It was a hard day yesterday. It wasn’t the usual type pf hard. It was the type of hard where my self control was tested. Where I had to put up a happy face because I cared for something so deeply that I didn’t want to jeopardize it in my eyes nor in anyone else’s.
Yesterday one of my good friends called me at 10am. I knew that as soon as I saw her number, something was wrong. Our relationship has been through text and e-mails so when the phone call comes, I knew it wasn’t good news.
When her voice chokes and she says “I’m the bearer of bad news”, I automatically knew that someone has passed away, died, gotten killed, committed suicide or something worse was about to come out of her mouth. She starts to cry and her voice starts to crack, it was bad. She tells me that Amy died. As appalled and shocked as I have been at other moments in my life; this was right up there.
Not so long ago a friend of ours committed suicide and it wasn’t as hard as this one. He left behind a wife and kids and I still didn’t bat an eyelash at the whole situation. The problem is that I recall how much this poor girl went through shit in her life.
Amy’s health was always bad. She suffered through a bout of a Staphylococcus infection. She was in the hospital for 30 some odd days; It left her with a massive scar on her back that I joke around on. “ You man will never hit you doggy style again”, I told her. She laughed hard and said; “only you would make me laugh like that”. I always spoke to her straightforward and for a few years, we were incredibly tight.
The biggest moment in our friendship came when she visited me for a nice dinner. She walked in through my door with a gift snuggled tight against her chest. It was wrapped neatly in a shiny gold and silver gift-wrap. I met her with a hug and a surprised enthusiastic look. She hands me this small gift and I open it. It was a poetry book by Saul Williams. At that point, I didn’t have a clue who Saul Williams was. The book came with a CD and when I played it, let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected. She said “I think you will like it eventually, you could be that big sammy”
She had this way about her that exuded faith in me. All this was when I met her in 1998, that was my very first year connecting to AOL. We maintained a friendship through AOL hometown, chat rooms, friendster, migente, myspace, and finally facebook. She followed my poetry and followed me and never hesitated to let me know that she knew I would do it big with my words.
It’s been interesting seeing some of the homage’s to Amy on her facebook page. She wasn’t as popular as she was before because she dropped friends like flies. She had a way about her that made some people either question her sanity or just merely create a small space between themselves and her. I never took it at face value because you always knew that deep inside of her, she meant well.
As unfortunate as it is, she lost her life this Thursday and it has affected a few people to the point that they can’t seem to function. As my heart goes out to her, it weighs heavy for her two kids, Nick and Jay. I’m sure they will be ok but at a moment they need a mother the most, I just can’t help but feel sorry for them.
my heart goes out to you
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Man up son
There are many shows that come and go in nyc and I don’t think life changes if you miss them or catch them. I stopped heading out to most of these functions because I got a little tired of seeing rejiggered poems set to bad music with equally bad lighting. I certainly believe in supporting my peers but there is only so much I could take.
Let me tell you how I was treated to something refreshing today. I won’t reveal the actual show I caught until the end. I think it would be fun that way so if you don’t like it, double click and exit buddy.
I headed out to this small theater today and it seemed more like a crackhouse then a place where art is appreciated. The graffiti was prominent and the faint smell of urine was definitely in the air. I didn’t think anything of it because in actuality, it felt like home.
Once we got there, I saw a few friends and made my usual rounds of man hugs and friendly cheek to cheek kisses. As far as theater settings go, the point, BAAD, and countless other places all look exactly the same; dark, dingy, and funky. It was a little hot and my hunger headache kicked in.
The show started exactly at 8pm. So I am quite content that we started at the stated time and not the latino time of 8:45. Once it started I was hoping to see something different. It started with one mic and a performance, which looked like every other performance I’ve seen at Bar 13. The only thing that went through my mind was “ this motherfucker better not do this for an hour”.
5 minutes in, things looked up much better. The spoken word aspect was shot down and I saw something more intimate, emotional, loving, thought out, methodic. This is where the ride started and I decided to buckle my seatbelt.
Some of the content was typical and the shock value was present. I say this because in everyday conversation, you barely hear homeboy talk the way he did in his show. There came two points in the show where time stopped in that theater. One came with a loving portrayal of tough love and forgiveness between father and son. It was a solid moment where he opened himself and showed the audience how at that moment he knew he became a man. This first ride was smooth and I expected the transitions to be far rockier.
My next moment in the show that I fell in love with was the moment where he and another man became one. With one line in this sketch he wrapped it all up and put it in a tiny neat box. That box was placed on your lap and it was just another gift he gave us.
The show ran for 1 hour and 5 mins. It was a wonderful treat to have someone work hard to ensure they took you on an emotional ride. You felt a wide range of emotions and that is always the formula for a good show. I didn’t get to thank him for the show and for his work. I didn’t get to thank him or say goodbye because if the fat man gets up at 5am, I need to get my ass to bed.
If you are ever in NYC and you have an opportunity to catch Man Up with Carlos Andres Gomez, you won’t go wrong. He puts his life on a plate and is trusting enough of the audience to dissect his life with care.
peace
Let me tell you how I was treated to something refreshing today. I won’t reveal the actual show I caught until the end. I think it would be fun that way so if you don’t like it, double click and exit buddy.
I headed out to this small theater today and it seemed more like a crackhouse then a place where art is appreciated. The graffiti was prominent and the faint smell of urine was definitely in the air. I didn’t think anything of it because in actuality, it felt like home.
Once we got there, I saw a few friends and made my usual rounds of man hugs and friendly cheek to cheek kisses. As far as theater settings go, the point, BAAD, and countless other places all look exactly the same; dark, dingy, and funky. It was a little hot and my hunger headache kicked in.
The show started exactly at 8pm. So I am quite content that we started at the stated time and not the latino time of 8:45. Once it started I was hoping to see something different. It started with one mic and a performance, which looked like every other performance I’ve seen at Bar 13. The only thing that went through my mind was “ this motherfucker better not do this for an hour”.
5 minutes in, things looked up much better. The spoken word aspect was shot down and I saw something more intimate, emotional, loving, thought out, methodic. This is where the ride started and I decided to buckle my seatbelt.
Some of the content was typical and the shock value was present. I say this because in everyday conversation, you barely hear homeboy talk the way he did in his show. There came two points in the show where time stopped in that theater. One came with a loving portrayal of tough love and forgiveness between father and son. It was a solid moment where he opened himself and showed the audience how at that moment he knew he became a man. This first ride was smooth and I expected the transitions to be far rockier.
My next moment in the show that I fell in love with was the moment where he and another man became one. With one line in this sketch he wrapped it all up and put it in a tiny neat box. That box was placed on your lap and it was just another gift he gave us.
The show ran for 1 hour and 5 mins. It was a wonderful treat to have someone work hard to ensure they took you on an emotional ride. You felt a wide range of emotions and that is always the formula for a good show. I didn’t get to thank him for the show and for his work. I didn’t get to thank him or say goodbye because if the fat man gets up at 5am, I need to get my ass to bed.
If you are ever in NYC and you have an opportunity to catch Man Up with Carlos Andres Gomez, you won’t go wrong. He puts his life on a plate and is trusting enough of the audience to dissect his life with care.
peace
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Life is Good
I am still here. I haven't written much in the blogs because, well, it's just plain ol dangerous!!!!
I will get back into it
Until then
Peace
I will get back into it
Until then
Peace
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Since the start
I figure that is a good way for me to start something. I wanted to write "beginning" but it would have felt stolen from one of Pinero poems.
I am going to start somewhere around the time my father decided to move the family to Texas. My father was invested in a display company who had ambitions of of getting more productivity coupled with cost efficiency. Someone came up with the bright idea of moving the whole factory to Texas. In Texas they could hire at a lower per hour base and get more product out to their clients. Well, that was mistake number one.
Anyhow, I was too young to remember the decision making process but I figured the one who made the most money had more clout between my parents. My dad could see himself letting a job go that had him in the high 90's. My mother was making about 40 g's. So the moving van was called and our small apartment was packed and off to Texas we went.
We moved to a small city about 60 miles from Brownsville; McCallen Texas. It was a small city with no buildings taller then 5 stories. What I first recalled was the flatness of it all. On each street, you could see for miles. I was looking for hills but we didn't see anything at all. No hills, mountains, tall buildings, skyscrapers, bodegas. Oh yea, I just said bodegas. One of the stangest things to me was no bodegas. I was clearly distraught as I wanted to know where I was going to get my Maltas.
My father went ahead to Texas a few weeks before us and put into place some great sleeping arrangements. He scored a huge 2 bedroom apartment in a townhouse. It had two bathrooms and a balcony. It even boasted central air conditioning. This was a palace compared to the small shack we left in the Bronx.
Texas was a new place to me. I didn't know much about the culture. I had to learn things as I went along. I say this because the differences were hard for me. I left NYC where I was typically an average kid with plenty of friends. Many who looked like me and related to me. Many who liked the same food as me and spoke my same language.
My first school day wasn't like any other. My parents took me to Roosevelt elementary. I have no idea why they picked that school but it was the one they wanted me in. I recall being in the principals office with my parents. She looked my parents dead in the face and told them "your son has to go to Ben Milam Elementary". There was no discussion on her part. She just did not want me in her school. I never figured it out until a few years later. My mother turned on her Puerto Rican swagger (bad attitude for those of you who don't understand) and flat out refused to have me go to Milam. They rushed me into a 6 grade class and I was somewhere new. Here I am, walking into a class with an older white lady and two red faced Puerto Rican parents. They opened the door and every face that looked up at me was new. They all looked different. A few kids looked at me and snickered. A few kids looked at me in disbelief. I was there and I didn't feel comfortable.
I made it to school the next day and knew I had to make that class. I depended on the wonderful transportation provided to us by the county. The school bus picked me up and once again, I saw the sea of faces glaring at me. This bus had older kids and they weren't as inclined to hold back there distaste with me being on the bus. From the back some said "hey wetback, sit right here". I went to the chair and sat down. I didn't know what to make of it and had no clue what a wetback was.
I made it to the school and went to class. The walk to class was uneventful. The start of my class was a different story. Like a banshee demon out of hell, the principal came into my class and told me to pack up my stuff. I went with her and walked to her car where she promptly drove me to Ben Milam. She dropped me off in front of the school and said to go to the office. I walked into the main office and I sat down. It was 9am and I had no idea where I was at. I didn't know what to do as my communication skills with adults was non-existent. I sat in the main office all day until 5pm. When the last person was leaving the school (the principal of ben Milam) I started crying. This is when she asked me my name.I told her and she said "you don't go to this school". I told her I didn't and that other principal dropped me off here this morning. Right now, I didn't know my house address, number, or even how to get home. My parents showed up to the school and my parents immediately attacked me. "Que tu Hiciste?" What did you do?. I came out with the best answer possible. And out of my mouth came "I didn't do anything". Oh yea, that was a priceless moment.
We went home that night and I remember my parents fighting. My mother had to take me to Ben Milam the next day. It was hard because I knew my mother was angry and that didn't make my life so peachy. When I got to the school, I was placed in a 6th grade class with Ms Montgomery. I walked into that class at about 10am. The door opened and this class looked like one in NYC. The kids didn't pay much mind to me and this made me feel a little better.
The first day was a blur as Ms Montgomery just gave me all the books and rules of the class. She also gave me the bus information that will take me closest to where I was living. She drilled this into me and I can't tell you how embarrassed I was.
3pm comes and I couldn't wait to get home. Ms Montgomery's voice was banging over and over again in my head "wait outside and stand in line three". When I get outside I see every elementary school kid just standing around. I didn't see a line, bus, teacher, or anything else that I thought I could help me. Out of nowhere this lady comes out screaming, "GET IN YOUR LINES!!" She was a short fat little latina lady. I didn't know if she was Puerto Rican or not because her spanish sounded different. Miraculously, three line were formed and I guessed which bus I had to take.
I sat down in the back of the line and this is where it begins. When you sit down in the indian position, your buttcrack tends to smile at the world. I was sitting there and I felt something at my butt crack. I reached around and this kid Oscar was pouring sand down my crack. I got up and without questioning or talking I swung at him and connected at his face. Every kid got up and in typical school fashion started instigating with the oooooooh's and aaaaaaaaah's. I heard this one girl yell out "beat him up Oscar". Well, Oscar didn't beat me up. Oscar didn't even get a good punch in. After that little melee, I was sent back to the place where I was crying the day before, the Principals office. I would live here alot within the next couple of months.
So, it turns out that once you get into a fight. They give you this brand new thing I never heard of, detention. Ok, so I figured I might as well take this detention they give me. Detention if after school and that lovely bus does not wait for you. Then after detention, you are not allowed to leave unless someone picks you up. So the only way home was to take the small piece of paper out of my pocket and call my mother to come get me.
OK, now in Texas, there was no way in hell to get around unless you knew how to drive. The public transportation system was about as convenient as a kick in the face. My mother would walk about 5 miles to come pick me up everytime I had detention. MY mother walked about a combined 500 miles my first school year.
My first year in Texas was hard for me. There were kids who call my mother aunt Jemima and wetback spic. They were people who spray painted Swatztikas on our driveway in neon orange spray paint. They were kids who thought that spitting on me when I got on the bus would be cute early in the morning. Little by little I felt this thing inside of me. It was a small pain similar to a fire in your belly. I am going to call it "Anger". I was angry most of the time in my first year in Texas. I went through so much and I didn't know I was going through it years afterwards.
Part 2. Lamar Junior High School
I am going to start somewhere around the time my father decided to move the family to Texas. My father was invested in a display company who had ambitions of of getting more productivity coupled with cost efficiency. Someone came up with the bright idea of moving the whole factory to Texas. In Texas they could hire at a lower per hour base and get more product out to their clients. Well, that was mistake number one.
Anyhow, I was too young to remember the decision making process but I figured the one who made the most money had more clout between my parents. My dad could see himself letting a job go that had him in the high 90's. My mother was making about 40 g's. So the moving van was called and our small apartment was packed and off to Texas we went.
We moved to a small city about 60 miles from Brownsville; McCallen Texas. It was a small city with no buildings taller then 5 stories. What I first recalled was the flatness of it all. On each street, you could see for miles. I was looking for hills but we didn't see anything at all. No hills, mountains, tall buildings, skyscrapers, bodegas. Oh yea, I just said bodegas. One of the stangest things to me was no bodegas. I was clearly distraught as I wanted to know where I was going to get my Maltas.
My father went ahead to Texas a few weeks before us and put into place some great sleeping arrangements. He scored a huge 2 bedroom apartment in a townhouse. It had two bathrooms and a balcony. It even boasted central air conditioning. This was a palace compared to the small shack we left in the Bronx.
Texas was a new place to me. I didn't know much about the culture. I had to learn things as I went along. I say this because the differences were hard for me. I left NYC where I was typically an average kid with plenty of friends. Many who looked like me and related to me. Many who liked the same food as me and spoke my same language.
My first school day wasn't like any other. My parents took me to Roosevelt elementary. I have no idea why they picked that school but it was the one they wanted me in. I recall being in the principals office with my parents. She looked my parents dead in the face and told them "your son has to go to Ben Milam Elementary". There was no discussion on her part. She just did not want me in her school. I never figured it out until a few years later. My mother turned on her Puerto Rican swagger (bad attitude for those of you who don't understand) and flat out refused to have me go to Milam. They rushed me into a 6 grade class and I was somewhere new. Here I am, walking into a class with an older white lady and two red faced Puerto Rican parents. They opened the door and every face that looked up at me was new. They all looked different. A few kids looked at me and snickered. A few kids looked at me in disbelief. I was there and I didn't feel comfortable.
I made it to school the next day and knew I had to make that class. I depended on the wonderful transportation provided to us by the county. The school bus picked me up and once again, I saw the sea of faces glaring at me. This bus had older kids and they weren't as inclined to hold back there distaste with me being on the bus. From the back some said "hey wetback, sit right here". I went to the chair and sat down. I didn't know what to make of it and had no clue what a wetback was.
I made it to the school and went to class. The walk to class was uneventful. The start of my class was a different story. Like a banshee demon out of hell, the principal came into my class and told me to pack up my stuff. I went with her and walked to her car where she promptly drove me to Ben Milam. She dropped me off in front of the school and said to go to the office. I walked into the main office and I sat down. It was 9am and I had no idea where I was at. I didn't know what to do as my communication skills with adults was non-existent. I sat in the main office all day until 5pm. When the last person was leaving the school (the principal of ben Milam) I started crying. This is when she asked me my name.I told her and she said "you don't go to this school". I told her I didn't and that other principal dropped me off here this morning. Right now, I didn't know my house address, number, or even how to get home. My parents showed up to the school and my parents immediately attacked me. "Que tu Hiciste?" What did you do?. I came out with the best answer possible. And out of my mouth came "I didn't do anything". Oh yea, that was a priceless moment.
We went home that night and I remember my parents fighting. My mother had to take me to Ben Milam the next day. It was hard because I knew my mother was angry and that didn't make my life so peachy. When I got to the school, I was placed in a 6th grade class with Ms Montgomery. I walked into that class at about 10am. The door opened and this class looked like one in NYC. The kids didn't pay much mind to me and this made me feel a little better.
The first day was a blur as Ms Montgomery just gave me all the books and rules of the class. She also gave me the bus information that will take me closest to where I was living. She drilled this into me and I can't tell you how embarrassed I was.
3pm comes and I couldn't wait to get home. Ms Montgomery's voice was banging over and over again in my head "wait outside and stand in line three". When I get outside I see every elementary school kid just standing around. I didn't see a line, bus, teacher, or anything else that I thought I could help me. Out of nowhere this lady comes out screaming, "GET IN YOUR LINES!!" She was a short fat little latina lady. I didn't know if she was Puerto Rican or not because her spanish sounded different. Miraculously, three line were formed and I guessed which bus I had to take.
I sat down in the back of the line and this is where it begins. When you sit down in the indian position, your buttcrack tends to smile at the world. I was sitting there and I felt something at my butt crack. I reached around and this kid Oscar was pouring sand down my crack. I got up and without questioning or talking I swung at him and connected at his face. Every kid got up and in typical school fashion started instigating with the oooooooh's and aaaaaaaaah's. I heard this one girl yell out "beat him up Oscar". Well, Oscar didn't beat me up. Oscar didn't even get a good punch in. After that little melee, I was sent back to the place where I was crying the day before, the Principals office. I would live here alot within the next couple of months.
So, it turns out that once you get into a fight. They give you this brand new thing I never heard of, detention. Ok, so I figured I might as well take this detention they give me. Detention if after school and that lovely bus does not wait for you. Then after detention, you are not allowed to leave unless someone picks you up. So the only way home was to take the small piece of paper out of my pocket and call my mother to come get me.
OK, now in Texas, there was no way in hell to get around unless you knew how to drive. The public transportation system was about as convenient as a kick in the face. My mother would walk about 5 miles to come pick me up everytime I had detention. MY mother walked about a combined 500 miles my first school year.
My first year in Texas was hard for me. There were kids who call my mother aunt Jemima and wetback spic. They were people who spray painted Swatztikas on our driveway in neon orange spray paint. They were kids who thought that spitting on me when I got on the bus would be cute early in the morning. Little by little I felt this thing inside of me. It was a small pain similar to a fire in your belly. I am going to call it "Anger". I was angry most of the time in my first year in Texas. I went through so much and I didn't know I was going through it years afterwards.
Part 2. Lamar Junior High School
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
IF they find me, It was meant to be. That is the simplicity of it. I am doing well. I am still working the new job and I am loving it. I have been feeling very tired lately but I find the energy to still get the job done.
Last night was Acentos. 5 full years later and I am hosting as Rich found his way to Kent to teach some poetics. Maria Also played bellvue so I had to hold down the insane asylum all my my lonesome.
It was one of those evenings where we started late. I wish we started early but it was worth waiting around. Last night I feature was Johanny Vasquez Paz. She is down with teh Palabra pura crew out in Chicago. It was the utmost pleasure having her read. We had a good turn out. All this despite NO ONE PLUGGIN AT ALL.
Our next show is with Bonafide Rojas. I would have never featured his ass. This is his third time on the Acentos stage and he is not that special. I got wind of another great poet named Madaline Millian and I think we are gonna throw her into the mix. She has been around and I think she's a great connection to the Puerto Rican diaspora of poets who have kept their distance.
All in all. I'm good
Let see how far it is before my blog is found by the masses
Last night was Acentos. 5 full years later and I am hosting as Rich found his way to Kent to teach some poetics. Maria Also played bellvue so I had to hold down the insane asylum all my my lonesome.
It was one of those evenings where we started late. I wish we started early but it was worth waiting around. Last night I feature was Johanny Vasquez Paz. She is down with teh Palabra pura crew out in Chicago. It was the utmost pleasure having her read. We had a good turn out. All this despite NO ONE PLUGGIN AT ALL.
Our next show is with Bonafide Rojas. I would have never featured his ass. This is his third time on the Acentos stage and he is not that special. I got wind of another great poet named Madaline Millian and I think we are gonna throw her into the mix. She has been around and I think she's a great connection to the Puerto Rican diaspora of poets who have kept their distance.
All in all. I'm good
Let see how far it is before my blog is found by the masses
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