--para Adolfo Guzman Lopez, truth obstretician y periodista
Papers say the two cops
that shot a non-lethal 40 mm
projectile into the throat
of my friend, a journalist,
acted well within means
and protocols and policy.
Cops say the round bounced
off a pregnant protestor or
belligenrent ectoplasm, so
do over, and chas-chas on the
bottom of their personnel files?
But, what of the duty and
discretion of sworn peace
officers?
If I live under CCTV regime,
why should cops get to decide
when centralized bodycams power
on their Cyclopslog?
Police are not
butlers for abuse, true true;
but, clap on my friends that clap
on star chambers of pedigree and power
and we begin to gots sword-prollems.
Sending out bruisers to enforce
peace is like sending out a tank
because someone stole your changuito.
What of the steering column
of these elite, peace-keepers?
What of the humanists in uniform
that have seen this all before
maybe, in crooked-ass cuneiform?
Quizas, una lecture sobre modales:
When you discharge pepperballs as you retreat
everyone is guilty as shit.
Thursday, December 10, 2020
Thursday, November 5, 2020
FOREWORD: 8 LA POETS
The first book HINCHAS published was a collection of ghazals for James Foley; I titled the collection "Ghazals for Foley" in honor of Jim's conversion to Islam, but also to highlight the rot, the void left in the world by Jim's graphic murder. This was 2016, almost 18 months after Foley's murder, and most of the ghazals that were published were from former classmates from the UMASS-Amherst Poets & Writers Program. One of the people that didn't go to school with Jim or I, but that submitted ghazals was radio journalist, Adolfo Guzman Lopez. He submitted a ghazal that added leagues to the collection, and solidified our burgeoning friendship.
In 2019, Adolfo invited me to be a part of a ragtag group of poets, writers, and thinkers called Project 1521. The group was called Project 1521 in an attempt to fight the erasure of the 500 years that had passed since Cortes plundered Tenochtitlan. The poets in this group were people like Adolfo and Adrian Arrancibia, two former poets from the Taco Shop Poets, and Linda Ravenswood, the mera mera of the Los Angeles Press, and the bawse behind the Melrose Poetry Bureau and several other literary incubators, and Gloria Enedina Alvarez, the most known unknown poetry matriarch in SoCal. For an interloper like myself (east coast douchebag and such) to be among working-class writers in Los Angeles that are wrestling with art in the pursuit of better rendering their aesthetic has been a major gift.
Linda and I initially geeked out over typewriters, and ended up with the legacy of Miriam Matthews, the first African-American credentialed librarian in California. She plied her trade for the Los Angeles Public Library at a time when she was probably the only person of color in every room all of the time. As a librarian of color in SoCal, I can attest to the peculiar ways in which patrons interact with librarians and vice versa (are YOU the librarian?). Linda and I were going to build an index of libraries that hire performers and build a super femmed out volume so that women of color were not only highlighted, but emphasized. We thought a print edition would be keen since we were going for maximum usability.
And then, the pandemic hit and body slammed our poor, poor mice plans. All of a sudden, all budgest were being contested, especially the print collection budgets of libraries. The demand for online books, services, and materials has literally upended most library systems in the U.S. leading to major library system layoffs in cities like Portland and Kansas City, MO. In other words, it's not that print is dead, but the symbiosis the library world has entertained for the last ten years, between print and online books, just tipped over dramatically into the half destined to be prey. I spoke with Linda and we decided to put the project with the namesake on hold, or at least switch it over to the digital world, and proceed with another project: 8 LA Poets.
Because the future is Female, or at the very least the future is super-less Testosteronny, I decided to publish only women poets in Los Angeles County and to prioritize wonen of color poets. Because Armine and Linda and I are in the same workshop, I have been front and center when they have read original pieces they've crafted on the spot. I have glimpsed their ferocity and basked in their analysis and feel in every sense of the word that they are the real deal. And that's because these bad ass ladies have built their houses from the ground up and never got the motherloving permits and didn't think to ask any government agency for permission. For example, Armine runs her own press and is so ovaries-to-the-wall that she left her steady job as an English teacher to stick her neck out and fight the good fight one word at a time.
Thank you for coming to this book and for drinking a little from its lip. We hope you like the sensory feast Linda has curated for you, and we hope to see you on the inside of this book where space has purposefully been alloted for you, dear reader.
In 2019, Adolfo invited me to be a part of a ragtag group of poets, writers, and thinkers called Project 1521. The group was called Project 1521 in an attempt to fight the erasure of the 500 years that had passed since Cortes plundered Tenochtitlan. The poets in this group were people like Adolfo and Adrian Arrancibia, two former poets from the Taco Shop Poets, and Linda Ravenswood, the mera mera of the Los Angeles Press, and the bawse behind the Melrose Poetry Bureau and several other literary incubators, and Gloria Enedina Alvarez, the most known unknown poetry matriarch in SoCal. For an interloper like myself (east coast douchebag and such) to be among working-class writers in Los Angeles that are wrestling with art in the pursuit of better rendering their aesthetic has been a major gift.
Linda and I initially geeked out over typewriters, and ended up with the legacy of Miriam Matthews, the first African-American credentialed librarian in California. She plied her trade for the Los Angeles Public Library at a time when she was probably the only person of color in every room all of the time. As a librarian of color in SoCal, I can attest to the peculiar ways in which patrons interact with librarians and vice versa (are YOU the librarian?). Linda and I were going to build an index of libraries that hire performers and build a super femmed out volume so that women of color were not only highlighted, but emphasized. We thought a print edition would be keen since we were going for maximum usability.
And then, the pandemic hit and body slammed our poor, poor mice plans. All of a sudden, all budgest were being contested, especially the print collection budgets of libraries. The demand for online books, services, and materials has literally upended most library systems in the U.S. leading to major library system layoffs in cities like Portland and Kansas City, MO. In other words, it's not that print is dead, but the symbiosis the library world has entertained for the last ten years, between print and online books, just tipped over dramatically into the half destined to be prey. I spoke with Linda and we decided to put the project with the namesake on hold, or at least switch it over to the digital world, and proceed with another project: 8 LA Poets.
Because the future is Female, or at the very least the future is super-less Testosteronny, I decided to publish only women poets in Los Angeles County and to prioritize wonen of color poets. Because Armine and Linda and I are in the same workshop, I have been front and center when they have read original pieces they've crafted on the spot. I have glimpsed their ferocity and basked in their analysis and feel in every sense of the word that they are the real deal. And that's because these bad ass ladies have built their houses from the ground up and never got the motherloving permits and didn't think to ask any government agency for permission. For example, Armine runs her own press and is so ovaries-to-the-wall that she left her steady job as an English teacher to stick her neck out and fight the good fight one word at a time.
Thank you for coming to this book and for drinking a little from its lip. We hope you like the sensory feast Linda has curated for you, and we hope to see you on the inside of this book where space has purposefully been alloted for you, dear reader.
Saturday, August 15, 2020
5 QUESTIONS FOR STAR
I am going to interview Star Khan for "Librarians with Spines," volume 3 and I told her that I would have five questions to her by Monday but because of several familial obligations, I did not get her the 5 questions by Monday. However, we talked about the concept of "white time" so I know she will understand when she reads these questions.
1.) Personalmente, I am not un grande fan de reggeaton; I like Calle 13, but am also easily fatigued by the repetetive percussive drone of the genre. Why is Spanglish the reggeaton of dialects? En otras palabras, what about Spanglish is so off-putting to dominant Latinx groups? Should libraries delve into dialect for their signage dedicated to Latinx? In your work with libraries, might proper Spanish be more of an obstacle when serving/supporting U.S. Latinx?
2.) How can we better apoyar a nuestros bibliohermanas/hermanos in Latin America? Why have Latinx Librarians in N America not reached out to their counterparts in S America? Que es lo que Latin America nos puede brindar with respect to libraries and information professionals? Might libraries in N America choose to champion their counterparts in S America out of a professional courtersy, or do you think librarians como toda la gente are just as tribal as anyone else?
3.) According to el Pew Ctr for Internet Research, 61% of Latinx households have access to broadband at home compared with 79% of White households and 66% of Black households. How can Latinx households ensure academic acievement sin el WiFi en la casa? How do padres that can't afford WiFi right now get ahead of the curve and still find recursos for their children? How can US Latinx Librarians help to close the Digital Divide in Latinx households?
4.) Please tell us about your trayectorio as a librarian? How did you get to where you're at, and how did you persevere when your counterparts were not not particularly helpful. O sea, what is the clave for getting along in the library world as a Latinx Librarian? What does the future of biblioteacas hold in Oregon and the Pacific Northwest? How can Latinx Librarians get involved in ensuring libraries in Oregon stay funded and don't resort to layoffs?
5.) Borges said que el cielo tiene que ser una biblioteca? In your library heaven, what books, codices, or compendiums are on the shelf for everyone to look through and use for research? What texts are essential to a Latinx education? to a Spanglish education? Is there Spanglish in heaven? Do you think St Peter's like janglingn keys and abriendo puertas? In your version of heaven, who is on the roster?
1.) Personalmente, I am not un grande fan de reggeaton; I like Calle 13, but am also easily fatigued by the repetetive percussive drone of the genre. Why is Spanglish the reggeaton of dialects? En otras palabras, what about Spanglish is so off-putting to dominant Latinx groups? Should libraries delve into dialect for their signage dedicated to Latinx? In your work with libraries, might proper Spanish be more of an obstacle when serving/supporting U.S. Latinx?
2.) How can we better apoyar a nuestros bibliohermanas/hermanos in Latin America? Why have Latinx Librarians in N America not reached out to their counterparts in S America? Que es lo que Latin America nos puede brindar with respect to libraries and information professionals? Might libraries in N America choose to champion their counterparts in S America out of a professional courtersy, or do you think librarians como toda la gente are just as tribal as anyone else?
3.) According to el Pew Ctr for Internet Research, 61% of Latinx households have access to broadband at home compared with 79% of White households and 66% of Black households. How can Latinx households ensure academic acievement sin el WiFi en la casa? How do padres that can't afford WiFi right now get ahead of the curve and still find recursos for their children? How can US Latinx Librarians help to close the Digital Divide in Latinx households?
4.) Please tell us about your trayectorio as a librarian? How did you get to where you're at, and how did you persevere when your counterparts were not not particularly helpful. O sea, what is the clave for getting along in the library world as a Latinx Librarian? What does the future of biblioteacas hold in Oregon and the Pacific Northwest? How can Latinx Librarians get involved in ensuring libraries in Oregon stay funded and don't resort to layoffs?
5.) Borges said que el cielo tiene que ser una biblioteca? In your library heaven, what books, codices, or compendiums are on the shelf for everyone to look through and use for research? What texts are essential to a Latinx education? to a Spanglish education? Is there Spanglish in heaven? Do you think St Peter's like janglingn keys and abriendo puertas? In your version of heaven, who is on the roster?
Friday, July 31, 2020
Poema para Waltercito
Chico, it's 2016 and I'm presenting to a roomful of White librarians
in the South Bay about Latino Senior computer classes in Spanish, and
I exploit your misterio quotient in one of my slides, an interstellar headshot,
elicits such a response that I rewatch those episodes of Primer Impacto on
YouTube thinking, Waltercito, you never broke character in our story of your life.
Now that you are firmly esconced into the ether architecture of our Latinidad,
you show us how to embrace love and become star-architects ourselves.
Your most terrestrial critics charge your timeless aura with sterile banter
about the gender of this one or that one, when they’re not even on the escenario.
Waltercito, bailemos un bolero on the edge of the Milky Way,
your hands and writhing wrists stick in the cosmic centrifuge that is our galaxy,
and let your dance transcended fractal refrain.
Waltercito, Moms and I are watching you on Primer Impacto.
Fam, it's 1994, which means it’s my first year at my Miami commuter college,
and we're waiting for your Scorpio edict, Waltercito, fifteen words written specifically,
prophetically about our stinging species that prove your prestige as our rabbi.
Moms and I are both Scorpios, so, naturally we’re suspicious of everyone’s motives,
but relaxed enough to let our stingers down and heed unsolicited advice from a gangster.
Your segment on Primer Impacto starts, and the producers drop you into space.
You're sitting on a Calculus White Rattan Armchair and you're wearing
a pumpkin majordomo kimono uniform and addressing the other, less-important signs first.
Waltercito, Tia Mercedes draped a PR flag on your ataud and plopped a jibaro hat
at your head. There was so much music at your funeral that Wille Acosta was photographed
mumbling lyrics into the cracks of your casket, and hugging the curves with his eyes closed.
So, there was no mistaking your loyalties to who you were at your core, the things that defined
and defied you. Waltercito, on what plane y en cual dimension do you find yourself?
It's 2020, and, of course, your Pisces-ass finds a way to pass to the portals
during a pandemic. Now, Waltercito when your message of love compounded by love,
now when we could really use your laser-guided abuelita guidance systems
and genderless excesses on orientation, now when we are calling out your name,
we find ourselves at the whims of Stupid Jupiter.
No, loquito, it’s 1987, and my parents have sent my sister and I to Baires for the summer.
It’s way past our American bedtime, but my Argentine cousins are promising us that after
“Las Gatas de Porcell,” a Puerto Rican wizard with a cape is going to spill secrets
from the Yucatan to Tierra del Fuego
in the South Bay about Latino Senior computer classes in Spanish, and
I exploit your misterio quotient in one of my slides, an interstellar headshot,
elicits such a response that I rewatch those episodes of Primer Impacto on
YouTube thinking, Waltercito, you never broke character in our story of your life.
Now that you are firmly esconced into the ether architecture of our Latinidad,
you show us how to embrace love and become star-architects ourselves.
Your most terrestrial critics charge your timeless aura with sterile banter
about the gender of this one or that one, when they’re not even on the escenario.
Waltercito, bailemos un bolero on the edge of the Milky Way,
your hands and writhing wrists stick in the cosmic centrifuge that is our galaxy,
and let your dance transcended fractal refrain.
Waltercito, Moms and I are watching you on Primer Impacto.
Fam, it's 1994, which means it’s my first year at my Miami commuter college,
and we're waiting for your Scorpio edict, Waltercito, fifteen words written specifically,
prophetically about our stinging species that prove your prestige as our rabbi.
Moms and I are both Scorpios, so, naturally we’re suspicious of everyone’s motives,
but relaxed enough to let our stingers down and heed unsolicited advice from a gangster.
Your segment on Primer Impacto starts, and the producers drop you into space.
You're sitting on a Calculus White Rattan Armchair and you're wearing
a pumpkin majordomo kimono uniform and addressing the other, less-important signs first.
Waltercito, Tia Mercedes draped a PR flag on your ataud and plopped a jibaro hat
at your head. There was so much music at your funeral that Wille Acosta was photographed
mumbling lyrics into the cracks of your casket, and hugging the curves with his eyes closed.
So, there was no mistaking your loyalties to who you were at your core, the things that defined
and defied you. Waltercito, on what plane y en cual dimension do you find yourself?
It's 2020, and, of course, your Pisces-ass finds a way to pass to the portals
during a pandemic. Now, Waltercito when your message of love compounded by love,
now when we could really use your laser-guided abuelita guidance systems
and genderless excesses on orientation, now when we are calling out your name,
we find ourselves at the whims of Stupid Jupiter.
No, loquito, it’s 1987, and my parents have sent my sister and I to Baires for the summer.
It’s way past our American bedtime, but my Argentine cousins are promising us that after
“Las Gatas de Porcell,” a Puerto Rican wizard with a cape is going to spill secrets
from the Yucatan to Tierra del Fuego
Wednesday, July 1, 2020
LAUNCHING OF THE JAMES FOLEY SCRIPTORIUM
Today, I am launching a project very close to my heart in which I send you a free, gently-used book from the James Foley Scriptorium
in exchange for a zine you send me that I will add to the West LA Regional Branch Zine Library
Monday, June 15, 2020
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
ECHOSTENCH
B asks me, does an echo have a stench?
When people talk at me I drop everything
and set my ears to listening.
Panda corrects me from the bedroom
when B asks me a physics question,
okay maybe doesn't correct me but
makes B know she knows answer too.
My parents are so bored they are going
to give themselves the 'Rona sin querer
completely by mistake but for a super
kooky reason like running out of BBQ sauce.
The Lego birdfeeders B and I made are sweet,
but we have since learned that little birds are jerks,
free-loading oafs that will spill lesser seeds
to beak at savory and scintillating flavorpods.
The baby moonwalks on your face if your sleep
in the bed, so I hangnail on the edge like a speedbump,
okay maybe not a speedbump but certainly a retaining wall.
I'm sending emails all day for work, but should I be
monitoring the acronyms for the daily dirty decree?
Should I be out beating cazuelas and bleating vuvuselas
about pandemic blues?
Do I go out then and make more trouble for myself
than I can possibly handle? Should I take advantage
of steals and bargains when the world is losing its
Purell mind, its miniature hand-sanitizer carabiner?
At the very least, you are going to have to support
the water balloon fight on the side of your wife and come
down hard on B when he sloshes an aquatic grenade at her face.
The problem with water balloons as a projectile are that they
are a dollar too late and a dollar too little.
How crisp the explosion of coldwater on my nape, down my shirt,
slaloming down my hirsute belly and quicksilver kissing my nipples.
When people talk at me I drop everything
and set my ears to listening.
Panda corrects me from the bedroom
when B asks me a physics question,
okay maybe doesn't correct me but
makes B know she knows answer too.
My parents are so bored they are going
to give themselves the 'Rona sin querer
completely by mistake but for a super
kooky reason like running out of BBQ sauce.
The Lego birdfeeders B and I made are sweet,
but we have since learned that little birds are jerks,
free-loading oafs that will spill lesser seeds
to beak at savory and scintillating flavorpods.
The baby moonwalks on your face if your sleep
in the bed, so I hangnail on the edge like a speedbump,
okay maybe not a speedbump but certainly a retaining wall.
I'm sending emails all day for work, but should I be
monitoring the acronyms for the daily dirty decree?
Should I be out beating cazuelas and bleating vuvuselas
about pandemic blues?
Do I go out then and make more trouble for myself
than I can possibly handle? Should I take advantage
of steals and bargains when the world is losing its
Purell mind, its miniature hand-sanitizer carabiner?
At the very least, you are going to have to support
the water balloon fight on the side of your wife and come
down hard on B when he sloshes an aquatic grenade at her face.
The problem with water balloons as a projectile are that they
are a dollar too late and a dollar too little.
How crisp the explosion of coldwater on my nape, down my shirt,
slaloming down my hirsute belly and quicksilver kissing my nipples.
Saturday, April 11, 2020
FACE TIME WITH DAVID OF THE OCEAN
I spoke with an old
friend today on Face,
while chasing the baby
through a church
parking lot.
The friend on Face
was shooting hoops
on an empty indoor
basketball court.
He told me he was
in Texas because
the National Guard
needed him to mold
cadets into leaders,
but that his wife
was still in Northern
California with
the baby they adopted
from when they were
just guardians.
The baby tackled
the steps at back
and was picking up
speed, you should
have seen him
coordinate knees
to elbows and gallop
up them like a spider-
horse-monkey-jockey.
All that distance,
all those years, dis-
appeared from the cache
of this current I-don't-
know as we sat there
trying to make light
of old trophies,
lauding old colleagues,
recalling the work
only we clearly cared about.
Today I did Face
with an old friend,
a friend I used to
teach in the jail with
and the baby conquered
steps in a church parking
lot with great acoustics.
friend today on Face,
while chasing the baby
through a church
parking lot.
The friend on Face
was shooting hoops
on an empty indoor
basketball court.
He told me he was
in Texas because
the National Guard
needed him to mold
cadets into leaders,
but that his wife
was still in Northern
California with
the baby they adopted
from when they were
just guardians.
The baby tackled
the steps at back
and was picking up
speed, you should
have seen him
coordinate knees
to elbows and gallop
up them like a spider-
horse-monkey-jockey.
All that distance,
all those years, dis-
appeared from the cache
of this current I-don't-
know as we sat there
trying to make light
of old trophies,
lauding old colleagues,
recalling the work
only we clearly cared about.
Today I did Face
with an old friend,
a friend I used to
teach in the jail with
and the baby conquered
steps in a church parking
lot with great acoustics.
Monday, January 13, 2020
VETE AL INFIERNO ZINE
Yo, Happy 2020! Please download and fold this zine to use in any celebrations of the New Year, or if you just feel like making a 6-fold zine.
Thursday, January 9, 2020
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