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
Friday, July 6, 2012
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.
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
"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.
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
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.
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