Yonder Lies It

Ok, so this was supposed to be a CREATIVE WRITING course …the following then is de rigueur: Did I come anywhere close to approach that which is creative?

I think our teacher did a marvelous job in showing us the different genres out there and what is being associated with creative writing nowadays. For the most part, I think this concept has been hijacked by the more radical deconstructionists types who abhor all sorts of form and desperately want out of the straightjacket they seem to believe academia holds on writing as a whole. Some valid arguments, sure, but not entirely, there is some interesting stuff coming out, certainly from the so-called experimental forms which is rapidly becoming its own genre, maybe we’ll even get them out of our hairs for those of us who still prefer the more Aristolean methods.

At any rate, for this course I think that everyone will have a definition as to what creative was/is/will mean henceforth. For me it just meant getting my ideas out of my head, set them down on a piece of paper or punching them in on the computer. Playing around with the effects of the words/scenes/events and placing them here and there was also jolly good fun and certainly showed me loads that I otherwise wouldn’t have noticed so in that m?n,( I just love that Swedish word, for you non-swedes, respect) I think that creative was fairly well accomplished.

Other issues concerning this course that improved my writing was the issue of editing, I can comfortably say that I am better at editing my own stuff, at the very least.

NBF

Jejejeje, como me hizo reí­r la retrospectiva de que estos chavos se dieron una revolquiza por toda la blogesfera Tijuanera, no se escaparon ni los tagboards, puro madrazo sano y verbal ….me acuerdo y me saca la risa …ay gente, no se aguantan ….

Otra, otra, …neh …eso no se repite ….¿será?

El más reciente comentario sobre este tema nos lo ofrece Señorita arquitecta

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Well, my Creative Writing course is coming to a screeching halt and off course the evaluations will certainly start rolling in as well.

My concern here is not whether my teacher was a good teacher or if the course delivered that which it promised to deliver.

My only concern here is whether I as a student accomplished anything worthy to remember and whether I learned something or not.

The obvious answer is that yes, I learned something, I learned discipline, discipline to write.

Do I write well or any better than when before I started this course?

Hard to say, but writing needs encouragement and I encourage myself to write everyday. Regardless of whether I have something to say or not.

Indeed, that most valuable lesson here is how to write something to say and package it neatly for the consumption of the masses.

Another thing that comes to mind regarding this Creative Writing course is the issue of voice.

The question then is, did I get/find a voice?

In retrospect, I believe my voice has been thoroughly misunderstood. Having recently gone through most of Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior it struck me how familiar the tone of the memoir was to me and that was when it struck me: I have a ’we’ voice as opposed to a western ’I’ voice. When I address an audience I tend to prefer a ’we’ collective as opposed to an individual ’I’ as is most preferred by English speakers. It’s in my culture. I don’t think that too many people at the English institution are aware of this collective ’I’ that exists within the non-anglo community within the United States. We speak English as fluently as any other folk but we prefer to address a wider collective as opposed an individual.

Hence my voice tends to be militant, rebellious, and accusatory towards a collective that only exists as an ’I’

Is it really that strange?
stranded, aloof, hungry
By the sea and by the ocean.

I want to spill some words, is it strange? gg

gg __________________—-fg

tfyhdf ? sddr7

No meaning whatsoever, is it odd?

as in oddly enough?

The curios thing about new literature models, whereby form is the goal to avoid, is that no matter what you choose to do, it will still retain some form of unity, regardless of the message stated. The laughable part is that in an effort to construct a world that wants to deconstruct itself is that inevitably it will take shape. The universe with all its glorious chaos still remains in order, the laws seeketh anarchy but anarchy evolves into order sooner or later.

La Colonia Libertad con cerros baldí­os de San Ysdro al fondo. 2000

Foto tomada de mi alma mater

De seguro les daba una combinación de miedo y expectativas, como si hubieran entrado a la mismisima Comala Rulfiana, gente moviendose, corriendo, caminando, viendo, puestos de sodas, señoras vendiendo tamales, y niños corriendo entre ellos, como si fuera un pueblo carente de paí­s donde sólo las esperanzas, el miedo, y la fe resguardaban el orden del dí­a. Circa 1983. Sólo tengo dos memorias de ese cerro. Una de ellas es ese lugar y aún para ser nativo de ahí­, me causaba miedo ver la pobreza combinada con la desesperación que los sueños por una vida mejor resguardan las atmosferas de esos lugares.

Era común que nos mandaran allí­. Todos lo hací­amos, era una buena feria y además pagaba la entrada al Regines, una vieja discoteca por la calle Sexta, en la Revu off course, ya no existe hoy. ”llévate esos cuatro” nos decí­an los polleros, usualmente gente de Sinaloa o de Mazatlán, por las calles donde yo vivia, ellos controlaban el rollo ese, polleros profesionales pero más locos que la chingada y bien buena onda cuando no andaban de broncas entre sí­. No eran mafiosones como los de hoy, esta gente jalaba en eso para sus familias y hacer un billete y loquera de paso, gente responsable. Agarrabamos la burra pa’ la Liber como se le conoce entre la gente local, la Colonia Libertad más formal, y atrasito nos seguí­an los paisas, gente humilde, campesinos, del mero sur, casi ni nos hablaban, nomás miraban y se les sobresalí­a el miedo por los ojos uno que otro más calmadón, hasta respeto nos daban, escuincles que eramos y nos trataban como gente grande.

Nos bajabamos atrás de las palmas, creo, casi no me acuerdo, pero sólo ver el lugar se me quedo plasmado en la memoria, lo curioso, vendí­an sodas y la gente se hablaba como si conocieran y llevaran años ahí­. Antes no estaba esa barda como se le conoce hoy, Tortilla Curtain. Antes era un pinche alambre de puas agujereado y hasta los migras iban a comprase sus chescos con las ñoras, todos se entendian. Les seguí­amos la hora a los migras, y cuando era cambio de guardia, la gente se lanzaba el brinco. Yo me iba al Regines después de dejar mi encargo. 5 dolarotes, hasta pa’ las tortas ahumadas dejaba después del danzón en el Regines si no habí­a bronca con los del Mike’s, una discoteca con la que tení­amos bronca.

Mi otra memoria es de cuando era más morrilí­n, de unos escasos 9 por ahí­, querí­a ver que habí­a detrás del cerro ese de San Ysidro, baldio toda la vida, me fui y empezé a montarlo, hací­a un chingo de calor, bolsas de chemo regadas por aquí­ y allá, era tardecito, y de repente se escucho un ruido, como de cascabel. Me entró el miedo, y le seguí­a pero entre más me acercaba más se escuchaba el cascabeleo, me retache en friega con el corazón en la boca. Después ya de grande, ya en California, cuando vi la bandera esa de los gringos con una culebra y la leyenda que dice ”Don’t tread on me ” me acorde del incidente ese.

Off course, I had to go and tread on it…

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RIP NBF

The curios thing sobre todo esto es que esta gente incorporates feelings a lo what they say.

Really, quizá sea a TAD old anticuadillo and maybe less latino, pero eso de escribir y luego sentirse offended by lo que se escribió because mangano said this or that de lo que sutano wrote is a bit inmature, frank-ly. It doesn’t contribute to a healthy and productivo debate de ideas … no one asks for proof, just dumb statements and opinions without backing them up como Dios manda y debe de ser.

O-pinion-es are a daime a dozen. A lot of these guys are just riding on their so-called popularity. Markets products y ni siquiera lo saben, blinded …

If there is una cosa I do cuando I write es to take un sana distancia porque se que las words están embrujadas, salen de mi and they take formas like I never imagine hubieran posible haber had. They are not mine because la gente interpreta things other than what I intended. And I certainly don’t get offendido por lo que escribo, prove me wrong and enlighten me, no hay tox homes, porque I’ll be watching your palabras one by una too ..

Sentimentalist escritores … Let la palabra be libre …

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Bajo la terraza, por la yerbabuena,

En lo húmedo de un rincón sin barrer

Aleteaba un ramito del girasol

cuyas pepitas

Se afanaba por librarse de las sombras.

Veí­a desde las cortinas negras que lo encubrí­an

cómo lucia un resplandor similar a él.

Justo ahí­ donde la sombra acababa

La luna le engañaba, a veces.

From my humble bag of flesh
my crystal brown eyes
races from yore see wanton destruction

“That nation is evil thinking God is on its side, ”
My ancestors muse from a past where God hasn’t been born.
“claiming earth shall be free, pillaging everything in its path.

Tis the markets that chain people,
while crying shame as the enshacklement begins;
Magically portrayed as liberators
While children starve to death begging for a Wrigley’s chewing gum”

My eyes watch television and my ancestors nod their heads:
As their voice echoes in my veins, they transport a burning flame in this caving madness:

I am not a destroyer of civilizations
C – You see the world as a mirror image of You –

mirror, mirror on the wall …
I am told am not that
Far from being a consumer
Tribes people remain tribes people in my forlorn specks
You are not me

What will you do when the competition comes along to offer a better freedom than yours?
When they start dumping their ideas of a better day
Offering all sorts of liberation
Are you then to turn a ruthless freedom fighter?
Is this world not big enough for two fighter freers?

Shall there be only one?

Curiosamente ayer estuve pelando papas.

Mientrás procuraba dejarlas libres de manchas, las muy jijas de su rechinchu me sacaban un coraje y un dos que tres mentadas de madre pues en mi afán de pelarlas se me resbalaban, escapándose de mis manos, pero aaaaah, como me dan paciencia también, realizar el poder sobre la materia; siempre terminó pensando casi estoicamente. Aquí­ en Suecia las papas son como las tortillas de maí­z en México, son du rigueur y lo suecos son infelices sin ellas.

Los tomates son otra historia, casi no me hacen pensar mucho, es más se podrí­a decir que no les guardo actividad mental, su rollo es más causa de expectativa por su rico jugo, no requiere mucha labor, enjuagarlas y ya, me gusta fresco. Es la única fruta que como de a diario, y eso más bien por superstición pues según dice la leyenda urbana es fuente de juventud, dizque por eso los Italianos se ven siempre tan jóvenes, no sé, no me pregunten, la verdad. Cuando hago salsa en casa los parto en cuarto y los echo en la licuadora. Si a mucho, a veces los pelo para sacarles una rosa, es bien fácil el rollo, la pelas como si fuera manzana, con el pelapapas, le das la vuelta espiralmente, con sumo cuidado enrollas la cascara y listo, te queda una rosa.

El que si me trae recuerdos de esos desgarradores y que me transporta a vivir emociones ya puras, alejadas de la memoria y cuyo éxtasis sólo lo relaciono con mi tierra es el cilantro. El puro olor me vuelve loco, se podrí­a decir que para mi es un rico orgasmo de esos no carnales, así­ de desgarrador, me agarra de los pulmones y me toma para si …uf! Si lo tengo en casa a veces de pasada me doy unos jalones de cilantro bien machin, es tan enloquecedor que hasta cierro los ojos un rato …

La cebolla la parto lo más rápido posible, es más la corto y en chinga la meto a la licuadora, una de las pocas verduras que no quiero saber de ella más allá de la posible recompensa de que a lo mejor le da más sabor a la salsa. Muy rara vez la como cruda pero cuando lo hago qué rico sabor da con aceitito de Oliva virgen, un tomatito y aguacatito y pan tostado huuum, delicioso.

El ajo es una invención que le agregue a la tradicional receta, le echo un dientecillo, pero bien lo vale, pues es lo que deja sabor en el paladar aún después de la enchilada que se da uno. A mi el ajo me atrajo cuando lo vi usarse en una pelí­cula de Almodóvar, ¡ítame! Ahí­ hacen algo que se llama gazpacho, se me hizo exótica la idea, fue cuando empecé a ver que habí­a otros hispanos con culturas diferentes a la mí­a, ideas mediterráneas pues.

¿Las papas? Las papas sólo me hacen pensar.

Recently, that is, fairly recently, Iraki war II, does anybody remember that? the media got embedded we were told, so as to inform us, the public-o about the action involving said parties …. Yeah, right, the issue of self-censorship arose. Later, as things of this nature are want to, we, that is, those of us enough interested in it anyhow … were told that in order to curry favor, some reporters in the White House were willing to touch up their stories and go the way of the West Wing. Nothing surprising there except that the media is probably so self aware that nobody else ’bout a few info yunkies like yours truly here pay attention to those real life truths ….Meta awarenesss of ones market.

Anyhow, it strikes me then that this phenomena extends itself to gazilian other burues (how do you spell that word??? to lazy to loo it up …) might just, I say, might just, but most likely do follow a secret style manual that governments give out, albeit spoonwise, to inform those news bureaus of how they would like to see their words in print …breach that style manual and well, you can see what kinds of reprimands and punishments are at hand.

kiss goodbye freedom of speech, to make your own conclusions and all that nice stuff that democracies are supposed to promote. Access then is limited to a handful few who go by the book …

In other words, by the time we get any news at hand it’s already tinged with government propaganda, remember, whatever the big media thinks, their reporters have to abide by the style manual that those media concerns have which in turn have been influenced by government perks for access to the powers to be … (I can just hear it: choose your words carefully or here are a list of words we prefer to see in print when describing such and such …) nada pendejos los bueyes ….

Cui bono??

I developed a theory about a liaison between the Fifth Column and Government worldwide. I stated in many words what am about to say in less then fifty five: Media and Government engage in a horse trade of words so as to make it palatable both for the government and the public, the media then is out for perks and government out to polish its image thorugh careful selection of words and those that come out and wants to see in print.

How, one might just wonder, is this possible? Well, allow me to put forth a question: have you ever felt gratified that Word Perfect and other types of software that aid in the documentation business, help you in your spelling?

Now imagine this, the media concern, whichever for this purpose, orders a software application for its company, the media concern orders it tailored made, the corrector mechanism is to have its style manual as the correcting alternative.

So the reporter is already being corrupted in its choice of words, he/she are not allowed to choose as the unconscious self is want to do, those words that come right out of their live experience, no, they are already being tainted and censored by the very same software that supposedly aids you in correcting your possible spelling mistakes.

Cui Bono?