Great Grand Family

 "Great Grand Family"

Before 06' is up here is a picture I want to share that I was shown this year of my great grandmother. This is the first picture I've ever seen of my great grandmother. Here is another picture of Great Grand Family.

Happy new year!

Mi Abuela (Bolita)

"Mi Abuela (Bolita)"

On the 22nd of July, 2006 I had the honor of meeting and recording w/ many gifted youth poets from the El Paso area (Stephanie, Sara, Hazel, Veronica, Jimmy, Samantha, Andy, Danny) in attendance with Emmy Perez, Peter Viola, Nancy Green and Eddie Acosta. All of the poems read and recorded were incredible and there was one in particular that really hit close to home. "Hope" by Sara Montes aka La Pocha, three months after, has been playing back in my mind whenever I think of my Abuela. I want to share her words with you and send a thank you to all the poets and teachers in attendance that day. I left El Paso heavily inspired in thought by your poems and discussion. Much respect and appreciation.

Hope

by Sara Montes aka La Pocha
(to my Grandparents Manuel Medina and Petra Medina)
The sadness in your eyes
Reflects the hope that they destroyed

The hope that they destroyed was
Because you were different.
You were known to them as a “dirty Mexican.”

You came here hoping
For the freedom,
The “American Dream.”

Instead you got the hardest work
With endless hours,
You got the work
That no one would do
Followed by discrimination.
There followed no respect.

You were called “Garbage”
Instead of the “Future”
That was the part that
Broke you down and made you cry.
You weren’t used to this,
In your land you were respected by others.

You wondered why you were here,
Where you thought would be
The second promised land,
But instead you got “Hades.”

You waited endless years
To hear this,
THANK YOU
Because there is a future,
Your hard work did pay off,
Your dream did come true,
Three generations later, in me.

I am the “American Dream”
You were waiting for.

Clips from the crates "Portrait"

"Portrait"

Clips from the crates.

Green Colour

"Green Colour"
(Click on image for video)

On August 6, 2006 I had the chance to revisit the Valle Grande. A place I hadn't seen since 1999. When I first came to this place I remember feeling calm, cool, mind caught up in the scene. A part of that feeling takes me back to K-town, Germany and the little bit that I remember while I was there. I remember the color green, the hills. Having been born and raised in the desert, being around so many trees in the Valle, and so much space where everything is green, no concrete, hardly any traffic, no noise, just space, is a picture I wanted to remember. I took several photos and figured out the video function on the digital-cam. I stood there for about 20 minutes and was about to leave when I decided to write something about the place. It will probably be a long time, years probably, till I'll return, so at 11 AM with the pen/pad, I started to put a peice together. I wanted to write with the silence, breeze and low noises that were coming from the trees behind me. But as soon as I started writing, a kid speeds up in his truck, looking like he was getting ready to off-road over the fence right into the Valle. He slammed his brakes, turned up Van Halen full blast, opened all the doors to his truck, and that was that. So I wrote this to Van Halen while attempting to concentrate on everything else I wanted to remember about the place.

"Jemez (Valley)"Green Colour

acres my imagination could only own
expanding day dreams on secluded earth,
micro-sized cows stare back, appearing close,
large hills are paved by shades in the sky
complete shadows from the dark clouds up above
that comb the trees like hair on a green skull.

the land is cut off, dyed green by imperial vision,
past living but a past thought, memory deceased.

hidden in the horizon
the land's a gaurded mansion now.

silenced by distance.

--brownhornet, © September 2006

REVISED*

Grown Man Swingin

"Grown Man Swingin"

the chain links stretch high
as the heels of my size 13s
clip the ground, fanning
the wood chips below.
I look up at a sky that changes
but always stays familiar to the past;

It had been years when as a child
my limbs like ropes let go, swinging
back and forth.

My cousin, Oli, nearly rotates my swing
full circle as the way down pulls
the pit of my stomach into the top
of my throat. My yells are muffled
like spoken words under water
and in quick motions I hear her
laughter as she asks, screaming,
"otra!?"She pushed and my rope legs
swung with the chains,
uncontrolled til' she let up
from pushing my back.

Today, my shoulders make room
in between the chains
and my rear overlaps the
the hammock strip.I smile on the way back
letting myself go forward, the air
taking all the problems that have grown
with me somewhere else.

brownhornet, © July 2006

REVISED*

A Spirit's Hands in Cardboard Boxes

"A Spirit's Hands in Cardboard Boxes"

Clips from the crates.

Can I Borrow 40 Dollars?

"Can I Borrow 40 Dollars?"

Started taking snap shots of the prices once it passed 3 per gallon last fall. Found out this summer that a 92' Acura Vigor could max almost passed 400 miles on one fill up. At first I thought 3.19 was the most I've spent on gas. I can't remember but the pics use to say 3.29. I think I remember it getting into the .40's or .50's.

Singing

"Singing"
New digi-cam with new pics, heres one of the first. Step up from the Logitech digi-pocket cam.

Peace