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

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.

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?

in country (indio) pt. 2

 
"so did you ever move into those pink apartments?"

  "yeah a few weeks ago actually"

  "right on. i gotta friend that lives in those apartments. i was considering moveing in there because like the rents all cheap n shit and the studios are pretty big n shit but then i was like 'fuck that man', theres a bunch of niggers that live around there and i dont want my car to get fucked with"

  he said it so casually and so naturally it made me chuckle a little bit and that made him think he was being funny so he laughed.

  "HA!HA!HA!HA!!! YOU know what im talkin about?! HA!HA!HA!HA!!"-
but i wasnt amused because i thought he was funny. i was amused because i thought he was a fuckin morron. like when you see a kid with severe downs syndrome sneeze

  they just stand there

  blinking

  with snot and drool dripping from their face

  nobody really knows too much about john nobles before he came here. the few storys that you find about him all say the same thing: he came to california from oklahoma fleeing the dust bowl and some how managed to purchase a ranch property from dr. reynaldo carreon (the dude the streets named after) in an era when black folks werent alowed to purchase land deeds. how and why carreon came to this deal with nobles is unkown. who ever did know the details had either died or moved on, not thinking or careing to share the story with antybody because nobody gave a shit about a niggers history untill the '92 riots woke every body the fuck up.

  she worked at the shoe store in the mall. when she was working by herself she would call me and beg me come see her. when i would get there she would hide me in the back office. it was fortunate for me that the indio mall was such a barron shit hole because in between customers she would go back ther to sit on my lap and pull up her shirt up so i could suck on her tits while she dry humped me. then we would hear the ding dong of the sensor out front that signaled a customer walking in the store and she would give me one last kiss, sucking on my tongue as she pulled away, and run out front as she pulled her shirt and skirt back down. even though we never fucked in that back office i consider those some of the most erotic sexual experiences i ever had in my life just because of the intensity of the forbidden teenage highschool lust that we had unleashed........................... and indulged in.

  those were the days when girls actually liked to get fingerbanged. they didnt care if a boy was doing it all wrong. they were just excited that the cute boy they liked was touching their pussy. its not till later, with more experience, that they realized how turned off they are by a mother fucker that doesnt know what the fuck hes doing. most older chicks, or at least most of the older chicks i know, only let other chicks finger bang them now.

  her co-worker was covering her lunch so we went out the back office door to make out and hand job and finger bang in the alley behind the mall. on one side of the alley was the mall. on the other side of the alley was ol' john nobles' ranch.

  being the only black property owner in the east valley john nobles would sell portions of his land to other black famillys that moved to the desert knowing that they werent allowed to buy land from the local government. because of this nobles ranch had become the black part of indio inspite of the citys legislative efforts to keep that from happening........and indio has resented this ever since.

  i had her pressed against the wall with one hand holding her leg, that she had wrapped around me, while the other one was inside her unbuttoned pants grabbing her ass.

  "oh my god the cops are here!!" she whisperd

  we both stoped and looked over at a cop car popping its lights. but they werent trying to fuck with us. they were on the otherside of the alley shakeing down three black dudes who were standing at an open section of a brick wall that sepperated the neighborhood from the mall......so we kept going at it. they couldnt see us in the corner we were in.

  it seemed like this time we were gonna actually fuck but we heard the black dudes start shouting and the cops start shouting back so we put our clothes back on and took a look around the corner wnen one of the dudes spoted us.

  "LOOK!! WITNESSES!!! THEY SAW IT!! THEY SAW YOU!!! WE GOT WITNESSES!!!"

  one of the cops had one of the dudes on his knees while he was chokeing the shit out of him with his nite stick. the other cop had his gun pointed at the other dudes. the cops saw us and in one quick move cuffed the chokeing mother fucker, threw him in the back of the car, and drove off.

  they ran up to us

  "WHAT DID YALL SEE?!!! DID YALL SEE THAT SHIT?!!!"

  she answered

  "we saw them chokeing him and then they cuffed him and took off"

  "yall didnt see shit before that?"

  "naw..." i stepped in, "we just heard every body yelling and took a peak."

  at that point you could see in their eyes that we were worthless to them as witnesses.

  as it turned out they were just chillin smokin a cigarette when the cops rolled up and started fuckin with them. at one point one of the cops told one of them to put out their cigarette so he flicked it on the ground and put it out with the bottom of his shoe. thats when the cop tried to cite him for littering. he refused to give the cop his name because it was the cop that told him to put the cigarette out in the first place and thats when the cop put him in the choke hold for resisting arrest.

  they knew that with out us seeing what lead up to that choke hold all the cops had to say was that he ressisted arrest. they were used to this shit. it happened all the time.

                                                                                              j

circle a

i read some "modern" anarchist literature
and i smelled a hippie
they talked about anarchy as an idea
based on communes and occupations
where all the food was gathered in the beginning
or otherwise donated
they never talked about how to sustain these societys
just how if everybody shared nobody would have to work
they felt inspired by tribal culture
they considered themselves a sensible alternative to the dominant society we have now
as if that werent about to cave in on itself
they didnt have a plan
idiots
even the iriquois had trade routs to sustain their markets
donations wont cut it in the long run
get your shit together folks
or else its subvert city for you

The desert.

What the hell do people think they know about the desert?

Do they picture a beautiful oasis, a pool of bright blue water amid lush palm trees, rolling dunes?

Maybe a fun place to golf, get drunk in Palm Springs on the weekends, a place to retire.

I’m sure they don’t think of massive dirt storms, happening outside my window as we speak- the dirt grey sky so thick it erases the horizon.

This certainly is the Wild West, the final frontier- the last place to be discovered on earth. The place everyone was searching for, scrambling, dying to get to for as long as the explorers can remember. What a joke that there’s nothing here; lots of sand, a few scrubby trees and, oh yes, the blazing leering sun, nowhere to hide from his molten reaching fingers.

There’s no one here. Everyone with a brain, or lots of money-which people seem to think is the same thing- they all leave, go off to college. And when they’re finished with that, mom and dad will pay for their apartment somewhere in San Diego or Long Beach or wherever. The only people left is here are suckers like me. Bum luck.

“There’s nothing to do there’s nothing to do there’s nothing to do,” everyone says over again. The sad truth, there is nothing to do.

Who am I out there in this blank slate of a place? Why don’t I embrace being from here: a desert rat- erupted from the womb in a blazing hot 120-degree oven circa July 9^th 1985? Is this place really so horrible?

Who am I out here in this desert? Those beautiful mountains. I used to think the ocean was right on the other side of them. That I could see the rest of California from the other side of them. That one day, I really would get to the top, climb to the top, and not quit with Dad, Rose, and Joe when we went out walking- and I can see everything from up there.

That black sky, those stars. Fields of noncolors. Plane blue. Plane brown. Nothing. Mirrors. They are giant mirrors. There’s nothing to see nothing to look at, where you stare at nothing all you see is yourself. More of yourself.

My brain is hot. Air-conditioned point A to Air-condition point B. HOUSE CAR STORE CAR HOUSE. Do I really live in the desert? I’m not really a Gila monster am I? I’m a human living in an air-conditioned house, in the middle of nowhere. Does it really matter where my hole is?

So many empty buildings. Seas of sparkling asphalt, stretching out. Sparkling, crackling. There’s no cars because there’s no people. No one wants to buy anything, and there’s nothing to buy anyway, and no money to buy it with. Everyone with money went back up to Canada for the summer. Remember when you could go 80mph on hwy111? Why the hell are there so many cars on the road- people bought houses out here and realized they had no more money to move anywhere else so they had to stay. Go back to fucking Orange County and LA and take your fucking strip mall with you!!

“There’s nothing to do there’s nothing to do” there’s nothing to do because you’re the ones making it boring, why don’t you do something if you’re so bored? Stop telling me how bored you are. You’re depressing me.

This place is beautiful I don’t care what anyone says. There’s nothing to do anywhere if you have no friends or money to buy things and friends. Just distractions. There’s nothing here, just us. Sky and dirt, no distractions. What is this place this place is me. I’ve lived here long enough to know haven’t I?!

What is this place?

Review: The Fine Art of Design presents a Valentines day Concert

This is a concert review I wrote about an event held on the 14th of February 2012 at The Fine Art of Design.

Upon my entrance into The Fine Art of Design I feel as though I am walking onto the set of a classic movie. Everyone is dressed in their finest dresses and furs. The men are polished to perfection. Hair tucked behind their ears, oiled and not a strand out of place. Red lips and high-heeled shoes, shimmering nails and wide smiles. It is Valentines Day and everyone's got a babe on their arm, and those who don't are still hopeful and content. The drinks are endlessly a-flowing, grapefruit juice and tequila, champagne that sparkles. I grab the latter and laugh at a joke overheard from across the room.

The first performance I have the pleasure of witnessing is the guitar playing of K.C. Bozanich. His sound is full, his voice is soft, haunting, and reminiscent of memories far gone and past, both sad and joyful, he howls at us and we howl back. The set ends, a roar of laughter sets the small vintage store ablaze, people move about, weaving in and out and around one another, new drinks and new friends, cigarette breaks and compliments, photographs and iphones, hey, what's your number? We should hang out sometime. One person to another, coy smiles and complimentary strawberries. They've never tasted so sweet.

A beautiful woman wearing a bow tie takes the stage and with ukulele in hand demands the smitten crowd's attention. Jessalea Fleischman everyone. Her smile nearly brings us all to tears. Nervously having someone else announce her presence, she won't make eye contact with any of us. She plays, her voice is endearing, deep and true, feminine and soft, luxurious even. Her set is short, she plays covers and friends admire past loves, songs that still hold true. We sigh in unison, we laugh at cliche love songs, and our hearts break because we are reminded...

The stage is one giant television screen, love films reflected on the young faces of the aspirational performers. A new project now has their debut performance, Dani and the Scarlet Fevers, four youthful men led by the enthusiastic musical ringleader Dani Meza. The attendees are refreshed, jubilant, alive, and yes, some drunken, but that's OK, it's a celebration of love. Women shake their hips and men tap their toes, seeing a good friend dance, I smile in their direction. I take a long sip of my drink, abandon it, and focus on the soul.