Författare: xikano_2

It rains here. In fact it has been raining most of the summer. kinda reminds one of the first time I heard something about this weather. The weather is a gíüero thing. Though I veer off. ”Welcome to the Swedish summer” was the greeting that carried a couple of whiskey glasses and a few beer cans up in the air. I suspected it said more than it meant. Some sayings take years to understand and now, 5 years later, I understand. This summer has been drenched and cool and cloudy, grey, breeze, wet, full of moist everywhere. Just the way I like it. I live in the Swedish Highlands. The trees, the grass, the leafs anything green thrives here. It looks fresh, verde, el verde mojado me gusta un harto, me encanta, es por eso que ver todo lo verde verde mojado es alentador, maybe its the irish in me. Who knows. Pero me gusta. I wasn’t ever much of a sun lover, in fact suntanning wasn’t my major thing in Aztlán. Though I saw it millions of times and stood still while the hordes stampeded in craze at the in thing I just sort of stared in wonder.

So yeah, my summer has had many a good day with fog as a greeter in the morn. Banks of clouds I saw a many time through my window in my house that has a view, if I may inventory the landscape, a field where some kind of farming undergoes. I know because every now and then a stench of porcine piss manages to jolt my olfactory senses. The horizon is covered with pine trees, birch trees and what not, loads of forest around here. So the banks of clouds roll eerily by patches that can be seen through my window. The Highlands, it sparks the imagination and yeah, those Beowulf tales seem to draw the source of its unfoldings.

Swedes wrap pepinos in plastic. I have seen some asian countries wrap in paper mandarins (no pun intended) but cucumbers? I mean come on, what’s up with that? I suppose it has to do with the reveration involved around it. It envelopes a country’s idea about certain food items. Un pepino in my alley has no more status than say a mango. It shares the fate that watermelons, papayas, pineapples and jamaica do: it gets its buena dosis de chile en polvo, lemon and salt.

Pero estos?

By the way, the Swede is an unlikely candidate for salt. Not a big fan of it. I attribute it to the fact that this society hardly moves. It is not like they don’t exercise, they do and the obesity index is quite low for an industrialized country like this one. Then again for a society whose main course meal is in the afternoon and the total absence of a dinner culture one does expect they hold the line in is proper place since food doesn’t have that ritual like we have back home in Aztlán. 3 full course meals is du rigour en Aztlán. Aquí­, in good old Svea, in the morning is just a cracker, fancy at that, ornamented with a leaf of sorts and cheese and butter, and oh yeah, on some lucky mornings the cucumber comes along. Y después hasta el late afternoon que aquí­ is, hold tight to your seats, starts at 11a.m. Yes, lunch starts here at eleven am sharp on the clock, you can’t out do the protestants in the cradle of protestantism ese. And like I said, there is no certain ritual for dinner. One seldoms gathers at night to finish off the rest of the day around your family and discuss the days events. Nor is it a cuisine fanfare either.

La codiciada bandera de El Alamo is the story of the La Jornada Article. A newspaper well known for its leftist tendencies and the like. I dunno who they are doing a favor with this headline and story. To top it off I read in the Agonist the very alarmist news that Texas: It’s Not Just For Whites Anymore! sardonic news for the unsarcastic challenged. Come on. What the fuck. Why are we always deemed less than the White american? WE too are American. We have argued in the pit of the abyss that we too are Americans & Quetzacoatl only knows how many full moons.

We are not a minority nor have ever been one. Tis your view White dude that sees us as such.

Ahora, la bandera esa, yeah. Resemblance, a battle that still burns holes in many hearts, least to say this one. Argh.

Ok, a little fantasy here. I am just going to imagine that a few of you out there just might have had a go at the contact form. Alas! the form isn’t working. I tried it myself and zip, zilch, nada. Sorry for the waste of time.

I wantcha to stop in your tracks right now and head on to loterí­a chicana’s new site. I mean wow! Frazer from Seinfield style. I was blown away ese. If you are still reading this then you are not where you are suppose to be ese, what’s up with that? Git there now homes!

This blog has become one of no-writing, why is that so is like trying to explain why the sun rises on the East. Does it now? Either way, I feel like I need to explain the total absence of letters here, but that is what has become of this blog. This blog is about the absence of letters. There are no letters here. However, am afraid that I created a monster of sorts.

There is nothing worse than the sore sight that an unupdated blog presents, in that respect my blog is a sore, a languishing remain that is begging, so will the imagination and the demands of the refresh society of the internet would will it, to be killed, that someone please pull the plug, but alas! Mis dretactores mios, this is my blog and here I do as I please. I never intended to create a blog to please. If my blog has become a sore to the eye than I intended not to create such a hedious monster however, one learns as one surfs on the web that things sometimes can generate life on their own.

Time, on the internet, is something we like fresh and now, like newspapers on our doorsteps in the morning. We want it according to what our watches, our little regulator on the corner of our machines, dictates. Here we go not by the dictums of father time nor of the fiats of lady Greenwich but of the sayings that appear on the horizon and if there is a writing on the wall they will appear on this blog, on the meanwhile sit back and enjoy. There is more than meets the eye here.

Well I just renewed my webbhotel again. Ever notice that webbhotel gives that prostitute feel to it? Either way, am on for another year at the offices. Though I must confess that last year wasn’t a good one for the letters of the bard. I slacked. I’m true to my generation and am a slacker. I’m a slacker ese, so what homes? Yeah, so the only blog that has its own MySQL database goes on, and the beat goes on tunes in in my Xicano soul by Love and Rockets. Yeah, am that old ese! Hopefully there will be more sources of inspiration out there. Like I said before, spanish has churned out a lot of letters out of me. Perhaps I have more to say in spanish than in english. Truth be told am kinda of in a gooey sticky kind of phase right now.

Ever since I did a 15 page article on Miguel Mendez book Peregrinos de Aztlán I have been quite at odds about languages and Aztlán. Spanish seems to be getting the forgemenot flowers at a declining rate. The word ’commitment’ (as in Aztlán needs to told in both spanish and english) has been chiseled in my cabeza. Oh well, enough with the speeches and the moanings and the chilladero, gonna attract la Llorona pretty soon. So yeah. One more year.

PS For some odd reason my older post from blogspot are still available in blogger, I deleted the blog but the archives remain. If you feel you can’t get enough of my xicanismo, this is the reason why. Where it all started.

Dios mio santí­simo! I was mentioned in an article in Hawaii, well a post. Somewhere buried in all that saying are buried the offices titel. Hí­jole mano! Still, news here at the offices and Geronimo cracks what seems to be the beginnings of a smile from his corner where he likes to sit and keep an eye on the desert and another one at the things being said. To be frank more than once the thought that he’s here to spy has crossed my mind, you know how things are when it comes to tradition. Came to realize that I need to brush up on my Chicano/a inspirational sources. Am still stuck in the 80’s and 90’s. Who are the ones for this new century? Anyone give me a hint?

Lo que pasa es que am kinda of attached to old Richard Rodriguez. He embodies a lot for my generation. An American voice that transcends. Gay, Catholic, Chicano a huevo, brown, savy, and one of the few ones that made it on the ticket of national centrum appreciated by all. All on his own. A tie-your-bootstaps-on-your own kinda guy. Though I still can’t get over that he ran over a serpent. I read it in Brown.

Telegram: Telegram? might as well revert to morse code, a ver, qué dice? When. going. to write something. substancial.?

Picnhes readers, no perdonan even in the middle of vacation season….

Buoyed by Elena’s enthuastic encouragement I downloaded the google map program. I inmediately went to Tijuana: Amazing. I just took a peek at the serpent like metal fence that separates our two countries across my native birth state of Baja California. I was awed. I even took a trip down memory lane and headed to Redwood city, I looked at some old neighbourhoods. I am delighted. Thanks Elena for the tip esa.

Rheinland-Pfalz (Capital: Mainz)
I was finally able to retrieve from my surrounndings for a week. During week one of the year (1999) I took a very much sought after trip which had languished back in time for sometime now. I must say it was a trip that fulfilled all my desires. I went to Germany. I enjoyed very much my trip and saw some of the best wonderful Rheinland-Pfalz countryside Highway 61 had to offer, specially the road from Neuweid to Worms which has a bridge to match the Golden Gate in size. The valleys, however, cannot be compared and the mountains neither. The weather was perfectly clear so my eyes were not sored by the clouds which, I think you might agree, robs much of the light that would give the valleys a majestic hue. My landscapes kept changing as we went from one part of the region to another and, I believe, it was a good fortune the Rhine was on the way and by all the places we went to. It was a most welcome delight to see the Bayern country fields surrounded by so many mountains indeed.

Neuweid viz Koblenz to Frankfurt am Main thereafter to Worms.

I was, however, drawn into my innermost feelings every now and then. No doubt caused by the music we listened to as we travelled the highways which evoked in me all kinds of emotions. Memories of you. I travelled all those days thinking and feeling all my memories and everything posible I could say to you. Memories I enjoyed very much, though tinged by tristesa, were as much of my trip as the views of that region of Deutchland. One can well say that remembrances of yore are best when one is still able to feel them completely. I was also able to taste some of the best and tastiest Bayern beer. Of course, Kassel, Worms and Franfurt am Main are places of long beer tradition. I will probably never taste again those beers in my life. of course, such statementes are unfair to life; one is very well drawn to formulate such conclusions since one time just seems just that ”one time”.

I started at Hauptwache.

I had the good fortune to see Frankfurt am Main. A small section of it, indeed, I don’t think am unduly boasting to say that it was a destiny of sorts for me to see such ancient part of it. As luck would have it, the driver of the lorry had to have a nine hour rest before he could start again. And, knowing myself well, I did not hesitate much to venture into the city for nine hours would give ample space for that. Taking into consideration a sort of ill omen would cross my way and get lost I set about on a reconnaissance voyage but as my stars would have it I was easily able to find my way around always taking careful mental notes as to where I turned and such directions. I jumped on bus 37 j.Kircher-Ahz to Hauptrahnhof where I found a city in motion, that is, compared to the industrial side of the town were my fellow companion was resting his hours.

I arrived in that section that houses most of the city churches. Wonderful pieces of restoration. for, as you might well know, much of that city was left in ruins during WWII. And I hope you allow me to make a comment of sorts here, for I am of the opinion that one cannot mention Germany without it having some reference to WWII. I also, as you are a seasoned traveller yourself and might find this truthful, had the good luck to arrive on a wednesday which implied free access to much of the local museums of the city. As I was short of monetary resources ( a deutch mark costs 5 swedish crowns) this was a most celestial welcome.