Trump & Mi Gente
I’m still “Seeing Red” after reading all the Moronic comments on Trump….There are an incredible number of fucking Closet Nazis out there. Though I will give Trump one thing: At least he lets you know He fucking Hates You. Nowadays, we have these pathetic fake ass Liberal/Hipster/Pseudo-Artist Wannabes moving in and Gentrifying our Ghetto Edens while swearing they’re One of Us, and don’t have the common courtesy to say “Good Morning,” or “Thank You” when we hold the front door for them. (Thank you Jesus for my Serrano y Latino upbringing.)…
Sadly, today, I don’t know 1/2 the folks in my Building Anymore. They’ve been Displaced or Bought Out… And the Buyers! They know all this. Because they are the Cause of all our Present Dilemmas… We are “On our Own,” Mi Gente!
I can hear this song [Bob Dylan’s “Ballad of a Thin Man”] everytime I’m walking along the Avenue some lonely nite watching the Sophistos sitting at their tables along the sidewalk Cafés (like so many Frenchies, or Downtown Yuppies) sipping their Vino, which may as well be Our Blood.
Colors
Never was or will be “affiliated” with a Political Party (Right/Left/Rainbow/Blowjob, or Blowhard…), or more importantly, a “Bandilla”/or Gang… But because I’ve taken to wearing a Blue Bandana, seems I’ve been taken for a “Crip.” Found out when I had it in my back pocket, and it dropped out walking on the Avenue. One of the Brothers on the Corner shouted out at me: “Hey (!) You dropped your ‘flag/.'” It was then it crossed my mind: What if I were to get clipped, all because of a Color?! It’s happened before, and Hell can happen again…
Assume (You make an Ass outta You n’ Me) the Position…
So I’m in; that is, my “Program,” is in the Heart of Little Quisqueya. I walk out to catch the Train back to the Hood. I can save a ride coming up here by Bus and returning via the Rails. There are lots of folks coming out of the Station so I figure I must’ve just missed my Ride. When I get to booths I’m informed there are no Trains running due to an In-ves-ti-ga-tion… OK. I make my way to “San Nicolasa” to catch another Bus.
Lo and Behold a Shiny Black Cruiser skids right in front of Moi. Rightaway, I know who they are. It is 5-0’s Modus Operande, to block your way, no matter if you lose a few Toes in the process… A tall thin Occifer with Eyes as Blue as his Blood addresses me: “Where you going Sancho?” I figure he must have some kind of Telepathy, seeing as how my name is Sanchez. “Home” I respond.
What makes me smile then, is the fact that a Bunch of Dealers on the Avenue proceed to scatter, thinking they were the Target. 😉
“What’s with the flag?” Right then I remember I’m wearing my Blue Bandana like a Bandido of Old. “I couldn’t find my Scarf, this morning.” And that’s the Truth. Along comes his Beefy sidekick that pushes me against the Wall. I’d kinda forgotten what Concrete tastes like. He asks me for ID. I give it to Him. No Arguments. And I ask him if anything’s wrong. He ignores me, of course.
“You in the Program?” “Yessum” I respond jovially. Baby-Blue asks me if I’ve already been Medicated. “Just now, Occifer.” “Watch your fucking Mouth!” Beefcake barks at me. And I comply. They proceed to open my knapsack. There is a copy of 2-Pac’s book The Rose that Grew Outta Concrete, and the latest issue of WIRED magazine.
Oh I forgot, there is also an empty 24 ounce can of Crazy Horse, my “Wake-Up.” I know… I slipped… Of course what comes next is not surprising. “You been Drinking?” “No Sir, I pick up Cans for my friend…when I come across them. He’s into that Sort of thing.”
“Well, you best put that Bandana in your keepsakes, lest you want problems with someone wearing another Color.” Baby-Blue proceeds to advise me. I figure I’m set to go. But Beefcake isn’t finished. He’s returned with something for me to Blow On…Luckily, I’m not “Illegal.”
So this time, I’m let off with a warning. Fun-tas-tic! Guess I should be kinda Grateful. To the Occifers “Down Here” and to Someone “Up There” that must be watching out for me. It’d been 3 weeks that I hadn’t had a Drink.
Confessions
I was hangin’ at the corner with the ol’ timers, when one asked me: “Ever get to a point when you just have to break down and cry?!”
“Course, my brother…Like tonite, my friend. Sometimes you have to wonder why you bear the Cross you do,” is all I could respond.
And he shared his own. Like so many an amigo will. Hell, I never made the Priesthood, you beautiful Moron. And I’ve way too many of my own (sins), under my belt. “I can’t forgive you. I’m not ordained! You’re going to have to do that yourself.”
Como?! (How?!) Me pregunta (he asks me) desperately…
“I can’t answer that either my friend, I’m sorry… I’m still trying to figure mine own out.”
Just Remember: God is Good… Yes he is. I learned alloveragain (with my “amigo”) not everyone is, or will ever be (guilty). I still keep them in my prayers/dreams (have no choice in that dept.).
Night Watch
So sometimes, yeah, “Life will imitate Art.” No se porque… but I did have an opportunity to venture into that Ethereal realm (of Dreams) these couple of noches’ past. Don’t know if my visit amounts to a Memory now, more of a “Dream within a Dream.”
It was during that Hospital Spell. I was interned after my liver had had enough of the abuse I’d been inflicting on it, and it turned against me: “real horror show!”
I passed out during a Blood Transfusion and found myself upon wakening (within the dream), seated on the (Hospital) Bed all of a sudden… My friend D***, long since deceased, was there, seated beside me. He looked well, I have to say. And I wasn’t at all surprised to see him. He smiled and told me…Well, Warned me… to be Wary of “Certain Women.” Me n’ Him? Hell! We’ve known/had our share. Then… in walked 4 Wolves. They Circled round the room 3 times, before quietly filing out, one… by one… Just like that…
He asked me, if I was afraid. I was frozen scared of course. And D***? Well, he was all smiles as usual. I (really?) awoke to my Mama’s voice. For real… What Mother doesn’t visit her her “Degenerate” son in his dying (?) bed. She’d brought with her a (prophesy-fulfilling) letter from an old “Nymph” I knew. She was reluctant to hand it over. Today, I can understand why. But I took it, and read it. As I’ve done so many “Onceuponatime’s”. And I answered.
Because truth be told, “All things must pass…” Right?
Invisible Threads
Mi Viejita gave me the greatest gift, this Season, she could ever give… Una Colcha–a quilt that warmed Mi Querido Abuelito/My Dear Grandfather, on his deathbed. I’ve slept with it, and ever since have had the most vivid dreams. True, as a child I’d share some “prophetic” dreams with my Mamita. Sometimes, still do. But I truly believe, a Door has been offered me. Just pray I can “See” what is being revealed…
November, 2015-March, 2016