hateful pal & fellow Urban Twister, Bryan Stewart, recently came out about his crack addiction (I assume the addiction is virtual.) on facebook, prompting a conversation about the realities of the drug trade. David Simon and his crew showed us plenty of those realities with Homicide, The Corner, & The Wire, but many of the misconceptions about how lucrative the drug trade is still linger. The truth is, unless you can survive the streets long enough without getting killed or arrested as a foot soldier, you’d be better of working at McDonalds...
(Read the whole story on From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist.)
Monday, June 14, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
A poem about my childhood memories of the little town my folx are from in Puerto Rico:
VillalbaA shallow, little thing—the river behind abuelita’shouse, barely deepenough to wade in,to slam our clothesclean against rocksExcept when the hurricanescame, we would have togather the chicken & geeseand stow them in the basementpraying that the great brown surgecarrying cows & cars withequal ease would notdevour our fowl anyway"¿How far does it go?"I asked mi hermano—"Don’t know, but I hearthat upstreamthe catfish get so bigyou can wrestle themout of the water—"and so we set out,on a day freeof hurricanes, to find that placewhere the river began
¿How far had we walkedbefore we realized our follyas the current grew stronger,a Lucha Libre wrestler shovingus around, knocking us downrefusing us a glance underhis golden mask?¿And the catfish?Just as we believed, we sawone navigating the currentmore easily than we could,its whiskers as long as it wasI pounced, thinking, perhapsI can have at least thisone pleasure; rocksin my hands,nothing more.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Howdy folx. I'm feeling a bit broody today, which sometimes makes for decent poetry. Here's what came out. Let me know what you think.
ChosenI love you,said the Universeas she pummeled meinto the Earth,ripped my corpseout of the dirtonly to throw meagainst weathered mountains.I have chosen you,She says as I slideinto cool rivers,chosen you to showhumanity its foolish follyits varicose vanityits egregious ego.I rest upon a riverbankfeeling no painbecause I am pain,& I rememberbeing a childbeing beatenby my motherbeyond submissionbeyond comprehension.Afterwardsshe would always hold mein her arms, cradle me,rock me softly,& tell me tenderly,I’m sorry. I do thisbecause I love you.You can’t fail.You are hope.You are chosen.