a mind movie:
Things didn't improve substantially for Javier after he died. True, he doesn't exactly have to worry about where his next meal is coming from, but he still finds himself in a merciless City where everybody is locked in an unending power struggle. Every day brings more conflict, and all the tiresome posturing and gunplay he had excelled at in life, but grown to detest, still remains in the sprawling City. On top of that, tequila doesn't quite hit like it used to.
Still, rumors persist of a better place: a final heaven where noble souls eventually wander if they find themselves with the means and the wherewithal. It seems constantly out of Javier’s reach as his ambitions are continually thwarted until one day an opportunity presents itself. A chance meeting in a dire situation introduces Javier to a man with a plan, one last heist that will take them beyond the borders of the City and on the path to their just reward. He soon finds himself deeply embroiled within a nest of ever shifting alliances as he constantly questions who to trust on the journey from unending havoc of the City to the untamable Wilds beyond.
Of course, the Land of the Dead is not merely a single city ruled by thugs and cartels: it is a place beyond time, crafted by the very imagination of all who have passed through it, built by the traditions of countless cultures, where lost souls have been wandering until they have forgotten themselves and become Lost. And in that infinite country, older things dwell, eager to snatch up the desperate to employ in their own dark machinations.
As Javier navigates this treacherous world, he must remember that friendship is fleeting and the ambitious have infinite patience for revenge. Trust is a rare currency, but one that is absolutely required to take the final voyage to the last reward. Inevitably, he will have to make a decision to sacrifice what he desires most or betray those who rely on him.
—
I don’t know why I have such an affinity for cumbia. It’s not part of my cultural heritage. It just kind of leaked into my life in strange ways, and at some point I grabbed ahold and it took me for a ride. Occasionally I dive down the cumbia hole and really embrace it.
Intellectually, though, I understand it. Cumbia does a lot of things that really appeal to me: it has a strong tradition, but it’s completely irreverent; it’s true folk, in that it is a peoples’ music whether it’s produced with a live band or assembled through a sampler; it makes gleeful border crossings, appropriating and lending itself to appropriation; in short: anyone can play and there aren’t many rules. And it thumps.
Consider this your invitation to the cumbia hole. It’s a border crossing, a hole in the fence, a gap between worlds. You may come through unscathed, but it’s more than likely that what you meet on the other side will be different from what you once knew yourself to be.