I’m not dead…yet. Still here – I’ve been quietly stewing over the perpetual chaos that we live in here in The Matrix and considering yet again throwing my phone in the ocean. But! I wanted to chime in here for a quick moment with you all and comment on the super duper long and continued slow death of print. The latest victim? Lowrider Magazine.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the biggest fan of LRM in the world. To be honest, I stopped reading their rag in the late 90s. Sure, I doodled the logo incessantly in high school and even went to a few shows [INSERT EYES EMOJI HERE]. I even owned a lowrider and lived the “lowrider lifestyle” for a short time before succumbing to my own madness. But, as I’ve written about before, I was more interested in the girls than the cars. I often wonder if the magazine suffered the same issue… Continue reading The super duper long and continued slow death of print→
Recently, amidst all the chaos going on in the world, I noticed a push to rename “Hispanic Heritage Month” to “Latinx Heritage Month.” I could write a full dissertation on this ridiculous topic alone but I won’t – not now – no need, nor interest. But there should be…
I also noticed that there is a coordinated effort, with the Library of Congress, to effectively edit Wikipedia to include “latinx” in already established articles of history and or information. This is blatantly re-writing history…alas, it’s not on anyone’s radar.
This should concern people but I know it won’t. I often worry that no one is documenting this era of Chicano history the way we did earlier decades…or fighting to preserve what we have and ensure that it is not erased or edited to be politically correct.
If we continue to collectively sit on our hands long enough it will be as if we never existed because that’s the eventual goal of these slash-and-burn folks. The “latinx” movement will see to its complete erasure and then corporate Amerikkka and the politicos will swoop in and finally have one homogeneous bastardization to market to. Ya basta.
Anyway, reading about this effort prompted this impromptu poem. Enjoy.
The older I get the more I feel like I repeat myself. It’s a weird feeling as a writer, especially if you’ve written a ton of stuff and haven’t organized it very well. You start to ask yourself: Did I already write about that? Have I said that before? Twice? Three times?? I know I’m guilty of that and in my mind I feel like some geezer who tells his same war stories over and over to family rolling their eyes back in their heads…bah! Like I said, it’s a weird feeling but indulge me here for a bit while I talk about my experience as a publisher.
Recently, a fellow writer and aspiring publisher asked me for some advice on the business. He asked me what BSP could do for him that he couldn’t achieve on his own as a self-publisher. It’s a great question and I had to be completely honest with him: not much. At least, not any more. Continue reading Publishing pariah→
story by Gabby Vignone | photos by Art Meza aka Chicano Soul
I was in 7th grade now; my boobs came in over summer, C cup, lost weight, got taller and found a new love for cholos.
Yovanny was my best friend as far as boys go, had some girl ones too but they come with so many emotions, drama: my boyfriend was flirting with you, that’s my shirt crap! We met at Dixie Canyon Elementary School, in Sherman Oaks California and sat next to each other in Mr. Wong’s class.
I hated those timed multiplication tests. I knew my times tables but I concentrated more on how much time was left than the problems, but I loved Dixie, had my first kiss there; James was his name and we carved a J hearts G into the tree on the playground.
Dixie is where I found out about Bloody Mary…and I’m still scared, so I will not repeat her name again. Sure people think it’s all a hoax, but Martia took me into the bathroom closed the door, turned off the lights, placed her finger on the mirror, said that name three times, and when the lights came back on, I saw blood. All over Martia’s finger, all over the mirror, that was proof enough! And don’t get me started on the stories about La Llorona, once you hear those you will never walk by a creek the same again.
Martia was a bad ass; she got held back a few times and already had boobs. I had something too cause Fernando ran over mid class one day on a dare and grabbed them. It felt so gross, embarrassing and shameful but Yovanny was there for that kind of stuff. Don’t get me wrong he is the same guy who would steal my D.A.R.E stickers and put them in his book, same guy who teased me, stole my Keroppi pen and same guy I helped Martia throw water balloons at, filled with her own piss. Continue reading Junior High Boobs→