Porno Shop

El Senor made his way back to the Valley and we hung out today. He drank a coffee and I took a Hot Chocolate - he’s been gone for over a month now, locked up for 30 days for driving while under the influence of acid. He, unlike many men who do crimes and vanished before serving their time, had a Socrates moment and decided to turn himself in and serve so he can clear up all his errors. He couldn’t in the past because he was on probation in Texas, but that ended last year. This trip was planned since.

So we sat there in Coffee Zone, drinking and eating two cookies each, when he asks how my job hunting was going. Badly, I responded and told him about an ad in the Edinburg Review about a part time typist. He nodded and just said it - “You know the problem with us? We weren’t made to work for anyone.”

I’ve often felt like this. I wasn’t made to work for someone else, from the ground up. I always thought of myself as the take charge sort of person. After all, wasn’t that why I decided to run for president of Sigma Tau Delta in 2006?

“Yeah,” I replied.

Before he left, I talked about starting our own editing business, nothing fancy and only for side cash every once in a while because we were going to be facing a lot of challenges in the writing world as the small guys. He said he’d look into it, as well as reopening the Nueva Onda, but only in another location and only if Amado’s willing to go through it again. This time, however, we’d make within the city limits and possibly have a better plan that won’t leave us bleeding money.

Upon his arrival, he was rethinking the business idea. What sells in this country more than anything, despite the economy?

And not just adult movies, but pipes as well. He asked me to join him in this business and - well, fuck, I’m a writer, how can this not be good? - I accepted. I’ll keep you all updated on what happens. Trust me.

Another Dream Blog

I’ve had another dream with Charis in it. This one was a little more soap operatic. El Senor and I were sitting around, drinking coffee, or tea, or whatever. We were going over a few things about something we’ve been planning.

After a while, I went outside and saw the members of her organization making a rather large banner. Suddenly, I began to wonder why there were on my street in the first place. El Senor suggested we have a party for whatever it was we were talking about. “Party brownies” was suggested and I agreed.

During our party, Charis found her way to the house. I don’t know why, but she did. Suddenly the party died down, but El Senor and I were still high. Charis went over a list of things she and I were meant to talk about. We talk about it when El Senor decided to blurt out the only reason I was even remotely interested in talking with her and being a part of the organization was because I had a crush on a certain someone, to which Charis eyes widened. I felt my skin burn with embarrassment.

I don’t remember too much of the dream as I only recalled it a while ago before I wrote this piece.

“Vision Quest”

I finished the article. I finished it around five. It came out longer than the first incarnation of it, which isn’t good news. Now I have to edit it down a few thousand words to make the proper word count. So much has been taken out of it already that I feat that it’ll suffer a lot of information if I do any more to it.

I suppose I want to continue on with the project. Continue writing it, make it longer than just an article. El Senor said he’ll be doing research on it because I caught his attention. He just likes smoking it because he knows it gets to me. I haven’t touched the stuff since 2004 and I don’t plan to return to it like a baby to his bottle. Not that I was addicted to it, I was a casual user. Now with Adam around, I’d feel like a jerk if I abuse it.

Anyway, I’m wondering if Adam’ll lend me some of his books so I can study up on the whole thing and write pieces. Too bad I won’t get paid for it if I do. Unless I add a little widget on here that you can donate money–but I kid.

I’m going to read “Cannabis Yields and Dosage” by Chris Conrad later on.  I borrowed it from Adam, wel, I think he gave it to me, but I think I can return unless he printed out a new one. The link above leads you to a PDF file of it, free online. Had I known it was free, I wouldn’t have taken his.

Anyway, back to the writing process. I get off topic so badly, I suppose that’s why I write everything down first and then type. This whole blogging thing is bewildering to me. I suppose I could plan out each post, but then I’m not being honest with you.

Writing, process, okay.

I never like doing my own editing, but depending on the editor alone is a freelance no-no. David used to get upset with me when I pulled that shit with The Paper. Old habits die hard, though. I suppose I could always sent it off to Abby in Waco because she’s cool like that, but she has enough on her hands, what with her student’s assignments.

Editing is hard because I can’t choose what is important and what is just poetry. David, by the way, loves the poetry, but if the piece is cluttered with it, the length runs too long and the information suffers. Rewording things is another thing. Writing for mass media normally means to dumb things down. I’m not good with that because then I get carried away. There has to be a time when you’re just insulting your readers, something I don’t like doing.

Take out the poetry, I suppose, but not too much that it reads like a regular newspaper article–we’re cooler than that.

However, the one line I refuse to remove is:

“But marijuana, cannabis, hemp, ganja, pot, weed, wacky tobaccy–call it what you will–has always been around.”

That line stays because it works for me. And it’ll probably work for David because he’ll believe that while I take Adam and Shemshemet seriously, that I don’t really buy into the hype.  And that my friend, is how I sell an article. I get close to my subjects because I want to get in depth with them. I want to understand. That goes against most journalists because of conflict of interest. But I want the people to know my subjects. I’ll follow them around for a few days, talk to them, run through their myspaces; when interviewing them, I let them talk, let them ask questions. The second interview is always about the questions from me, if there needs to be a second interview.

I understand I’m doing this wrong; I’m being an amateur. But in the long run, those who read the pieces will understand the subject. However, this pattern only works when I’m enthused about my topic, rather than something I get because no one else wanted it and, fuck, I need the money.

Anyway, it’s late. I must go.

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.