EL INVEЯSO EDITORIAL

Inaugural Title

Objetos de [des]amor

Loss and Longing through a Godless Queer Chicano Lens

by Juan Antonio Trujillo

About the author

Juan Antonio Trujillo is a lifelong resident of the Pacific Northwest and emeritus faculty at Oregon State University with a PhD from The University of Texas at Austin. His work in applied linguistics and queer studies appears in numerous professional publications and his short films have screened in international festivals. Grounded in autoethnographic methodology, Juan Antonio’s creative work brings an intimate perspective to intersectional queer experience with particular attention to the interaction of religious upbringing as a Mormon, sexuality, and ethnic identity. He resides in Portland where he organizes the annual Tag! Queer Shorts Festival and tends his small permaculture garden at the base of Mount Tabor.

Contact Juan Antonio at info@elinverso.com

A book of mourning

Released on the second anniversary of his mother's unexpected passing during the covid epidemic, Juan Antonio's Objetos de [des]amor is a book of mourning—not just a response to this one moment of grief but a hard look at loss, betrayal, and longing for a stable presence of love and connection that often seems elusive.

Crossing genres

As a linguistics professor, Juan Antonio applied the concepts of applied semiotics to fields such as food studies, queer studies and intercultural communication, exploring the languages we create with color, texture, taste, and other carriers of meaning. This book reflects that approach, using the overlapping "languages" of poetry, narrative prose, and photography to examine deeply complex themes and experiences. 

Ritos de duelo

The official subtitle of the book is "y ritos de duelo para amores que nunca fueron," referring to a collection of poems in the book that define the rituals of a lifetime of seeking connection and place.  Here is the first one.

Rito I: Circles

Men stand in a circle beside the podium, 
left hands rest awkwardly on neighboring 
polyester-clad shoulders, right arms extend inward 
forming a living bassinet that lurches into motion on cue, 
more blanket toss than soothing sway; they  
bear up the crying newborn as the father speaks— 
it is a naming, a collective possessing, a first 
pronouncement of roles and duties the  
infant cannot understand and will not easily escape: 
you will be a man, you will be a missionary,  
you will be a husband, father, patriarch.

In eight years this child will step into the baptismal font,  
concentric ripples projecting out as a father’s arm  
pushes his head under the water; 
a metal folding chair awaits for the confirmation, 
another circle of men pressing down on wet hair 
just a bit harder than is comfortable, and the weight  
they exert much more than their physical mass. 

Over and over he will sit encircled by men, and 
feel those hands pushing, sweating, quivering, claiming  
as he is ordained a deacon, teacher, priest, and elder; 
 he will stand in a circle around a sacred altar and  
pantomime his death, the compass mark on his left breast 
a warning that an unseen Lord circumscribes all desires 
and that his do not fit; 
he must leave and draw his own circle.