Hora estándar de Pacificó
This one is called, replacing trees with walls. a richard meier study. To be in nature, to be on top of nature, to be against the natural. To be so powerful that you can move Earth to the side, in order to build a castle, to fill it with things, to fill it with the history of other people. Other people who will always be referred to as "other" people. The gates will shut. Please make sure to get your ticket validated.
ANNOUNCEMENT: Me & Writ Large Press
January 13, 2013 is when I fell in love with Writ Large Press, it was the morning after Billy Burgos’s launch party at Beyond Baroque - thank you Billy, for the introduction! Most of you know that story, if not ask me in private! I then began to love all things Writ Large. I followed them and their doings, and then we'd hang and scheme for nights at Spring Street. We laughed, loved, hated, and cried together, and we shared similar beliefs on what “books" mean to us, the people who write them, and the communities they serve (and don't serve).
Then, Writ Large invited Poesia Para La Gente to participate in LAB•FEST in 2013, and the book fests in 2013 and 2014. And then #90for90 happened and I was formally invited to join this amazingness, whom I'd already grown to love. And so it began. And it was because of Peter, Chiwan, and Judy, and our little community that I learned how to navigate and process this thing called publishing, and all that it encompasses, and all that our lives encompassed over the past three years. And these past three years have been a lot: good, great, difficult, and everything, so I’m forever grateful in finding forever friends-like-family in those three amazing people. And yeah, I’m also grateful for being able to work on books by brilliant writers who also happen to be good people, like Wendy C. Ortiz, Rachel McLeod Kaminer, Ashaki M. Jackson, Mike Sonksen, and Teka Lark. And it was through Writ Large that I met some of the folx that I'll be fortunate to call friends for the rest of my life. Plus, have I mentioned how awesome it was to be a part of all of those events we put together, on that spectrum of what we see as being literary!? It’s been a fun/wild ride for sure!
But sadly, and happily, life brings us surprises. For instance, three years ago I had no idea I’d ever be married again, (and to someone so wonderful), but more importantly seven years ago when I began this journey, I had no idea I'd find this kind of fullness in my life. But I worked hard at letting me be me. This is how I found the friends I have now, the beautiful people in my life, that I love so much. This is also how I found it in myself to return to school, to return to the work I’m most passionate about, and to allow myself to learn, fuck up, grow, and experience. And with that comes shifts, in purpose, goals, what gets us excited, and how we choose to process how we learn new things.
Sadly, I'll be stepping away from Writ Large Press as a partner, but I’m excited for what’s in store. I owe it to them to make room for someone who has the capacity for a commitment greater than mine. Soon Writ Large will be publishing a new series of chapbooks, and 90x90 is on its way, and thanks to the many supportive friends and volunteers who’ve stepped up to help make this happen! I'm looking forward to all of this!! And I'll always believe, and hold close to my heart, the mission of Writ Large Press and it's founding partners, as expression of the politics we need in the world - yesterday, right now and always!
As for me, I’ll be announcing some new projects soon, one is a small publishing project, another is an advocacy/data project. Beginning this fall I’ll be pretty busy with finishing school while working freelance putting events together, helping other folks with events, designing books, working on community projects, working with Ave 50 Studio on things, and working to fight displacement and societal injustices. I'm also working on my first book which is requiring a surprising amount of research, but feels so good to be able to actually do. But also, and more importantly, there are some pretty exciting happenings on the home-front, which of course takes the cake!
There's an endless amount of joy and experience that I can write about, but I'll stop now, too many tears for a Tuesday! I'm so grateful for everyone I've met along the WLP way, and I'm equally grateful for this literary community we call home. So much more to come...see you all on the other side! 💜
resist. disrupt. transgress.
If you're interested in helping WLP with 90x90, in production, curating, presenting, reporting, spreading the word, etc. OR if you'd like your work to be featured for an evening - please FILL OUT THIS GOOGLE FORM.
I miss my hometown & summer will never again meet us on neutral ground & tails are pulled like magic, from the broken bodies of lizards. No one will ever know why some things don't take their time in moving from one place to the next. It just happens. The moving too fast to allow the missing. But I miss and keep missing & all I remember is the before, but maybe that has nothing to do with now, and everything to do with home. If home is defined as a place you've built good memories in, the only home I've ever had is becoming left over sketches of a poem that may or may not make a tail of all that's broken. Someone once said that missing is a virtue. And so the missing will have to make up for the absence of normal summers. But I'd trade this poem and virtue, to stop anyone from missing what a home use to be. #HLP
detours. (in multiple parts)
This album. This man of music. Changed our world. It did. Forget about the people who didn't want change, the music played on. It always plays on. Lifting us from those momentary lapses to those places on mountain tops, or in those softly lit corners of the forests, the places we don't want to leave but we have to. Or do we have to? The music can always keep us there, free jazz always kept me there. The recording stops but the notes still play. And play. You can hear it around the corner from where you are now, I bet you didn't know there was 'an around the corner' from where you stand. Those are Coleman's corners. He built them to teach us how to listen. And we listen. LA still listens. Jazz is hardly dead. It's a part of life, the metamorphosis of our heroes, the creators of innovation and inspiration. He made this music, this free and divine magic carpet ride, and now he is his music. Eternal. Ornette Coleman is hardly dead, he's just becoming something else. Something eternal. Ornette Coleman was Jazz. Jazz will do anything but rest.
The Shadow Of The River We Played In
The Unedited and Incredible True-ish Silly Tales of Almost Every Los Angeles - Valley Romance.
Part One. Victory Blvd
(hint: read between the lines)
It was hot, the dog-days-of-summer-in-the-Valley kind of hot. These two lovebirds were eager to find a peaceful shade at any nearest tree, a tree this side of a place the she lovebird had never been, but had always wanted to "experience." Thanks to the internet, she quickly found a perfectly shady place!
"Where's Victory Blvd?", she asked while thinking she might already know, because everyone kinda knows where Victory is. Of course, he was all, "A few blocks up from Vanowen. Duh." And she's like, "Where's Vanowen?" And he's like, "Ah Fuck it! We're getting out of the Valley." She was all smiles.
And they lived happily ever after.
Green to Golden
The California sun has a way of turning Angeleno green into golden hues of paleteros, vert ramps and puppy smiles. Droughts only exist where there is no replacement for water.
Clippers Nation Receives an Email
STATEMENT FROM CLIPPERS HEAD COACH DOC RIVERS
Their Hispanicization of One (Los Angeles)
- an excerpt, in progress
The deepest shades of her white, with translucent eyes and longish wheat blonde hair. The richest shades of his black, with soft masculine curls and eyes to stare forever into. This is half of me, the other half taken from the sands of faraway make believe lands, with distant languages that have no use for simple new-world letters but that we still study so as to never forget. These worlds melt into shades of my brown. Of their brown, of our brown. A shade of brown that makes up fifty-seven percent of this cities population. A brown that another fifteen percent of this cities population considers white...but will always be brown. But brown is not a color, unless we've been forced to wonder who we are and where we're from...and when we're from. Brown is not a color, unless the black, white and gold disappear into shame. Brown is not a color, unless we choose to let those other shades of white eclipse any remnants of our courage and life rooted in this lands history. Brown is not a color, unless they tell us it is.