Xican@ Fortune Cookie: Uno

Con-Fuchi, dice'...

Frontside

Mo money mo problems : Mo mota mo naps

Flipside

Mahn-yah-koh: Cochino

Raza Studies

I

Remember being

17


Behind a desk


with an Aztlan Underground Tee shirt on.


While the profe'

A Big Vato

Goatee

and a

Guayavera

His lesson plan : His song


History on his breath...

His voice,

caracols out.


Speaking of a colonization


Genocide Traumas

Not a thought in the mind

But a memory in the blood.


Boils up
in me...


and

spills over with a sizzle.


Feelin guilty

cause I learn my struggle

But still don't turn my homework in...


Now

I'm 25:
mixing baby milk



The present tense:

2010...

Reveals politikos

trying to scrub us out.


So I pray Mijo, mi Ijo

can go to a house of knowledge

and be acknowledged.

See himself in the people

find himself in the viento

fire in his cora

tonanzin on his tongue

soul flowing como agua...


Understanding

that RAZA studies begins in the home-work..

I day dream


lessons


for my son.





My inner self



says


Raza Studies is...



A generalization

for

panche be



Truth sifting threw dedos,

A fire lit

as I grab roots.

Cool tierra

rumbling off fingertips.


The mind drips

tales.

non-fiction



Visions of Feathers,

drum vibrations

drip blood

splatter on his-story books.



But they rinse em.



Non-fiction...


They ain't listenin

to feet

shifting earth.


Lines in the dirt

never define a humans worth.


Stories of suppression...


Paint and brushes

as a weapon.

Xikan@ Hyroglifiks

on the infrastructure

illustrate:

Sombrero casting a shadow

on eyes

above the mustache

that highlighted lips

that gave birth to a metaphor,

Homeboy.


Nochantlaca...


While wars remain the legacy

Amerika has spit..



Survival remains the song

y La Raza keep floating on...


Mind fragments rise

unkronologikal


America depressed as she was;
repatriated mama,
so now she
must picture her children
in the flora y la fauna...


The
drum representing the sun, beats.
Feet marking the plantas
sprouting the flores...


A tando battered in an Eas Los
Gutter...


Tecato jaguars lurking in the shadows.


Chota clubs clash cabezas
de chicanitas,
cause they walked outta class
shouting
Que Viva!!!

Grenya de Adelita blowing in the wind...

Photographs of Cesar Puro Nezahualcoyotl.
While pesticides
declared war on the fetus;
gente bend over toiling the soil...

Alurista : a spik in glyph

Tobacco burning with the corn
husk, conversing with the cosmos...

The noose burns
twisting
round the neck.
Blossoming bandido tendencies...

Her Native hand can't cover up the rape...

The pen pierces paper
signed Flores Magon...

A life measured in prison square footage.

Emma
Tenayuca
more than a Ruca
keeper of the flame ...

Vatos spelling affiliations with their fingers.

Buffalo Z.
Brown
Middle finger to the Judicial...

Are you my Other
me???

Brown faces
in an ocean of picket signs;
as patas pound pavement...

Xikana embarazada but still finished college.

Mechistas tan listas...

Brown hands molding tortillas.

Witnessing the birth of a warrior...

Mind fragments settle
unkronologikal


They speak of anchor babies

but let us talk treaties

de Guadalupe and such...


Lies churned

Codices burned

But I find my new beginning
in the darkness.

While
water
splashes stones

I hear Tata in the steam
and feel
Nana
beneath me.

I crawl out the womb

earth crusted on
my skin

the gentle air in my hair.


I look to the stars
and build Teocallis
outta sand,

with a xikano paradigm
process

and I ain't talkin bout my Tres Flores.

But that
smoked
out mirror

the basis of knowledge

spirals un
serpiento con
plumas en movimiento

as the blue hummingbird
flutters next to
me...


In three ondas

I have excepted
me,

embraced
love

and took up arms with the Raza standing
next to me...

My son cries

and I return to

my present reality.

Take him in my arms,

close my eyes

and conjure faith

in the future...

Manda la Lluvia

Pascola wiskers

Matachine swing
Rattles a Wicked
whisper

Pura cora
Puro pain

Heart remembers cocaine stains.

Mi alma
Mi nombre

Pray for the brain

El mazo,
I see him

Cehuas,

No shame

Ete Vida
Ete Vato

Purgatory

Hate the game?

Be a playah

Love the game?

Eye on the hustler.

It remains the same.

Dream the cuerno

Accept the rain

a sun beam
a dark cloud
un chachayote thunderstep

Venado

Solo

y

Buscando

Soul rebel como Marley

Judged como Marijuano

Roll tight
Breathe deep
Inhale : Oracion

Por que
Pascola Wiskers
Whisper

y las flores
easily wither

Gara la Onda


Manda la Lluvia


and the rest of how that shit goes...

Happy Birthday, Murrieta....

Tears of Fear : Another Year
Pray
Tears of Joy : Ano Nueva

Addressed to : St. Frida Kahlo

A letter to La xingona, maestra, tlacuila, revolucionaria. La Frida...




Dear Frida Kahlo,

Was it your intention to show the beauty of pain? Or was it subconscious secretion? Did tear dripping brush tips offer any relief of your sorrows?

I have so many questions and this letra was suppose to be one of pure admiration. I always wanted to tell you that I feel como un chango hanging in one of your creations. And when I see pictures of you, I feel like I'm looking at a picture of my Tia. Maybe because my Tia Joanne has one of your paintings hanging in her chante? Maybe because we are just kindred souls, or some shit like that?

I hope you don't mind my foul lengua. I don't think you will. I have this impression that you like to spit muchos chingas, cabron y des madre. Maybe this is the down-to-earth realness you blossom in your reality?

Frida, Frida. What more can I say but Tlazo (Love and thank-you con la energia creyendo en la corazon de nuestra madre tierrasita). I see a little of you in all women. And I see all women in You. Tlazo.

You teach me that heart-ache, sorrow, doubt and pain magnifies the joy of seeing the sun caressing my son's face for the first time.

And to use that energia... and paint. Paint it blue, paint it sangre rojo, Bruja Brown, Paloma Negra y lagrima gray. Tlazo.

My words have run dry but my feelings never cease to flow, como agua.

Tlazo to La Santa who didn't need no legs. Por que, she had wings to fly........

Con un Amor Revolucionaria,

Juaquin Murrieta

P.S. You wear a una-brow way better then la Salma Hayek.

La Stand-Up Comedia through el Ojo Rojo de Juaquin Murrieta

Fool being a Foo.

Gonzo Journalismo Out-loud.

Lluvia de flores.

Chistes y Cuentas : chuecos y derechos.

With one good eye como El Bato Esteban Jordan.

Shit talkin, shit.

Spiritual dissection in four directions.

Don't forget mi erection.

Microphone : the metaphoric cuerno de chivo.

The Stage : un soap-box cochinera.

Spotlight: a smokey len-yo, so you may see clearer.

Freak-shit, but much weirder.

Queer and here, just don't stand to near, bra.

A thought, tough as love.

My anti-drug?... sometimes.

Or is it thee drug?...A dopamine river slitherin on the brain-wave.

Electric Pop Circus.

Feenin for the laughter.

Surprised by the tears that skeet from a comiks face; hidin behind the cackles of inebriated eyes and ears.

Fear what you might say.

But, Fuck it.

Say it any-way.

Master of Ceremony?

No.

Practice the ceremony : Allwayz.

Take a piss.

Standin or sittin.

Pretend to limpia mano.

SHOWTIME is here.

Remember, we discussed fear.

Tu nombre.

YOUR name has been called.

The musika is playin.

all you can ask yourself ... Will the Raza breath my name in?

Xochime for CoCo "el CoCo" Cardenas

Judge, of Judges

You wanna know what the world looks like,

to me?

I 'am inches

From loneliness

that lies

Parallel

On Glass

mirrors.

But what you,

could not feel.

But what you,

could not see.

Was thee eruption

it lit off in me.

Cause suddenly

Conversation and acitvity

became the Euphoric Powder

That

Gave

Power

To A Voice

within

SPEAKING: With Vibrations

Emanating

world

take

over situations.

Caught,

in

a

Rhyme,

I

no

longer

see

peoples

faces

Their hearts?

Weightless.

Cause Dreams

of

Currency

and comfort

is

all thats needed

to induldge

this

trip.

But when I awake

Theres still that

cold solitude

that

sits...

in his cair

of

aquiessence

TORMENTING

the

SOUL

the

ESSENCE

His long nailed fingers

Choking

Away

at

every

thought

ACTION

and

EMOTION

He cackles

Through

bloody

nosed

con

fess

ion

.

.

.

Concentrated

on

long

white

l

e

g

s

Not

Chocolate

Cooperation

His memory lives on

smudge glass and

pipa residue.

He

She

We

Tu

Yo

El CoCo

Cardenas

Was the loneliness

I

created

so ...

I

wouldn't

Have

to

be

lonely

no

more.

Does that sound crazy to you?