Reading In South Texas

The problem with reading in South Texas is not a lot of people partake in it. This can be accredited to the fact that South Texas Writers often go ignored by the mainstream. Writers like David Rice and Rene Saldana, Jr. get accounted for by the fact that they primarily write youth fiction, but then again that’s not enough to keep up with the big dogs. And then there are writers we most likely never heard of: Jovita Gonzalez’s Dew on the Thorn wasn’t even on my radar until I took a class with Dr. Rob Johnson.

However, I suppose the writers of my generation are going to hinder that relationship with our apparent readers. During a creative writing course I took last year (two actually, considering that god’s gift to literature actually made it into the MFA CW program at UTPA [go figure!] and will probably go on and become forgotten afterward) a writer said that we write for the educated masses. I’m sorry to say, but I don’t write for simply the educated masses because I see writing as a revolution on page, not the elitist most of us have grown to become.

It was a piece we were evaluating that brought on the realization that most of these people and I weren’t on the same page. The piece in question was an overkill of imagery, and granted, we’re the educated who adore imagery, a reader from our location won’t like it and will fall disinterested in a heart beat. So I said that.

“The people who read these magazines,” said one student, “are educated people.”

Educated, being the insult, the whip on the back - let us tell the story of our people, but not allow our people to read it - the wound with the salt pouring upon it.

I’m not sure, but I began to believe that the whole course, including the professor, a person I have much adoration for, felt the same way. Suddenly the most liberal of things became perverted by conservative viewpoints - the uneducated are not allowed the same pleasures as the rest of us. It was all that I could to not just get out of the class and walk out, signing off on this writer’s dream forever. If I have to be like that, then I refuse to even pick up a pen again.

In order to solve the problem of reading on the border, the writers from the borderlands - la frontera - must learn that writing and story telling is a gift from us to those who long to remember our history.

“Cannabis Gospel”

The article’s on its fifth draft. It’s almost finished, but I still need to weed out some of the words that made it lengthy. I’ve gone from 2000+ to just under 1300. I need to remove 200 words and then we’ve got the final draft. Hopefully, I didn’t take out anything important. I’m thinking of writing a similar one on Associated Content, but who knows.

The title took a change going from the working title “Vision Quest,” to the more humorist title “Cannabis Gospel.” I seriously don’t want the whole thing to make it sound like I’m promoting it. However, in many ways, I think I am. Not because I’m a stoner, because I haven’t touched cannabis since 2004 and I don’t plan to touch again, but because the world needs this. This country needs this. We need to remove all the clutter of bad emotional thoughts and have a new zeitgeist. No more blind faith. No more evangelicals on TV preaching for money.

Moving on: Nueva Onda Poets’ Society has been reinvented. And while founder Amado doesn’t call it that, those of us who were concocting without him thought it was a great idea. Now that he’s back in the scene, we’re happy.

Last night, however, didn’t turn out quite the way I wished it would. The scene was great, but Jyg wasn’t there. I’m afraid without her there supporting me, then I shouldn’t even bother. I know that’s pretty stupid to think but that’s the way I feel. She’s my balance, my rock. While some of you have religion, I have Jyg.

We were supposed to hold a memorial service to Raul Salinas, but  Amado said he’ll hold another one in actual memorial for him. Which is good because the Chicano Poet needs to to remembered. If not for the world to morn, then for us to.

Which brings me to my other topic. I uncovered an essay I wrote for my South Texas Writers course. I’m thinking of revamping it and posting it on Associated Content as well. I know I should try to do something bigger, but these writings should be free to the public and not kept inside a magazine that’ll cost and arm or a leg, or not in stock at your local bookstore. A printed copy may exist, but it’s doubtful.

However, I know how I want to start it off:

“Somos Chicanos. We are the those shoved in the corner and forgotten. We are the ones whose parents swam across the river, whose land was stolen, who has survived on broken promises.”

I’ll be sure to link it here when I’m done.

Falling Down

El Senor doesn’t call. We miss another coffee date, but that’s okay. He has kids and I understand. Instead, I get dress and walk about the house for a moment contemplating my next move. I call Adam Zuniga to tell him about the blog. I mentioned the article had been put up as well. He seemed pleased and that made me happy. I think for the meanwhile, my part is over. I got the accurate information out, something Miss Leatherman failed to do in her article. Now it’s phase two: Editing the article for publication. I must cut it down by a thousand words and revamp it with an angle that will blow Leatherman’s article away. That’s something I always had trouble with, angles.

David said working with a daily would be a lot more meaningful if I wanted to be a serious writer. I do, however, not media writer. I suppose we all have to start somewhere, right? Maybe that’s why I write the blogs now. I suppose in some sense of the idea, writing these everyday, or almost everyday, will help me learn not to be so paranoid when it comes to writing.

I’ve gotten off subject, haven’t I? I was talking about El Senor, not David or writing, though that’s where I’m heading towards anyway. It came to my attention that I’m a Chicano writer. This was brought on by Chicano News when a quote from my first blog made it to their page. It, of course, was taken out of context, though I’m sure they weren’t trying to crucify me. At least I hope they’re not. Here’s the quote:

“I for one have never considered myself a Chicano writer, but a person who happens to fall under the label Chicano by a community and just happens to write.”

Here’s the entire paragraph:

“So I’ve come to the conclusion that Jane isn’t an atheist at all, but merely a joke. I have the irking feeling that she is just the pawn, an invention of Judeo-Christians to promote the belief system. She is not a true atheist, nor does she deserve to use the term to describe herself. It has been to my belief that those who are willing to go as far as to label themselves, unless asked by the general public, that they are so and so, are using the term loosely. I for one have never considered myself a Chicano writer, but a person who happens to fall under the label Chicano by a community and just happens to write. And the only label I have ever called myself is agnostic solely because people refuse to believe there is gray area between those who are devout and those who don’t believe.”

I had already had the pleasure from Friendly Atheist of being posted as a quote in a comment made about 90 Day Jane. It’s not that I’m trying to toot my own horn–what does that mean anyway?–I just ask for permission to be shocked. Before moving here, I only wrote private blogs. Those who read them were just close friends of mine. Now I’m out there in the public with several readers (I go about 83 within a 4 day period) that I don’t even know. Now I worry just how much I can write here before exposing who I am and what my beliefs are.

I’m not ashamed by them, so don’t get me wrong. I have always stood by my word, which is why I’m not ashamed of writing something against The Monitor, the Rio Grande Valley’s guru of news. Actually, they are the stain in the media world. All the rejects from Pan American find themselves in the hands of the Freedom Communications paper, wandering about like thoughtless drones, writing what they see, and getting the facts wrong, as per Miss Leatherman–though, luckily, and happily, she didn’t go to Pan American and pursued higher education. (Notice how I don’t link these things.)

The Monitor makes mistakes, but then again, what paper doesn’t? I shouldn’t be too hard on them, should I? However, they refuse to show anything but what they’re paid to show. Money down here, as I suppose in other places, pushes the paper. What the rich wants The Monitor to publish is what makes it to the front pages. All that money stolen from X School District? Oh that never happened.

Reminds me of William S. Burroughs when he wrote in “Where You Belong,” a selection from The Soft Machine:

“My trouble began when they decide I am executive timber–It starts like this: a big blond driller from Dallas picks me out of the labor pool to be his houseboy in a prefabricated air-conditioned bungalow–He comes on rugged but as soon as we strip down to the ball park over on his stomach kicking white wash and screams out “Fuck the shit out of me!”–I give him a slow pimp screwing and in solid–When this friend comes down from New York the driller says “This is the boy I was telling you about”–And Friend looks me over slow chewing his cigar and says: “What are you doing over there with the apes? Why don’t you come over here with the Board where you belong?” And he slips me a long slimy look. Friend works for the Trak News Agency–”We don’t report the news–We write it.”"

That’s pretty much what The Monitor does–write the news. I’ve had the discussion with El Senor before.

How rude of me. Here I am talking of a friend and I haven’t probably introduced him. El Senor is a man, less than twenty years my senior. A marine, ex-military. He fought in Iraq Part One. Afterward, he decided to deal drugs on the street before finding himself in prison. After he was released he used his military funds to pursue higher education. He’s now working on his thesis. The reason I know him and we speak because we’re both poets/writers from La Frontera, and he was my vice president during my stint as president of Sigma Tau Delta last year. The former before the latter.

Right now we’re in the position of wondering what we’re going to do with ourselves. He has kids and I suffer from depression. Either makes it difficult to leave the valley.

We’re both would-be philosophers, also.

He’s an atheist and I’m agnostic. Most of the times, though, he treats me like an atheist. We talk politics at Moonbeans, sipping on bitter coffee. I’m not an avid drinker. I know nothing of coffee; I drink tea, Earl Grey mostly.

And like most atheists and agnostics, we talk about our beliefs openly. People around us normally add in how they wish they were as free as we are. I often wonder if they mistake us for father and son, I don’t look anywhere near 25, I’ve been told. (I can’t even grow a full set of facial hair, just patches as if puberty only just hit.)

I’ve been wanting to get him to sit and talk with Adam because I think the conversations would be interesting.

Note: The style of my writing is slowing down. The room is now hot. It is at a temperature when air conditioning fails to cool, but not cool enough outside to make it unnecessary. With the heat of my room, my thought process has begun to slow.

Last time we spoke, we had a discussion on the Borderwall. In a few weeks, months, whatever, the wall will make so much noise down here that I’ll never run out of material to write about. Luckily for him, he’ll be in Ohio serving out some time from an incident in his past. Imagine that–a graduate student working on his thesis behind bars.

I’ll try to write more on the subject on a later date. Hopefully, when I do, I can provide a transcript of a conversation with Adam E. Zuniga and El Senor.