Meanwhile, back in Gotham City …
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Somehow all of my permalinks got extremely fucked up and I had to go under the hood of this contraption to figure out just what in heavens tarnation went awry. I quickly came to the conclusion that it was eons if not eras since I was under there. I had to get the curiosity trinket to get me interested all over again in the php, html and other jargon that induces behavior I desire in the blog. Alas! I failed to get the old drive in me to figure out what was wrong and decided best to just change through a lame form what I wanted to see not as it was before but what was available to my knowledge base which was emptier than a jug at a hillbilly whiskey contest. So a lot of the permalinks out there that redirect to certain pages in the blog are in effect only redirecting to the blog main index giving the reader the awful task of doing the search for desired document by hand if you will. I just hope the reader has more stamina and success to search said desired documents than me trying to understand blog behavior.
On other unrelated news I finally changed some of the songs in the radio blog on the sidebar. Enough with the techno industrial ding a dong and onto the Xicano stuff, I’m on an Aztlán ese! mood. Though I frankly fail to grasp if the radio is seen in the US (my main source of readership) since I get the impression that broadband is limited in the US. In Sweden broadband is the norm rather than the exception. I get this impression mostly out of the Agonistas which post at the Agonist and who have created a niche on the internet situation in the US albeit somewhat shallow though enough for my attention retention span which has a breadth of a whopping 0.34 miliseconds capacity.
– I have noticed that more and more you liken the desert. The very one Geronimo stares at when at the offices. Does it not worry you that, in the end, your voice will end up a mere grain in the sand inasmuch as your voice is a scream in space?
– Those two concepts, desert and space, are two interesting images. In order to answer your question I must accept the fact that the aforementioned images exist. Yet my blog exist too as soon as your eyes lay their retinas upon them.
– Apá, the earth is trembling.
– M’ijo, it’s only the raza making their voices heard.
– Con sus feet ‘pá?
– It is an ancient custom de nuestra gente, we move with our feet. Aztlán is based on that and la pobre raza have always voted with their feet when it comes to México, we can’t help it. Most pueblos in the Southwest were to a minor or greater degree nomads as well.
– Pá, why is the mezcal bottle half empty?
– It’s Geronimo’s fault, he made me drink it.
– Pinche viejito.
– Más respeto escuincle cabrón.
– Ok. But people are clammoring at the offices for some kind of commentary on the immigration phenomenon that it is ripping wave after wave of commentary all over the blogsphere.
– Any wise word from your part?
– M’ijo, how many times have I told that you and Raza are not immigrants? How can you be a foreigner in your land?
– Right. Pero I can’t go on with those fairy tales of yours, I suppose I ought to make something up.
– Chamaco cabrón, am’onna hafta give the Oaxaca jug a hit before I can answer that. Mira, we are not criminals and we have never had any intentions to hurt what is already ours. The fight is on another plane, a visionary plateu were Manifest Destiny meets Aztlán. The right wing nuts wanna make it look like mexicans want to take over but those are only terror tactics for anglo fear consumption, not brown. What gringo folk don’t wanna understand is that most raza have more love for land that legislative argot. Gringo mentality is based on the word; what the consensus of a majority agree upon but raza retain a memory for the land, not documents. Remember Reies Tijerina? Yes you do, he was here last night, chingandose un tequila that his homie, Corky Gonzales brought to him not so long ago. When he tried to enforce the laws, western style, more cowboy than Marlboro and Broke Mountain …
– Pá, that was a gay movie …
– Chin! Really? Well, either way, did he do it for the belief that the institutions the güero built for güero and the güero only or for a love of land?
– A love of land.
– Así es m’ijo, we have fought many wars that the gringo leadership has called us upon to do, even when the righteous view of the güero boot stood in our necks, asfixiating us, we have stood side by side the star spangled banner. Brrr, gives me the goosebumps just to think of it. Gotta love gringo land for other reasons than that.
– Are you saying that politicians have distorted the view, the vision, of a multicultural land for personal gain?
– Yes, am saying that. Ever heard of the Good, the Bad and the Ugly American? Well, it really ought to be gringo. Se tientan el corazón in a rather odd way. It is all about race m’ijo. We are now seeing the Ugly side of the gringo, these are dark times and as always, we stand and look. Will it change? It stands to see, I can only tell of the things of the past and not those to come.
– Then the trembling soil ought to bode good tidings pappa, nothing but good tidings ….
– Pops, we got mail from Oso, didn’t know you had a fan of that sort.
– M’ijo, Oso is a fine, fine acquaintance of sorts. We were once to get together in San Diego, back in 2004 but I was on memory lane and far from the highwire communication lines. Little too late did I found out he wanted us to get together. So yeah, what does he say?
– Quién sabe pops, Geronimo opened the letter because it dispelled old memories. He fired his 30-30 carabina in the air not out of rage but of respect for his elders, or that is how I interpreted it anyways.
– A jíjos! Pinche Geronimo, since when does he have permission to open letters aquí en las offices? I told you to get rid of him.
Geronimo sideglanced and placed his finger on the trigger.
– Geronimo, pops, you guys need to get a long. Besides, it was a sad reminder, maybe Geronimo lived something of it.
– Bueno pues, what was it about?
– It’s about when migras, rangers, used gases to cleanse mexicans as they crossed over to the US because mexicans not only looked dirty but smelled ugly too or so the güero thought back then.
– Oh yeah, no wonder Geronimo blew a casket. Sad episode. Güeros will talk about how race doesn’t matter but their actions are all about race. Get me that mezcal bottle m’ijo.
– I thought you only drank out of that bottle for special reasons.
– This is a special reason, am gonna drink it allwith Geronimo. His people have lost many soldiers due to chemicals. His ancestral land nuked and his people let to die in strange lands. For once am ready to join him in peace and quiet. All I wanna do is look far and deep into the horizon, just as he does, you know?
– Yeah, I know, I always wonder why he does that.
– He does it because he mourns son, he mourns.
– Pops, he’s dead.
– So what? Rest in Peace is a güero concoction. Did your abuelita ever rest at night when you went out to party? No m’ijo, one doesn’t stop worrying about ones own gente. Never.
Apá cierre las ventanas, the swedish winter days with their cold winds are sneaking in, there is a draft.
Txale m’ijo, don’t give me any of that military jingoism in the weather nor that Father Winter caca, fuchila. The only winds allowed here are the Santa Ana winds. Traitor to proper mexicans and an unholy father to the Xicanos. Curios how…
Pa’ dont go on with those soliloquies of yours. Besides the Santa Ana winds have nothing to do with Antonio López de Santa Anna.
M’ijo, ese, am dead, you’re not, let me tell my own tall tales will you? So keep your beak shut. Maybe you’ll learn something, Right Geronimo? Besides, patience es the virtue least sought these days so be paciente.
Paciente? am not sick ese.
I tell you Quetzalcóatl, please don’t let me say something that I may regret.
Pa’, you don’t understand my english so why should I understand your spanish?
What the? Either way, as I was saying, Santa Anna, the unholy father of the Chicanos, hardly gets credit. kinda reminds me of la Malinche. I saw him the other day. He stopped by the offices here at Yonder Lies It.
Good fellow. he was looking for his leg. He had it buried with full military honors and then forgot where he buried it. He smelled that stuff Cuco Sanchez drank before his death.
You mean Gusano Rojo?
M’ijo, it’s getting cold in here, you shut all the windows?
Pa’, am telling you.
Dios mio santísimo! I was mentioned in an article in Hawaii, well a post. Somewhere buried in all that saying are buried the offices titel. Híjole mano! Still, news here at the offices and Geronimo cracks what seems to be the beginnings of a smile from his corner where he likes to sit and keep an eye on the desert and another one at the things being said. To be frank more than once the thought that he’s here to spy has crossed my mind, you know how things are when it comes to tradition. Came to realize that I need to brush up on my Chicano/a inspirational sources. Am still stuck in the 80’s and 90’s. Who are the ones for this new century? Anyone give me a hint?
Lo que pasa es que am kinda of attached to old Richard Rodriguez. He embodies a lot for my generation. An American voice that transcends. Gay, Catholic, Chicano a huevo, brown, savy, and one of the few ones that made it on the ticket of national centrum appreciated by all. All on his own. A tie-your-bootstaps-on-your own kinda guy. Though I still can’t get over that he ran over a serpent. I read it in Brown.
Telegram: Telegram? might as well revert to morse code, a ver, qué dice? When. going. to write something. substancial.?
Picnhes readers, no perdonan even in the middle of vacation season….
Meanwhile back at the yonderliesit.org offices …
-m’ijo, pass me some of that coffee made out of those coffee beans marquitos from Chiapas sent me.
-marquitos? sent me!! a ver a ver, what’s pasando here pop’s, creo que si sent it to the offices, and if memory doesn’t fail me hasta le hiciste fuchi a la idea. Now suddenly he’s you special buddy and their your beans?? Ya lo oiste Geronimo? Bueno, wait a secs pop.
-y no le des al Geronimo, am getting sick and tired of his silence.
-Hold that carabina on its place Geronimo. you guys best start getting along. Quieres yours with piquete too Geronimo?
-pour un chorrito extra to mine, do we still have that stuff Monte Albán from Oaxaca that Porfirio Díaz sent us to kiss up?
-yes pops, we still do.
– Pon that new record, Chavéz Ravine on. Mi compa Lalo Guerrero se avienta those songs you know, corrido de boxeo, los chucos suaves, and I like that rolita, what’s its called? muy fifi.
-by the way that link that you just put there doesn’t do justice to the record, they put links to las rolitas más peorcitas.
-it’s a good record, where you get it from?
-mi compa …
-men, what’s up with all these compas pops?
-ah chamaco maleducado, haven’t I told you not to interrup me when I’m speaking? En fin, mi compa from Sweden, that fine fine lad llamado Julio Sueco borrowed it from the local library allá in those swedish highlands. Can you believe that? Híjole mano, remember he borrowed that cd too del Flaco Jímenez? I still can’t believe it, qué está haciendo la raza over there? Ahhh, this coffee is good, men those piquetes give it the extra punch you know.
-pops, the readers are begging us to finish these payasadas and start writing some real stuff. Our readership went down since we opened this yonderliesit offices dialogue window, que es puro cuento dicen. And they don’t seem to be buying ese cuento de que Geronimo comes to the offices con su carabina 30-30 to hang out.
-Hey, diles que es security, con eso de que los minutemen andan about …, tell’em we had to get some kind of security.
-Ehh, ahora sí comes Geronimo handy, ay pops.
We, the Xikano raza, have become inheritors of Adam, Jefferson, Franklin and Washington’s democratic principles.
They understood we would understand as soon as their heirs lost all sight of all the goals of the American Dream due to their stupid blinding patriotism. Off course, I know they were all dead before we were even born, but they laid out plans for such an event and thank God! We, Xicanos, can talk to the dead, we of mexican pure extract sort, with an added pinch of salt, can see the dead too.
So yeah, they were here, and el notario came to confirm, “We the people of the United States,” said the notario, “hereby declare that all Xicanos are now inheritors of the Ideology behind the greatness we crafted for America”.
Dang, I said, as I sat there with wide eyes looking at the crumbling age old piece of paper, it ain’t even recycled said I, shit homes, along with the dead looking funnily at me as I spoke, that’s a whole shit load of work, those gueros left us, I thought in my dreamy head.
Ni madres, said I rather out loud, this is every decent American that calls himself or herself American, American’s home, why dontcha leave it to All the Americans who still believe in the American dream and not to folk bent on war?
Franklin, the mild mannered kite flier, electricity entrepreneur, still under the shock of my language, and taking notes to send it to Noah Webster, said, what? I suppose it does make sense to give it to the American people.
Ni madres! said I again, as Franklin scurrilously tried to jot down the very words I spoke and looked at Jeffereson to see if they were still in America, “the last time you said that, the gueros thought you meant the white folk ese, so I suggest that you leave to Americas current founders who happen to be of any race and are Americans by virtue of being born here or Americans by virtue of having ties to the land and or live here whether illegally or legally but respectful of the laws of the country and caring for this great nation.”
Here here said George, ax in hand and mistress on hand, I agree, it shall be left to the people who are constructing our modern nation.
Chale, good thing I objected said I in the privacy of my thoughts, it would’ve meant a whole shit of load of work, …pinches gringos, all work and no fun ….