Bury My Body - The Animals (A Tattoo Story)

“Bury my body
Lord, I don't care where they...
Bury my body
Lord, I don't care where they...
Bury my body
Cause my soul is gonna live
With God, oh, oh, oh yeah
Lead me Jesus, lead me
Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air
And if my wings should fail me
Won't you provide me with another pair”

My grandfather was a brazero from Oaxaca, Mexico, more specifically a small town within the Sierra Juarez region named San Baltazar Yatzachi el Bajo. A farmer by trade in his adult life looking for a better financial opportunity he traveled throughout the South West with my Grandma, during the late 70’s they began a trek up and down California that eventually led them to Los Angeles. In the 80’s they cemented their roots in L.A. and became formal American citizens. The first grandparent that passed was my Abuelito when I was still in high school. My abuelo was a God fearing man, stern and strict but he used to say, “It is better to have a hundred friends than a hundred dollars in your pocket” in the end he was a hard working man whose hard work wasn’t adequately compensated but he held no gripes. We didn’t have enough money saved up at the time of his passing to have a proper burial in his beloved home town, so he was buried here, in Los Angeles, at the cemetery on Washington and Normandie. As for my grandmother, she would fall to cancer, by then we had the means to send her back to our pueblito in Oaxaca, but my grandmother in her dying days insisted “NO!”, she was going to lay next to her husband in that cemetery, that became the root to my Angelino identity, it solidified my attachment to this city and more specifically South Central.
I was able to choose the song for this video, I ran it by Iguana and he said if I liked the song then it was all good. I dig The Animals, the title says it all regarding why I got the portrait of My Grandfather on my forearm. The detail around my Grandfathers portrait is the image of The cemetery in our Pueblo back in Yatzachi El Bajo, the cemetery where my Grandpa would have genuinely liked to have been buried. The actual tattoo process was over nine hours in one session, it was done just prior to first day of The LA Body Art Expo being held in Pomona, we submitted the piece for their “Best Portrait” category and took First Place, but more than that Iguana was able to put my Grandfather in the cemetery where he intended to rest for all eternity.

Paz,
DML
Award winning tattoo artist Edgar Tagle a.k.a. "Iguana"
2032 W. Washington Blvd LA, CA 90018 (5 mins from Staples Center)
APPTS ONLY!! (323)730-7205 or E-mail: Iguanasart@att.net

FOR ALL THE MARBLES

The weight on my shoulders
Is like a hundred million boulders
Watch out for elites always trying to control us
They say base building is the root to acquiring new soldiers
But the devils in the detail
The devil is always out to de-rail
This war is for all the marbles
And if we go out if we fail
Stuck forever in our mental jail cell
Even when we mean well
Limiting ourselves limits the stories that we tell
So I’m focused on my grind
24/7 militant mind
On a mission to give vision to the blind
Going back to living
Like how when my soul shined
Not one to hold a grudge talk smack or even judge
But the life I’m living is no one else but mine
Even if it means constantly stepping out of line
My ideals are concrete and refuse to budge
I’m sticking to rhyming tight
Like a deviant erudite
Show me the enemy and watch me take flight
Can’t stop when you have victory within sight
But I’m just one
And even if I remain one
I won’t ever up and run
Palabra by my side like a loaded gun
And imma have my last stand
Even if i'm 86'd outkasted and shun
To me this is dead serious
I don’t do it for fame or for fun
Won’t stop till we've collectively won
Even if you aim to eclipse me
Imma shine like the sun
Not no chump, literally literary G funk
I come at you with this verbal double barrel pump
California Dreaming’ and I’m reclaiming my chunk
I’m a concoction brought on by Underground hip hop
And anarcho punk,
More related to a sinner than a meditating monk

NBK

What if chapu were to randomly spit a 16?
Scandalous rhyme, budded out and living a low key fancy dream
A stream of thought, random on the spot one shot
Memory of one that could never get knocked
Hopping on grass, I’m the mirror reflection on tinted glass
Sur Centro suddenly spotted in the east side going full blast
Seventh line living in the future focused on the past
Blood line of a merchant, why front with a hollow mask?
Troubled tribe make the temezcal tremble
W/ what the ancestors want me to resemble
Off track, rugged can’t be understood by those focused on gentle
Reconsider what you view as basic and essential
Bothered by a cause I’m living life as a rebel
Knowledge wanted me to be a deviant on the level
High grade hash hit like deep bass and treble

Word to moms got me feeling like an assassin
If words are my weapon, you can bet I’m blasting
Dumping on the deaf, hitting them w/ knowledge
Till my very last breath, but one love
We all in this together and trying to rise above

Some preach to the choir, me, I’m underground passing the wire,
Out to educate the new; don’t matter if you carry priors
In this struggle we all lovers and fighters
Ill literate nonfiction narrative writers
Madness manifested, on full blast
So everyone can check it, can’t afford to have anyone be neglected
In the bigger scheme we all equally connected
Collective mind mentality
And won’t stop till we all feel well protected
Won’t stop till we reshape our reality
Done out of love not for the sake of a salary
Feeling more at home in the streets than in the gallery
And me I’m more like
Mickey Knox in these streets out for his Mallory
And that’s NBK, Stream of consciousness, here to stay,
can’t afford to run in circles or even run away

Cartas a una desconocida by Nicanor Parra

Cuando pasen los años, cuando pasen
los años y el aire haya cavado un foso
entre tu alma y la mía; cuando pasen los años
y yo sólo sea un hombre que amó,
un ser que se detuvo un instante frente a tus labios,
un pobre hombre cansado de andar por los jardines,
¿dónde estarás tú? ¡Dónde
estarás, oh hija de mis besos!

- Nicanor Parra (Chileno)

The Plot Thickens.

for me not to express would be a disservice
i'm always on point, not to make you nervous
but im w/ a pack of poets w/ purpose
and we stack stanzas more religiously than churches
Amen, sisters and brethe-ren
not to make it cyclical, but here we go again
fuck it, throw me one more time into the lions den
this time it's pivotal to find that hidden gem
spit nasty like blunted phlegm
words that pack a punch, talent by the bunch
we keep your brain over worked
hope you brought an extra lunch
shit gets heavy and the plot thickens
speak universal truth and everybody listens
several options but really slim pickens
we structure visions, escape mental prisons
succeed when it comes to bustin impossible missions
fake friends come and go
but my squad is always out to go for broke
backed by lower class working folk
work real hard to puff on top shelf smoke
analyze our word, our word holds a heavy hand
of that forever rest assured
can't trust those whose visions are blurred
we go all in, we aint ever scurrred
and even if we're tipsy our words will never slur
our message is important, plain and simply
we slide in smooth ever so gently
knowledge for years and damn we have plenty
couldn't lie even if i wanted cuz
the reality is that the harsh truth sent me
respectfully, i tell you now that
I'll tell it how it is; ASAP and stat
lyrical bullets and I'm fully strapped
quick with the thought
if ever i have to bust the gat
go out dumping before i give in to idle chit chat
speak in secret code,
green light to every last low key rat
if i dissected you, you've fallen into my trap
style forced to be honest or plot a dirt nap
forced to kick up dust, end of the road
and if we explode, well, that's just that.

SHARP AS A BLADE (ACAPELLA)

SHARP AS A BLADE (ACAPELLA) by ElGrasshopper

The good always comes w/ the bad
Pointless to act up, why get mad?
Capture this moment like it was a consistent recurring fad
Hard knock university graduate gone post grad
Life lessons never seem to cease
But then again that’s just the nature deep in the belly of the beast
I hold it all in and sporadically release
Aiming to stack knowledge and rack up mad cheese
Life keeps hidden secrets and I am a career thief
Far from depressing
I’m the one that chose to never learn his lesson
My heavens, good grief!
My moment in the sun might only be brief
But I’m going to shine like fuck it let’s all chief
I’m jumping off the cliff, open minded and lit spliff
Bad enough that these gender relations are such a trip
Head held high and purposely wanting to slip
Damn right my argument is well structured and well equipped
Don’t act a fool if you can’t read the script
Type cast cats might as well call it quits
Wouldn’t be able to hang if we were to trade wits
Fuck around and end up in a bathtub with two slit wrists
Hard to the core with talent galore
Some stay book theory while I go out and explore
Come up on multi-syllabic lyrical gifts
Rooted in that style perfected by the working poor
This is lifelong not a temporary chore
I play and on occasion get played
The difference between you and I
Is that I go all in and am never afraid
I love life like green, strictly high grade
Never side track from having to get paid
Nowhere near my peak, I can go for more
Whatever it takes to be the next great orator
Bastard child that organic and academic styles made
Express life lessons that come from having constantly disobeyed
Shine like there’s no shelter or even any shade
This southpaw poet claims to defend the vanguard
Forever down to pull rank and catch a clean fade, never by force
The message I bring is urgent and can’t be delayed
Just remember I’m no sucker that can be easily swayed
My words are on point no remorse and yes of course;
Sharp as a blade.

EL PROFETA DEL NOPAL

EL PROFETA DEL NOPAL

Around the time when I was heavy into hardcore punk a couple of years back a photographer friend of mine introduced me to one RockDrigo Gonzalez, he was very passionate in his argument as to why I should like this “anti-troubadour.” I told him it sounded too folky for me, very Bob Dylan-ish and I for one wasn’t too big of a fan of ol’ Bob. He went on to tell me that RockDrigo was part of a collective of musicians that roamed throughout Mexico in the early 80’s when rock and roll was still banned by the government. A band of roaming deviant, socially conscious, beer guzzling, peyote eating, anti-troubadours, and their fearless leader was this, “RockDrigo Gonzalez”. I won’t give away too much of his history because I’d like to pass down this gem of an artist whose genius took me years to sink in. The brother was taken out by the Great Earthquake that hit Mexico City on the morning of September 19th 1985. “El Profeta Del Nopal”( i.e. peyote), as he was known, was among the 10,000 people that died on that morning, he was one of those souls that understood too much, his lyrics were deep social commentary not well received in the mainstream because of the street slang that he incorporated. He did however have mad love from the people. Fast forward to a few years later I came across one of his albums, “Hurbanistorias” and now more accepting of other genres that weren’t just hardcore punk I gave it a listen, I’m not even sure if I ever told my photographer friend that I am now and have been for a few years now a fan. The album is packed with that anti-troubadour style, the lyrics are phenomenal, the story telling is powerful, the observations are very critical and the language is sick. I decided to look up his lyrics and read them for myself, analyze if you will, the man was a genius, he wrote in multi syllabic rhyme schemes that could have given Rakim Allah a good run for his money. The anniversary of his death is coming up in a few days as is that of the Great earthquake of 85, my sharing his existence with those who don’t know of him as of yet is my tribute to one of my teachers, a temachtiani, a spiritual elder, a colleague EL PROFETA DEL NOPAL!!. The song I put up is a live version of “No Tengo Tiempo (de Cambiar mi Vida)” or “I Don’t Have Time (To Change my Life)” off the HURBANISTORIAS album the first few lines go as follows:

“Cabalgo sobre sueños innecesarios y rotos
prisionero iluso de esta selva cotidiana
y como hoja seca que vaga en el viento
vuelo imaginario sobre historias de concreto
navego en el mar de las cosas exactas
voy clavado en momentos de semánticas gastadas
y cual si fuera una nube esculpida sobre el cielo
dibujo insatisfecho mis huellas en el invierno

ya que yo, no tengo tiempo de cambiar mi vida
la maquina me ha vuelto en una sombra borrosa
y aunque sea la misma puerta que han negado tus ojos
se que tengo tiempo de atracar en un puerto

or

“I ride on horseback over broken and unnecessary dreams
Naïve prisoner of this routine jungle,
And like a dry leaf wandering through the wind
Imaginary flight over stories of concrete
Sailing through the ocean of all things exact
I’m focused on moments of wasted semantics
And what that I were a cloud sculpted over the sky
I’ll draw a dissatisfactory sketch of my prints in winter

Now that I, Don’t have time to change my life
The machine has turned me into a blurry shadow
And even thought I’m the door that your eyes have neglected
I know that I still have time to dock on some port…”

- Daniel Morales Leon
(a.k.a. Chapulin, Grasshoper, Under, Chespi)