To speak of my generation is to accept the life that it had been, and the many cucas that were met; either through nicks, snots, crackers, the small roaches in the apartment in New York, the big ones that fly in San Juan, Kafka’s story, Pietri’s roach. the one that kills itself because life in a ghetto, any ghetto, can be so oppressive that death is the only option.Cuca was also the nick of a girl I desired during my pre-adolescent years. And as time passes before your eyes, the cucas, crackers, roaches and loved Cucas of the world shape your vision and the vision shapes you.
Karma is not longer important as you speak of your generation and what you have done to kill each of the cucas that came across the sexual paths, the crackers eaten, the snots that came out from your nose, the ones in New York or in San Juan or the roaches you became as you met roach killers, eaters, aggressive lovers. And some did not die like Piestri’s roach since the ghetto not longer exists.