Some Words from Madeleine L'Engle

[An excerpt from her Newbery Medal Acceptance Speech, August 1963]

Because of the very nature of the world as it is today, our children receive in school a heavy load of scientific and analytic subjects, so it is in their reading for fun, for pleasure, that they must be guided into creativity.  These are forces working in the world as never before in the history of mankind for standardization, for the regimentation of us all, or what I like to call making muffins of us, muffins all like every other muffin in the muffin tin.  This is the limited universe, the drying, dissipating universe that we can help our children avoid by providing them with “explosive material capable of stirring up fresh life endlessly.”

So how do we do it?  We can’t just sit down at our typewriters and turn out explosive material.  I took a course in college on Chaucer, one of the most explosive, imaginative, and far-reaching in influence of all writers.  And I’ll never forget going to the final exam and being asked why Chaucer used certain verbal devices, certain adjectives, why he had certain characters behave in certain ways.  And I wrote in a white heat of fury, “I don’t think Chaucer had any idea why he did any of these things.  That isn’t the way people write.”

Most of what is best in writing isn’t done deliberately.

my mom and her bike

The year was 1972.  The place was Clear Lake City, TX.  A little thirteen year old white girl who would go onto become my mom accepted a summer job babysitting three rambunctious girls (ages 4,7, and 9) Monday thru Friday from 8 to 5.  She took the job with the goal of saving up money for a ten speed bike, whilst the rest her friends (all of whom already owned bikes that their parents bought for them) spent most of the summer lounging at the community pool. Two weeks before school was set to start, she finally had enough money for the bike.  Her mom (my grandma) took her to buy the bike, a bright shiny white one.  It was her first major purchase with her own hard earned dollars, a proud achievement in the life of a thirteen year old kid.  She was so excited to share her bike with the world; little did she realize to what extent she would be sharing that bike with the world.  Her mom said, “Okay you can show your friends, but don’t leave it alone until you get a lock.”  [She should have bought me a damn lock, my mom grumbles as she recounts this story.]  Filled with excitement and happiness, she rode the bike, her glorious new treasure to the community pool where her friends were.  She hurried into the pool area, rounded up her friends, “Hey guys, come look at what I got!”  When she returned, the bike was gone.  Gone in 60 seconds, literally.  Her mom drove her all over town looking for it, to no avail.  She had nothing to show for all her hard work but tears.  And she never saw the bike again.

Sadly, this all too true story serves as somewhat of a metaphor for those working class people who work hard, and yet do not get to reap the fruits of their labors, but instead of bikes being stolen the years, hours, and minutes of their lives are stolen.

Story by my mom

Written by her son Aguilar Elliot

the Samurai and the Astrologer

On the eve of a great battle, Miyamoto Musashi (a samurai who lived from 1584-1645) noticed that the daimyo (samurai lord) with whom he had taken service seemed unable to focus on the impeding battle.  Asked what was the matter, the daimyo told Musashi that an astrologer had predicted that he, the daimyo, would soon die.  Shocked by this, Musashi called for the astrologer in the daimyo’s presence.  When the astrologer presented himself, Musashi questioned the wizard:

“Where do you get information that our lord will soon die?” Musashi asked.

“All is written in the stars,” the astrologer answered cryptically.

“And when do the stars say you will die?” Musashi asked.

“The stars predict that I will live a long life, find fame, and fortune, and have many offspring!”  the wizard proclaimed confidently.

At this point, Musashi’s sword separated the wizard’s head from his shoulders.  Placing the head of the astrologer at the feet of the shocked daimyo, Musashi explained to the samurai lord: “If a man is unable to predict his own fate, what hope has he of predicting the fate of others?”

(found this in the book Mind Manipulation: Ancient and Modern Ninja Techniques by Dr. Haha Lung and Christopher Prowant)

Why I have never owned a Cell Phone

I am 27 years old.  I live in the modern world.  I am of sound mind (I think).  And I have never owned a cell phone.  I have never texted anyone.  Please don’t throw me to the wolves.

I would not classify myself as a technology hating Luddite.  I understand that without technology, I would not have a great many things that I enjoy.  I would be nearly blind, because my crappy vision requires me to wear contacts.  I would be melting in this scorching Houston heat without air conditioning.  And I would not be typing up this blog, if it were not for technological innovations.  So it would be hypocritical of me to make a blanket statement vilifying technology.  I don’t think material objects are inherently good or evil.  Things are just things with no moral sensibilities, although it might be interesting if objects like say toasters could make right and wrong choices.

I think with me, it’s just that I possess a simple nature.  I don’t have a great desire to accumulate a treasure trove of technological treats.  I don’t care to keep up with the latest gadgets and gizmos; it’s just not my style.  I’m very much a person content with the interior life.  I don’t have to always be looking outwards for satisfaction.  I don’t need crazy amounts of extravagant external stimuli to keep me occupied and happy.

Some of my friends have told me that cell phones would make my life simpler, thus giving me what I want, but I draw a distinction between simplicity and convenience.  Cell phones would certainly make my life more convenient.  I could much better coordinate activities with friends.  I could get directions when I’m lost in a forest.  I could call for help when my car breaks down.  But a cell phone would not automatically make my life simple.  A cell phone would be another thing, another material possession that I would have to worry myself about maintaining and safeguarding.  It would be something else that I would have to spend money to acquire and upkeep.   And in general, I just have a value for limiting the amount of possessions I own. 

That said I’m not discounting the possibility of ever owning a cell phone.  But as of right now it’s not something I feel like I just have to have in order to derive meaning and contentment from this world.  

a Dream

Last night I dreamt that a group of politicians were in a dark board room with a long rectangular table that seemed to go on forever, well at least I couldn’t see the end of it.  They debated what they considered to be a very “serious” issue – Traffic Control.  Everyone kept shouting about how dangerously congested the traffic was becoming, and that something needed to be done or else people might have to wait for days in traffic.  It was like the ridiculous war room scene in the film Dr. Strangelove (“There’s no fighting in the war room!”).  People yelled out all these different plans of which I had a hard time understanding because so many people were screaming at the same time.  After bickering for what I guessed to be several minutes, they finally exclaimed together, “We have a solution!”  How they got a solution in all that madness is beyond me.  Well, they agreed to rig all the major highways and bridges with nuclear bombs and detonate them during peak traffic hours.  After that, I was somehow transported near a large bridge filled with cars, and in a matter of moments it was blown to smithereens…  I suppose that’s one way to decrease traffic, albeit an absurd way.

Money, money, money, money, money

I’m a simple man without a great amount of money, nor a great desire for money, but even a cursed fool such as myself recognizes the far reaching power of money into every part of society…  And so here are some thoughts on this whole money matter from other more notable minds than myself.

“If a man runs after money, he’s money mad; if he keeps it, he’s a capitalist; if he spends it, he’s a playboy; if he doesn’t get it, he’s a never-do-well; if he doesn’t try to get it he lacks ambition.  If he gets it without working for it, he’s a parasite; and if he accumulates it after a lifetime of hard work, people call him a fool who never got anything out of life.”

            -Vic Oliver

“Money is coined liberty, and so it is ten times dearer to a man who is deprived of freedom.  If money is jingling in his pocket, he is half consoled, even though he cannot spend it.”

            -Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“The lack of money is the root of all evil.”

            -Mark Twain

“There is only one class in the community that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the poor.  The poor can think of nothing else.”

            -Oscar Wilde

Unconditional LOVE

Oh this word LOVE, this word which has been uttered a zillion times in a zillions ways throughout the course of human history.  And now here I am uttering it a few more times.

LOVE is commonly associated with emotional, erotic elements (and rightly so), but I want to focus on the unselfish facets of LOVE, on the disinterested concepts of LOVE, on the unconditional aspects of LOVE.  This kind of LOVE is not centered on feeling good.  This kind of LOVE transcends feelings.  It goes beyond the internal fluctuations of emotion and mood…  Think of the parents of a newborn child.  I would imagine that it’s not always enjoyable to listen to the incessant cries of an infant, and it’s probably not always enjoyable to be responding to their needs at all hours of the night, but that is LOVE.

Danish philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855) once wrote, “If we wish to assure ourselves that LOVE is entirely disinterested, we must remove every possibility of requital, but this is exactly what happens with respect to the dead, if LOVE perished persists not withstanding this then it is in truth disinterested.  If you therefore wish to prove that you LOVE disinterestedly then sometimes pay attention to how you behave towards the dead.  Much LOVE unquestionably, the most if subjective to a sharper testing would appear to be a selfishness, but the fact of the matter is that in a LOVE relationship between the living there is always a hope of requital, at least of a reciprocated LOVE and this is generally what happens, but this hope together with the requital produces such an effect that one can’t definitely see what is LOVE and what is selfishness.”

The Golden Rule says to treat others how you would like to be treated, but that rule kind of bothers me because I’m not so sure I would want others to treat me as they would like to be treated.  I wouldn’t want a Viking to treat me like a Viking or a mobster to treat me like a mobster and so on and so on.  The extreme ethic of unconditional LOVE goes beyond the golden rule.  Unconditional LOVE says to me that we should treat others better than we would like to be treated, that we should love without terms, without reciprocity, without compromise, that we should LOVE others more than we LOVE ourselves.  Unconditional LOVE urges us to break free from the singular concept of “me” and embrace the plural concept of “we.”

___________________________________________________________________________

And on a different note, I would like to thank Mr. David Powers King for bestowing upon me the "Blog on Fire award."  Much LOVE, chief.

Emma Goldman

 
What is patriotism? Is it love of one's birthplace, the place of childhood's recollections and hopes, dreams and aspirations? Is it the place where, in childlike naivete, we would watch the passing clouds, and wonder why we, too, could not float so swiftly? The place where we would count the milliard glittering stars, terror-stricken lest each one "an eye should be," piercing the very depths of our little souls? Is it the place where we would listen to the music of the birds and long to have wings to fly, even as they, to distant lands? Or is it the place where we would sit on Mother's knee, enraptured by tales of great deeds and conquests? In short, is it love for the spot, every inch representing dear and precious recollections of a happy, joyous and playful childhood?
 
If that were patriotism, few American men of today would be called upon to be patriotic, since the place of play has been turned into factory, mill, and mine, while deepening sounds of machinery have replaced the music of the birds. No longer can we hear the tales of great deeds, for the stories our mothers tell today are but those of sorrow, tears and grief.
 
What, then, is patriotism? "Patriotism, sir, is the last resort of scoundrels," said Dr. [Samuel] Johnson. Leo Tolstoy, the greatest anti-patriot of our time, defines patriotism as the principle that will justify the training of wholesale murderers; a trade that requires better equipment in the exercise of man-killing than the making of such necessities as shoes, clothing, and houses; a trade that guarantees better returns and greater glory than that of the honest workingman...

Indeed, conceit, arrogance and egotism are the essentials of patriotism. Let me illustrate. Patriotism assumes that our globe is divided into little spots, each one surrounded by an iron gate. Those who have had the fortune of being born on some particular spot consider themselves nobler, better, grander, more intelligent than those living beings inhabiting any other spot. It is, therefore, the duty of everyone living on that chosen spot to fight, kill and die in the attempt to impose his superiority upon all the others. The inhabitants of the other spots reason in like manner, of course, with the result that from early infancy the mind of the child is provided with blood-curdling stories about the Germans, the French, the Italians, Russians, etc. When the child has reached manhood he is thoroughly saturated with the belief that he is chosen by the Lord himself to defend his country against the attack or invasion of any foreigner. It is for that purpose that we are clamoring for a greater army and navy, more battleships and ammunition...

-by Emma Goldman in the year 1908 San Francisco, California

Dave, the prostitute, and I

One day a few years ago, my friend Dave and I were driving home from the north side of Houston, TX, near Bush Intercontinental Airport.  My car was low on gas, so we stopped at a Chevron, and as soon I walked out of my car, a rather large scantily clad black woman made eye contact with me.  Immediately, she asked me if I had 8 cents (and mind you this isn’t the 1920s when 8 cents had much more buying power).  Before I could even reply she said, “I’ll give you head for it.”  I said, “No thank you mam, but you can ask my friend.”  I pointed to the passenger seat.  The prostitute walked over to his side, knocked on the door, Dave opened it, and they began to converse.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after a minute or so, she left us and walked into the gas station.  As I paid for the gas with my debit card, she came out, and approached me again saying, “You know you want some of this,” as she held her breasts.  I said, “I don’t believe in subjugating women, using them like material objects - that’s not my mentality.” (Yes I really said that!)  The prostitute then replied, “If you won’t fuck me then feed me.”  I thought about that for a minute.  I thought about caring for others and what that really meant to me.  So I said, “Okay… there’s a Burger King across the street, you wanna go there?”  She said, “Yeah, yeah...”  She hopped in the backseat of my car, and I drove her to the Burger King. 

(In retrospect, this might not have been the wisest decision, considering that any number of things could have gone wrong – she could have had drugs on her, the police could have suspected me of trying to use a prostitute, she could have went nuts, who knows…  The radical side of me wanted to forget all those things and just embrace loving others at any cost regardless of the consequences.  I suppose living up to ideals can be somewhat risky in a less than ideal world.) 

Well, we arrived at the Burger King.  And walking into it was such a…umm…awkward experience.  There we were, my friend and I with a woman dressed in hooker garb, and then I pulled out some cash money and paid for her meal.  I’m pretty sure I was misconstrued as her pimp to the people there.  I bought her a burger, and then I told her it was splitting time.  She thanked me for the food, and that was the end of that.

Ridiculous Movie Posters

I've seen this flick, and the only thing I really remember is that at the beginning a lightning bolt strikes Bruce Lee's grave, and some fake Bruce Lee looking dude pops out of it, and starts beating people up.  I think I purposely blocked the rest of the story out of my mind.

Oh the trials and tribulations of being a two headed giant - having to choose between loving and killing.  Alas, tough decisions have to be made, such is life.

We all knew it was just a matter of time before dolphins started assassinating our world leaders.

Uhh... what is that baby monster in the middle smoking?

Lord have mercy.

Nootka Tribal Song

You only achieve this with old age:

                        I look like a sea-parrot

                        with white patches

                        on each side of my head.

Try to become old as fast as you can.

                        I look so handsome.

-Author Unknown

Enter the Whoop Ass

Hello, my name is Mr. Whoop Ass.  There’s only one thing about me you need to know – If you piss me off, be expecting an ass whooping…

One day I was on my laptop clunking my way through cyberspace when I received a message: “Alert your computer has been hijacked.  All of your files are compromised.”  My computer went into lockdown mode, and I could not use it anymore.  I proceeded to punch a hole in the wall.  Afterwards, I took my laptop to a computer savvy friend.  This friend told me that someone named Blake Todd from 312 Zap Lane, Olympia, Washington, Apartment #848 put the virus on my computer. 

The next day, I hopped on a train and took a few buses to Olympia.  I found the apartment complex rather easily.  I jumped the fence and walked straight to apartment #848.  I busted through the door.  Nothing was in the main room except a few empty pizza boxes.  There were two signs on the bedroom door – “Viruses Rule” and “I hate human beings.”  I kicked the door down.  There sat a pudgy, curly haired middle aged man wearing nothing but underwear furiously typing into a keyboard, playing a game with ghouls and goblins.  I tapped him on the shoulder, and he swiftly turned around, snarled and then said, “Who the hell are you?!  What are you doing here?!”

I replied, “Hello, my name is Mr. Whoop Ass.  I heard you like to create computer viruses.  I think you can guess what happens next.”

Prison Conversations

[The following words are excerpts from back and forth letters between myself and my imprisoned homie – Prince]

Me: Yo Prince, this is Elliot...  Man, this life can be such a cruel bastard.  I feel for you.  I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes, but I feel for you.  I just wanted to let you know I haven’t forgotten you and I never will.  No matter what the world says about you, no matter what labels they put on you, I’ll always hold you in high regard.  Ever since we’ve been friends, you’ve been an extremely loyal person, and I always respected you for that… Please let me know how you’re doing in there.   Do they let you hoop?  Your mom told me you just got into a fight with some dude.  It seems as though the gladiator spirit is still in you. 

Prince: Dear E-man, What’s good bro, how you doing?  I hope and pray that you’re fairing well…  To be brutally honest and real, (don’t take this the wrong way), but I didn’t really expect to hear from or communicate with any of you guys until I made it home.  So I was kind of surprised when the guard dropped off the letter and it had your name on it, but still it was like a breath of fresh air to hear from you and I appreciate it man, because it really gave me a good feeling, and more than that it was a reminder to me that I will be coming home soon and that there are folks outside of my daughter, mom and immediate family that actually do care about me and keep me in their thoughts. (Thanks.)… Yea I’m fine man, thanks for asking.  I did get into a lil’ bullshit squabble not too long ago though, nothing major, I just had to touch this guy up a lil’ bit.  I broke his jaw, but inadvertently broke my fuckin’ hand, but I think it’s pretty much healed up now…  This shit bothers me more mentally than anything, knowing that I’m missing valuable years from my own life that I can’t get back; Man I just turned 25 this July on the 23^rd, and since I was 15 or 16, I been in and out of fuckin’ jail, that’s 10 yrs Elliot dog 10 yr!!!  And I’m tired of this shit man, and I’m getting old, well not getting old, but Time ain’t slowing down or making no exemptions or exceptions for no one.  That’s what bothers me dog, but I’ll never let it break me ya dig.  I just use this whole experience as an opportunity to better and build myself physically, and enlighten myself intellectually and spiritually... Yea they do let us hoop, we go to rec for 2 hours everyday, but I don’t play ball as much as I used to because these niggas cry too fuckin much, and if you hoop you gotta expect some kind of whiny bullshit drama to come with it, and you know sometimes I snap kind of quick, and here it’s all about respect, and if someone disrespects you, you have to handle it accordingly on the spot… I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to write me to make sure I’m still breathing.  I always knew you were one of my true comrades and I thank you for recognizing and returning the loyalty that I’ve displayed over the years… It’s extremely hard to find loyalty, honor and integrity amongst your friends, peers, and mankind period as a whole.  Man it’s motherfuckas that I put my life on the line for, gave my last dollar to, and put their well-being before my own, time and time again, and I ain’t heard shit from them.  Not that I expect them to or hold it against them in anyway, because one thing I’ve learned about people, is not to get your hopes high and put all of your repose into a person, because that person can only be his or herself, and you can’t expect anything more or less from them, and you have to learn to accept that person for whoever he or she is flaws, faults and all, but the catch to me is doing that while maintaining your righteousness and not subjugating to the immoral and subpar standards and dogmas that overshadow their life in negative unproductive ways.

Me: I should have known you’d be holding it down wherever you find yourself, but I just had to check up on your well being anyway.  I didn’t want to have to embark upon a ruthless RAMPAGE!  Man, I’m glad you haven’t lost hope, and that your heart is still crazy strong despite everything.  There’s no sense in giving up until you breathe your last dying breath.

As for me, I’ve just been trying to find my way… I don’t know, truthfully in my heart of hearts, I’d really like to just wander the earth and write stories.  My thoughts always get caught up in the eternal perspective, and how I view my position within the grand scheme of things.  I mean you only got 75 years to do what you gotta do, and then this earthly existence is finished.  I just want to be a simple man that tried his best to live out his heart.

Prince: You know I’m still holdin’ it down, tryin’ to turn a negative into a positive, and make the best of my situation (HOPE IS STILL ALIVE!!!)…  You can never let go of your dream, not sayin’ that you have, but you have to actively grind, go after and stay in constant pursuit of the goals in your heart.

Me: You’re right about pursuing your dreams, about it being a total effort, something that consumes you daily.  It seems that most people have to pay a steep price in order to follow their heart… In the end, I feel as though when I’m writing stories I’m doing what I need to be doing, fulfilling my purpose, embracing my essence, at least that’s how it feels, I could just be a loon.

Prince: I have a lot of lucrative ideas, (legal) ideas that I could use some help with.  I mainly want to help at risk youth, you know kids that are like how I was when I was young.  I want to start a Boy’s and Girl’s home for kids that have become wards of the state, and provide them with righteous activities, so when they get to that fork in the road, they pick the Right path and choose not to venture down the wrong one like I did.  That’s just one of my goals I plan on achieving throughout my philanthropic journey through this enigmatic life.

Me:  The Boys and Girls Club idea sounds like an idea worth trying.  It’s hard out there when you’re a young person in this world trying to figure things out, and you don’t know what the hell you really want or what you really stand for, and it’s even harder for those that don’t have many positive influences surrounding them as they grow into adults.  So any organization or institution that can help the young ones realize their inner essence, realize their meaning is something I think is worthwhile, and helpful to society at large.  Maybe you might want to try volunteering at various Boys and Girls clubs to get an idea of how they run their operation.  I definitely think you have a lot to offer to others considering your vast experiential knowledge, and your heart. 

Prince: I want to help these kids become great adults, all the while leading them down industrial work paths; politics, entertainment, military, the oil fields, education, social work, law enforcement, etc.  This is on a wider, more futuristic long term scale, but did you ever see the movie, “The Departed.”  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that we use our influence over anyone for ill means, but if you remember the movie, Jack Nicholson raised Matt Damon in a literal and figurative sense; pickin the certain schools he went to, the programs he partook in and the kids he hung around with, all the way up to him going through the police academy and becoming a detective.  Now remember I’m not saying that we should take advantage or use anyone for anything derogatory, but can you kind of see where I’m going with this, (The children really are truly are our future) and I say that to ask you, don’t you think We should have more authority, and influence over what goes on in our future.

Me:  The children are indeed our future, although they are a tough thing to manage, given that there are all these forces outside of our control determining how children grow up – biology, society, peers, parenting, etc.  At the societal level there is always a need for programs to specifically target the youth, particularly those of the impoverished lower class, there is always a need for people to establish those types of programs, to run those types of programs, and get funding for those types of programs.  And then at the personal level it’s obvious that children imitate what they see, they learn from us and if they see bad things there is a high probability they’ll be into bad things, so setting those positive examples of how a person should conduct themselves is a vital step in the process.  But when I think about all these matters, I know that I can sometimes get too caught up in idealism and I have to remind myself about the way this world operates, because making real changes in society is a hard and slow process - we’re up against so many established forces that are bigger than us, and it kind of makes me feel pathetic, powerless and paralyzed when I really think about it, but I try not to lose heart, even when I’m up against the goliath that is society, I always remember the story of David, and that even a goliath can be killed by the smallest of people, if god so wills it.

Prince: As far as the comments you made about us making a change, and trying not to lose heart because of the established forces that we are up against.  This is a rhetorical fact that we all know, “Nothing happens over night, and nothing worth having comes instantly.”  I say that to say that no matter what may be ahead of you, nothing is impossible, and anything can be accomplished through diligence, dedication, determination, and discipline.  The big corporate giants and established forces, didn’t become that strong and powerful within the blink of an eye, neither will they be dismantled and brought under complete subjugation with the snap of my fingers, but it can and will happen.  It has happened in the past and it will again, an example being the biggest institution that America was built upon “Slavery.”  It took years of war physical and political, but so God willed it like you said and so it was abolished.  The first step in any process is truly believing wholeheartedly and having indomitable faith in your cause, and that will ultimately manifest that idea into the inner fibers of the universe.  (Believe)

Me: I can feel the hopefulness and confidence through the strength of your words.  I know this world would have to kill you before they could crush your spirit… 

Prince:  One thing I can thank this place for is reuniting me with my thirst for wisdom, knowledge and understanding, reintroducing me with the euphoric joy and fulfillment a true pupil of life and the universe receives from learning, refamiliarizing me with the strength, power, respect, and admiration you encounter from friends, followers, and even foes when you have a highly spiritually enlightened aura and simplistically Divine way of thinking and reasoning… When I come home, I plan to work, and work my plans until they work for me.  I’m a “3 time felon,” more than that if you count my juvenile record, which these hypocritical, contradictional, porky the pig mother fuckers always do, so putting my dreams on hold isn’t an option, because I know this isn’t all I got, but I have an undying faith that this is the main reason that God put me here; and I will fulfill my prewritten destiny, with only God alone if I have to.

Me: I recently ran into a bit of misfortune.  I totaled my car, which wasn’t so bad a situation, because no one got hurt, although the lady I crashed into was rather annoying.  She kept asking me “Why did you crash into me?”  I had an urge to be cruel and say, “Well, because I love crashing into people.  It’s my thing.”  I kept my cool, and didn’t say anything mean, despite my urges to do so.  And then on that same day, my grandpa (on my dad’s side) passed away into the great beyond.  You know when your blood dies it just feels like a part of you dies.  I know his spirit and his name will live on in me, so that gives me comfort.  It just really makes you think how temporary and fleeting this life thing really is. 

I wanted to ask your permission to publish parts of the letters you have sent me on my blog.  Partly, because I think you have enlightening things to say.  And partly, because I really want to include the thoughts and ideas of those who have helped shape and mold my mindset.  If you don’t want me to, I’ll respect that, I just thought I’d run it by you.

Prince: I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.  May he R.I.P.  Tell your pops and the rest of the fam I send my love, prayers and condolences, but I’m sure that life and age has granted you both the wisdom to realize that we all have our time here… It’s not like I’m scared of death, because me and him/her whichever form it chooses to take, have had more conversations than I’d like to recall.  But what bugs me is like what I said before about us only having a certain amount of time here.  Now, how do you tell a person that is so affectionately in love with life itself, OK it’s check out time.  But I know everything isn’t meant for us to understand because we are only half god; supreme beings rulers of the planet!  The other half human, emotional, instinctive, natural animalistic drones…  Hopefully by the time I’m 35 or 40 they’ll have created an immortality serum…  And in regard to you airing our written conversations, of course it’s cool with me.  I’m brutally honest.  I don’t have shit to hide from anyone…  Most folks that are incarcerated will tell you that time on the inside moves slow, and it may seem like that at first glance but once you get a firm grasp on your reality in here, and get a true understanding, thus receiving a moment of cosmic consummation about how time in here works, you actually find yourself at the realization of how fast time really is moving…in here, because in the world a lot of people take time for granted unbeknownst to the fact that you’re in an extremely accelerated format of time, but sometimes this is what it takes for regular people to comprehend fully the inner workings of time and what’s at stake.

If I were...

If I were a word I would be “absurd.”

If I were a book I would be written sdrawkcab.

If I were a tree I would grow twinkies.

If I were a koala bear I would wear a three piece suit.

If I were a dwarf I would carry a sixteen foot jousting lance.

If I were a ghost I would be friendly.

If I were a snowman I would be abominable.

If I were a toy I would be a puppet without strings.

If I were a gun I would shoot flowers.

If I were a game I would be a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.

Bonnie and Clyde

poem from the 1969 Bonnie and Clyde film…

You've heard the story of Jesse James

Of how he lived and died

If you're still in need

Of something to read

Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang

I'm sure you all have read

How they rob and steal

And those who squeal

Are usually found dyin' or dead.

They call them cold-hearted killers

They say they are heartless and mean

But I say this with pride

That I once knew Clyde

When he was honest and upright and clean.

But the laws fooled around

Kept takin' him down

And lockin' him up in a cell

Till he said to me: "I'll never be free

So I'll meet a few of them in Hell."

If a policeman is killed in Dallas

And they have no clue to guide

If they can't find a fiend

They just wipe their slate clean

And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde

If they try to act like citizens

And rent them a nice little flat

About the third night

They're invited to fight

By a sub-guns' rat-a-tat-tat.

Some day, they'll go down together

They'll bury them side by side

To a few, it'll be grief

To the law, a relief

But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

The ending sequence where Bonnie and Clyde meet their demise is among my favorites in cinema history.  They’re riding in a car, Bonnie pulls out a pear, takes a bite, and then offers it to Clyde, and he bites from the same spot, very Adam and Eve like.  That sharing of the fruit, that symbolic sharing of fate is just such a romantic, poetic moment (given the context of what will befall them).  After the pear, they stop along the side of the road to help someone they think to be their friend, but he’s really a traitor setting them up for the cops.  As soon as Clyde gets out of the car, a flock of birds flutter away from the scene, as if they sense the imminent danger.  The cops burst out of the bushes with tommy guns and unload what seems like a million rounds in them - an ultra violent death for ultra violent people.  I’m not too violent of a man myself, and I’m not particularly looking forward to death, but if I had to pick a way to leave this world, the Bonnie and Clyde route of going down in a barrage of fire with the woman I love is probably in my top desirable deaths, right after spontaneous combustion. 

Six Word Stories

Love Triangle - Me, Rosario, and Godzilla.

Lost and Found: futuristic ray gun

Horrible boss.  Samurai sword.  Problem solved.

Inspired by Ernest Hemmingway’s famous six word story: “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”

july twenty first two thousand and six

I spell these words out for a reason

not to dramatize the meanin'

but to show you what i'm feelin'

am i dreamin'

or does my life really have me reelin'?

Is my religion such a cause for concern?

or is it my race that makes you spurn?

why do you hate me?

weren't you supposedly built on unity?

I know i'm not an aboriginal,

but does that mean you should treat me like a criminal?

They took me away as i looked in my mom's crying eyes

not giving me an opportunity to say my goodbyes

They tell me my appeal has been refused

but my ego cannot be bruised.

As they take me away to my new place,

They cuff my hands putting me through more disgrace

But remember my face

Because this smile you'll never erase.

As I arrive in my cell,

I remind myself this isn't a place for me to dwell

I don't belong in this man made hell.

I know this game is just a business

For ICE I'm just another purchase

I go to my bunk as I realize the reality

And try to sleep before I lose my sanity

As the murky shadows start to clear

I realize I have nothing to fear

Rest assured that I won't stop

This is my way out

I'm not doing this for some widespread acclaim

Because in the end we're all the same.

Written by A079 005 390...  [These letters and numbers identify someone who has been caught up and crushed in what can be the cruel and unjust machine of American legalism, and though this machine has a way of grinding people down to nothing, it did not, and will never have the power to whittle down the heart and spirit of this man (A079 005 390) - one of my closest amigos] 

Commencement - University of Texas

[The following speech was given to the graduating class for the School of Social Work by Dave Kalloor – one of the mighty nonviolent foot soldiers marching into the horizon of higher consciousness, and forever my beloved comrade.]

MSSW Class of 2011 how does it feel to be done?!  We never thought we’d see the day, did we?  I brought my phone up here so that my dear friend Asad could be among us, everyone say hi to him!  It’s a great honor to be up here today.  I’d like to dedicate this speech to all the people who have helped me on this journey to live a life of passion, meaning, and humor – you know who you are out there.  I’m a little nervous right now.  Thankfully, I did some deep breathing this morning, along with CBT, EMDR, exposure therapy, motivational interviewing, scaling questions, positive self-talk, 11 affirmations.  Ok maybe a little too much, I think I’m good to go.

When I got the word that I’d have the chance to give the commencement address, I thought, “Hmm… I’m giving a speech on behalf of 200 already passionate and motivated human beings.”  We’ve paid thousands of dollars to learn how to better serve humanity, watched inspiring TED videos on our spare time, and we know who we are inside and out thanks to the 250-300 reflection papers we’ve been forced to write.  What can I possibly say to yall today?  Oh wait, I hear something, it’s…it’s…a familiar voice… 'Dave, this is Professor Sudolsky!  This is no time to be sharing your feelings!  You are getting a Masters of Science in Social Work!  Make us proud!  OK!!'  Wait... I'm hearing some interference... Kathy Armenta?  'Hey Dave, you’ve trusted the process, well done.  Validate and normalize, and you can’t go wrong today.  Validate and normalize.  YEAH!  Juicy stuff.'  Wow yall, that’s some good feedback.  Speaking of Kathy, I’d like to give a special shout-out to my amazing cohort, Armenta’s Army in the house, wooooooo.  I wouldn’t be who I am today without you all.

MUNTU!  A word I learned last year from Natalie Goodnow, an actress in Austin.  It’s a word of the Kikongo language in the Dominican Republic that means both TREE and PERSON.  When I first heard it, I wasn’t really sure how it made sense but then I thought about it a little more.  I mean… we’re both alive, we both grow and change, and I’d argue, we’re both rooted in something.  When I think of our experiences together the last few years, I would say our graduating class is rooted in our core value of building significant relationships, lasting connections, both with one another and more importantly, with the people we serve.  I mean, no matter how different we are in age, gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, class, style, personality, carnivore, herbivore, vegan, freegan (you know what I mean), think about the bonds we’ve created with one another. 

So my fellow Muntu, what are the moments that have watered our soil and helped our roots grow a little deeper?

Well there’s my personal favorite…awkward moments.  Like the first time you watched yourself social working a classmate in a video role play.  Yeah awkward.  How about when you had to confront someone in a group project who was slacking off?  Super awkward.  OR that time at Bennu, it was 2 AM, you were on your third cup of coffee, and everyone turned around as you cussed out the literature review on your laptop.  Yeah I was that guy.

Some of our most powerful moments came outside of class.  Like during our first week of the program when they sent us out to find social services in Austin without a car or a cell phone.  You forgot about that, didn’t you?  OR the massive bake sales we organized for the Haiti earthquake and Pakistan floods (oh we KNOW how to throw a freakin bake sale!!!).  What about when groups of us drove to Raymondville, Texas to march against the Tent City immigrant detention center.  OR more recently, marched to the Capitol to speak out against unjust bills and budget cuts.

Then, there’s the moments that truly spoke to us.  Many of them happened at internship, where we got pretty used to hearing the F word……FEEDBACK…from our supervisors!  We connected with our clients, our fellow Muntu who were ignored or being uprooted.  Like when a client who’s experienced violence and oppression learned to trust us because we helped them feel safe.  OR When we witnessed someone with mental illness write a poem for their daughter instead of ending their life the night before.  Some of us listened and advocated for students who weren’t being heard by their peers or teachers, while others of us sat next to people’s bedsides to ensure that they died with dignity.  With the legislature in session, a few of our friends worked 50 or 60 hour weeks in the Capitol, while others noticed a ripple effect in their organization because they chose to speak up when others would not.  At the end of the day, I hope that we remember that no matter how fancy our intervention, it is this connection and trust, this rootedness between one human being and another, one group of people and another, that will make a difference.

So what now?  When we fall asleep in our gowns tonight after a night of pure debauchery, what’s going to keep us going in the morning?  What will sustain us?  We all know the answer to this question.

Martin Luther King, Jr. knew the answer when he reminded America of the fierce urgency of now.  When he said that, “This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.”  Malalai Joya, a 25-yr-old social worker in Afghanistan, knew the answer when she was expelled from her position in 2007 after denouncing the presence of warlords in the Afghan parliament who oppress her people and inhibit peace.  She continues to speak out today.  Sunitha Krishnan, a social worker in India, knew the answer, when she started a small education program for the children of women in prostitution.  She now manages one of the most successful anti-trafficking organizations in her country.

Instead of taking a seat among the powerful, they all chose to stand with the powerless.  Our muntu are around the world, we are interconnected and alive.  And we all share an unwavering passion for what we do.

Yesterday, my mom brought me a jasmine flower from our backyard in Houston.  I’d like to end with a story that she once told me.  When my mom was a young girl in India, she would go outside at night and sit in front of the vast field of jasmine bushes.  On her right side was her father and on the other side, her grandfather.  They would spend hours just sitting amongst the jasmine flowers blooming in the night.  She told me that as they bloomed, the collective fragrance that the flowers let out was incredible.

Over the last 2 or 3 years, through the moments of doubt, pain, and struggle, we’ve watched each other bloom, watched each other wake up.  Our loved ones in the audience, they’ve sat through the night, watching us grow and stand out in the darkness, and, in this very moment…they notice our fragrance.  It smells of compassion…dignity…laughter…justice…and love.  MSSW Class of 2011, remember that we are jasmine, blooming in the night, ready for the dawn to come.  We are Muntu.  We…are social workers!  ONWARD!

self portrait

skin of the WHITE ghost.

blood of the BROWN man.

heart of the RED warriors.

mind of the BLACK panther.

spirit of the GREEN forest.

brother of the YELLOW people.

son of the GRAY clouds.

disciple of the BLUE ocean.

Weaver

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colors, He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper but I the underside.

Until the loom is silent, and the shuttles cease to fly,

Will God unfold the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver’s Hand

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

By Benjamin Malachi Franklin

(no, not the Benjy who flew a kite during a thunderstorm)

This particular poem is a favorite of my friend, Ariel (no, not the Little Mermaid), and in honor of the awesomeness that is her I have shared it with you.  And apparently, she discovered the poem in Corrie Ten Boom’s book, “Tramp for the Lord.”  (Ten Boom, what a far out, groovy name.)

We've IDed Geronimo

Those were the words spoken to President Obama and his staff, when special ops military personnel confirmed the location of Osama Bin Laden, minutes before destroying him.  (See these two articles for more details on the matter: time and associated press.)  Apparently the powers that be thought it was fitting to give Bin Laden the codename Geronimo.  Was it their intention to equate the face of terrorism with the face of Native American resistance?  I certainly hope not, but nonetheless this irks the shit out of me.  Geronimo was fighting against an oppressive force that was moving in on his homeland that was exterminating his people and his culture.  Bin Laden, on the other hand, instigated attacks against America for its global policy, for its ever growing influence, and for its friendship with Israel.  These two men had vastly different agendas with vastly different motivations.  If Geronimo had swam across the Atlantic Ocean to England, and started scalping random British people, then maybe he might be more comparable to Bin Laden.  And if they wanted to get a more accurate code name for Bin Laden, they should have used Christopher Columbus, Andrew Jackson, or anyone else who unjustly terrorized others, not Geronimo.  I wonder if the White House staff refers to Kim Jong-il as Crazy Horse?  Fidel Castro as Sitting Bull?  Throughout American History, the First Nations People have continually been treated like crap, continually been disregarded, and this is just another blatant example of that.

A Story from my Blood

I have always romanticized DEATH, thought that dying young was equivalent to eternal youth.  I liked the idea of remaining untarnished by time and being remembered for what my life could have been.

‘How sad,’ they would think, ‘she had her whole wonderful future ahead of her.’  

It is only now when DEATH has introduced itself to me that I see things differently.  All I can think is, “I’m not ready to go.”  But DEATH grabs me by the hand, and says, “You’re coming with me.”

I am dragged through a corridor of holographic images and instead of seeing my life flash before me, I see his. He is beside me and watches helplessly as DEATH pulls me to Life’s exit door.  All I feel is fear, perhaps it’s fear of the unknown or fear of simply not existing anymore or maybe even fear of the imminent pain I am about to endure.  The feelings of fear are interrupted by a blistering pain in my head where the bullet enters my skull, but it only lasts for a breath and then it ends.  The second right after DEATH is the greatest relief.  Clarity at last.  Peace finally.  Everything was beautiful.  Nothing hurt.  That sounds familiar.

Dying lasts a moment and it lasts an eternity.  Then I wake up again in the body of another being, another shell.  Suddenly everything that was so clear is now just a distant memory and I don’t know whether it was a dream or reality.  I can’t speak.  All I do is cry.  My legs are too weak to walk.  Each day, I remember a little less until my hazy origins completely disappear.  It usually takes a couple of years until I get accustomed to the new shell and accept it as my own.  Once I embrace my fate, I begin fresh.  I learn language and numbers, everything all over again, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember the past life.  The life with him.  Our shells are always different and we never remember each other yet we always seem to find one another.

"I love the gun" original art by my sis, Aguilar Jillian

Written by my sister, Aguilar Jillian (and if you wanna take a look at her more visually stimulating blog thing, then click here)

Edited by the Aguilar Brothers (that’s how my sister and I affectionately refer to ourselves whenever we collaborate)

Why READ?

Reading and writing occupy a large space in my life, and while these two activities are not the be all, end all of what it means for me to be a human being, and nor do I think the participation in such activities is a sure sign of intelligence and wisdom, but I do value reading and writing as forces mobilizing my thoughts into mystical battles of creative combat…  That said, it is kind of ironic to be reading why you should read.  Oh well, here you go.

“Every man who knows how to read has it in his power to magnify himself, to multiply the ways in which he exists, to make his life full, significant and interesting.”

-Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

"Reading is a means of thinking with another person's mind; it forces you to stretch your own"
-Charles Scribner, Jr. (1921-1995)

“My Alma mater was books…  I could spend the rest of my life reading, just satisfying my curiosity.”

-Malcolm X (1925-1965)

"The more that you read, the more things you will know.  The more you learn, the more places you'll go."
-Dr. Seuss (1904-1991)

“I find television very educating.  Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.”

-Groucho Marx (1890-1977)

“Reading makes immigrants of us all.  It takes us away from home, but more important, it finds homes for us everywhere.”

-Jean Rhys (1894-1979)

“You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture.  Just get people to stop reading them.”

-Ray Bradbury (1920 – present)

Pondering Hitler and Human Nature

This man, Hitler, has come to stand for the personification of evil, the worst of the worst, and rightly so considering he was responsible for an inordinate amount of pain and suffering.  I wonder though, did he think that he was doing evil deeds?  Did he believe that he was an evil man?  Or did he think he was doing good deeds?  Did he believe that he was a good man taking the necessary steps for the greater good of humanity?  (And if he did think he was doing good, if he thought he was a good man; he must have some extreme rationalizing skills.)  Does anyone in this world decide that they’re going to be an evil bastard hell bent on doing as many cruel things to harm others as much as they possibly can?  Does anyone set out as their life mission to do their best to be malevolent and hateful?  Or are people labeled as “evil” simply misguided beings thinking that they are workers of good, letting the intended results of their behaviors obscure the means by which they attain those results? 

These matters are tricky because (in an obvious statement of reality) it’s difficult to know for certain what’s exactly happening inside the mind of others.  We do our best to figure it out by making conjectures and hypotheses based on the internal investigation of self and the external observation of others, but even then we’re ultimately guessing, no matter how strong that guess may be.

And to take this pondering in a somewhat different direction, what if we were to use a time machine and visit baby Hitler?  What would be the proper way to approach an innocent little baby that would go onto to become a villain to humanity?  Should we pull a Minority Report and convict him before he commits his crimes?  Or should we take it upon ourselves to try to teach baby Hitler a different way, an alternative lifestyle based on the principles of love and kindness?  How far can teaching go?  Was it written into his DNA to become a diabolical force regardless of circumstance?

No Place like Home: A Texas Story

The below is an account from the mind of a lost boy…

Jerry Stone was a boxer. A hard nosed fighter, whose teeth did the tango when he smiled. Jerry was my father’s best friend and adoring my father the way I did, anyone he loved, so did I. On April 13th, twenty years to the day tomorrow, Jerry was sentenced to twenty years in prison for abiding by his moral code.

You see, Jerry had the heart of a mother seeing her newborn child for the first time, the loyalty of a golden retriever, and the mind of a front line solider at Normandy, and unfortunately, that combination of characteristics doomed him from the start.

Jerry and my father were in Houston, Texas cruising the city after one of Jerry’s fights. He had just won via KO in the first 30 seconds. They decided to pull into to a local country bar, cowboy hats, big trucks, and boots galore. Keep in mind Jerry was born in New York, so this atmosphere was as close to Martian as could be.

Two young Dolly Parton-esk women approached Jerry and my father.  The younger of the two Dollies asked (with a thick Texan drawl) if they were from around those parts. They went on to explain why they were in town, and sensing the opportunity to create some excitement, she sought out the bar bouncer, Bubba.  He walked over to them, assuming that Jerry and my father were starting trouble and asked what the problem was. This was right around the time the younger and bubblier Dolly exclaimed that Jerry was a New York boxer and she was sure he’d kick the shit out of Bubba, who happened to be young Dolly’s ex-boyfriend. Immediately after she said that, she whispered in Jerry’s ear, “I’ll show you the time of your life if you knock him out.”

Again…Keep in mind, Jerry had been boxing for 10 years and his face looked the part. Along with his Christmas light teeth, his face looked like droopy play dough, so the female opportunity at hand didn’t come along very often.  Jerry turned to my father and said, “Bo, I know ya havin’ fun over there, but we gotta get tha hell outta here.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, BOOM, a wooden chair exploded on his back. Instinctually, Jerry turned and Bubba the bouncer was tucked in for the night with a left, right lullaby.

Jerry and my father left the bar, and young Dolly followed in pursuit. As they were in the parking lot my dad opened the back door of the car to let the young lady into their vehicle. She was overjoyed with amazement and gratitude as she began to make out with the two guys. Jerry cracked a smile as this was the first action he has ever had. His whole life had been dedicated to boxing and obeying the golden rule of no sex before a fight and with Jerry always training for the next fight, he never had sex.

During the long ride home, with Jerry driving, the girl’s lips seemed to be more focused on my father. They finally made it back to the Hotel and all three made their way into the room, with my father and young Dolly going at it. Keep in mind this is a tiny room where a cockroach couldn’t find a place to hide. Jerry, being the selfless man he was, left for the lobby to give those two some privacy. It couldn’t have been 15 minutes later and Jerry saw the girl storming out of the hotel. He went back to the room confused and asked my father what happened, to this he replied, “She couldn’t handle the meat I brought to the table.” One thing I failed to mention earlier, if it wasn’t already clear, is the girl was totally wasted at the hillbilly bar. My dad then left and so Jerry was all alone, still sexually frustrated, he rubbed one out and then fell asleep.

6 AM.  Jerry couldn’t have been sleeping longer than an hour and BOOM, the police crashed through the door. Jerry still with his pants down didn’t know what was happening and before you know it he was fighting the officers. 15 cops and 4 cans of tear gas later, they hauled Jerry into the precinct.  They informed him that he was being charged with rape. With Jerry’s DNA all over himself and the bed, things weren’t looking good. Young Dolly entered the holding facility with the bottom half of her skirt drenched in blood and spotted Jerry being processed, and screamed “That’s the man! That’s the man that did this to me!”

Jerry, still confused, sat in a holding cell for the next 48hrs. After learning what happened from the hotel bell hop, my father picked me up early from elementary school and drove over to where they were holding Jerry. Sitting in my dad’s arms, I heard the whole conversation but as a kid I had no idea what it meant. “Jerry,” my father said, “This kid is my life and all I have to live for.” He continued along that path and Jerry looked at him with a smile on his face, and said, “Bo, take that boy back to the howse and don’t look back.” Jerry, being the guy he was, could never have it on his conscience that he was the reason for a child to be without a father. As we left I turned and said in a sweet innocent voice, “Bye uncle Jerry.” Not knowing those words signaled him being put down for the count of twenty years.  Jerry confessed to everything.  The woman had been so heavily under the influence of alcohol that she never knew the difference.

So here I sit…twenty years later, reading the follow up article in the town paper for the first time, analyzing every word with my adult brain.  My father sits across from me, unaware of what I have stumbled upon. I ask nonchalantly, “It looks like Jerry Stone is getting out of jail, weren’t you two best friends?” His response stunned me. “Ya, up until he raped that girl. Don’t you ever go near that guy after he gets out, he’s an animal.” However, I know there is only one animal in this room…

Written by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous
Edited by Aguilar Elliot

Weapons of Mass Destruction

Sticks and Stones,

Words and Hate,

Bows and Arrows,

Greed and Pride,

Swords and Shields,

Ignorance and Racism,

Guns and Bullets,

Injustice and Corruption

Matches and Gelignite,

Communism and Capitalism,

Chemicals and Buttons,

Politics and Fear.

Atomic bombing of Nagasaki - August 9, 1945

The Liberator: “To the Public”

Oppression!  I have seen thee, face to face,

And met thy cruel eye and cloudy brow;

But thy soul-withering glance I fear not now --

For dread to prouder feelings doth give place

Of deep abhorrence!  Scorning the disgrace

Of slavish knees that at thy footstool bow,

I also kneel – but with far other vow

Do hail thee and thy hord of hirelings base: --

I swear, while life-blood warms my throbbing veins,

Still to oppose and thwart, with heart and hand,

Thy brutalising sway – till Afric’s chains

Are burst, and Freedom rules the rescued land, --

Trampling Oppression and his iron rod:

Such is the vow I take – SO HELP ME GOD!

William Lloyd Garrison

January 1, 1831

"Broken Chains" by James Reade

Abuelo

The last time I saw my grandpa (on my dad’s side) alive he was eighty nine years old, bedridden, decrepit, missing teeth, dying of cancer, and all this with a smile on his face.  He was a mirror to my projected future – old age, sickness and death.  Like Ashvaghosha’s Life of Buddha I was the perturbed Prince encountering the all too real truths of life.  And during this encounter, my grandpa and I tried our best to speak to one another, but that had always been a difficult endeavor because he spoke only Spanish, and I understand only bits and pieces of it.  And on top of that it took him a lot of energy just to say a few words, and many of those words were slurred and mumbled.  One of my cousins stepped in to serve as interpreter the best she could.  After we discussed various matters pertaining to our mutual lives, I asked if he was up for a game of dominoes, his favorite game and mine too.  He said (with a hint of embarrassment) that he had forgotten how to play.  And that struck me to the core, not that I wanted to play dominoes that bad, or that the game itself was even that important, but the idea that he forgot how to play something he loved so much was so, so symbolic of him dying to this world.  Picture Michael Jordan on his deathbed forgetting what the game of basketball was or Muhammad Ali forgetting about boxing.  That just wouldn’t be right, but that’s how it was.  Eventually, it came time for us to say our goodbyes, and his last words to me were, “Nunca olvides que tu madre y tu padre” (“Never forget your mother and your father”).  These words will always be kept in my heart, but I must admit I’m glad he didn’t say - never DISOBEY your mother and your father because that would be a much more trying task.

When I was in my child form, my grandpa would always tell me that I should be an astronauta (astronaut), which is something that never really interested me.  I just was never much into physics and spaceships and black holes.  Stuff like Star Trek didn’t appeal to me.  But now that he has vanished into the great beyond, a little something inside me kind of wishes I could maybe go to the moon, or Mars, or some distant universe.  I'm not sure what I would do if I ever actually went into outer space, but maybe I would simply look out into the heavens and say, “Estoy aqui abuelo.  Estoy aqui.”

Leran's Short Story

I Remember When I Got Caught Shoplifting at Wal-Mart

            Raging bodily chemicals.  Puberty.  Thirteen years of age.  That was probably the most awkward time of my still very short life.  I could sum up this particular experience (of which I will soon describe to you) with a million excuses:  my parents didn’t love me, my friends were doing it, or a personal favorite - the devil made me do it.  Unfortunately, I will have to take responsibility for my actions.  Kleptomania.  I just loved to steal, the thrill of beating the system.  It was so easy, how could I stop, having a rush every time I did it.  So why did I stop, and how could that day have had such an impact on my life?

            Well one day, as far as I can remember a weekend day, Mr. Sticky-fingers (A.K.A. the narrator) decided he needed to liven up his evening.  Well, since I usually went solo on my thieving escapades, it was strange of me to pull a stunt like this when I rode up there with my parents.  Being a hormonally unbalanced adolescent, it made total sense to me.  I had a creative plan on how to do it, too.  The objective was to steal prepackaged assortment of “The Savage Dragon” issues 1, 2, and 3.  The way I went about it was I bought a copy of “Daredevil,” and put it in one of those blue plastic shopper bags.  I entered the foodateria with it, and then moments later I reentered the store.  Ingenious plan to a naïve little eighth grader.  Wow, I still remember how proud of myself I was.  Back to my formally referred to ingenious plan:  I finally sneaked back into the isle, grabbed the object of my desires and bagged it.  Then it was time to split.  As I walked towards the exit, my conscience grabbed hold of me.  I eventually broke its grip in a matter of a few rapidly passing seconds, again showing my great character and strong moral fiber.

            Just as I left Wal-Mart, moments away from proclaiming my manhood to the world, a gentle tap on the shoulder and a whisper to the ear took place.  A blow so devastating its furiousity has yet to be matched in the years that I’ve been on earth.  I was overcome with a fear that was unimaginable just ten seconds earlier when I marched in triumph.  By the way those whispering words were, “Come with me.”  A far cry from, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” but it too left its impact on the universe of my soul.  “Fall from Grace” was inscribed across the cover of the Daredevil comic I had just purchased, an appropriate title given that moment of my life.  Though graceful I was not, for tears carried across my shocked and disappointed mother’s face as the Wal-Mart employee escorted me to the security personnel’s office, for her little angel I am not, nor will I ever be again.

            As worthless as I had ever imagined myself to be, I sank to a new low that evening.  All doubts and suspicions my parents entertained in the back of their conscious minds began to surface.  Next thing I knew I was responsible for anything and everything that went wrong.  If something was missing, I had it.  This in itself was punishment alone.  Pride and honor are things no longer considered to be associated with myself.  I choose not to disclose any more information of this traumatic time due to the pain I feel on the reopening of this wound.  All I can say is that I have never entertained the thought of shoplifting since this incident, and that once incomparable thrill has been replaced by a dark and torturing chill.

Written by my dear friend Leran (pronounced Lee-ron), the 6^th of October, 1997

Edited by Roy Murrell and Aguilar Elliot

John Brown (1800-1859)

White Man.  Radical Abolitionist.  Courageous Crusader for Social Change.

Henry David Thoreau wrote of John Brown, “It seems as if no man had ever died in America before, for in order to die you must first have lived.”

            - from “A Plea for Captain John Brown”

Ralph Waldo Emerson said of the execution of John Brown: "He will make the gallows holy as the cross."

            -from “A People’s History of the United States”

           

(Northern Union) soldiers (during the Civil War) marched into battle saying, “John Brown’s Body.”

            -from “Lies My Teacher Told Me.”

W.E.B Du Bois described John Brown as thus, “…he showed one weakness of his character:  he did not know or recognize the subtler twistings of human nature.  He judged it ever for his own simple, clear standpoint and so had a sort of prophetic vision of the vaster and the eternal aspects of the human soul.  But of its kinds and prejudices, its little selfishness and jealousies and dishonesties, he knew nothing.”

            -from “John Brown”

Malcolm X was once asked if any whites could join his organization (OAAU – Organization of Afro-American Unity), and he replied, “If John Brown were alive, maybe him.”
           -from “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”

 "Tragic Prelude" by John Steuart Curry

After being convicted of treason for trying to incite a revolt of slaves, John Brown said, “Had I so interfered in behalf of the rich, the powerful, the intelligent, the so-called great, or in behalf of any of their friends… it would have been all right.”

            -from John Brown’s Speech to the Court (1859)