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>In the days of the gauchos, my country was a blank piece of paper. The pampas stretched as far as men could imagine, inexhaustible, fenceless. Wherever the gaucho could ride, that place belonged to him. But Buenos Aires sought hegemony over the provinces. All the neuroses about property gathered strength, and began to infect the countryside. Fences went up, and the gaucho became less free. It is our national tragedy. We are obsessed with building labyrinths, where before there was open plain and sky. To draw ever more complex patterns on the blank sheet. We cannot abide that openness: it is terror to us. Look at Borges. Look at the suburbs of Buenos Aires. The tyrant Rosas has been dead a century, but his cult flourishes. Beneath the city streets, the warrens of rooms and corridors, the fences and the networks of steel track, the Argentine heart, in its perversity and guilt, longs for a return to that first unscribbled serenity… that anarchic oneness of pampas and sky…
Argentina ;_;
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>you will never be a gaucho
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>>77937898
cozy lifestyle
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give me land lots of land under starry skies above
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>>77938278
And the deer and the antelope play?
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>>77938166
Drink mate all day and smoke?
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>>77936734
As always buenos aires riuns everything
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>>77936734
>dedicate your entire life to herding cattle
>a single piece of barbed wire with a stick every few meters takes up your job
It was going to happen. What's next, a poem about how cool it was to work the land using horses instead of tractors?
>But Buenos Aires sought hegemony over the provinces
yeah, I'm sure it had nothing to do with caudillos on the provinces refusing to colaborate against foreign threats and fucking over the guy on the next province
our golden era began in 1880, when a bunch of euro educated, aristocrats got to power through fraud, but stomped on every seditious group and made the country way more productive
fuck off with romanticizing the past and rewriting history
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>>77941363
WTF I love fascism now?!
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A long look away, down the engineered scars of Swiss avenues, looking for the South he left. Not the same Argentine, Slothrop, that that Bob Eberle's seen toasts to Tangerine raised in ev-ry bar across, now… Squalidozzi wants to say: We of all magical precipitates out of Europe's groaning, clouded alembic, we are the thinnest, the most dangerous, the handiest to secular uses… We tried to exterminate our Indians, like you: we wanted the closed white version of reality we got-but even into the smokiest labyrinths, the furthest stacked density of midday balcony or courtyard and gate, the land has never let us forget…
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