Författare: xikano_2

Recientemente Osito came up con la idea of a diccionario en spanglish. I wholeheartedly think que es viable. Pero one must be careful sobre las variantes de spanglish. There is lo que I call Spanglish and (e)spanglish (otherwise known as border lingo). El spanglish es un phenomenon que se da en Los, (USA); el (e)spanglish in Mexico.

Spanglish, I have said en differentes ocasiones, is more like the cosas we used to say with amigos and the like. La people se impresionaba de our modo de talk, code-switch era la word que abrio el path para toda una culture que poco by little se afirmaba. We, los suit suiters, los cholos y all ese talk of low class chicanos se hizo un badge de honor. It was our lengua and it still is, de hecho, it is so new, that it hasn’t even finished being popular. Hay unos pockets de resistencia here and alla pero son considered como ignorantes and the like. Gone estan los days que la people se ashamed de escuchar how we speakeabamos, de acuse us de raza who didn’t know ni una ni la other lengua. Ese era el argument then, pero se hears aqui and alla still, una small nagging minority.

Mas el spanglish de Los se diferencia markedly con el (e)spanglish del mexican border pueblos like mine, Tijuana, pues en Los el estratum es patently obvio. Hay Xicanos of generations and then there is Xicanos like me who are first generation pero que aprendieron el english right away como un native. Then there are los immigrantes. Xicanos employ muchas veces, code-switch and calo, slang proper to our cultura. Pero como we can’t detach ourselves de nuestros parents we also pick up los tries que hacen nuestros fathers and madres to adapt to la new culture. They speak and add a new variant to the english language. It is from those sectores que el spanglish feeds itself as well, son palabras que ellos use in spanish pero que son words in english. De este array de words other things in the linguistica came to el conociemiento de us. Calque es one of them, por ejemplo, many confuse la libreria as the library when la libreria is a bookshop y el otro is la biblioteca. Words que son usadas por those que no understand el ingles are such como, vacumear, apodar (no, its not to nickname), groseria (no, its not to curse or cuz out and others that I borrowed from our good friend Nelson. There are other more tecnical terms to differenciate estos fenomenos in spanglish pero asi lo vamos a leave por esta time.

El (e)spanglish es un phenomenomen que da in border towns. Son words que nos llegan from Los and there were no traducciones directas to it in spanish, por alguna reason u la other. Asi que la people se apropiate it them y las usan for si. Palabras like troca, brekear, mofle, birria, daime, nickle, cora, vaipin, sueter, zipper, batear, cachear, pichar, and many other that postearee later offer una gama diferente al spanglish. Inclusive there are also incursiones sintacticas del english al spanish already in the spanish populations del border.

So, eso es just un little de lo que nos awaits if we pull off este diccionario para la raza, good luck Osito, and hay mas where this came from ese.

http://www.spainview.com/spanglish.html

http://members.tripod.com/~nelson_g/spanglish.html

Well, I went and did it, not planned, not anything, just out of the clear blue sky, there we go. Would you believe that of all the places in the world for me to find another Xicano would be there? Well, I did, I was minding my own business looking around at the construction of one of the churches when someone spotted me as one of their own. (Picture a texas drawl) pretty hot today ain’t it? I suppose my aztec codice t-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers plus the fact that am brown gave away somtehing. I mean I can’t figure in all the world how the lad figured I spoke english. I guess I was looking too much like a gabacho, that tends to happen. Specialy at the vending places, they see me and the prices hike up immediatey like 30 percent more than they are, “hey, no me mire con cara de gabacho” pure indian blood here amigo, no me chingue …. I mean I have to remind my own people that am one of them!

So yeah, I was there, I saw the catheral were Juan Diego saw the virgin, damn! Even gabachos knelt at the sight, so I did as well, however I can’t muster an adoration to the virgin, must be all that protestant genes we carry due to the freckle invasion of yore. So I just knelt an muttered some words to that high deity I have no name for. It was interesting to see the little cerrito, how do you say cerrito in english? I mean, mountain seems a little to big, perhaps hill? Tepeyac hill? Oh well.

Otherwise it has been boring without you, no beer guzzling or any debauchery like I should, just moderate drinking and dangerously putting my stomach on the line, I buy street stuff. Just stuff like quesadillas, gorditas and other unhealthy fried and scrumptious delicacies of the mexican cuisine. Today I wondered to what must surely be the longest street market. I mean it just never ended. I even bought myself a beer that the vendor put in a plastic glass with salt and lemon, I just kept strolling gayly skipping people, listening to the music, the hollering and all that mexican urbane noise to the delight of my senses. I just can’t explain it really, I mean I was enjoying the stroll, my people, the smells, the crowd, I felt at home.

Later ese!

Saludos a todos los diseñadores mexicanos, espero poder compartir trucos y tecnicas de diseño con todos.

We did not give a fuck.

The cop stood outside the patrol car for a sec or two, hand in gun ready to shoot at us the moment we made a false move. We were brown and we had a 1954 red chevy truck with chrome tires in a toll road built just a few months ago before the new years eve 2034. I saw his glasses reflect the lights of the chevy in his black what looked like Mark Vinci of Italy design eyewear. I remained cool, rolled down the window and waited with my hands clearly visible on the chain steering wheel. What the stupid white cop did not realize was the stealth motor I had placed on my chevy. It didn’t even sound on. The moment he approached to ask his dum racial apartheid questions I pressed the accelator so hard he didn’t even get to see the color of my eyebrows and all I saw last was how his hand reached his holster. We were too far for any shots to be heard by then.

The thing was simple, I was in a jam and needed dough fast and now, so I hooked up with a few acquaintances while I climbed the social ladder. Theyre easy going, simple folk who didn’t care to much for the infectious lifestyles that Holywood cried out for, yeap, these folks, like my folk, cared just for one and one thing only, their own. I on the other hand have always wanted to trascend borders and always wanted to go beyond that which my gente gave me. So I said yes, I would, no big deal. The only obstacle was to come across the border. A thing I had been doing all my life. It was a reward which was to give enough to take care of my current problems.

When the winds hit you right, he said, it gives a thirst, thats when they face the sun with their eyewear on and when they get distracted cause they drink their water, your window of opportunity opens up. I was instructed to pass thirty ounces of it and was not even informed what those thirty ounces stood for, all I knew was that it was precious and many people were eager to see it across the border.

I really don’t know when it all started but I heard enough stories to know it was not all that long ago. The walls were ten stories high, 30 kilometers wide and made a part of the landscape were I was born. To me, like the sea, they had always been part of the environment I called home, except I was gifted. The government, spearheaded by what then were known as hawks institutionalized de facto a state of emergency on the nation. Today they are just called Patriot Citizens. A little structure that got its idea out of a former red committe outfit which gathered information on everyone the minute they stepped into this earth. You were born into it, like being a Catholic, you know? It basically erased out of history more than 200 years of good sound democracy but hey! Who cared? It was history to me, things schoolbooks I read said. So long as Hollywood produced good comedy democratic stuff like voting was a geek think an act ridiculized by wealthy middleclass snobs and cool dilettantes. More guards were busy there then at any post across the divisive line that separated the two nations. I always passed no hitch, get my drift? So anyways, those stories made more sense now, I was nervous and needed a cause behind me. I heard my grandmas voice tell me of those gone yore days, how the gringo suddenly erected the wall. How thousands of Mexicans were shuttled across the border in an ethnic cleansing sweep that would make the Isrealis and Serbian leaders of the 20th century green with envy. They had God on their side, but my uncle always quipped, we have Gods mother on our side.

I had to device a way to cross the border on my own terms and without being detected. He said clearly: you get busted for this, you end up away from here in flesh and spirit forever, theyll clean your brain out nice and clean and Human Right groups will not have a thing on them since they will leave your body unscathed, get me?

The night fell, and after the the high speed escape I was tired from the speed I drove the Chevy, totally drained. I came home, Mexico, to my futon, hit the light swith and as I faced down the pillow the door bell rang. What the? I opened up the door after checking who it was, Sheila came in. She wanted to talk, but my ears and eyes zoomed into her cleavage. Her breasts always talked to me better than her mouth, or was it the other way around? My fantasies always confused me. This time though, I reacted, the nervousness kept me more sober than ever. Come in I said as she walked straight in and her body left a trail of an intoxicating fragance as I walked behind her, Poison I thought, my fave.

* It’s nearly one in the morning watcha want?
* Bill kicked me out of the apartment, he has a new broad with him now so am ancient history. I need a ride across the border, can you fix that?
* Can’t honey, gotta split early there but gotta do it alone, so can help you, sorry babe.
* I’ll pay you good, you know those bastards at the crossing don’t allow pedestrains anymore on the the weekends and Monday is so far away from now.
* Come on baby, I’ll do anything you want me too.

Ok, so this is a nice set up I thought, the girl I always wanted is offering herself to me of all nights tonight.

* Tell you what, you sleep over there and in the morning we split 7am sharp, get my drift? I take you across, hand me over the dough now and we call it even right? You got your papers in order right? I don’t wanna get stuck in Homeland Security Detention because of you.
* Off course I do nincompoop, come here, lemme give you a kiss in the mouth.
* No thank you babe, it’ll do seeing you naked babe but no touching.

The night went smoothly. The ultra marine dress slipped out of her body and out bounced her breast like two firm well done cups of jell-o in the semi dark room and handed me over her panties. I sniffed them out of their delicate fragance as I stroked harder and harder inside my pants. She looked at me beginning to masturbate and she began to caress her breasts as she side glanced towards me. The more I saw her do it to herself, the more I got into it. I got lost in my thoughts seeing her legs spread out, I felt heat and sweat beginning to build up in my body. Her hand slid down to her pubic hair, she clearly wanted me to see her every pour open. She laid down in the floor. Her ass jumped up and down hitting the woodfloor with a tump tump the closer she came to an orgasm. I came all over my pubic hair the moment she turned around doggiestyle. Her pussy showed a very swollen opening, damn, I just had the best orgasm in days I thought and crashed in the futon with my hand feeeling the warmth of my liquids.

By the time I woke the clock struck 6:45am and Sheila was no where in sight. She had scrammed, took my Lowrider magazines from the 1990s and left my place all messed up, I was knocked out with gas. No time to think, my head hurted tad though. I dressed up and ran to my truck to meet up with the Dropper. I still hadn’t figured out a way to get those 30 ounces across.

[…]

I came around to the cul-de-sac where the dropper was, a simple looking farm picker it seemed, but then again his revolver was quite visible. I got out of the car and started to walk towards him. The air was fresh and the morning dew could be seen in the grass, the Dropper had huaraches on.

-What up ese?
-Buenos Dias, here’s you stuff.
-What’s this shit?
-Be careful, you don’t wanna be caught with that, you’ll liable to end up in problems. Don’t open it, no matter what, just take it across and there you’ll meet Chilangito, he’ll take it from there.
-How am going to pass it? – That’s for you to figure out, the product is expected, so hurry up ese.

It wasn’t bigger than a zip it bag, and it weighted exactly 30 ounces. I didn’t even know what it was and I was expected to cross it over. I put it inside the headlights, so long as I din’t turn’em on there wasn’t going to be a problem, although it did seem a little bumpy. I’m hardly ever stopped, so I headed towards the border. It was jammed packed. Cars were cutting each other. I was tempted to do the same, but I didn’t want to raise any suspitions. This time I had something to hide so I played the good citizen.

The imposing walls freaked me out, although I have always seen’em their brown exterior seemed a little more rusty than before. Pinches gíüeros would say my grandmother everytime we passed through them, as if we were to take back all the states they robbed us. She was keen in reminding me that all the time, in a very loud voice too, precisely as I would turn my docs to the migra..

Curiosly enough I had built high expectations regards these past few days.

I was particularly enthused by the announcement of the Democratic party declaring that the response to President Bush State of the Union address would be retorted in spanish by the Governor of New Mexico Bill Richardson, he is Mexican American I’ll have you know. However, scouring the internet in my local holes I saw nothing regards that, nothing along my alley so I suspect my search will have to be more thourough and that means only one thing: the opposition has been filtered. Reuters did not have anything on it at any any rate, not even la Opinion. So where does one seek? I had to go to the DNC webpage to get the news and translated at that, so here it is, in english sadly enough but ok, I am not willing to surf anymore for the real mccoy right now.

One thing though is good, it seems that George’s untouchable aura is on the wane. As it were his croonies are being revealed for the crooks they are and the old Samuel Johnson adage that patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel proves true once again. Not only is Ariel Sharon in dire straits with the law in Isreal but Tony Blair is once again being questioned by his own constituency for his misleadings. If only the American public were to do the same, wait a minute here, are not the laws of the USA supposed to provide these kind of channels for the citizens to question their leaders, are not American values supposed to be a beacon of democracy throughout the western world? Why is it that Isrealis, Italians and Britons are showing the lead?

Anyways, it was good to read in la Opinion the kind of healthy questioning that is needed in these times. Their editorial 21/1/2004, titled El Mensaje de Bush, says he used recycled ideas! Furthermore they found the whole sham una desilusion! Further furthermore, they say that because of the war in Irak the world is not that safe at all! Ahhhhh, L.A. spanish politics, reminds one of the good old days when Ruben Salazar was around. He then Times reporter and agit voice who acording to L.A. TImes George Ramos was killed in the chaos following the end of an anti-Vietnam War march in East L.A. on August 29 1970 age 42 or when Pedro J. Gonzales, the 1930’s radio discjockey of then LA’s only spanish radio station KMPC, who fell out of grace with the gringada who later framed him. His fell out of grace because he had the balls to decry the ethnic cleansing gringos committed against its own citizens back then.

Patriotism sucked then and it sucks now. Few voices are heard to challenge Bush and his brand of militarism and Isreali style bravado. The problem doesn’t lie in that whether ideologically the left would have liked to have waited and see whether Saddam had weapons or not, but the manner they went about it. These same fools who argue the strict followng of the letter of the law go about every crooked way to distort the very laws they purport to defend and off course, they have to get paid in kind as well. This kind of patriotism is divisive in all manners. The left is militaristic too and I would like to think not as impulsive as the right with its values slogan and righteousness which really ought to be more crookedness than anything else. Bush and his gang are just out for a buck, care only for their own and know how to play the game. The question is whether they will get away with it, were is the law then in these precaurious times?

I wish we had Henry Gonzalez around, the former Democrat from Texas who dared challenge Bush Senior then. In 1993, Flag Day he did the unthinkable.

Jeanne Beach Eigner reported the incident thus:

During the 1988 presidential campaign, when George Bush attacked Micheal Dukakis for vetoing a bill mandating the recital of the Pledge of Allegiance in Massachusetts public schools, the members of the House of Representatives began a tradition of saying the pledge at the beginning of proceedings every day.

Three weeks ago on Flag Day, Rep. Henry Gonzalez, D-Texas, vented his outrage at the practice, reports Roll Call. ‘Nothing is sadder’ he said in a speech on the floor of the House, ‘than to see the herd instinct in taking the Pledge of Allegiance here in the House of Representatives. What is that pledge? That Pledge was not around until just three decades, three and a half, four decades ago … We have taken an oath, an that oath is to the Constitution, not the flag … Here we are, like a good little herd, reminiscent of the Hitlerian period: ‘Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil.’

Where o where art thou now Henry?

Citizens against citizens, a view of the blog world led me to interesting commentary on this as they avalanched Cruz Bustamante on his allegiances to MeCHA. There was a conserted effort to question Bustamantes real intentions to get to power as if becoming governor of California would entail the power to return California back to México. We should of ridiculed them right then and there, laugh our heads off all the way to the ballot boxes just like Arny did.

Ah politics, divide and conquer.

Yet they paralyse us like they always have, they paralyse by demanding our allegiances, the age old trick the gringos have always been playing on us, on the meanwhile they get to hoard the goods because we wanna prove to them how good Americans we are.

It is an insult, as a matter of fact, that politicians and the entertaintment industry coalesce to form a front against us Xicanos.

Nobody is questioning that Arnold has charges pending about sexual misconduct yet Judge Clarence Thomas did’nt even get a chance. Tell me there isn’t a conserted effort on part of the white establishment for color preferences? Where was the hounding of the media? Better yet, where is the hounding of media now? So far the pending charges have been given passing mention that Arny should come clean. And there stops the story.

Most disgusting of all was how the entertaintment industry is aligning itself with politics. Oprah Winphrey’s Empire and Jay Leno all pitched in to help Arny. More on this on today’s LATIMES

This is were Latinos of all walks of life should flex their economic muscle to insure that future entertainers do not abuse of the confidence placed on them to promote their politic agendas, they should be boicotted right here and now. I believe it is time we start taking ourselves more seriously and don’t allow the ideology of the white dominated media and body politic to question our seriousness for the American Project. We also have our own Manifest Destiny. Nobody questioned Arny about his ties to Austria where he got some help, nobody wonders whether his ancestral home, as he surely is fond of, is a detriment to the USA and California thereby. Yet We, the Xicano people and thereby latinos of all walks of life who have a vested intterest in the well bieng of our beloved state get chided for claiming our state as ours. We have historical, lingíüistic and blood ties to California. California didn’t get named that because some pilgrim came over and named it thus. Yet Manifest Destiny servile agents from out of state do come and try with all their might to insure that California remains within the ideological principles that have California as it stands, so why should we be embarrased about our ancestral homes and our native ideas? There isn’t shame in that, shame be on those who would want to still puppeteer us instead.

Links that contributed to this post California Recall rant …

Michelle Malkin Before it hit the gig time …

Curiously, as we drove down from Sweden’s Highlands to Paris back in July of this year, I noticed along the German Autobahn and other less known roads to Liege to Paris, that trailers from Portugal carried a legend in their back of their trucks that said: VEHICULO LONGO.

I loved it, and I would have taken a picture of it except that it is very difficult to do so in the freeway at those speeds, at any rate, I admired the words in those trucks as my imagination flew to prototype spanglish and how Portuguese has certain elements in its language that can be thought of as proto-spanglish, this came to mind today as the morning progressed with is daily chores.

I was sitting in the cafeteria, by building A at Stockholm’s University, waiting for an Argentinian friend to show up for a date we had agreed upon and as she came promptly and fashionably late a friend of hers tagged along. We had a very lively discussion until we came to the topic of spanglish and this friend of my friend said odd things about it, you know, you have to understand that my friends at this level of my studies are usually friends that I’ve made during the course of my studies and usually, they are at the same academic level as I am, but lo and behold! I had to confront the very face of ignorance while sipping my cup of coffee trying to understand this human being.

Well, suffice to say I was placed at a very odd position and left rather uncomfortable about it, it had been a while since I last seen this ugly sorts of prejudice hate to my language rear its head, so I was quite frankly bent out of shape, I thought that those issues were resolved once I learned that the very enemy of spanglish is ignorance, but ignorance seems to be a pretty nasty beast of sorts.

Well, my love for Spanglish and its Portuguese, as I call it, proto roots, got its reconfirmation today because as I was leaving my dorm, heading towards the computers I heard from one of the windows of the dorms, adios meshicano! being uttered by some Portuguese neighbors of mine! I was so ever glad to hear that …

Now, I don’t know about you, but if Meshicano doesn’t do anything for you, than spanglish isn’t your language …

-mesh (implication: mestizo)

Upon the mountain sits young Ximenez
Looking at the sunset, thinking about Icarus
Wondering Icarus goal, seeing the sun’s rings
Staring at the albino white display of the disc as a cloud of a menacing storm whizzes by in late formation

He wanted to rip the curtains of the charade
That which is between the sun and Ximenez
Icarus felt to the ground burnt he thought,
imagining the smoldering wings on the dirt.

He wants to feel it, the blinding white light,
Ever present in his surroundings. Unable to come to it
His body pains in desire to get through
The thin veil of reality as his eyes achingly saw

Poor Ximenez, only a short distance away from it
Long for the soul to reach and pass into it
He gets up from the mountain and stretches his arms
Embracing the air like a goodbye hug, he closes his eyes as the pain is to much to bear.

He turns his back to the sun, with his eyes still closed
As the eyelashes opened the lids of his window’s soul
the light of the sun sneaked back into his life
There it was again, waking his desires for it all over again.

We, the Xikano raza, have become inheritors of Adam, Jefferson, Franklin and Washington’s democratic principles.

They understood we would understand as soon as their heirs lost all sight of all the goals of the American Dream due to their stupid blinding patriotism. Off course, I know they were all dead before we were even born, but they laid out plans for such an event and thank God! We, Xicanos, can talk to the dead, we of Mexican pure extract sort, with an added pinch of salt, can see the dead too.

So yeah, they were here, and el notario came to confirm, “We the people of the United States,” said the notario, “hereby declare that all Xicanos are now inheritors of the Ideology behind the greatness we crafted for America”.

Dang, I said, as I sat there with wide eyes looking at the crumbling age old piece of paper, it ain’t even recycled said I, shit homes, along with the dead looking funnily at me as I spoke, that’s a whole shit load of work, those gíüeros left us, I thought in my dreamy head.

Ni madres, said I rather out loud, this is every decent American that calls himself or herself American, American’s home, why dontcha leave it to All the Americans who still believe in the American dream and not to folk bent on war?

Franklin, the mild mannered kite flier, electricity entrepreneur, still under the shock of my language, and taking notes to send it to Noah Webster, said, what? I suppose it does make sense to give it to the American people.

Ni madres! said I again, as Franklin scurrilously tried to jot down the very words I spoke and looked at Jeffereson to see if they were still in America, “the last time you said that, the gíüeros thought you meant the white folk ese, so I suggest that you leave to Americas current founders who happen to be of any race and are Americans by virtue of being born here or Americans by virtue of having ties to the land and or live here whether illegally or legally but respectful of the laws of the country and caring for this great nation.”

Here here said George, ax in hand and mistress on hand, I agree, it shall be left to the people who are constructing our modern nation.

Chale, good thing I objected said I in the privacy of my thoughts, it would’ve meant a whole shit of load of work, …pinches gringos, all work and no fun ….

Funny how things work out in the day-to-day basis.

As I sat in the kitchen absorbing the days events I pensively mourned Anna Lindh’s death, I didn’t think too much, only a few conspiracies crept up in me, and I began to wonder how is it that I am so affected by the death of this politician, how did she manage to come into the stream of my consciousness? Perhaps it is my admiration of this society to include women in the everyday affair of government, how her face dominated the news when it mattered to express her views, those views from the government and how she fought to promote those opinions in the face of harsh criticism, because she so much also represented my views. I felt that she genuinely represented me, in those meetings, by being outspoken, saying her mind, and it didn’t hurt that she was beautiful as well, I always found her smile a glowing shine in the midst of gloomy faces in those men’s meetings, in other words, she made me proud to see her fight the good fight.

My wife is also going through the same pangs except that she has other worries in her head, she wants to know why the doctors acted the way they did and wants to know what they did, she comes in a hurry, to see more on the TV, I say, how can you? There aren’t any more news at this time, and she answered something that made me feel Anna Lindh was still with us, she said “ They don’t care about anything else, Anna Lindh is dead.” I listened dumbfounded at the words, how even dead Anna was still very much with us. I realized too how instinctively my wife knows her own people.

It’s very hard for other countries to realize the society Sweden is, especially Stockholm, with its lifestyle and open society, I may complain all about how I perceive them but I never argue about their society because its so perfect that it’s actually dull, there isn’t much to criticize, the locals might differ, but I come from two different societies that make Sweden look like a paradise. There isn’t a perceived menace here, not even in the streets, society is built on a premise that everyone respects everyone, and that so long you don’t mess with me, I won’t mess with you, people walk around like there isn’t much to worry about in the street, a pick pocket here and there, maybe a gang related crime in the suburbs but for the most part, this society is safe in every sense of the word. People care for people here.

It is a paradise, indeed, and Anna Lindh was one of it representatives, a society that feared very little, has no security concerns and is the envy of the world because of its well functioning government. Swedes live in peace, very much unscathed from the rest of the world who is seemingly falling apart; in Sweden, they live the morrow others can only dream of, Swedes invented the future, as a Spaniard friend of mine told me and many countries in the rest of Europe see this society as a roll model, they are the future.

So it is a shock, a rude awakening, that things have changed, that Swedish society is vulnerable, a place were maybe its openness is a now a luxury of sorts that Sweden didn’t know it had, and a commodity that was ripped by the knife of the murderer who took Anna Lindh’s life, Sweden’s essence, away from us.