From Now to Eternity (Know the Ledge Cover)

From Now To Eternity (Eric B and Rakim Sample) by ElGrasshopper

Another Level

Photo Courtesy of David A. Phillips.
(www.witheveryblink.com)

Sometimes scared cuz i roll w/ sacred death
she stares at my essence and I hold in my breath
where was she, when i was at my lowest
body on the concrete
just before my spirit damn near left?
don't judge lest ye be judged
she said, "my dude, watch your step"
i'm on another level,
few can handle shady deals w the devil
the fallen however are several
here i rise, harsh truths, see through lies
how do you think i made it out the ghetto?
gotta create with the rubble
so goes life in and out of the struggle
pray and at all times remain humble
refrain from those who maintain
true to their constant stumbles
through this trip many minds flip
rest in peace to all my aunts and uncles
murked by a system bent on making bank off
their undocumented hustle
politrickin chicken shit politicians
always tryin to kill dreams we envision
gotta watch out
its not always gold just cus it glistens
many fronts not all
come with bow ties and ribbons
but united we become an iller role call
all in together getting out our mental prisons
whatever it takes to leave our grain of sand
for our grand daughters and sons to live in
forever watched over by a greater spirit
smarter methods of getting lifted
gotta guarantee the seeds remain gifted
so i blatantly live life to
uncover all of its hidden secrets
peep it, i live life and
constantly grim reap it
that's my quest and imma keep it
like giving a pledge to live life on the edge
certified madman with nothing more than
linguistic tongue twisting message
not quite the bad atheist,
not quite the good christian.

R.I.P. El Chiapas (Amigo de La Mina)

Upon arriving to this place we quickly made friends with the local winos, those that were in a constant battle with a sort of harsh past that for whatever reason can’t be overcome. Who am I to judge you if life has beat you, I’ll be your friend and I’ll lend an ear but I will not judge, such was the case with, “El Chiapas” he hung out in the glass shop next door and was always in the alley behind La Mina. When we first met El Chiapas he would complement the collective, he’d refer to us as “los musicos con las congas” or “the musicians with the congas” and he’d be quiet as he passed around the alley. We would be silk screening or working on art and we’d have the back door open and he’d always greet us with a smile. At a certain point he got comfortable enough to take our glass bottles. We had an unspoken bartering system where he’d take our trash bins and in return he would get what we would otherwise recycle. The brother had a past that he would tell to anyone that would listen, he promoted La Chamba to the City Terrace community, he had some sort of falling out with his father at an early age, he said, his dad beat him as a child and he ran away. El Chiapas had his circle of soccer loving friends and from what I’ve gathered up to this point, this is a Chivas community. He had a gentle smile and if he knew you were coming to La Mina during the day he would greet you as if you were an old friend, in a way we got to see the last cycle El Chiapas experienced, he became a friend of ours. He loved La Chamba, he’d always give us a thumbs up whenever he’d see us packing up the instruments for gigs and protests. I walked out to the store next door yesterday and saw a green collection box with the picture of a man that was well groomed that had recently passed away, as I was receiving my change I gave a double take. I didn’t recognize the well groomed man, but then I saw the picture of the deceased in a more present form. I looked closely and a sense of sadness came over me, it was El Chiapas. I asked the lady at the store, “Murio?” and in a very sullen tone she said, “Si, la semana pasada” I came back into La Mina and told Jayson, he thought about it for a good while and said, “I mean, it makes sense I haven’t seen him around in a while” but he couldn’t believe it I said, there’s a collection box and he went out to check for himself, and came back in disbelief and said, “yeah, that him”. I told Carlos and he did the same and came back in disbelief also. He would refer to us as “chavos” or “dudes” but now he has entered the spirit world, and as the saying goes, “he’s in a better place” we all have internal/personal drama that affects us in different ways and such was the case for El Chiapas, one of the first believers of LA MINA, one of the first members in the immediate community to open his arms to us, and although not perfect, we offered an ear and we talked, and we listened. I always thanked him for helping us out, I still remember the last words I told him before he went., “Gracias, eh” and so for what it’s worth from this world to the next, mi estimado Chiapas, los chavos de LA MINA le dicen una ultima vez, “Gracias, eh” vaya usted con Dios, que se lo mereze.

If you’d like to contribute
There is a collection box @
Linda’s Market on the corner of
City Terrace Dr and Hazard.

The Struggle.

first off, gotta be clear headed
and any thing we do
can't leave a trace, not even a clue
how many times have we been up and down
this avenue, got my own drama to deal w/
and on top of that still worry
about the sheriffs and the boys in blue
at any given time, i'm tempted to say
i'm through, but lovely lovely movement
when its all said and done
the reality is that i love you
going all in, not always the business
art and rebellion
sometimes become my mistress
together we rise and the city
is here not just to observe
but bare witness
materialize what we collectively
see in visions
dream reality
not just poetic contradictions
come to find out
deconstructing is one heavy mission
but i am determined and in a quest
to show the world, that we are the best
even if i have to admit to being a hot mess
the struggle is not the struggle
unless you're stuggl-ing
and i'm going to struggle
(hot mess or not)
until i'm confident that we can win.

Return to sender (Thania)

i want you to steal my inspiration
and track you down till the end
mine on paper and in the tongues
of those who will read
the embodiment of a poem,
a verse, recited for all time
if only in my mind
to steal my inspiration
be in your mind forever
every last strategic phrase
I make love to you with every word i type
and I realize that in my life
women will come and go
lovers will fade
and memories will be erased
but you,
the one who had a table full of
latin american literature
you, who speaks with poetic authority
You stole my heart
from the first time we spoke
i have made it my goal
to steal your heart so you can steal my inspiration
so that i may steal it back
and have that be our infinite routine,
our little secret.

The Red Flag Above Us.

Photography: Carlos Rogel.

I’m riding shotgun in an organizers truck and can clearly hear the horns, drums and chants blaring up and down Olive Street as we descend into a literal downward spiral, reaching the first floor as fast as we can making our way to the parking lot structure entrance. We notice a group of worker/ organizers already lined up and waiting for us, eagerly expecting our surprise. They immediately head towards us and quickly go for it, in the background the demonstration is in full swing and the 500 strong farm worker contingency is in the middle of it all, we have to catch up to the group of them, mean while the other worker demonstrators are marching alongside their respective syndicates with their banners and signs and assorted instruments. These are bigger, older labor unions whose locals sometimes exceed the entire UFW membership count on any given day, then you have us, the campesions with our small red flags in hand chanting, “SI - SE – PUE-DE!, SI - SE – PUE-DE!”

We just missed our group of workers by a few seconds, but in a protest or demonstration a few seconds usually makes a world of difference and so now you have the collective effort of our direct action delegation making its hurried way up 8th street onto Olive. We run straight into the sea of moving bodies and rush all the marchers out of our way with polite but hasty, “excuse me’s”, “con permisos” and no second thought. Some begin to realize what we have in hand and help us part the sea of demonstrators, in the background someone yells, “Don’t let the flag drag!” and I quickly make my way into the center to hold that part of the flag up and say, “lead the way because I can’t see where I’m going, I’m just following the workers around me” and there I am underneath a big red flag not knowing in which direction I’m going but never the less moving forward.

We quickly reach our group and along with our other fellow corroborators begin unveiling our flag and encourage the campesinos to join me in collectively holding our emblem above our heads. It was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever witnessed, the workers quickly unrolled the flag above them and there I was with them, with the campesions underneath the big fifty foot red flag that had the black Huelga eagle in its center. There it was, in all of its glory, hundreds of brown skins from Madera, Oxnard, Bakersfield, Delano and Porterville draped in the infamous general strike red tone. They cheered, raised fists, gave thumbs up in approval, it made for greater cheers from the larger demonstration, the black eagle over the red flag, and the campesinos proudly marching with their surprise for Los Angeles. The crowd looked on in amazement at the huge flag that we were carrying over our shoulders, by this time photographers began approaching and passer by’s would ask for anything with the black eagle on it. My job there was done, I took a deep breath and took a step back, admired the workers and continued on in the struggle because the real work was nowhere near done. Never the less, that moment now turned memory gets filed as a small victory … and I’ll take it.

Abstract Thought.

Scenes of losing my mind
For the sake of gaining intelligence
On the verge of extremes
Seems like clear intellectual evidence
Painting visual pictures
For the artistically blind
Describe irrelevant decadence
These old actions set new precedence,
Must remember at all times:
Follow my personal path
Live with me these autobiographical sentences
Love life but
Still don't know what the end lesson is
Meet many faces, jaded expressionless
For ever on the run,
Don't know if I'll ever make it out
Or if that's just selfishness
Far fetched dreams/ visions of peace and love
Grim realities people constantly push and shove
Live life on the edge, and the experience
Fits like a glove,
Constantly having to focus pledge to rise above
Abstract thought, got me trying to decipher
Lifes sinister plots, out to post up
Not shake the spot,
Out to shine big like the sun is hot
Trying to get it all before I get got
Literal embodiment of what madness brought
Don't know if this wild ride will ever stop
I won't hide, confidence by my side
Mad rhymes till the day I drop
Immaculate mission,
This poet with purpose and vision
goes all in and refuses to flop