Writers Block

(written circa 2010)
This is how you end writers block...
I'm walking and walking down Washington blvd, the sun setting behind me. No time to explain but I have to reach Vermont and then head towards South Central to my left now is the Angelus Rosedal cemetery where both of my grandparents on my mothers side are buried. Both of them born in the country side of Oaxaca, both braceros that traveled the American southwest and decided to make their resting grounds Los Angeles, the reason for me being an Angelino, but there's no time for more detail, I'm pacing faster and faster towards Vermont. Latino christian church after Latino christian church, I dash by them hearing the different hymns coming from these former warehouses turned holy place, I pass by so many of them I begin to think I'm at an outdoor marketplace for salvation, the pastor roaring with the confidence of a man determined to make rent and then some, I hear "hallelujahs!" and "amens!" many are Pentecostal, so I see jumping, dancing, speaking in tongues all coming from behind little mom and pop markets or from bigger more elaborate warehouse spaces. Yet, each congregation keeps to themselves, no time to critically analyze liberation theology or lack there of now, I'm beginning to pant. I pass by a warehouse section that still houses wholesale operations, I pass by a glass company currently tinting a large window, next to him, a tired dark skinned latino man sits in the dark with beer in tow with an ice cream cart beside him, he waits for the ice cream warehouse to open, he is the first to arrive, a quick nod of acknowledgment. I'm on Vermont standing next to the second hand store, I wait for the 754 going south, the sun has already set behind me. The bus arrives, its crowded, I put my change away and hop in through the back door where its not as packed. Someone yells my nickname from another life, it's a little homie, I catch up with the little homie, tells me he graduated high school and is currently coming back from city college, I ask him how his sister is doing (I had a thing for her) tells me she's expecting and is due any day now. The bus ride aside from that is a quiet one, tired souls out of work eager to get home. By the time I say peace to the little homie and exit Exposition it has become completely dark and the street lights have come on, an ambulance rushes west towards Normandie. I cross through the USC campus, I decide to have a cigarette in the dark at the very same spot where I once had a picnic with a failed love interest that needed attention and support as she prepped for the LSAT. I reminisce one last time as I flick the finished cigarette with a deep sigh. I've regained my composure and begin to slow down, I breathe and feel the cool evening breeze. I enter the Denny's and see her, I am quiet and attentive, I give a confident smile, everything will be okay I reassure her. I'm having black coffee, she is sitting directly across from me with a glass of water, the diner is less than half full, we remember old times and by the end of that conversation my coffee has grown cold. I take my notebook out of my backpack, both of us still quiet, I have three false starts. I pick up my pen, she is reading as I attempt to sketch her abstract form out in words. "Por tu maldito amor" blasts in the kitchen. I look up to see the title of her book, its, "El Antiguo Formularion de Yerbas Medicinales." I get another coffee and begin to write.

"ODE TO LOS ANGELES"

Ladies and gentlemen please make no mistake
I am a stubborn re-born Arturo Bandini, “The Great”
Embracing these streets as I live out my fate
Dreaming of dining on high end coffee and steak
In good standing with the brotherhood of the grape
Still wandering in my dreams when I happen to wake
Los Angeles city, oh you great love of mine!
I aim to seduce you with every verse and every rhyme
And even if in my pockets I haven’t but a dime
I court you with well-meaning with every last line
Delusions of grandeur haunt me and that is just fine
I see through you and your bottles of expensive wine
At times you ignore me but I know that you care
A courtesy ride available when I haven’t got the fare
A love/ hate relation that is always a constant thrill
From Ocean Ave and Wilshire to Temple and Bunker Hill
In between sometimes a nightmare sometimes a dream
Los Angeles you sly devil, you rarely are what you seem!
Still I lust for you, for your attention and your trust
No one to confide in so I’m forced to ask the dust
And when it replies it’s response I cannot hate
You may destroy many, but me you’ll never break!
For I am a stubborn re-born Arturo Bandini “The Great”
I can only imagine the triumphs that we’ve yet to make
So pay me more attention, please for heaven’s sake!

Caressed my face then pulled my beard with a confident tug that made me bite my lower lip

Seenther

I swear I seen her just the other day, faded, pentagram ring, choker, black boots, jet black hair in disarray/ glasses and tattooed from top to the bottom of her leather covered toes/ all black Goth inspired clothes, when she does choose to expose/ she bobs her head blazing the blues beautiful broad and just like the memory, "bad" is all she knows/ whiskey, a little bit of weed and California wine/ I swear she reminded me of a girl that was once mine/ I swear in the corner of my eye she looked more and more like her/, gulp, gulp, puff, puff it all becomes another nighgly blur/ prowling through the prairie a real panther in her prime/ gulp, gulp, puff, puff, she reminded me of a girl that in another life was once all mine

20 Poems written in Los Angeles (2014-2015)

1. Darker hues..
2. Septeto
3. Catch a fade
4. My demon
5. The Kitchen
6. Rhymed Couplet
7. Lessons
8. The Diner Counter
9. Mono Rhymed Quatrain
10. Like When You're Lost
11. Now More Than Ever
12. Dragging My Feet
13. Octave
14. Drowning
15. Memories Fade
16. At Heart
17. The Bait
18. Renewal
19. She Was
20. Without Doubt


1
Darker hues speaking little English
Lighter hues speaking little Spanish
Both hues speaking fluent Green
The new neighbors walking by look in amazement
So afraid to ask, few of them bother to look
They head to the local market instead
Hoping not to be noticed or be seen,
Yet they are dead in the middle of the daily night scene
A parked truck engineered to serve as a fruit stand
In front of it, the owner greeting those who pass by
His neighbor has a small stand, on the sidewalk floor;
Shampoos, conditioners, deodorants
The block is alive, food from several countries
Even the most nostalgic immigrant
Finds a few minutes of comfort upon the first bite
Of familiar food
Borders are of very little importance here
This before you, is the American Dream
Two darker skinned youths
No older than twenty, walk together
Fresh off the bus from the other side of town
They have their food plates in plastic bags
Wrapped in disposable plates
And aluminum foil, they talk and laugh
Gotta be up before dawn to do it again
Mom is not around to make the meals
These are more than food stands, these are often times
Food orders... with a side of advice
A family sits on a set of different colored small plastic chairs
Creating memories, a large order
And the client behind them doesn’t mind
Chatter, gossip, jokes, winos hidden in the corner
Even they get a plate, they mind their own
A woman frying empanadas and tacos asks me, “how many?”
Her salesmanship is rewarded with, “Dos por favor.”
A young brown couple walk by holding hands
And freely point at the food, “That looks good!”
I take a few steps back so people can walk by
Out of the corner of my eye;
There go those new neighbors back from the market
Not making eye contact or so much as say, “good evening”
Just walk by and ignore them,
The vendors don’t mind because they are not their clientele
This working poor strip is brightly lit
The sidewalks are filled with walking feet
The language is Spanish but the accents are many
It’s almost eleven at night,
Another bus arrives, more people returning home from work
More clients, more aluminum foil, more salsa
More tired looks, the air permeates
The smell of several Central and South American countries
An horchata to chase, behind the scenes
These cooks exchange food for themselves to eat, the competition is none
A leveled playing field, black market economy
Dollars hard at work, My order is up,
I eat my food with the late night rush
I pay for my meal
And then I go home.

2
Ella con su producto
En su ruta cotidiana
Siempre a la misma hora
Como canto a ritmo de himno
Su pan de cada dia,
En una palabra singular:
"TAAAMAAALES"

3
Growing up I had to catch a fade or two,
you did too? Solo or a crew?
school, back alley YA or Avenue?
Mine was peer pressure,
forced to take flight
on the twinkie bus and keep it true,
apparently couldnt let the homey up and tell me,
"fuck you!" by that point the all around consequences
to us homies were nothing new,
I thought,
"before they attack me,
dispensa homey i gotta attack you"
it taught me some lesson,
yet i still don't have a clue
just wanted you to see life from my perspective,
from my point view,
thoughts I share while my cousin rolls up the blunt
and I sip on this brew,
didn't mean to thug as a youngster
just had to do what I had to do.

4
Last night I spoke to my demon, that demon within me
I told that pinche punk, “hey foo, la neta, please let me be free”
I know I’ve got mistakes as far as the eye could see
But I now find myself in unfamiliar territory
I’m not trying to be here by any stretch of the imagination
This is that inevitable intervention before emancipation
My demon is persistent never been known to let up
And that foo hates it when I fall and still manage to get up
He’s ruthless and brazen with balls made of steel
But gets hurt when I find healthy methods to recover and heal
My demon loves to create any type of ordeal
Especially the ones where he’s in full control behind the wheel
So I told my demon, “ey homeboy, I gotta keep it real”
“And that shit you’re pulling, I don’t really feel,
I’ve been here before, not trying to be here again
Last time this happened, I lost many a good friend
I learned my lesson last time don’t know when you came around
Certain it was one of the many times I blacked out and hit the ground”
But you’re the last motherfucker that’s going to keep me down
My demon is lonely, no acquaintances, no friends
And this foo really thinks we’re eventually going to make amends
But I had to have a sit down with my demon and told that foo to bounce
You’re not fucking with my high when I’m burning a half ounce
You gotta get to steppin’ there’s bigger shit at play
He said don’ trip, when you least expect it, I’ll be back someday
And I don’t really mind as long as I can keep him at bay
Just Lord please forgive me when I slip up and stray

5
Orders stack up
There is only one cook in the kitchen
The cashier takes food orders
The cook dances delicately
Meat, salads, hash browns, burgers, chilaquiles
He never misses a beat and the clients can tell

6
They walk by us in their uniforms
While we are in ours.

7
What did I go to school for was it just to drop out?
Will I return and have many fancy degrees?
Will I be a tenured professor handing out syllabuses
And telling stories of a life long since gone?
Will my lessons be lessons that lessen that learning curve?
Why have I worked all of these menial jobs and why
Were none worthy of a career?
Was I not determined to work my way up?
Why is my initiative misguided and misused?
Do I think I'm too good for minimum wage?
I should be living in a higher tax bracket at my current age
Was my youth wasted wandering around?
Squandering pennies reading books wanting to be profound?
Penniless now and still getting clowned
Where will I be five years from now?
Hopefully not like five years before,
Tired defeated cant go on anymore
Where am I going and will I make it out alive?
Sitting around sure wont help me survive
Was my education all in vein?
What is it in the end that I hope to gain?
My only wealth is my income and my income is none
Unless you count spirit, but spirit doesn't pay rent
Sometimes I wonder where my life went
Will all I ever do is write, create and vent?
Rest assured, most of my energies are spent
But even then I will not stop until my wallet is content

8
at the diner counter
cup of joe and half stack
catching up on world affairs
not a care in the world
up next are the scrambled eggs
and hash browns
sprinkle a little bit of pepper on both
lastly I tackle the jam and buttered toast,
another hearty swig of joe
not a care in the world
not a care in the world

9
The say that after the laughter comes the pain
And before sunshine first it must rain
Yet nothing in life is simple and plain
Sometimes the losses far outweigh the gain

10
Like when you're lost and finally decide to ask for directions
There I stood misguided overlooking all plausible intersections
Unable to think clearly and not wanting to make the connections
Seeking out my flaws while at the same time avoiding imperfections
Gallery of memory, fear of becoming part of its permanent collection
Unable to tap into the root cause, there I was forced to pause
Gone were the desires for attention, awe and applause
The only comfort came in coming to terms with my many hard earned flaws
Uplifted by always rising from my many sudden falls
Burned bridges tend to accompany life’s constant glitches
Just when you think you got it figured out, it always switches
The reason why I felt the need to gather myself
Seeking life’s answers in its back streets more than in scripture
Questioning if how I live is truly a deadly mixture
Yet the more I attempt to escape the more I become a fixture
Truth be told the crime scene is far from a pretty picture
Constantly partaking in the debauchery that follows the elixir
No remorse, no regard, no reward, only what little I could afford
Only living for today seemed to strike any kind of chord
There I stood wanting to live and die by the sword

11
Now more than ever we gotta come together
The streets are getting hot,
And that's regardless of the weather
Seems like things are going to get worse
Before they get any kinds of better
Harassed even if I obey the law
Right down to the muthafucking letter
Us against them and its been going on forever
Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine
Constantly being treated in a cold hearted fashion
On the daily, fight for survival with all our passion
For what seems like meager gains and rations
First world issues with third world clashes
Surviving the day seems like something miraculous
Yet, I am the prey that's perceived as classless
But If I'm a radical that must make them the fascists
And if they are the elite, I stand with the masses
Going in on the matrix, until the matrix crashes

12
I found myself dragging my feet though these streets
Up and down the block everyone with something to offer
Repentance and salvation right next to each other
On one end a man with bible in hand prayed for all of our sins
While on the other end an older woman past her prime
Offers a good time for the right price
A migrant woman dressed in an indigenous pattern
Wrapped up her morning stand on her way to the next job
Two winos slept on the sidewalk in a statuesque position
Friends in sin caring for each other where the last drink was had
In the hill hidden by bushes, three other men speak in dialect
Their clothes dirty smoking something I don’t want to know
Before I reach the midway point I hear the mantra of this street,
“mee-khas, ID’s? mee-khas, ID’s”
A store clerk standing just outside of his job
Tells a potential client, “We take your picture here”
An investment of forty to eighty dollars buys the ability to work
By this time the scent of Central and South America reach my nose
Energy up before you hit that twelve hour below minimum wage job
Some are high, hung over, drunk or just plain lost
While others are already hard at work long before sunrise
Traditional fast food to feed the masses, eaten at bus stops
Everyone in a hasty pace to get from here to there
A group of people sit on raggedy lawn chairs drinking cheap beer
The liquor store opens at six in the morning, common knowledge here
Police pay them no mind just as a mother walks her children to school
She’s quick to hold their hand, these will be their memories
Bodies lay out across the grass sleeping, all with different stories of sorrow
But for the time being they enjoy the shade as best as they can
I know not their troubles, they know not mine but we suffer just the same
And somehow manage to push through, for the time being
Bodies simultaneously rush in and out of the train station
Different Spanish accents have created a very distinct new language
Yesterday was like today and today will be like tomorrow
The bodies will continue to travel with no end in sight
I can only wonder where most of them will end up tonight
And what will they be doing when the sun shines bright
Only one thing is certain around here,
Win or lose everyone has and will put up a good fight

13
I'm too hood for this one, too proper for that
Ratchet right here but over there I'm seen as a square
I don't care when they compliment or when they stare
In an ivory tower to some to others in an evil lair
To all I say; play it safe and just shoot me a prayer
You see, my character goes through many an interesting layer
through it all I never lost my flavor
Just get to know me first, if you could do me that favor

14
A wave in an ocean of music
- she swayed to and fro
Graced the floor with her rhythm
- And in my mind I sank slow
5/30/16

15
Momma damn sure tried her best
But in the end he became a heartless hot mess
God bless her every last effort for him to be saved
The way he saw it, only choice he ever had was misbehave
Now his soul weathered, beaten and depraved
Tried to go to school but just couldn’t make the grade
Can’t even remember when it was that he strayed
To the demons in his head I say, “God damn it, well played”
Innocence lost, not simply delayed
Vice came his way and was easily swayed
Yet, this story is old, foretold to the point, it’s decayed
Ignored prayers and well wishes that were earnestly made
Gone along with his friends, just like how memories fade
God only knows what could have happened had he obeyed
His soul for some debauchery seemed like a fair trade
Knee deep in sin, remorse doesn’t seem to be bothering him
Yet and still he goes on his course, forever believing he can win
The only thing that’s certain is his patience wearing quite thin
Still walking around with what amounts to a criminals grin
He jumped into the eye of storm and it became sink or swim
But if life has given him one thing it’s a very thick skin
Through ups and downs he remains where he’s been
At peace with his imperfections, not so much as a sting
Showing the world he can fly, even with a broken wing

16
I’m at heart a writer, I can’t join your cypher
In fear that what I may say
Just may gear us all towards multiple lifers
Stories about young fighters, true to form riders
Some real shit that’ll throw off the superficial biters
All the fake street style industry insiders
I have cronies that came just as fast as they went
Homies gone before they even understood what it was to repent
Some serving time others now just a memory to defend
To those passing through they could never comprehend
Me and you, those and them, a one of a kind blend
Close to home I dare you and yours to reprimand
We here now demand, we take a stand
How else can we ever let our life experiences expand?
I mean, how many secrets can one block hold?
For centuries bought and sold futures done been foretold
Sharing stories with homies recently released and paroled
Praying we’re the ones that can finally break the mold
Yet none of that prepares you for how the world is cold
And nothing compares to how the world is so bold
Barely able to bend laws to work out in our favor,
To be forgiven with all our flaws and misbehaviors
To be saved with nothing short of a pardon or a prayer
To all the little homies that have passed, rest assured
La mera neta camaradas, Rest In Peace, I’ll see you later
In the meantime my gee, I’ll be out chasing that paper
This is just one of the many middle of the road capers
Living life surrounded by underground movers and shakers
Forever and a day avoiding the path that I know is safer

17
I forget if I do it to escape or relate
I do know, however it helps pass the wait
I hate to admit that it makes me feel great
It helps me not doubt my questionable mental state
and helps that much more to accept my inevitable fate
gone are the thoughts of any form of clean slate
Longing for the support of a nonexistent soul mate
In my mind I feel it would help my spirit resonate
But if life has its catches I've once again taken the bait

18
No sir, I do not sell dope
And no madam I do not believe in the Presidents hope
Nor do I have absolute blind faith the church and the pope
I’m not trying to cop that life of soap on a rope
And if you repeat this to others please don’t misquote
For we are all sinking on the very same boat
And please don’t come at me
Unless you are inviting me to some potent smoke
I’m twenty first century yet very old school
Never one to act a fool, always down to keep it cool
Firm believer of the golden rule
That I am very much so a sacred and rare jewel
Poems be my weapon and words be my tool
The world is not easy in fact it’s quite cruel
But if life comes testing and it asks for a duel
I’m willing to die in a metaphoric bloody street pool
All for the sake of salvation and spiritual renewal

19
She was dressed to kill and took me out w 1 shot
whatever I wanted to say on the spot I forgot
Seconds became forever
she stood there, a Beverly Hills trend setter
no love letter could ever get her
jewels in her hands and a chest unlike the rest
and your boy was impressed
skin tone was down,
you know, that beautiful worldly brown
you can only imagine my inner stress
her smile like what's up
and the crew looking on from the cut
walking away with that confident strut
I was smiling w my mouth shut
would I see her again? Maybe BUT probably not
I'm lucky my jaw aint drop
I was lucky my mouth aint drool
now I'm just re-telling the story w the homies,
"kicken back being cool"

20.
Without doubt it’s the streets that turned me out
Never looked back and as a matter of fact I acquired a knack
For knowing how to use some of "this" to make some of "that"
Little by little that knowledge became a bigger stack
College of hard knocks graduate your boy was never off track
From my early years I learned how to run with the pack
And even though I chose not to roll with the strap
For this youngster, nowhere close to a stroll in the park,
Mad heart and street smarts don't always set you apart
So, I flew with the vultures swam with the sharks
Rolled with true soldiers stomping out the marks
Chillaxin bumping classic Oshea Jackson burning weed after dark
Having to always look back right from the start
The life is nothing new to me and if you knew what I know
Given the option keep it, BET you'd say NO
Peep it, these streets hold several deep secrets
Many talk but very few are able to properly speak it
If I were you, I wouldn’t seek it
Rest in peace to those outlined in chalk,
To those that talk the talk, walk the walk
To those that beat the odds or survived getting shot
Career hustlers that are always on the clock
Holding down the block and refuse to shake the spot
Forever in some shit and rarely get caught
Those life experiences can't EVER be bought!
For us life gets serious early on
When loved ones get got, knowing it won't get better
How difficult it is to move on and stay strong?
It takes a lot, especially being a state targeted have not
But, no one's fought harder than we've fought
Life's a constant onslaught yet forever foiling their plot
And that's because My Gees;
They'll NEVER have
That underground understanding that WE'VE got.

2PAC

"2PAC"
Against All Odds we’ll see Better Dayz
From The Cradle to The Grave
Shorty Wanna be A Thug, Dear Mama, Lord Knows
I See Death Around The Corner, All Eyez on Me
Fuck The World, I Wonder if Heaven Got A Ghetto
-Blasphemy, It Ain’t Easy, Life Goes On, Changes
Ghetto Gospel, Hail Mary and God Bless The Dead
How Long Will They Mourn Me, If I Die 2Nite Hold ya Head
Krazy Just Like Daddy Life of an Outlaw Lord knows
Loyal To The Game Thugz Mansion for Lost Souls
Only God Can Judge Me Bury Me A G with Hennessey
White Manz World Under Pressure Until The End of T-I-M-E
Troublesome To Live & Die In L.A. Tradin War Stories
Skandalouz Only God Can Judge Me U Can’t C Me
I Ain’t Mad At Cha Str8 Ballin’ Pour Out A Little Liquor
Don’t Get It Twisted Shit Don’t Stop
Holler If Ya Hear Me R U Still Down? Stay True
Got My Mind Up I shed So Many Tears No More Pain
What you won’t Do For Love, Temptations or Street Fame
Keep Ya Head Up Smile Heaven Ain’t Hard To Find
Heavy In The Game Thugs Get Lonely Too
U ain’t ever Had A Friend Like Me It’s All About U
If My Homies Call, Still Ballin’ Baby Don’t Cry
Ghetto Gospel California Love, Thug Passion
-High Till I Die.

On scratch paper

All of those past memories
Now into this single poem
That I will discard,
Or perhaps not.