Saturday, December 29, 2012

too many brothers for two little fishes

"who the fuck is carla?"

everybody was asking this question

it turns out she was a part timer that nobody saw too much. everybody knew her but they knew her as "karla with a K" but when the fliers were printed her name was spelled "CARLA" so ther was this initial reluctance from everybody to donate anything

strangers die everyday after all

when everybody finally realized who it was there was a great outpouring of support

love

prayors

the donations started stacking up

then i see this kid with a confused look on his face and i ask him

"what are you trippin on dude? you look all distracted"

it took him a second before he realized i was talking to him

"oh im sorry. were you talking to me?"

"yeah. whats up with you? you allright?"

he sighed and slouched his shoulders

"i went to ask management for a room number and adress of the hospital karla was staying so i could send my pastor over there to give here a blessing but they said it might not be a good idea"

"arent you mormon?" i asked

"yeah"

i laughed in his face "BAH!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!HA!!!..... oh my god you are such a dipshit!"

he got mad and looked even more confused, "why am i a dipshit?"

"because shes catholic fool. like hardcore catholic. like mexican catholic. and i dont mean shes gotta spanish last name mexican catholic i mean that chick is straight outa michoacan mexican citizen catholic. thats some deep, DEEP ass shit right there son"

"well what difference does it make?" he shot back

"are you fuckin serious? you know how hardcore those motherfuckers are? its almost fuckin voodoo the shit they practice. if you send your dipshit pastor in there to bless her into white boy heaven her family would have a heart attack. they would have every mexican priest from here to tiajuana storming the hospital with machetes trying to save that girls soul................. so no..... dont do it."

"i still dont see what the big fuckin deal is" he said, "i just wanna do something for her."

i could see in his vacant white trash eyes that he was sincere. not only that he didnt get it but that he was honestly trying to make some kind of meaningfull gesture for this girl. i realized then that he was actually right. ther really was nothing wrong with what he was trying to do and it was every body else who was full of shit and didnt get it

everybody was throwing money into raffle tickets for a flat screen tv or buying $5 'get em while you can' twinkies or $5 nachos or $5 rootbeer floats or $5 chilli dogs or $5 anything anybody could buy in bulk and sell for cash donations. so everybody was feeling really good about themselves for doing this even though the money raised would barely cover a fraction of the cost of one chemotherapy session
good times

yet the one person who had the idea of bringing a represntitive to express his entire churches energy and emotions and support for this girls trials was frowned upon and shunned for what amounts to nothing more than pollitics. so i couldnt bring myself to further break down to this kid the idiotic pollitical spectrum that makes us believe that one mortals fleeting idea of the spirit world actually makes another mortals fleeting idea of the spirit world false

i had to stop clowning this fool and be a diplomat

"check it out dude....this chick just got engaged n'shit. she was tottaly about to live happily ever after but now she has blood cancer. the last thing she needs right now is some cracker ass priest walking into her hospital room and blessing the nails in her coffin. that would just scare the shit out of her more than she already is. she needs to be with her dude right now. she needs to be with her family right now. i really dont think shes ready for all that other shit."

he looked at the ground nodding his head, "yeah i can see that now. i see what your saying. its probably not a good idea."

"no actually its a very beautyfull idea ...... its just not the right time."

                                                             j

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Mother

 
Why Mommy Why
Mommy Mom Mom Mom
Mom Mom Mom
Why Mom Why
Mom.

Why bird why fly
Why blue why sky
Why school why house why desert
Why Dad
Why Mom Why.

Why baby why dirty why clothes
Why clean
Why bed why night why sleep
Why dream
Why Mom Why. 

Why yell why hit
Why quiet be quiet!
Why girls why boys
Why virgin why slut
Why God why Devil
Why apostle Paul why Jesus
Why pray
Why church why cry why shame
Why Mom why.

Why TV why music
Why Beatles why records
Why money why cars why job
Why friends why lovers
Why mom why.

Why smile why laugh
Why mouth why eyes
Why finger why hand
Why woman why man
Why husband why wife
Why breathing why life
Why old why young
Why die
Why here
Why move why stay
Why you
Why Mom Why.

Mom?

Small Town Sluts

--> Slept with the same men
Loiter the same bars
On black nights with shooting stars
As we make love to them,
 In the back of their cars.
Go back inside,
Watch the same shitty band
We’ve seen twenty times.

I laugh because I’m better than you
I cry because I’m not.

To so many friends we’ve said good-bye
As salty daggers gash my eyes
-Fast as I can I turn my face,
I can’t let you see me cry
I’m so jealous of your escape.

Dare I speak aloud,
The intent of my heart?
This valley holds us together
As our lives fall apart.

Are you a friend, my sister?
Or just a whore?
The devil, a goddess
Enchanting, abhorred
Repulsive, yet adored.

You see-

There’s no glass I can empty
Or pills I can take
To sit across from you
Face to face-
No soberness can stifle my pride,
Open my throat or loosen my tongue

Crouching behind the written page
Cleverly hidden,
In the spotlight on stage
A pathetic gesture that permits me to say:
I love you.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

"Sometimes You Get On The Bus And It's Crowded, Sometimes It's Not." by Rodney Knight

 by Rodney Knight
page 1
Sometimes you get on the bus and it's crowded, sometimes it's not. sometimes you sit and the bus fills up around you until every seat is taken except for yours. Then you wonder, why doesn't anyone want to sit with you. Maybe your looks are a threat. They look at you and your face says "stay away." The bus is full and all you hear is the engine. The bus stops, a lot of people get out. Hotel district, people going to work. Maids, cooks, busboys, etc. The stop requested bell rings, a person gets off. The bell rings again, a person gets off. The back door slams as he gets out. Gas station man. The sound of the engine again. A man falling asleep, his gun falling out of his coat wakes him up. He looks down, sees the gun, and quickly hides it. Bad boy, bad boy, what are you going to do when they come for you. The bus driver is ahead of schedule so we have to wait. We are by the mall and you can see the mountains. A man asks me for change. He sits in front of me trying his best to talk to a lady he just met. He smiles a lot.

page 2
The bus driver is a short Mexican man who looks like he drank too much coffee or needs a beer. I don't care as long as he stays on the road. There was a bus crash a few years ago, a bus was coming down from the tram parking lot to 111 when the brakes went out, the bus plunged over a cliff killing almost all people aboard. The girl is starting to get irritated by the smiley man. Smiley Man gets the hint and moves to another seat. It's not enough for the girl, she gets off the bus. Now it's my turn. I pull the rope, the bus comes to a stop and I get out. There is another bus going to another destination. I get on that bus which will take me to where I want to go. The driver is a big black lady who gulps from a small cooler, shades over her eyes. This bus is half empty, or half full, depending on how you see it. The bus moves and we are off and here comes Seabiscuit. The CB radio blares something that I cannot understand. The sun shines in my eyes as we make the turn, a turn to the left and no more sun. It's hot outside but very cool on the bus. The bus stops, somebody gets off. My stop is coming up and I pull the chain. The bus stops and I get off.

page 3
I am standing in front of the post office. It is hot and I walk up the ramp, easily accessible. Through the doors and to my P.O. Box. What is that number now, oh yeah. One letter and thirty thousand advertisements. I take the letter and throw away the rest. What the hell, since I'm throwing away things I might as well clean my carry bag. I take out what I want to keep and turn the bag upside down over the trash can. The bag has sunflower seeds falling out. Half the seeds end up on the floor. Oh well, I kind of kick them around and start to walk out when I notice the janitor staring at me. If a look could kill I'd be dead. One foot after another and I was gone. Never to be seen again. Half of my trip was over. I stood waiting, waiting for a bus. Fifteen minutes and counting. One lonely man waiting, waiting for a bus. Two guys walk up, I think about having conversation. I notice that they are gay. End of conversation. Another man walks up. He is shy and stands by the bushes with his head looking down. The bus pulls up.

page 4
I walk up and pay the box, the driver hands me a transfer. His name is Scotty. Beam me up, Scotty! One time I paid the box and noticed I was on the wrong bus. I asked the driver if I could have my dollar back. He laughed. You see, the box takes money, it never gives. How full is the bus? Only six people and three of them have headphones. That's the thing to have when you ride the bus. I just remembered who Smiley Man is. I knew I had seen him before. He was many days ago on the bus with his lady. His lady was wearing his ring. While the cat's away! The bus pulls over and a man gets on. "Oh, do a day!" Well, Scotty has beamed me to Cathedral City and I get off the bus. I have to cross the street to get to the next bus stop. I wait for the light. A big red hand is telling me not to go. Rip Van Winkle wakes up to a green man on a sign who looks like he's walking. I cross the street. At the bus stop the scheduled time is not now. Forty minutes and counting. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a Circle K over yonder? I take the walk, it is hot. The thoughts of ice cream dance through my head. Inside the store I look at the ice cream. Nutty buddy looks good. At the counter I find out that the cost of ice cream has gone up.

page 5
It's like gasoline. The price rises and falls, bus mostly rises. The ice cream is good and makes my walk enjoyable. Joy to the world, ice cream is here. Have you ever noticed that the last part of a Nutty Buddy always melts in your hand? Then you're looking for a napkin but you get distracted by someone wanting change. You reach into your pocket, pull out the change, look at your pants and shake your head. At the bus stop three people are waiting. Two are smart and sit aways from the stop where there is shade. This beautiful black chick straddles the bus stop bench out in the sun with her hear held back, she defies common logic. It's as if she were at the beach trying to get a suntan. Not in Cat City, enduring the 115 degree heat. I sit in the shade and wait. I don't have to wait long. The bus is here. I wait in line, walk up and give the driver my transfer. His name is Larry and there is a plaque above his head to prove it. He throws my transfer in the trash. I sit down towards the back of the bus. It's only 10:00, making good time today. The bus moves and we're off.

page 6
Fifteen people quiet and staring straight ahead. There in the zone. My zone is peaceful, only good thoughts. Green light, made it through one. Green light, made it through two. Green light, made it through three. It's coming up, it's still green, will we make it? Yes, and it's four. Red light, came to a complete stop. To roll through is to get a ticket. They call it a California stop. What cop would want to pull over a bus anyway? It's unheard of. One guy has decided to sit passed out in his seat. He's still in the zone, but with a different view. We stop at Palm Desert Mall. Most of the people get out, the zone is broken. The driver takes a break. he goes outside, sits down and talks on his cell phone. He has it squished to his ear as if it were priceless. The engine still runs at a fast idle. The door is open and the heat creeps in. I move to the back where it is cooler. A lady puts her bike on the bicycle rack that's attached to the front of the bus. She has a little girl with her. The little girl runs over and gives the bus driver a big hug. The driver's name is Robert.

page 7
Her mom talks to the driver and all three get on the bus. Mother and daughter don't pay the box and sit up front. The driver does what he does, he drives and we're off, but it's not a race. No other cars on the road right now. We make a turn and stop, a big black fat man gets on. He has ear phones and the number on his shirt says 5. He sits in the back, the very back. Nicely dressed lady in a wheelchair gets on. The driver helps her get settled in. Again we move, we are on the other side of the mall now, two people get on, a lady around forty with short hair, glasses, chewing gum and what looks like a college kid with a backpack. Next stop a man gets off. Again with the red light. Construction area up ahead, we have to stop. We creep and stop, creep and stop. We move faster and then faster and then red light. We wait, a lot of traffic now. The first in line to wait, the first in line to go, one way of looking at it. The bus stops, a man gets on, baseball cap, sunglasses, ponytail, white shirt, and a gull orange bottle of soda. The bus stops, a man gets off. The man has a brief case and it looks heavy. He gets out the back where I am sitting.

page 8
The lady in the wheelchair gets out, using the front. It's an electric chair and she does not have too much of a problem getting out. The bus moves on. Green light. The zone is back, peace to the world. If only we could. We are in Indian Wells going by the Marriot. All eyes straight ahead. How long will the zone last? It's over, a man in the front is going through his pack, a lady picks her nose. In La Quinta I see the Cliffhouse and the waterfall across the street. We stop at the shopping center. The man with the pack gets out and then a lady. We move on, the next stop Orange Soda Man gets off through the back. There are only five of us now. Lady and child change seats so they can talk better to the driver. She waves her arms as she talks. Red light, fourth in line, fourth to stop, and forth to go. The auto center, summer sales event. Villa Montego, low 100,000's. Open desert, both sides. Gas stations, both sides. Green light and we come to a stop. Mexican lady and two kids get on. A boy and a girl, ages seven to ten. Lady with the child talks to the Mexican lady. We stop. An older lady gets on, dressed nice. Earrings, blond hair, diamond ring. She sits down and looks around a lot. We stop. Two ladies and two little girls get on. My stop coming up, must sign off.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

in country (indio), last call

  saturday

really its just some one to smile at. instead of some picture of a face on a package or advertisement that i know im allowed to look at with out the fear of them looking back. sometimes its just good to know that your still human. not to act on impulses but to simply smile and be smiled at

  its two croisants mostly..... then a 40oz of mickeys. people dont usually believe me when i tell them how well malt liquor compliments the flavors of your a-typical american breakfast. either way it is a lazy american delight. beacon, eggs, hash browns, and some salsa to scoop up with your beacon. instead of toast though i like to get croisants but not those cheap ass bags of a dozen or so that you get from the grocerie store. not at all. i like my croisants straight from the tit. i go to the donut shop where they make 'em fat and greasy. i need the bag to be transluscent when i get home. with a king cobra or a mickeys


  i can hear the 40 rolling across the back seat when i turn off of john nobles onto rubidoux. i always slow down to take a look at that giant void. it looks so strange to me because i remember what the neighborhood used to look like when it was there. i can feel everybodys memories and lives. i hear every single conversation ever

  and then theres that church

  there are moments in history that we are suposed to remember fore ever. or "never forget" as it were. usually attrocity. somekind of vomitous incident that we force ourselves to look at and burn in our memories for the sake of it never happening again. the problem with this though is that those moments in history that we are never to forget are products of us chooseing to ignore the many other moments in our history that could have prevented the atrocitys in the first place had we paid attention to the lesson

  and then there are those moments in history that we just wash over. moments that make us put all our efforts into makeing the rest of us forget the out come of our stupid decisions

  in 1962 the city of palm springs rushed into "section 14" (the land between sunrise, indian, alejo, and ramon) and evicted every body in that area(mostly black folks) without notice. when i say evicted i mean they sacked those motherfuckers. they violently ran them off of their property and burned their houses down. the state of california recognized this later as a "city engineered holocaust" and then greatfully proceeded to rake in all the tax revenue that was produced by the hotels and retail fronts that were set up in its place

  most folks in palm springs nowadays never knew of this incident to forget it

  just as most folks in indio will eventually forget nobles ranch was ever there

  the destruction of this neighborhood wasnt as blatant and viscious as what happened to "section 14" but it was motivated by the same greedy standard. the injury as it was inflicted was much more subtle yet the effects were much more damageing in that there is nothing there now. the filthy gabachos that had promised to develope the land once it was cleared of its residence backed out of the deal and the expansion of the indio mall never happened. all those houses were raised for nothing. the only people that are there now are a few homeless people who huddle in their pissed on blankets against the brick wall that surrounds the large vacant lot that used to be the neighborhood. their stank you can smell wafting over the wall into the back parking lot of that piece of shit mall
the really disturbing part about this is that its happening all over the country. private interests have been able to game municipalitys into useing eminent domain to sack peoples property in order to build their strip malls or hotells so they could collect the taxes that would be generated by these projects. yet the numbers and cost that were presented to get the project moveing were fantasys that were just meant to get the aproval in the first place. as the projects moved forward and the true costs of doing these things started to rear its ugly head, people got cold feet and backed out. displaceing intire communitys whos familys had been rooted in their homes for generations. and then there are no appolgys for this. everybody complicit in this shit just shrugs their shoulders and shuffles through the numbers over and over again while laying in bed trying to figure out some sequence they missed that could have made it work. never does it cross their mind that , "wow.....i realy am an evil cunt arent i?"
indio hasnt really done jack shit for this situation either. not only have they not come up with an alterative plan but theyve been silent about this incident altogether

  wich i can understand

  its kind of hard to talk with "golden voice promotions" cock down your throat

  it turns out that raising the neighborhood wasnt needed after all. indio has hosted the "disposable income festival" for over a decade now and as the concert promoters sqeezed more and more money out of its patrons the city of indio obediently sat there waging its tail and drooling for the tax revenue that this show would bring in. and because of this grunion run the destruction of nobles ranch is just a simple after thought that is to be forgoten. "never to remember". as long as golden voice keeps payin who cares? rigfht? and if it is brought up its probably that other guys fault....... or something

but then theres that church

  whether you have a god or you are an athiest, one thing you have to recognize as a constant in american comunitys since this countrys founding is its small modest churches and their roll as a gathering place for the community to develope its identity. not strictly in religious terms but in the sense that you may find yourself checking your mail at the same time as your neighbor one day and use every ounce of effort not to make eye contact. yet some how when you see them at church all of a sudden you are part of the same community. shakeing hands and discussing the needs of your less fortunate neighbors trying to figure out a way to help. even if its just a bunch of bullshit lipservice you pay before you go home and get lit up to watch the game, the church was still the place where the community gathered to touch base and display their civility towards one another

  every saturday morning on my way back from the donut shop i drive by this curch and it is the sadest most surreal part of my week. some how that church was spared. the only building left standing on that vacant lot. the last representative of a ghost community. i find myself drawn into stareing and imagineing the houses that used to be there because i have never seen anything like this. all through out history there are examples of gods being taken away from their people. churches and holly sites destroyed by conquering armys who turn around and build their own temples and shrines on top of what was destroyed. but seeing that small church standing there alone

  this is the first time i have ever seen a people taken away from their god



                                                                       
                                                                           j

 

Friday, July 6, 2012

in country (indio pt. 41/2)

i have one memory as my first

i dont know if it was a memory of my first memory

or the memory of my first dream

but it is the very first thing i remember remembering

i shit a kaka ball outa the side of my diaper onto the floor

when i looked up i was in mecca vinyards

  mecca vinyards was topagraphicly at the crux of what put indio on the map in the first place. where manifest destinys celestial crossings of the rail roads and the interstate poured its splender down the gullet of hwy 111 for the prosper of the intire desert empire. where indio first got the clap all over the motherfuckin boulevard.
  it was heroine back in the day. then it turned into meth. what ever came in with the truckers who came in to pick up the shit that came in from the trains. the trains brought in the wetbacks who would go to the boulevard to get some of whatever dope the truckers gave to the hookers they were boneing with the money they made from their new wetback jobs.
  the crux of the mojados the truckers and the pimps.
  historicly this distribution center has always been controlled by the local police. back in the day the old burns hotell was the hub of this activity wich made it easy for the cops to keep tabs on their investments. or at least who was comeing in or going out with their investments. but since that joint burned down the hive has dispursed into much smaller operations along the "junkie coast" of indio. that small stretch of land between valencia street and indio boulevard wich is zoned for rental apartments and hotels.
  the hair net turned into a shaved head.
  and the suppliers turned from bikers to cartells.
  and its all still here because the cartells let the cops have their share.

  i dropped her off.

  not in front of her place but down the street because she let me drive a few houses further before she told me to stop. she looked like complete shit.....and my gut tells me thats the last time i will ever see her alive.

  "so you just dropped her off ? like you just dumped her off in that shit?" my buddy asked me.

i looked back at him for a split second and then looked away.

  "shes already dead".
                                                                  j
 
 

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

March 28

setting things on fire, christmas trees, cans, propane tanks, fireworks, 
high on psychedelic mushrooms, driving to indio at 4 in the morning to wake someone up,

living in a canyon, making it your home, dancing atop rocks, understanding the unknown, kissing boys of interest, smiling at your friends, laughing at their jokes, making an amends, cowering in a corner, afraid of who you are, life is what you make it, staring at the stars, quivering at an insult, hiding in a lie, pretending to be something, you'll find out when you die, life must be for living, sights to be a-seeing, your plane takes off tomorrow, have some things that i can borrow? traffic jams bring traffic lights, yearning for such unseen sights, seattle in the summer, ensenada in the winter, san diego is for surfing, moving boxes for collecting, RVs made just for renting, strangers worth a-meeting, clans of red and fur, plans set in stone for sure, paint worth being painted, a love thats now been tainted, an excuse to act a fool, sneaking into pools, fights that shouldn't have happened, friendships best abandoned, smoking in a backyard, leaving the screen open, overhearing words that must have been misspoken.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

in country (indio pt.4)

 i think i started the conversation because there was an "O" magazine laying on the table.

  "how lost in your own self worth and out of touch with reality do you have to be to own a magazine and only have yourself on the cover of every issue?"

  everybody looked at the cover shot of oprah shamlessly mugging in some rediculous golden, bejuweled, and bedazzled getup and gave a little inward chuckle to themselves because they never thought about it that way before. after we all sat down, a discussion on oprah winfrey started as we all passed the magazine around. each of us flipping through it for a second and adding some juvenile level of vandalizm to the cover photo (blacked out eyes,missing teeth, devil horns, snake tongue, beard, mustasch, black circles around the blacked out eyes like she got knocked the fuck out) before we passed it along to the next person.

  it was strange because you could sense a very faint undertone of hostility in everybodys take on oprah. like they were begining to suspect that oprah realy isnt famous for anything other than being famous and what they once viewed as an example of american success is now starting to look more like shameless oppulance.

  although rose took it to another level

  "you know i really cant stand her...." every body stoped talking and looked over at her ....."i saw her speak at the mcallum once, i wasnt impressed."

  rose was one of those old school latin catholics and when i say old school i mean old ass lady so you have to understand that her demenor was completely jovial when she said this

  "and shes so black. my goodness. shes even blacker than that vending machine.", and then she pointed at the snack machine in the corner.
 
  "i dont have anything against black people but i think its ugly when they are that dark and she was just so ......... BLACK."

  everybodys jaw dropped. they were shocked and speachless. everybody except me. i was cracking the fuck up. i recognized this kind of talk from older spanish folks but i wasnt used to hearing it out side of some family get together wher a drunkass uncle or grandfather starts blathering on about 'race relations'. it was that old time racism that most of our grand parents would veiw as something in the ball park of "traditional values" rather than biggoted.

  its creepy and kind of adorable

  but that old time shit runs deep. those are some feudes that go back to the great depression. when blacks started comeing from the east to compete with spanish for jobs.

  old chicks like rose are telling you what their dads once told them

  nothings gonna change them at this point

  we just wait for them to die

  i live in an apartment so theres no real historical claim to these parts except the rent. people here move in and then they get the fuckout. the only race distinction in these parts is known as 'low income motherfucker'. white people, brown, people, black people, pisas, and gangsters. new parents starting from the bottom because 9 months ago they had no idea they were gonna be parents. hot milfs in nurseing gear surviveing with their daughters or sons on their own. dudes payin child support for all them babies and slingin some shit on the side. this is the whole paycheck to paycheck set and theres a yard sale every weekend because some motherfuckers cant wait for that check.

  my neighbor (shes gone now) was here because she couldnt live with her sons father on accounta he liked to slap her up from time to time. so her and her boy stayed next door. the father came by to see her one day and they started fucking. then they started fighting. then they took turns sobbing at one another. first her......then him. then they started fucking again. when the 1st of the month came around that apartment was empty.

thats the power of dick

  that seems to be the standard here. people fighting and fucking. nobody seems to be happy unless their fucking. and when their not fucking they silently stare at the person they just violated and say to themselves "at least im not alone". but all of this is everybody elses business all up in my shit. because of thies cheaply constructed walls, all their lives are on display in my living room. like when my neighbors kids get in trouble..... i feel like im in trouble.

  the curtain doesnt go down at night either

  thers a nocturnal set. the tweekers that dont wake up untill the sun goes down and the birds stop chirping. they dont see the active world. they wake up to a city that has closed up shop for the evening and entertain themselves with each other because they are the only people around. you hear them all night. constantly in and out. they dont go anywhere except outside and then back in. speaking just above a whisper as they hatch up some hair brained tweeker plan. thats my other neighbor.... and i wish someone would take her baby away from her.

  so then its the hollidays when everbody takes a break from all this shit. they go to an aunt or uncles house. eat food, drink, and listen to the concerns of their older realitves who are worried about them because they live in a 'nigger neighborhood'. ofcourse what they dont understand is that neighborhood is gone now because the city of indio bulldozed the motherfucker.

  aint nothin left but us poor people

  the true melting pot of america simmers in her low income appartments

                                                                                                                     j

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Violent societies being eaten alive by hungry wolves disguised as lovable cartoon characters and disciples: The Date Farmers

The Date Farmers are an artistic duo who tell the story of being human in a society boiling over in media, violence, and unceasing advertisement. They illustrate an ever-present and growing confusion between different ideas in culture, values, and family.  As we progress as a society built upon instant gratification, the internet, materialism, and new technologies the lines often become tangled and blurred, and the result is misconstrued conceptions of comfort and love. 

By blending seemingly unrelated items or figures into their work (numerous paintings depict characters such as Hello Kitty and Jesus Christ pasted side by side onto a canvas) we realize that both figures are a product of obsessive marketing, greed, and power. Yet we have grown up together with these seemingly harmless figures and we find comfort and strength and happiness in their commonplace role in our culture.

Through their work, The Date Farmers tell numerous stories of individual human beings, often haunting, eerily charming, they give an identity to the man forgotten. Each story sheds light on man's struggle for acceptance, love, and success while relentlessly attacking pop culture influences which often leak into and taint the mind of the man already fighting towards triumph, the man already busy and confused by spirituality, religion, career, and education. Each narrative is distinct, but their works conceptualize fears and ideas that every human being can relate to.

The artists collage found journal entries from unknown authors, depicting thoughts and fears that we would only feel comfortable expressing through a personal narrative, never meant to be read by anyone, only providing proof of our struggles in order for individual growth. The Date Farmers eloquently harmonize the sound of human suffering and happiness. Nothing separates us but the boundaries we have created and the walls we have built to divide ourselves.

Armando Lerma of the Date Farmers kindly agreed to answer a few questions for us.

Kylie Knight: Why do you feel the need to create art?

Armando Lerma: I have always loved art, my love for art has grown throughout the years and has developed into a lifestyle, and art is meditative and allows me to participate. Art lets me know I’m alive.

KK: Is there anything you would change in terms of the way the art world currently functions?

AL: The art world is out of my hands, all I can do is focus on my art and everything else will fall into place (whatever that means).

KK: What are some of the earliest images you can remember drawing as a child?

AL: I remember drawing images from the encyclopedia, Picasso particularly.


KK: Much of your work collages found objects such as garbage and memorabilia, what intrigues you about this process?

AL: I enjoy being creative, I like turning things that people throw away into art.

KK: What type of artwork were you both working on individually before The Date Farmers became a creative union? Has it varied much?

AL: I think we both spent a lot of time learning how to draw and paint before we met each other; we did a lot of bad art that we were able to learn from.

KK: As you continue to progress as an artist do you find inspiration easier to find? More difficult?

AL: Inspiration comes easy- it’s the perspiration part that is more difficult, but even that comes easy when you have a strong desire and my desire is strong.

KK: Through years of constant shows and traveling The Date Farmers still manage to find a home here in the Coachella Valley. What is it about this desert that consistently lures you?

AL: The desert is home, my family is here, it is familiar, I can focus here, and it’s beautiful.

KK: What can we expect next from The Date Farmers?

AL: I'm not too sure, but I know it will have something to do with art.



For more information about the Date Farmers, please visit thedatefarmers.com

Aaron Hanson Interview


The first thing I notice about Aaron Hansen is his energy. It seems to permeate from his every pore, it seems to radiate from his eyes, his smile catches the light and it’s contagious.  Pulling up to his home tucked away on a lot of land out in Desert Hot Springs, I spend a minute appreciating the mural painted on the outside wall encompassing his living quarters. It’s a geometric whirlpool which seems to capturing time and space onto the confines of a few feet of wall. It’s remarkable. My car bounces down the dirt road towards his gate, I avoid large rocks and holes and eventually park next to a few tumbleweeds, or at least I think they’re tumbleweeds, once I turn off my headlights it’s dark, there are no streetlights, no homes lit up to welcome visitors, only the stars. I manage to navigate my way onto his property, we greet, and he shows me his shed which is converted into a screen printing workshop, he has his own brand of clothing and design under the name Ancient Youth, a brand promoting self-awareness, positivity, and connectivity.

Aaron Hansen is a next level thinker. He doesn’t live or think in the now, he thinks a lot farther than that. He’s taking a leap of faith and his latest project entitled “Inspire the 10” is hoping to motivate you to take a leap of faith also. His objective is simple: to paint murals from California to Florida on walls facing the 10 Freeway. He is hoping to set out for the second time on his journey across our nation within the next couple of months and will be having his second upcoming fundraising event at the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs.

Kylie Knight: What are you hoping to achieve by the completion of your mural project along the I-10? Will it ever be complete?

Aaron Hansen: With "Inspire the 10" I’m hoping to inspire anyone that hears of the process of the project or sees the murals to do something amazing. It would be nice to energize people and motivate them to supersede their past-selves. It’s also a test for myself that I hope to accomplish, a kind of lead-by-example deal; become the change you want to see. I’m not sure if it will ever be completed, that’s a good question. I guess it’s like any other life purpose journey thing, hard to find the end or beginning to it. I think I can only answer that once it’s complete. (Laughs.) 

KK: How many murals have you been able to complete and where can we see them?

AH: So far I have two murals in Palm Springs, 1 in Casa Grande Arizona, 2 in New Mexico, and 1 in El Paso. I’m going to start including ones right off the freeway, and that would give me 2 more, one in Houston and one in Desert Hot Springs. All together I have 8 murals completed, they are all viewable on my website and the 2 in Palm Springs are on Garnett Rd. just before Whitewater. The mural in Desert Hot Springs is on Indian Ave. just before Pierson St.

 KK: Do you have any locations in mind or do you scout them out as you go about your journey?

AH: I started the project real strict, every wall had to face the 10 freeway, but I’ve found that it’s really difficult to find walls that are visible and paintable that face the actual freeway, so now the search is opening up to walls off the 10. It’s all exploration, this is the first time I’ve been venturing this far East on the 10 so it’s mainly driving during the day in new territories, scouting, then asking the owner and hopefully painting (laughs).

KK: Tell us about some of your experiences being a traveling artist. Why does the road call your name?

AH: There are too many experiences to list. A lot of new friends, other travelers, and art and music enthusiasts, grumpy wall owners (laughs). One thing I have realized is that once you set your mind to a certain frequency, you encounter other people tuned into the same wave. I’ve known this for quite some time, but on the last trip it really solidified itself into a new understanding and way of existing. It’s one thing to know of and another to understand and teach, you know? A lot of faith grew on the last trip too; I witnessed many mini miracles that really just made me not worry about anything. Once again, things I already knew, but it’s just on such a stronger level of practice now. Not sure why the road is always calling, I think it’s necessary to travel with your gift and spread the love/light throughout the land though. It’s just a vital part of life, to relate to all living things in different places, teach and learn, share, experience and things like that. I also feel that it’s important to evolve our species in recording new experiences, new thoughts, new relationships, bringing new dreams into the physical. It’s a responsibility for people who have been entrusted with the gift of belief/faith in their self, enough to translate the source through their art to share their gift with others by showing or through teaching. The universe is always hiring, there is always a job to do, it’s just that people won’t move if the money isn’t there. Anything you need will be provided once you show the universe/self that you can use the gift for the greater good. Employees of the universe get paid in friends and sunsets.



For more information about Aaron Hansen or to contact please visit Ancientyouthtruth.com

Saturday, April 21, 2012

in country (indio) pt.3

  i have to fear the wind when she doesnt come in march. i feel shes an imposter any other time.

  so i pull away

  "youre not her"

  i pass by every day and it doesnt mean shit to me any more really. i remember wakeing up on the living room floor still wearing my glasses. takeing them off to wipe the dry tears from the lenses. faint images. faint whispers of emotions. a long time ago reminding me of the significance this place once held.

  it was wher poor people got married. pisas in cheap suits makeing an honest woman out of the pregnant teenager holding their anchor baby in her belly. the poor and the shamed that couldnt step foot in a catholic church under the condition she was in.

  there was a bus depot there. a welded indian that i used to think was a robot when i was a little boy.

  when i was a little boy

 
  we got our rings at the mall from one of those booths that people rent when they dont have enough money to lease a real spot or just not enough merchandise to fill it up.

  two bands of peweter

  hers had fake gems in butterfly wings

  mine was a circle of flowers that wraped around my finger

  i have creepy memory that i wear like beautyfull scars of invisible tatoo in my skin

 you cant see it

 only if i show you

 and then your horrified

  she looked beautyfull. she was gleaming and shit. she was wearing a dress that seemed just a bit out of the times and just a bit odd this early in the morning. probably the dress her momma would put on to go out danceing when she was alive. she looked beautyfull.

  she held on to his arm as he pushed the stroller. she was very animated. laughing and pointing yet very gingerly stride for stride with him. you could tell he didnt want to be up walking around this early but he could see how happy she was and that gave him a sense ease. a feeling of peace. like all the frantic prep work of looking for extra diapers, bottle of formula, bottle of water, baby toy, baby binkie, and wipes was all worth it. he was glad that she talked him into a stroll this morning.

  i couldnt help but stare

  i could feel her

  every body could

  she was radiating energy

  i parked in front of the liquor store because all the spots in front of the donut shop were taken. i feel bad when i have to park ther because i wind up walking through the gauntlet of the scum when i park this far away and have to explain to them that i dont have any change.

 "sorry all i got is my debit card"

  wich seems like a jack ass excuse to poor people as you walk into a donut shop. i always think of that pile of shitty change sitting next to my computer. i dont care about it but they do. i dont need it.....but they do.
i recognized the girl at the donut shop some how but i dont talk to her on a personal level because im a pussy like that. thats what happens when im caught off guard and smitten.

                                                                                                   j

Friday, April 13, 2012

Black Holes

I can’t even read my own writing at times-

Evidence of black holes in my mind

Subtle enough to question-

If they’re even there at all…


I remember everything being so huge

Life-sized skyscraper jungle-gyms

Being at the bottom of the pool

And looking up at rainbows.


I remember adults being cruel

And kids making up rules

You had to follow-or else.


I remember half believing in magic

Saving baby teeth and lucky pennies

Going under bridges into abandoned houses

Running into witches and ghosts.


I remember my toys being my best friends

I loved them so much and they loved me back.


I remember thinking my mom wasn’t my real mom

I was a lost princess

I’d run away into the mountains

I’d pack away some crackers and cheese

And they’d all be waiting there for me.


I remember being outside in the rain

Jumping puddles that were lakes and oceans

Being alone, I was happy.


Holes in my mind

I can’t read my writing sometimes


I remember riding my bike early

When no one’s awake

They’re in the house and I’m on the street

I didn’t wait for them.


There are holes and spaces

Things that happened that didn’t really happen.

I walked on the ceiling

And rode in the passenger seat of a car that was driving itself.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Fortress

Pupils rolled back to the top of my sockets

Gazing up at the horizon line

Where the sun hides-

Rocky hills

The earth built

That keeps others

From knowing we’re here.


Neck craned up to see what’s on the other side

Of the concrete wall

The people built

Who wanted to hide

Their landscaped paradise from us.


Who’s protecting who?