could do this entire piece on solely Spike Lee films, but I’m going to limit it to three)

1. John Leguizamo’s Freak

   Leguizamo will always be one of my central heroes. His audacity, his unapologetic raunchiness, but even moreso, his unapologetic Latin-ness. This is a little bit of a cheat because it is a filmed one-man play, but the cinematic touches that Lee puts on this film are undeniable, and it is the sort of hybrid between theatre and film that I believe is essential for theatre to thrive in the 21st century. Leguizamo explores a taboo subject in Latino arts—child abuse—with rawness but also entertainment. This is an hilarious story about an horrific childhood, and that is no easy thing to accomplish. His story is the American Dream as misfit madness, much more reliant on chance and circumstance and underlined by disappointment and disillusionment. Being from a broken home myself, this show was my first therapy session.

2. Clockers - To be honest, I didn’t “get” Do the Right Thing until I was in my 20s. The film from Spike Lee that resonated with me was this inner city morality tale about how systemic violence and inequality can lead a decent person to commit a murder. The fact that few people know about this film, based on Richard Price’s brilliant novel, is a damn shame and needs to be reversed. It came on the tail end of “urban” films like Boyz in the Hood, and was dismissed as a retread of played out themes. But none of those films captured what is one of my favorite subjects: the distance between the world we are promised and the world we are given; in the way that Clockers does. This is not just a story of urban despair and crime, it is a story about the rage that America inspires in marginalized communities who see all too clearly that this country was never meant for them.

3. 25th Hour - The cinephile in me says I should put Do The Right Thing, Malcolm X, or 4 Little Girls (which is the best documentary I have ever seen), and I also was hugely inspired by Summer of Sam, but this movie hit me at a particular time in my life that cannot be minimized. I was in 11th grade when 9/11 happened, and I lived 8 hours from DC and 10 hours from NYC, which felt like it might as well have been next door. My brother would be deployed to Afghanistan a year later. To see a film carry the weight of that moment, while also exploring complex themes of redemption and regret, was profoundly meaningful. This film also has some of the greatest cinematography I have ever seen. The “Fuck You” monologue and the “You have no idea how close this life came to never happening” speech are forever imprinted on me.

Martin Scorsese

1. Goodfellas— You’ve seen the movie, need I say more? But what this movie really taught me was how incredibly dark subject matter can be exhilarating. That we can tell stories in a way that is both energetic and tragic. The whole cocaine freakout sequence toward the end is fun the first time you see it, but the more you watch it, the more amazed you are that he got away with capturing something so relentlessly dark in a mainstream movie. This is another “American Dream is a Nightmare” movie that left an indelible impression on me. Puerto Ricans (and Latinos in general) are nursed on the idea that the United States is the pinnacle of human civilization, and yet my experience never matched that assertion. This movie was a defining document of how horrible this country is and how much Latinos had sold their souls and the souls of their children, and for what?

2. After Hours - Honestly, I could put 10 Scorsese films on this list, much like with Spike. But I want to herald one of Scorsese’s lesser known masterpieces. After Hours captures male angst and loneliness better than any other movie. And its a comedy with a ton of laugh out loud moments that are also heartbreaking. A truly brilliant dark comedy, and a prime example of how excellent editing (by the legend, Thelma Shoonmaker) elevates a film.

Richard Linklater

1. Before Sunset - This sequel is a masterclass in writing, performance, and cinematography. With perhaps the best closing line of any movie in the 21st century, this movie about trying to recapture lost love is amazing in every way. Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy give incredible performances, but its Linklater’s floating, swooning camera that steals your heart.

2. Waking Life - If you are a college student and you haven’t seen this masterpiece, what are you doing? Stop reading this and watch this movie. It will fuel every conversation you have for the next ten years. Life is what you make of it.

Federico Fellini

La Dolce Vita — Seeing this movie in theatres was life changing for me. This ode to Rome is romantic, intellectually engaging, has one of the most devastating moments ever (the deaths of an entire family) as well as one of the most beautiful (the Trevi fountain scene is monumental). This movie is shouting to writers—you can do anything! An absolute classic. Enough of my words, watch it.

Alfonso Cuarón

1. Y Tú Mama También — The ultimate sex comedy, that is also about class and race in Mexico, as well as the true meaning of friendship. This is a comedy that will make you cry like it is a tragedy.

2. Children of Men — As far as I’m concerned, this is Cuarón’s masterpiece. A stunning achievement of screenwriting, acting, cinematography, editing, and direction. The siege sequence is something I have dreamed of replicating. ABSOLUTE BRILLIANCE.

Barry Jenkins

1. Moonlight - An absolute masterpiece that demonstrates how screenwriting can be poetry. The scenes with Littles’s mom hit me like a sledgehammer, because they were so close to my own experiences with a mentally ill mother. The diner scene, which, keep in mind this movie was based on a play, is highly theatric, yet was written entirely new for the film. The diner scene may be the most romantic scene filmed in the 21st century. It is perfect writing, not a single misplaced beat. And for Floridians like myself, to have a black couple cooking Cuban food for each other, it is something special. This movie captures the fear and exaltation of new love like no other. Incomparable.

2. The Underground Railroad Episode 9. Even if you don’t see any other episode, this one is the absolute truth. Succeeds on every metric—acting, editing, writing, direction. It is perfect.

Honorable Mentions:

City of God —A Brazilian film that is one of the most devastating examples of how street violence affects young people. The innovation of the direction and editing is mind blowing.

How to Blow Up A Pipeline — A revolutionary film unlike any other. This movie should be taught in every activist group.

Talk to Her - A twisted love story about maintaining friendship even when your friend does something terrible. Has some of the greatest shots ever put on film.

I am starting over as a writer. This has been difficult to embrace, but I have been feeling for some time a level of guilt, or if that isn’t the right word, the need for forgiveness. There is an arrogance that derives from achieving recognition at a young age. I sold my first scripts when I was 19, and was first published at 22, and over ten years I had five books published and dozens of articles and short stories published in English and in Spanish. I also represented 18 authors in multiple countries. I often approached other writers and creatives with that resume in my mind, and even writing it out, no matter how condensed, feels insufferable. Many writers I would interact with, I could feel disdain seeping from their pores, which I took as jealousy that I was younger and more accomplished than they were. Now, I know different. The disdain came from the superiority with which I approached them, looking down on them as literal and figurative ants.

This arrogance was coupled, as arrogance always is, with massive insecurity: Ok, you did that, and now what? You think you’re big shit, why are you stuck in a small Midwestern city with nothing to show for it?

I left publishing in 2019, as I was determined to focus on theatre, which I had grown up doing and which I missed. When I wrote my first play, Puerto Rican Nocturne, I submitted it all over the country. I especially wanted to get it produced in New York, for legitimacy and because it would be such a coup, believing that the story was so good, so important, and so well-written that I could get it produced on the strength of the script alone. I had bullied my way through the independent publishing world, why couldn’t the sheer force of my personality do the same with theatre.

Inevitably, I was rejected, and in response, instead of looking within that maybe my attitude was a problem, I decided to become an independent producer, and got Puerto Rican Nocturne made myself. I am proud of doing that, we brought together a lot of Puerto Ricans in Colorado who were hungry for connection and representation. But I learned the wrong lesson from that kumbaya moment. I thought it meant I should do more things on my own, and Flamboyán was born from that impulse.

Now, two things can be true at once—the forcefulness of my personality can do a whole lot. I have connected a lot of Puerto Rican artists and given them a place to showcase their work. I have raised our profile to a national level. People in New York, Chicago, Florida, and Puerto Rico know who we are, which is no easy feat. Our productions, especially the last one, You’ll Be Made of Ashes Too, I am exceedingly proud of, and the opportunity it afforded the author had a huge impact on her. Our variety show, Circo Flamboyán, was fun and exciting, and another example of me willing something into existence in spite of the odds. This is all true, but what is also true is that I did all of these things largely for myself, and did not do enough to collaborate and bring others in to let their voices be heard. I was willing things into existence that were not built to last, they were built to make noise and get attention, and the value of that deteriorates just as quickly.

It isn’t just low ticket sales or waning media interest that dooms independent productions, just as detrimental is the inability to build and sustain creative teams. I look at the people involved in making Puerto Rican Nocturne, or Empire of Solitude, or in fact, all of our shows—none of those people talk to me anymore. I didn’t show up in the community as a member of the community, but rather as an interruptor, and the thing about interruptions is they get tiresome. I have become tiresome.

Don’t get this twisted. This is not a woe-is-me article. I still shit gold and piss excellence. That being said, I am recognizing that there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and the confidence to start a company, to get a production off the ground, to will something into existence is all admirable. Yet the way in which I create things has not let people in. In 20 years as a professional artist, I have a lot of singular accomplishments but no lasting community, and that has handicapped me increasingly.

If I show up like Mr. Mothafucka that might attract people in the short term but they won’t be invested in me. They will get what they want and move on, because I showed up like I’m that kind of opportunistic person as well.

Any of my friends would tell you though, that I am deeply feeling person. The word “friend” is never just a word for me. I would move mountains for my friends as much as I would for my family. In fact, I do more for my friends because I don’t even like most of my family, but I love all of my friends. In professional artistic settings, however, the transactional nature rubs up against my giving and loving nature. So how do I marry my community-centered natured with fostering long lasting relationships in an industry that is is transactional and temporary?

The answer, as I’ve been laying out, is in becoming a new writer. Whatever I did in the last 20 years doesn’t matter. It served its purpose and it took me as far as it can go. I keep bumping up against ceilings, so I need to find a different building. It starts with how I show up in the world.

When I wrote Pitiyanki, I knew it deserved a higher ceiling, and that the one thing I didn’t do with my previous plays was give in to the process of getting a play made. I have long resented the gatekeeping that exists in the industry, but the pathways of dramaturgy, writing groups/networks, and showing up as just another writer instead of as a producer, are ones that consistently work in a way that being an independent producer doesn’t. I have known playwrights in New York and Chicago for years, and they have always been kind and generous, but they have also been explicit in how they have built up a community of people who are invested in their work, and it involves a lot of meetings, a lot of readings, and a lot of process. Which I didn’t want to do. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready for it. I have no doubt some of those playwrights saw me as someone with potential, but who wasn’t serious about the work I needed to do on myself. Now I am serious, I am ready.

I’ve been working with a New York-based dramaturg for the last four months on the script, and giving myself over to the process, and it has been one of the most fulfilling creative experiences I’ve had. Its been challenging, and at times ego-swallowing, but so very needed. Even as I am started a new draft this week, the last one, flaws and all, is 100x better than the first draft. My instinct that this story deserves more has proven correctly. I think even in its current state, it is a powerful story, and a more complex and profound piece of writing than any of my other theatrical works. It is the strongest thing I’ve written since my days as a novelist, when I also went through the editing process. I have developed a trust in my dramaturg that also feels deeper and more meaningful than the transactional relationships I have been experiencing in theatre. I also think of how I my dramaturg was referred to me by one of those New York playwright friends who has gone through a rigorous process with their own work, and that they pushed me toward the place I’m at now. I had been so concerned with all the moving parts of theatre that I had gone away from the thing I most embody—being a writer. Yes, this process has been humbling, but in the best way. I am getting back in touch with my love of storytelling. I am also committing myself to getting involved with groups like the Latinx Playwriting Circle, where I don’t want to show up pitching anything. I want to get to know people. I want to build relationships. I want share my writing but for the purpose of listening, like I would have in my early 20s. I’m starting over.

More than that, I’m having patience, and instead of forcing something onto this play, instead of willing it into existence, I am letting it take me on a journey. Part of that journey is recognizing that in spite of having made a lot of mistakes and losing a lot of friendships, that I do still have friends who have my back. I appreciate all those who continue to support me, and I hope this experience makes me a better person as well as a better artist.

Flamboyán is moving into Spring with a series of exciting online and in person events!

We start off the month with our first Ramas Project class, Authentic Boricua Storytelling. This six week online class will feature weekly Zoom classes (recorded and made available for students who can’t make it on Thursday evenings) along with one on one mentorship sessions and a group chat with other students in order to network and bounce off ideas. The course will include writing a poem, short story, and monologue with the purpose of pushing yourself stylistically and thematically.

While this course centers Puerto Rican history and culture, we welcome students of all backgrounds, as these themes and topics are universally relatable!

Whether you are an experienced writer, or know a writer who could use a course like this, I would love for you to join me. Even if this isn’t for you, please share with someone you think would benefit from such a course.

Classes begin April 2! Register for the class here https://square.link/u/laiyBpq2

Our live events this month are all at Aguanile Boricua Social Club in Denver’s South Broadway neighborhood!

Join us on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Wednesday of the month for (in order) Open Mic Night with co-host Areymá, Boricua Trivia, and Latiné Karaoke! These events are free and open to the public and participants have the chance to win exciting prizes!

We hope you will join us for a beautiful and community filled April!

In developing The Ramas Project Website, we have decided to add a mentorship component, The Cemí Program!

Before going into details, here is a reminder of the concept of The Ramas Project website: A digital hub where Puerto Rican artists of multiple disciplines will have the ability to sell their products, announce events, job opportunities, promote themselves and their work, and connect with other Puerto Rican artists throughout the diaspora and on the island. The website will an accessible membership tier system ranging from $40 a year (wherein you get to build your own online store) to $5 a year (where you can announce events and network). There will also be a free tier that allows you to view the sites’ content but not add to it. The website is being built by the Flamboyán Team and Duckweed Digital Solutions, and we are anticipating a May release date.

The Cemí Program is a mentorship platform that connects young Puerto Rican artists (ages 16–24) with experienced Puerto Rican artists who teach short, one-on-one classes online. The classes are free for students and funded through donations, while instructors in Puerto Rico are paid for their mentorship and gain free access to a platform to provide their work to buyers, partners and collaborators.

After completing three classes, students gain access to The Ramas Project’s broader artist community, creating ongoing opportunities for collaboration, learning, and exposure.

The model strengthens cultural connection between Puerto Rico and the diaspora while supporting local educators and developing the next generation of Puerto Rican artists.

How it works: The Ramas Project is a digital hub for Puerto Rican artists using a tiered membership structure allowing them to post events, find collaborators, promote their work, and for premium members, to have their own online store. Mentors and students will gain access to premium features at no cost.

Allowing educators on the island to keep working in their communities: Over the last 20 years, Puerto Rico has experienced a devastating brain drain of young professionals and educators. The Cemí Program will provide essential supplemental income to educators on the island, allowing them to stay in the communities they call home, be a role model to young people on the island, and carry out the promise of seguimos aquí, building a future for the island that is by us, for us.

Building a positive relationship to the island: For many diasporicans, Puerto Rico is a story they hear, but a place they never get to experience. A common refrain for those in the diaspora is that they don’t feel “Puerto Rican enough” and they suffer from insecurity around their identity. Through the Cemí Program, students in the diaspora will have the chance to form positive, affirming relationships with people on the island, increasing their confidence in their cultural expression. We will also offer opportunities for diasporican students to visit the island, making a dream come true for countless youth to connect with their culture on a profound level.

The Cemí Pilot Class

As we develop the website, we are offering a pilot program to test out this format. Starting April 2nd, I will begin a six week online course on Authentic Boricua Storytelling.

Class Description:

In this six-week class, award-winning author Jon Marcantoni will guide you through deconstructing the internalized racism and colonialism that limits writers from creating styles and narrative constructs that genuinely reflect their cultural experience. While this class centers Puerto Rican culture and history, the lessons of self-awareness regarding systemic oppression of one’s truth, and limiting ones’ creativity due to external pressures, are relevant to other cultures who have experienced racism and colonialism. His class can also be eye opening for white students who wish to understand their own conditioning and how that might affect their own expression.

Puerto Rican literature has a long history full of experimentation and narrative boldness, and we will dissect texts by Luis Llorens Torres, Emeterio Betances, Julia de Burgos, Luis Rafael Sanchez, and others, to investigate how oral traditions from West Africa and the indigenous Taíno cultures, have left an indelible mark in how we tell stories. Students will be asked to write a poem, a monologue, and a short story, and will be pushed to deconstruct their own work in order to remove the conditioning our education system and the literary industry have placed upon us to make our work more palatable to white audiences. By the end of the class, you will have the tools to free your creative voice from those structures and be on the way to a style and expression that is more authentic to your humanity and cultural heritage.

The class costs $150 (or $25 per class) and will be conducted on Discord. You will receive one on one mentorship as well as the opportunity to connect with other Puerto Rican writers. You also have the option to pay per class. If you are interested in a payment, please contact jon.marcantoni@gmail.com.

Class size limit: 12

Sign up link for the class: https://square.link/u/laiyBpq2

The state of being a Latin American is the jigsaw puzzle we create for ourselves in order to feel at home. The United States will never be our home. We will never be understood or appreciated here. Sure, we will find people who find us attractive physically but who won’t recognize our souls, and our need to be home.

I feel genuinely bad for Latinos who have never been to Latin America, who do not realize what an amazing, beautiful, sumptuous, kind, and loving place it is. How when I am in Puerto Rico I not only marvel at its physical beauty, but also in the fact that on every street I walk, ever forest I explore, every beach I lounge in, I am 100% myself, I am in my element, communing with my very soul. It’s not just an island to me. It is a not a resort, or a fun vacation, or an Instagram opportunity. It is my home. It is where all of my most precious memories belong. That I can be away from the island for 17 years and when I land in that plane, I know everywhere I need to go. I don’t even need GPS, the map is in my bones.

Latin America is a marvelous, breathtaking place, and so are our people. Our people are sexy—sure, you white people exploit that fact to no end. We get it, we’re hot. But did you ever consider our intelligence, our wisdom, our talents, our promise, our yearning to be seen as human beings in a global order that views us only as living commodities?

As such, the Latino is only given value when we are victims, when we are striving for something better, as if our own cultures don’t provide all that we need. The more we can suffer, the greater our value, and that value is derived by the white lens and what white supremacy dictates is worthy or not worthy.

What is the value to being Puerto Rican? How about a rich heritage of kindness, community, and caring for each other? How about our food and music and art? How about our understanding and empathy as human beings?

And yet, the Latino is only a refugee, an immigrant, a victim of circumstance. We only matter within the scale of how much white people can save us.

It is hard enough to love yourself, no matter who you are, but when there is a messaging that your value is in direct proportion to the pain you experience, it fucks with your mind. Especially when your life has had substantial pain, but you don’t want to be saved.

I am divorced. I’m a single father. The elders who were supposed to be my guides in life were all dead before I was 20. Many people who I loved and acted as mentors to me died young. I have navigated life largely feeling abandoned and with no real direction, as though I have to figure it out because I am the unfortunate person who survived. My life feels like unending chaos and psychological and physical violence which I mask with being a showman and artist and giving myself to others and being the guide for others, and I feel enormous shame in the fact that I just want to be cared for and loved. Because how can I possibly deserve that grace note?

My happiness has always been tempered with the expectation that happiness will end. I struggle to hold on to the moments of joy that pass by so quickly. And yet I try to find gratitude. Gratitude for the moments when things do make sense. When I do connect with others. When I feel promise. The sweet moments of a kiss, of making dinner for someone I love. For the laughs we share and the movies and tv shows we watch. I love dancing but don’t have natural talent. I love singing but can’t hit a note to save my life. I try to make my writing as rhythmic as possible in order to share the musicality of my spirit. I try to give the little I have, which is mostly just patience, understanding, and hoping that my sweetness will make up for my lack of more important qualities like money.

But do I believe that? The money part? I dream of a simple life in Puerto Rico, because there, I don’t need much money. I guess enough for a roof over my head and thats it. I need the ocean. I need the coquis. I need food. I need friendships. I need companionship. I need love, and walking on the beach at sunset. I need simple things.

I can list the long litany of tragedy and misfortune I have experienced, and maybe that would have some value to some one, but I don’t want to be saved from it, I want to grow from it. I lived through these things and now I am in a better place. I deserve beautiful things too, but it feels more and more that those beautiful things are defined by someone else. Being Puerto Rican, my savior should be statehood and the American Dream, but that very idea makes me want to vomit. I want a Puerto Rico that can determine its future and its tastes and what makes it happy, and the same for all of Latin America. It should be a future we make for ourselves. It should be a future that can include material things but doesn’t need to.

As for myself, like my island I want to be seen, and not through any predisposed perspective. I want all my scars intact, and for them to be accepted. I want to be loved without feeling like I can only be loved with exceptions and burdens and that loving me takes effort. The way white people treat Latin America, “So beautiful, and if only this goes right, or that goes right, or if they could change”—fuck that shit. We are beautiful, exactly the way we are. Latin America and myself, we are the most lovable and precious, and devoted, and kind people. We have crazy pasts. We have tons of baggage. And no love is like the love we can give. Because we value the true things. The things beyond status and physical beauty. We love from the heart, and see with our souls.

Versión en español debajo

The realization of our dreams rarely take the path we anticipated, and what holds up our dreams is when we refuse to acknowledge that an unexpected path is not a mistake, or a disappointment, and that the new path is the one more aligned with who you are and what you need. In our constant pursuit of self-improvement, we have to recognize that part of improving yourself is recognizing that oftentimes, the person who conceived the original idea did so through the filter of past narratives and mindsets that no longer serve the person who has the ability, knowledge, and resources to carry out that idea. We grow, and that growth requires a new way of thinking. Which is to say, our ideas oftentimes require our person to evolve before the idea can manifest.

The person who conceived of Flamboyán in 2022 is not the person writing this Substack, nor is the person who conceived of The Ramas Project in August 2025 the same person. That is how quickly we can be asked to evolve, and I hope that God has some grace that my mind is still catching up with my body. I am still adjusting to my new reality, and to what this dream of mine needs to sustain itself.

As many know, though not everyone, in the past five months I have undergone enormous personal change along with the uprooting of Flamboyán. A three and a half year relationship ended, my middle child is living with me full time, we lost our venue in an abrupt and unjust way. I lost several friendships. I didn’t receive any grants I applied for. I even lost my therapist. For those who believe in the Year of the Snake, I was shedding my old self at a rapid and dizzying pace.

February started off extremely painful, and I have not been my best self. If I’ve seemed erratic its because I am erratic. I’m trying to figure what life is handing to me. I’ve been angry at all of the change, but I’m now coming to terms with it. I feel less angry and lost.

I wrote a substack a few weeks ago at the height of my depression where I bashed my creative output and abilities and seemingly threw in the towel. I didn’t see a path forward, and I felt ignored and humiliated, and that I truly am not valued by my community.

But the universe had other plans for me. Because I am valued, but I was seeking validation from the old connections, the old friends, the old world I was still clinging to. New friends emerged, urging me not to quit, and helping me find another way forward. A new plan for the theatre emerged, and I found local Puerto Ricans wanting to work with me.

We now have a collaboration with Aguanile, a new Boricua social club, where we will be hosting a monthly open mic night with the singer Areymá. I have two venues in Denver where I will be able to put on shows later this year. Another friend is helping me to build a website for The Ramas Project, which honestly makes way more sense to have a digital hub for Puerto Rican artists before making an in-person hub. I was putting the cart before the horse. We have a potential location for Festival Flamboyán and leads on different sponsors.

New doors are opening. The theatre is taking on a new identity. I feel hope again even as I have no idea how these things will coalesce and take shape. The work I am doing on Pitiyanki also feels enormously promising, and even there I am collaborating with a dramaturg who is a new connection. Wherever this new path is taking me, I feel it is taking a newer version of me as well. A me that is still taking shape. A me that is happier and more aligned with my purpose.

I am meant to help others, and to foster community and opportunity. My desire to help my people is my personal mission. Puerto Rico is my home and I will stay connected to it in whatever way is right for the moment. In this moment, my mission feels smaller but also more grounded. A website and smaller events and shows may not sound like a lot, but it will still be a heavy lift requiring collaboration and innovation. I hope thinking in a more targeted and deliberate way leads to building a more stable and devoted audience.

I’m writing this in the middle of the night on a Monday. A new week to bring about new adventures. Me and Areymá are hosting the grand opening of Aguanile this Friday (Feb 27th) and I look forward to seeing where that takes us. It feels like I am reintroducing myself to the community. And it may sound silly but I am making sure to run and workout a lot this week, be more focused, meditate and express gratitude at every opportunity. I want to show up as my best self for this new era.

___________

La realización de nuestros sueños rara vez toma el camino que anticipamos, y lo que sostiene nuestros sueños es cuando nos negamos a reconocer que un camino inesperado no es un error o una decepción, y que el nuevo camino es el que está más alineado con quién eres y lo que necesitas. En nuestra constante búsqueda de automejoramiento, debemos reconocer que parte de mejorar uno mismo es reconocer que, a menudo, la persona que concibió la idea original lo hizo a través del filtro de narrativas y mentalidades pasadas que ya no sirven a la persona que tiene la capacidad, el conocimiento y los recursos para llevar a cabo esa idea. Crecemos, y ese crecimiento requiere una nueva forma de pensar. Es decir, nuestras ideas a menudo requieren que nuestra persona evolucione antes de que la idea pueda manifestarse.

La persona que concibió Flamboyán en 2022 no es la misma que está escribiendo este Substack, ni es la misma persona que concibió The Ramas Project en agosto de 2025. Así de rápido podemos ser llamados a evolucionar, y espero que Dios tenga algo de gracia, ya que mi mente todavía está alcanzando a mi cuerpo. Aún me estoy ajustando a mi nueva realidad y a lo que este sueño mío necesita para sostenerse.

Como muchos saben, aunque no todos, en los últimos cinco meses he experimentado un enorme cambio personal junto con el desarraigo de Flamboyán. Una relación de tres años y medio terminó, mi hijo del medio está viviendo conmigo a tiempo completo, perdimos nuestro local de manera abrupta e injusta. Perdí varias amistades. No obtuve ninguna subvención por las que apliqué. Incluso perdí a mi terapeuta. Para aquellos que creen en el Año de la Serpiente, estaba despojándome de mi antiguo yo a un ritmo rápido y vertiginoso.

Febrero comenzó de manera extremadamente dolorosa, y no he sido mi mejor versión. Si he parecido errática es porque estoy errática. Estoy tratando de entender lo que la vida me está entregando. He estado enojada por todo el cambio, pero ahora estoy aceptándolo. Me siento menos enojada y perdida.

Escribí un Substack hace unas semanas en el punto más álgido de mi depresión, donde menosprecié mi producción y habilidades creativas y aparentemente arrojé la toalla. No veía un camino hacia adelante, y me sentía ignorada y humillada, y que realmente no soy valorada por mi comunidad.

Pero el universo tenía otros planes para mí. Porque soy valorada, pero estaba buscando validación en las viejas conexiones, los viejos amigos, el viejo mundo al que todavía me aferraba. Nuevos amigos emergieron, instándome a no rendirme y ayudándome a encontrar otro camino hacia adelante. Surgió un nuevo plan para el teatro, y encontré puertorriqueños locales deseando trabajar conmigo.

Ahora tenemos una colaboración con Aguanile, un nuevo club social boricua, donde estaremos organizando una noche de micrófono abierto mensual con la cantante Areymá. Tengo dos locales en Denver donde podré realizar espectáculos más adelante este año. Otro amigo me está ayudando a construir un sitio web para The Ramas Project, lo cual, honestamente, tiene mucho más sentido tener un centro digital para artistas puertorriqueños antes de hacer un centro en persona. Estaba poniendo el carro delante de los caballos. Tenemos una posible ubicación para el Festival Flamboyán y contactos con diferentes patrocinadores.

Se están abriendo nuevas puertas. El teatro está tomando una nueva identidad. Siento esperanza de nuevo, incluso cuando no tengo idea de cómo se unirán y tomarán forma estas cosas. El trabajo que estoy haciendo en Pitiyanki también se siente enormemente prometedor, y incluso allí estoy colaborando con una dramaturga que es una nueva conexión. A donde sea que me lleve este nuevo camino, siento que también está llevando a un nuevo yo. Un yo que aún se está formando. Un yo que es más feliz y más alineado con mi propósito.

Estoy destinada a ayudar a otros y a fomentar la comunidad y oportunidades. Mi deseo de ayudar a mi gente es mi misión personal. Puerto Rico es mi hogar y me mantendré conectada a él de cualquier manera que sea adecuada para el momento. En este momento, mi misión se siente más pequeña, pero también más arraigada. Un sitio web y eventos y espectáculos más pequeños pueden no sonar como mucho, pero seguirá siendo un gran esfuerzo que requerirá colaboración e innovación. Espero que pensar de una manera más enfocada y deliberada conduzca a construir una audiencia más estable y dedicada.

Estoy escribiendo esto en medio de la noche de un lunes. Una nueva semana para traer nuevas aventuras. Areymá y yo estamos organizando la gran apertura de Aguanile este viernes (27 de febrero) y espero ver a dónde nos lleva eso. Siento que estoy reintroduciéndome a la comunidad. Y puede sonar tonto, pero estoy asegurándome de correr y hacer ejercicio mucho esta semana, ser más enfocada, meditar y expresar gratitud en cada oportunidad. Quiero presentarme como mi mejor versión para esta nueva era.

“The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the

no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life,

screwed every which way.

Who are not, but could be.

Who don’t speak languages, but dialects.

Who don’t have religions, but superstitions.

Who don’t create art, but handicrafts.

Who don’t have culture, but folklore.

Who are not human beings, but human resources.

Who do not have faces, but arms.

Who do not have names, but numbers.

Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police

blotter of the local paper.

The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.”

—Eduardo Galeano, The Open Veins of Latin America

My entire creative project, from my my first short story to be published, “The Revolutionary”, to my first book, Traveller’s Rest, to my first play, Puerto Rican Nocturne, to my latest play, Pitiyanki; has concentrated on two ideas—That the deepest conflict people have nowadays is between the world they want to live in versus the world they actually live in, and that the decline in religious belief in modern times has turned politics into religion and that as a result, nothing is ever fixed because when your problem has become a god you are incentivized not to fix it lest you no longer have a god to believe in.

I’ve never explicitly voiced these two themes in my work and in my many essays over the year I have often spoken around the topic, especially when it comes to religion. These are heavy topics, and if I have learned anything over the years, it is that my stories are hard enough to get an audience when I don’t bring these themes up, just imagine if I did.

To be fair, Puerto Rican Nocturne talks a lot about God, namely the sense of being abandoned by Him, and comes to the conclusion that God’s seeming indifference is actually his greatest gift—by allowing humans to destroy themselves rather than unleashing a flood or sending an asteroid our way, we might actually learn something about ourselves, like why we are so destructive, and why we oftentimes don’t appreciate life until we are drowning in sadness and forced to find something to smile about. Even if that something is taking comfort in imagining humanity’s inevitable extinction, or as Adria says in her closing speech lamenting her son Quique’s death, “Where there is no man, there is no past, there is no injustice. You, Quique, you would not have died on that mountain. You would be free. I would be free. The great valleys and beaches of Puerto Rico would be free, wiped clean from the memory of time.”

Freedom for Puerto Rico is the overriding metaphor for this struggle, since Puerto Rico has not been free of colonial rule in over 500 years, and even with some public dialogue around the idea of our freedom being a progressive cause that white people should care about (I’ll get more into that tendency later), the end date of our political occupation is nowhere in sight, no matter how much a handsome singer promotes it on his popular albums. My stories often show the futility of the independence movement, not because I don’t believe it in—I staunchly believe in independence, and as such am incredibly critical of it. For years, the institutional independence movement, the state-approved Puerto Rican Independence Party, offered little more than criticisms for our colonial existence, without providing any real solutions, or even a coherent strategy to ever take power and lead.

After decades of futility, especially after the Cerro Maravilla murders and ensuing scandal, it became clear, even to the left on the island, that PIP was less concerned about political independence and more concerned about their continued political existence—you can’t have an independence party if you’re an independent nation.

And what is it to be free? Cuba gained political independence for about five years after its revolution, but crippling and antagonist treatment from the United States meant Cuba went from being a vassal state of the US to a vassal state of Russia. “Sovereign” nations in Latin America are invaded by the US all the time, how many dozens of coups have happened in Latin America that were financed or explicitly carried out by the US? And not just during the Cold War, how about last month? Venezuela is an “independent” country and the US kidnapped their president with zero repercussions.

So if we can’t be politically free, what about mentally? In Pitiyanki, I’ve removed the one white character who was going to be in it, because it is more powerful to depict the effects of white supremacy in our sense of identity and worldview when there aren’t white people around yet we can’t stop talking about them. A pitiyanki, for those who don’t know, is a Puerto Rican who will throw their own people under the bus to appease the United States. An Uncle Tom, essentially. But what I want to uncover in this piece is that not only the traditional embodiment of being a a race traitor is shown, but that even supposedly progressive activists and “de-colonized” folks are just as much pitiyankis because of their inability to escape white supremacy in their own personal narratives. The character of the leftist radical, Marcel, would never admit it, but his politics are shaped by whatever causes and philosophies that white people make front and center in their own politics.

He is beholden to a white worldview, a white understanding of democracy, a white understanding of how the world works. He is a rich kid who uses activism to give his life meaning, because the world that white supremacy has built has no role for him. His generation is one of nobodies, abandoned by industry and technology. A generation defined by an algorithm. He is only as radical as white people will allow him to be. He dreams of being a Che Guevara, but admits that the only way he can contribute to revolution is through the money his assimilationist, pitiyanki father can provide him with. Marcel is not operating outside of the system, he is the logical opposition that the system creates for its own sense of tension and to justify its existence. Marcel is an example of how Puerto Ricans only exist in relation to its colonial status with the US. Puerto Ricans, unlike other Latin Americans, must mention the US in any conversation revolving around identity and race. White supremacy filters puertorriqueñidad, and so even in his rebellion, he is captured by the white worldview. The advocate for the de-colonized mind only shows how colonized he is with every protest.

In this modern world where value is based on external validation, only the most extreme expressions of belief are taken seriously. This is why Marcel (and leftists in real life) are so obsessed with the genocide of Palestinians. It is extremely violent, and extremely unjust, and this feeds the religious fervor of the secular masses who traded church for the internet. In this digital space that has come to define our society, unless children are being raped and torn limb from limb, the god of suffering will not be satisfied. The spectacle of horrific violence is our daily mass, and we pray in the name of Genocide, Dead Children, and Sexual Assault. The followers of this religion also shame others for expressing joy when terrible things are happening in the world. Because if the suffering ends, their god dies, and then they will have to find another massacre to worship. The obsession with Palestinian is not about fixing the lives of Palestinians, it is about supplication to seemingly endless suffering and finding a personal connection to it so you can convince yourself that the empty existence of the modern world no longer applies to you, your life can now have meaning. If this sounds ridiculous, think about (or look up, if you are unfamiliar), with the stations of the Cross, an entire prayer cycle focused on the torture and murder of Jesus Christ. Also a Palestinian.**

Obsessing over suffering and devaluing joy and real human connection is the creation of late stage white supremacy and the failures of capitalism. Yet how Marcel acts and how Officer Lopez, the conservative pitiyanki who just hates himself for not being white, and in turn, hates other Puerto Ricans for not assimilating and becoming human beings (i.e. white people), acts is not that different. The narrative threads they follow comes from colonial doctrines and are at the roots of the American imperial experience. Society has a role for them.

The characters in Pitiyanki who have liberated themselves, who see value in not just being Puerto Rican but in true human connection and community, end up paying the steepest price. When one character is dying and asks another if in their next life they will be free, they are embodying the two truths of my thematic obsessions: ***This world is broken by humans and can’t be fixed, and that one’s value is not based on extreme expressions of religious fervor, but in one’s connections to other human beings. Which is to say, life is what you make of it, and what makes life beautiful is personal connection, rather than social displays of devoutness and righteousness. This character dies in the arms of someone who loves them, a blessing that can’t be taken for granted. In a world this fallen, in a society this unequal and unjust, you don’t need to be torn limb from limb and for strangers around the world to mourn you for your life’s struggles to be valuable. In fact, the greatest display of worth is that you don’t go through your worst moments alone. And the person you go through those moments with cares about you as a person rather than as a symbol.

To be a nobody is to not know your worth, as Galeano said in his poem. To be a nobody is also to only know your worth because someone told you. The somebodies of the world don’t need external validation, and that is the source code colonialism denies its subjects, and the root of the modern psyche yearning for meaning everywhere but within themselves.

**To be clear, I do think what is happening to Palestinians is wrong and that Israel is run by a horrible, criminal government. That being said, I stand by my assertion that the obsession that some activists have placed on this event is gross, narcissistic, and has nothing to do with improving the lives of others. Some activists really are just addicted to trauma porn that is as sad and pathetic as incels. I have seen this behavior in the circles I work in for my day job and the extreme people I am referring to makes the sincere work of others much harder to do.

***Not that self-serving activists really make that much of a difference, since after all, “This world is broken by humans and can’t be fixed”.

I’m taking a break from writing about theatre and politics and Puerto Rican identity in all its thorny complexities. Especially this weekend, where being Puerto Rican invites controversy for just wanting to have fun (Bad Bunny’s Halftime show, which the discourse has completely missed the mark on, Bad Bunny, for all the representation you all impose on him is first and foremost about having a good time, which Puerto Ricans always remember, especially in the worst of times, while Americans find such joy in adversity nearly impossible), it is important to remember what truly makes Puerto Ricans special:

We are lovers.

Of good food, good drink, good conversation, of friendship and laughter and the finer things in love. Boricuas aren’t hedonists, we find joy in the simple things. Being the world’s oldest colony means that happiness is something we seek, rather than something that comes to us, and if you understand that difference, you are our comrades.

This Valentine’s Day, I have no valentine, and so the world is my valentine. I love life, and for as dark as my art can be, it always includes some beautiful interlude, some expression of devotion, some exaltation at the glories of being alive and feeling a bond with another person who feels the same.

There is no searching for love when you wake up and express gratitude for the air you breath, the poignancy of witnessing another sunrise, the smell of coffee and cooking up something delicious for breakfast. I am grateful for every day because it is another chance to cherish and love every moment I experience. Each day is what we make of it, stresses can consume us or be just another thing to deal with until Happy Hour comes around. Lately, the highlight of each day is playing dominos with my 16 year old kid. It is a time that I put the phone away and get to catch up with him and enjoy each other’s company, which parents of teens know, is not always possible.

More often than not, I wonder if my daydream of being an old man selling coconuts by the beach in Puerto Rico, and spending my nights playing dominos with other old timers isn’t my destiny. It does seem like the perfect way to spend my retirement, living simply on the island I love, enjoying the simple beauty of life.

The Boricua soul is one of profound longing for connection, and I hope that when I’m done playing dominoes, I can meet up with my lady, enjoying her own time her friends, and walk along the beach with her under the moonlight. It would be lovely to share such a life with someone, even while treasuring everyone who makes up my world.

We Boricuas are lovers, and I want to share some of the beautiful things I have written in my books and plays about love and desire. Some are single lines, some are poems, some are monologues, all come from the heart. Some are sad, some are joyful, all are sincere. Whoever you love this Valentine’s Day, even if it is just loving yourself, I hope these words resonate with you. Feel free to use them on a date to seal the deal with someone special.

Boricuas are many things, but we are above all else, a people who love.

Tristiana:

Joaquín: Seré franco, me acerqué porque cuando te vi, estaba seguro de que lo que represento no te importaría. Pensaba que podríamos juntarnos en términos de igualdad, como dos seres humanos sin pasado, sin talento. Solo un varón y una hembra. Vi en tus ojos la posibilidad de un rumbo que me llevara fuera de este desierto donde he vivido por más años de los que quiero admitir.

Amelita: ¿Y a dónde pensabas ir?

Joaquín: No lo sé. Contigo. Estar contigo es suficiente.

___________________

Amelita: Cara a cara. Labio a labio. Un poema a mi soledad. Antes de ti ella fue mi mejor amiga, una compañera preciosa, la única que nunca me engañó. Los besos con las demás eran imitación, como en un espectáculo. Lo hacía como una forma de pasar el tiempo o para apaciguar algo fastidioso. Pero ahora lo que temo es tu ausencia. El peso que me aflige cuando no te veo me mata lentamente, como los segundos restantes para el momento de la muerte. Así cuando nos besamos veo que somos como sombras en cuadros. En uno nos observamos, con un bloque de luz blanca que nos separa.

En otro nos acercamos con las bocas entreabiertas. En otro nos tocamos los labios, y aparece una sombra en tu ojo. Todas las imágenes están sobrepuestas en mi cara en pedazos, como un rompecabezas. Inhalo tu esencia y aunque oigo las voces más cerca nuestro, te abrazo con más intensidad, por un segundo, antes de seguir la marcha al regreso de nuestras vidas y responsabilidades y las cosas que nos distraen de nuestra vejez y muerte inevitable, dentro de ese segundo recordamos que no pasamos bastante segundos iguales, segundos que expiran fuera del tiempo, cuando los espíritus de dos seres humanos se unen y comparten un momento perfecto, valen la pena todas las noches solitarias, todos los días aburridos y perdidos que pasaban. Todo valió la pena porque sin las estupideces de esta vida, no podría estar aquí para experimentar la sensación de que el tiempo se detuvo.

______________

Puerto Rican Nocturne

Pedro: When we first met, I knew I would love you. We have laughs, we argue, sometimes, on days like today, I do everything possible to give you joy, but I know that most of what I feel is one-sided. You love me in your own way, but life has burned the pathways to your heart. I content myself with being your friend, a beloved friend. I thought life had cut out my heart and condemned me to this small strip of forgotten land, the last piece of viejo Puerto Rico, but you made me see it as beautiful.

Every day I go out fishing, I marvel at the light on the waves. I cheer when I make a catch, I savor the flavors of each bite. All because of you. You inspired me to see the beauty in the pain, the wonders that embrace our sadness. I want to be happy, to show you that you can be too. I want to laugh, so you don’t forget how. Don’t be ashamed of your wounds, my love. Every bullet that pierced your soul made you the woman you are today. A woman I cherish. A woman who gives me life. I love you as the sun loves the earth, every night when it kisses its shores. I love you like the winds that dance with the palm trees at night. I love you, as humble a man as I may be. And you’ll never know. You’ll never know.

___________________________

Empire of Solitude

POETESS

Love.

On the bridge in Viejo San Juan

you met my parents and under the moonlight

you told me you love me,

what did you mean?

Did you love the ideas of my mind

or only when I agreed with you

defended you to friends

or had any thoughts of my own?

Love.

Did you love me on my bad days

when I could barely get out of bed and the sun seemed dark?

I sat in the corner of our room at midnight

looking up at the same moon, the same light that reflected off your face,

when you said I love you - but who did you love?

Did you love me when I made you breakfast

as much as when I was published?

As much as when I was with my peers

and I wasn’t baby sweetie mi amor mi cariño corazón.

I was Julia!

My name on those essays, on those poems,

MY NAME receiving praise.

Did you love me then or only when we lied in bed

kissing my body or,

did you love me when we’d debate the finer points of Marx and Albizu?

Did you mean it when you laughed when I called myself a revolutionary?

Did you love me when you smirked at my dreams?

Did you love me in Havana, where we were free from our pasts,

walking along el Malecón, yes - yes - yes, this was love.

When I recited poetry to you,

the ocean spraying against my back,

you told me my words were like the waves

and your favorite thing was the sea.

If I were the waves, were you my moon?

That’s the wrong question.

The question should be,

will you love me in turbulence and chaos as much as in calm seas?

Love.

I saw it in your eyes.

I know I wasn’t deceived.

Havana, Viejo San Juan, my parents, the bridge, el Malecón -

In your eyes you loved me.

_______________

Pitiyanki

Nora: Why are all these plans so romantic?

Zahi: You bring it out of me.

Nora puts away the cash box and locks it. She walks slowly toward Zahi, love in her eyes.

Nora: That was the last thing. (she cradles his head) I want you to look at me like this forever. I want to live in your eyes so when you close them, you see only me.

Zahi: I already only see you when they’re open. You’re all I think about. You’re in every heart beat. (He moves one of her hands to his chest) You feel it? That’s where you live.

(They kiss.)

Nora: Keep looking at me. (She takes out her camera) Hold it. Look at me like you love me.

Zahi: I always do.

Nora: Smile.

(Camera clicks)

Zahi: Let’s change our pose. (He adjusts so their faces are pressed against each other’s). How is this?

Nora: Let me try something. (She kisses his temple, making him smile and she takes a picture)

Zahi: How was that?

Nora (looking in his eyes): I wish this moment would never end.

Zahi: We have the whole night ahead of us. Maybe the morning, too?

Nora: Look at you feelin yourself. You’re gonna have to earn that.

Zahi: I like my chances.

_________________________________

We Boricuas are lovers, of life, of the world around us, of our communities, of those we cherish most. We are not products, and we more than a cultural moment, we are the heartbeat of Caribbean. We are love.

We are witnessing an alarming surge of injustice and violence against Latin America and Latinos in the United States. Critical funding for organizations dedicated to Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) is being slashed, leaving our community vulnerable as members face harassment and even disappearances. This is NOT just a moment; it is a CRUCIAL time for us to raise our voices, share our stories, and affirm our humanity!

While donations to support our causes are essential, we must do MORE. We need you to be active participants: regularly patronize Latino-owned businesses, attend events, and bring your friends along! These actions aren’t just beneficial—they are absolutely vital for the survival and prosperity of Latino businesses and creatives.

Flamboyán stands out as the only Puerto Rican-run arts and culture organization in the Denver Metro area. As you cheer on fabulous artists like Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl, remember that our local Puerto Rican talent also needs YOUR support! The fight for self-determination, dignity, and independence has historically been marginalized and criminalized, replaced by a damaging colonial narrative that tells us we are incapable of self-governance. This is an urgent moment: the dignity and peace of Latinos are under siege. Do not forget the Latino community that has endured colonization and oppression for over 120 years!

Take immediate action! Below are links to Flamboyán's upcoming show that desperately needs your support, as well as connections to other local Puerto Rican artists and businesses that rely on community backing to thrive.

Now is the time to stand up as an ally and actively support these businesses and artists! Together, we can empower Colorado's Puerto Rican community to rise and reclaim their dignity in these challenging times.

See Circo Flamboyán at Flamboyán Theatre in Lakewood!

Buy art by Puerto Rican artists Carla G. Bosch and Nicole Torres of Parchita Crafts!

Buy the book The Life and Times of a Wise Slime by Damaris Santos !

Buy the poetry book Venus Gospels by Manny Minaya!

Get lunch from Flaka’s Food and have them cater your next event!

Have a romantic dinner at Aguanile Denver!

Like so many of my fellow Boricuas, I am incredibly excited to see what kind of show Benito puts on February 8th. But I hope that non-Puerto Ricans jumping onto the bandwagon of Puerto Rican music being popular in this moment, engage beyond the Super Bowl Halftime show and beyond Bad Bunny himself. Certainly, Benito has tried to do this by spotlighting new artists like Chuwi and RaiNao, as well as including legends like Marc Anthony, Jowell y Randy, Wisin y Yandel, and many others during his residency.

In that same spirit, I’d like to recommend some Puerto Rican artists across disciplines for you to appreciate the breadth and variety of our culture and artistry. This list is by no means exhaustive, and if I’ve missed any friends, I apologize in advance! I hope readers will add their own recommendations in the comments. This is just a primer to keep the party going.

Puerto Rican Books and Publishers

Puerto Rican Booksellers:

Libros 787

Poet’s Passage

Puerto Rican Publishing Houses:

Las Marías Editorial

La Criba

Nuyorican Books

Classics

Usmaíl — Pedro Juan Soto

La guaracha del Macho Camacho — Luis Rafael Sánchez

Obra Poética — Julia de Burgos

Guerra contra todos los puertorriqueños — Nelson Denis

Exciting new authors:

El sexilio - Anjanette Delgado

Casi Romántica — Larissa Gloriel

¿Y quién ama esta locura? — Adli Cordero Espada

Rayze Michelle — Poet and performer — IG: @rayzemichelle

Puerto Rican Theatre

Playwrights of note:

Christin Eve Cato

Gretchen Suarez-Peña

Nelson Diaz-Marcano

Ana Sophia Colón

Candido Tirado

Juan Ramirez

Rick Wind Herrera

Antonia Cruz-Kent

Matt Barbot

Eduardo Sánchez Navarro

Javier Portilla

Carlos Alcalde

Theatre Companies of Note:

In Puerto Rico—

Encanto Productions IG: encantoproductionsllc

Teatro Público

Instituto Alejandro Tapia y Rivera

202 Productions IG: 202.productions

Teatro en 15

In the Diaspora—

Urban Theater Company (Chicago)

Power Street Theatre (Philadelphia)

PRTT/Pregones (NYC)

Flamboyán Theatre (Denver)

Puerto Rican Visual Artists

Nicole Torres (Parchita Crafts)

Carla G. Bosch

Damaris Santos

Orlando Morales

Manuel Padro

Puerto Rican Albums (Essential records, many of which have influenced Bad Bunny)

Él que sabe, sabe - Tego Calderón

Meet the Orphans - Don Omar

Entren los que quieran — Calle 13

Diva - Ivy Queen

Música y Alma y Sexo — Ricky Martin

Todo a su tiempo and Libre — Marc Anthony

Dicen que soy — La India

Gold and Justicia — Eddie Palmieri

Cosa Nuestra — Willie Colón y Hector Lavoe

Comedia — Hector Lavoe

And there is so much more! Puerto Rico has filmmakers, world-class chefs, artisans, bomba dancers—really, our people have an endless supply of creativity and skill. I hope you will check out these artists and keep your curiosity and enthusiasm about our people beyond just one (albeit extremely talented) musician. So often with BIPOC performers, the media environment only allows one or two to succeed at a time. Let’s change that dynamic and lift up Puerto Ricans of every discipline, not only in the arts, but in the sciences, business, medicine, and education. Loving Puerto Rico and its people is as vast as the Caribbean itself.

February 12-21 is the premiere of our first variety show, the Latino vaudeville spectacular Circo Flamboyán! To acquaint our followers with this vision for this brand new show, we have provided this FAQ sheet breaking down what will be a truly wild 7 shows.

Jon Marcantoni, Emcee of Circo Flamboyán

Matthew Rodriguez and Elizabeth Thomas will host an Improv Takeover Feb 19 and Feb 20 featuring Benign Nuisance and the Armando players!

BUY TICKETS

Circo Flamboyán FAQs

• The show runs 90 minutes and will feature different acts depending on the night

• There will be an artist market before the show

• All shows EXCEPT Feb 15th begin at 7:30pm. On Feb 15th we will have a matinee at 3pm.

• Each night is dedicated to a different Puerto Rican city, with MC Jon Marcantoni sharing (hopefully) fun facts about each city, along with funny stories about Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican families as part of his hammin’ it up between sets. This will also include pulling random Puerto Rican audience members to the stage to share their own funny Puerto Rican anecdotes! (And if there are no Boricuas in the audience, any Latino will do!)

• There will be an open mic section where any audience member who wants to perform for five minutes will receive a free drink ticket and a free ticket to an upcoming Flamboyán show or event.

• The February 19th and 20th shows will feature an Improv Takeover featuring Benign Nuisance, The Elizabeth Thomas Show, and the Armando Players!

• Show dates are the following:

  -Feb 12 - San Juan -Feb 19 - Humacao

  -Feb 13 - Ponce -Feb 20 - Aguadilla

  -Feb 14 - Fajardo -Feb 21 - Utuado

  -Feb 15 - Luquillo (matinee)

BUY TICKETS

Performer FAQs

• Pitches accepted by January 15th

• Performance time limit is 10 minutes

• Pitches should include which show dates you want to perform, or you can say ALL.

• Performances can be any performing art, from circus acts to drag to music (vocal and instrumental), to poetry, to monologues, to skits, to stand up comedy!

• Pitches should include a description of your art form and what you plan to do. Videos or pictures are appreciated but not required.

• Selections are largely arbitrary, and will be based on how many people submit and whether there is an open slot for the night or nights you want to do. Performers who wish to do multiple nights will be given priority.

• For anyone wanting to do aerial work, our ceiling is 12ft tall, so it is not suitable for anything that is too high up.

• There will be tech rehearsals in February, and performers will be given a tour of the space once selected.

• Performers will be paid $50, but will also receive tips from the audience that will be divided up at the end of the night. There is also the chance for bonuses based on ticket sales.