Författare: xikano_2

I know

that smile

will

shine

upon

the lips I once

kissed

or caressed

the moment I caress the calaca. It pleases me to no end to see you satisfied you got the best of this life.

Yes, that smile of yours, that repressed smirk, will have its day,

it’s gaudy day:

when I bite the dust.

I know you await the day my lips are sealed forever.

Uterus fighting the bean stalk Wonder Bra Part 1 whilst the Easter Bunny seeketh ancient ritual to pen a trite old fashion. A seahorse is thus seen a far … yeah.

Something is happening to my English.

I am becoming more aware of it. Ever since I took on the job of learning Swedish this change has been brought upon me through a very surreptitious way that, sutil.

Though I insistently argue that Spanglish is my first language due to ideological reasons, and more importantly because of environmental reasons, I was born, after all, in Tijuana, I cannot deny the fact that Spanish has been a determinant in that equation given English a sort of an uncomfortable second place in lieu of the fact that I cherish English so. However, this reasoning has its flaws because English ceases not to amaze me in contradicting the above specified. Evidence towards the latter have surfaced via real acts of isolation which would produce a deteriorated quality in the English I posses yet this has failed to materialize.

[astute language freaks will notice the running sentence there …]

Yet this fallacy has yet to pass a crucial test because I have managed to, much to my ignorance, succeeded in learning Swedish, albeit, it took ten years, but nonetheless.

I try not to convince myself too much of the achievement because my standards are too high to fully declare victory over the Germanic language of the swedes.

We bilingual people hold very high ethics what separation of languages are concerned because if there is anything we most be honest about it is about the capacities of our own capabilities regards language. There is a systematic order in keeping the two languages at hand separate for all kind of needs.

…

care not
for
pavor
..
2
nait.

’cause
the
tenor
asleep
has
fallen
and it’s
a wake:
we
vigil
pues Lázaro
es.

Would it just be possible to somehow churn out something in English these days? Frankly speaking, I am at a loss, have I abandoned the I which speaketh the Bard’s tongue? And do tell, why is it that I harbor no animosity towards Shakespeare yet I do so towards el Manco de Lepanto? Isn’t there anything for me to contribute to this language called English these days?

I believe that Chicanos in general ought to stay clear out of politics. And if they must they should not use chicanismo as a tool to said enterprise. Chicanismo ought to be as American as American Pie. For example, no one questions white folk their background, do they now? Yes smart aleck, there is some questioning but not in the sense that it insinuates  that one is not American.  One is American, one need not explain why one is American, one is, period. It should not be up to negotiation. With it I mean one’s chicanismo. If one is to live to said standards one must also live accordingly, that is, not live as if one is American but as an American does.

“Just when I thought that I was out they pull me back in” Michael Corleone in The Godfather III.

According to Carlota Cardenas quoted by Alicia Gaspar de Alba in the book that reviews the CARA Exhibition named “Chicano Art” she says, that . [sic] to apply (the word chicana) [sic] to oneself is a political act.

Chicana Feliz a.k.a Zulma Aguiar.

I refuse, or resist in this case, to render my identity to to a political act. Being Xicano is beyond a political statement. Perhaps it is so for my brethen under that Damocles’s sword called USA. I, on the other hand, long ago moved to another post. Heck, said sword proved beyond me. I am beyond the Star and Spangle. If anything, I am beyond any political ideology. Long I discovered that I need not stress to be that which my land gave as a birth right. I am, to certain extents, beyond Xicano rethoric. I am beyond the recruiting offices of Aztlán and their zealous drive to impose the ideology of this or that. I am simply a desert Xicano which claims the Southwest as its birthplace, nothing more.

I am the first to stand on my own two feet. I shame not for my accent when I utter my tongue. I shame not for my past or ancestors. I shame not for that which I am.

I will not let ignorance dictate the course my forefathers, my foremothers, treaded upon. Words will not destroy me nor will they lay out the course of my destiny. I am beyond that and more.

This fight sort of reminds one of the one the Swedish-Finish folk stride for in Finland.

The Swedish text reads as follows:

The Finish can never take care of the Swedish language and the Swedish culture. Only we, the Swedish-Finish, can do that.

Backside of the Sagrario Metropolitano in Mexico City, DF.

This parish church, quite independent of the Cathedral, adjoins it on the east. Built to the design of Lorenzo Rodriguez and consecrated in 1768, the Sagrario Metropolitano is one of the finest examples of Mexican Churrigueresque.

Incredible, I seem to have extricated myself from one of the most dominant issues that impregnate the Xicano ens: immigration.

I don’t know why, exactly, we xicanos entangle ourselves so much with immigration. Immigration as phenomena to live the everyday, to give rise to consciousness, that thing you do when you wake up in the mornings, to create a drive to live is astounding in us. I suppose that we are so wrapped in it as children that slowly the fabric becomes the very meaningful existence of the sunrise in our daily lives. Immigration gives us sorrow, a fighting chance, happiness, excitement and a stake in that America that so often we portray as a foreign agent in our political discourse.

I feel nothing for immigration. This disinterest for the very issues that feeds much thought in Xicano narrative in the US is all but bygone. I first noticed this a few years ago but until now it has managed to manifest itself as formulated thought. It all came to light because I found myself surprised at an article that appeared in Svenska Dagbladet on how illegal immigration has saved an all gringo (pure and unstained from xicano culture one would guess) town due to the influx of illegal immigration. I’ve complained before about the skewed view this newspaper gives of illegal immigration in the US but to little or none effect, my thoughts have gone the way of disregarded thought, by the turn of a head, by unexpressed critic like ’rubbish’ and so on.

One seldom sees an article explaining the phenomena or the causes of immigration in the Nordic press but rather one hears through the Swedish language the ailing and wailing of the American conservative outcry (a phenomena that started out in the middle of the 80’s) that mexicans are running over the USA. Perhaps that is to change

I guess that is what most riles a decent xicano about pochos. They seem to be able to have superseded this intrinsic drive and are as aloof as gringo can be. We hate that. We don’t like that. Yet here I am, away, the umbilical cord of immigration cut. I feel nothing and as if disfranchised from my community I must now seek my path. I sound like Geronimo, I know.

Luckily for me xicanismo liveth not only out of immigration.

I am a spiritual being as much as the next José. I have read many words and thoughts which spring forth out of this fountain of faith. Both current thought to early greek notions of the Great Beyond. By far and not least the one that has impacted me the most and thereby influenced me since I read them has been Plotinus’ 6 enneads. I am no stranger to Martin Buber or the hyper optimistic culture laden rethoric of Joel Osteen nor am I a Christian buff since I have read bits and pieces of other religions such as Confucius, learnt about Shinto through Yukio Mishima.  Let’s not speak of our American homegrown religions such as voodoo or ancient tribal American tradition which are more nature bound.

Yet it creeps me out to read American blogs that are heavely impregnated by their religion. And it sure astounds me to read people being driven by their faith which is reminiscent of the impulse of predestination. What surprises me the most is that they lead a life impulsed by what they believe God tells them to do. Oh, and I hate it when they say they will pray for good will.

I pray the Lord saves them from themselves and their little bubbles filled not with the love for humanity but a destructive drive that revolves around ignorance.