Juan Rulfo's World: A Literary Diorama

Juan Rulfo's World: A Literary Diorama

by Armando Ortiz

Juan Rulfo is one of the best short story writers of the Americas, and his one short novel ranks as one of the best. He stands amongst the great short story writers of all time, and will be read for many years to come. 

Rulfo was born in 1917 in Jalisco, Mexico. His father was killed at 6 years old, and four years later his mother died. In his early teens he lived in an orphanage located in Guadalajara. Despite these challenges he managed to study accounting and went on to become an author and salesman. He received a fellowship that enabled him to focus on writing which gave birth to two books.

His stories take place in a time of great instability and violence, The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) and the Cristero Wars (1926-1929) during which poverty became the environment from which his stories emerge. The violence he describes must have been born from the experiences of that time. Violence, was and still is very common in Latin America stemming from politics. It's a theme that many people around the world can understand. 

His whole written canon is made up of two books: a collection of short stories, El Llano En Llamas (The Burning Plain and other short stories) and one short novel, Pedro Paramo.  There is another book that was published, a collection of photographs that he took throughout Mexico. I’d heard his name in passing from an acquaintance. He was very familiar with Latin American writers and told me that there was one particular character found in Rulfo’s book of short stories, El Llano En Llamas, that stood out, Lucas Lucatero.

Reading his works one easily gets lost in the web of his prose which creates magical settings inside the mind. His descriptions and emotions blend to become enigmatic of what word play ought to be. His stories set the bar high and are a template for good writing.

In Rulfo’s world people are always coming and going. Going to places unknown and never seen before. Characters come from locations with strange names and sites where prayers go unheard. Protagonists are always passing through towns where the inhabitants seem more like wandering spirits in purgatory. The people in his stories have condemned themselves or have earned the condemnation of others.

Furthermore, the poor travel by foot or donkey, while the rich gallop around in horses. Ghosts, like Sisyphus, are condemned to carry firewood on their backs on paths that lead to nowhere- forever. Horse riders become the embodiment of the pale horse rider found in the Book of Revelation, and are not given the sacred sacraments of priests. Salvation is inches away but never acquired. No one is immune to the sins of humanity, and to the consequences of violence. Heaven has become a mirage that exists only in delirious dreams.

Though not spoken, each character’s perception, hand gesture, physical movements and journeys to certain places indicate their destiny. Fate becomes an individual’s collective decision and collective future. Bandits are shot at night in the midst of a robbery. Murders are swept away by torrential rains or are relegated to haunt towns forever.

Choices that were made at a time of heated passion, anger and depression become part of the condemnation. Death becomes imbued with sentimentality and regret. Revenge almost completes the cycle of justice but the circle is never really closed. Vengeance leaves the door open to more misfortune. Incest brings about hidden desires and outward shows of affection towards the dead through hollow rituals.

Exploitation is a byword for the impunity by which people live. Killers are condemned by their own crimes and their sleep becomes one where ghost talk and victims scream at night. Violence is the accepted norm. Blood, the sacred liquid that is supposed to cleanse, just gets coagulated with dust, dirt and sweat infecting the body. The sick are relegated to sweat it out in their own mental sweat lodge. Clinging on to the hope of going to the bigger town to pray to the holier relic.

Despite the suffering that many characters live through, every one of them wishes to keep on living. Yet when the time comes to confront death everyone tries to run away. Like Antonius Block, the Crusader in Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, they try to play chess against death and make excuses to prolong the game. 

Wishing to hold on to life a bit longer, the sweetness of sautéed onions with garlic and olive becomes delectable to them. Morning toil becomes dawn’s morning glory. The gun to their temple makes his characters kneel down and beg for life. Their existence is rough but also bearable in Rulfo’s diorama. Nature in his world takes on dimensions that are linked to ancient Mexican mythology with the recent experienced lives.

Reading through his stories you arrive at small towns where natural forces punish its dwellers, as if the Aztec god of tlaloc slithers around in the background. Streams seem to feed the wild weeds. There is hardly any water that’s drinkable, and irrigating the cornfields is a precarious endeavor. Fruit that is harvested by the shadow characters isn’t sweet. Bitter is the taste of life. 

When the rains come, it pours, rivers awaken and can take small adobe homes down canyons and arroyos. The possessions of poverty stricken families; a cow, a pair of pigs and occasionally a relative; are washed away. Life is harsh, but nature seems to be the cruelest of them all.

This harsh natural backdrop becomes a vivid canvas in Rulfo’s narratives. His descriptions of the environment and climate are active and alive, portraying the sun as hot embers hanging over the heads of everyone. When it rains the tears of his characters’ eyes flow as fast as the savage rivers. The sky is blue, and lifeless. Even in the oppressive heat the sky remains cold and silent. 

The winds walk down corridors like lost children at the mall, wailing for something. Waking life becomes an itch that has no origins and no cure for it can be found. Sleep becomes torturous, because the weather is uncomfortable and secrets can’t get lost in the darkness. Night quickly disappears and the rising sun quickly wakes everyone up from their slumber. 

With the unrelenting heat of the moving sun and the trampling of dirt roads, dust rises. The floating sand particles enter through the mouth and nostrils of the characters making breathing, even for the reader, difficult. Life is tough and complex but his stories are easy to understand.

Even after death spirits wander in the stories in their own hell. Infinity is not something worth talking about or worth discussing because the present moment is too bleak and death so certain. It's just a matter of time before we once again wake up and have to deal with the realities of life. As a result superstition seeps through in many of the religious scenes.

Superstition becomes an outlet of hope where there is none. Saints bleed tears of remorse, because no god exists within Rulfo’s stories. Virgin statuettes seem to shed tears but are artificially placed there by priests in the morning. Idol’s hands spread like branches accepting all, listening to the incoherent cries of believers. Carved dolls cannot see mourners because of the thick incense smoke and their own wooden eyes are blind to injustice. Rulfo, in essence, walks the reader through the Valley of Death and tells them that the journey never ends. 

In a way we see the complexity of life through Rulfo eyes. He reveals that humans have complex desires and needs and sometimes are expressed through violence, and superstitions. Yet, a strong sense of human spirit is found in his stories. His characters at times depend on the blessings of priests, blessings that money can and cannot buy. Individuals that have to be forgiven but are not or cannot. 

Everyone at some point wants to be forgiven for something they’ve done. Remorse, even in death, is what many spirits continue to carry. Even in the bleakest of scenes you can hear the traces of hope being whispered throughout the stories. Life can be harsh, with violence being relative around the world, and humans always adapting to the changing winds of new ideas versus old traditions. Yet, it's the heat of the day that causes the nectar of flowers to drop like water onto the ground. Experiencing Rulfo’s writing is like entering an entire self contained world where the forces of nature are unforgiving and harsh, and yet people continue to persist in life.

The Golden Hour of LA: Free-verse

The Golden Hour of LA

By Armando Ortiz

The glow of the sun still bursting through the incoming night

lights still reflected on the side of the northwest facing glass,

contrasting an orange glow to the dark silhouette.

The city lighting on, adding a delicate air of earthly stars

low beam headlights reflected from the traffic signs.

A flow of geese form an incomplete V crossing the sky

and at a distance the trails are dry and the color of clay.

The chaparral covered hills turning into unknown shadows,

white, purple, and black sage merging with the wind.

The golden hour quickly fades into the evening

peaceful serendipity as the instance lingers in the clouds.

The Art of Gustave Moreau: Hieroglyphic Myths, Modern Symbolism, and Roberto Bolano's 2666

The Art of Gustave Moreau: Hieroglyphic Myths, Modern Symbolism, and Roberto Bolano's 2666

By Armando Ortiz

I was first introduced to the art of Gustav Moreau’s while reading Roberto Bolano’s novel 2666, but really knowing who he was and his art came later. While reading James Joyce’s Ulysses, I learned more about Gustave Moreau. This is when I discovered that the art cover on Bolano’s 2666 was taken from Moreau’s piece titled, Jupiter and Semele. The cover art and the novel it protected fit well with the apocalyptic story that was told inside. 

The symbolism and message projected in that painting was religious, cryptic, political and imbued with so much epic mythology that to come to a full understanding of them is quite a challenge. Nonetheless, even in darkness there is a flicker of light that shines a light that reveals a hidden path. The abstractness of a painting or song is what eventually makes us take a second look, which then opens up to the door a greater understanding of its meaning. This has been the experience I had while learning about Moreau and his art.

My quasi rediscovery came about as I was engrossed in the midst of Ulysses and hit upon a conversation on art and literature that one of the main characters was having, where he described different artists and ideas the concepts they present in their works. In this case the “paintings of Gustav Moreau are the painting of ideas.” (James Joyce, Ulysses p.185)

This reintroduction to his work prompted me to read more about the artist, and become more familiar with his works of art. I learned that Moreau’s art is very apocalyptic and many of his paintings are in watercolor, a medium that was not used much those days. His paintings look apocalyptic with his use of bible imagery and what seems to be related to death and the spirit world. At times you might see angels carrying a dead body. At other times some paintings have a woman carrying the head of a man on a platter. In another instance a head appears to a woman. 

Watercolor paintings are as challenging as using oils. When using oils, you mix white into different colors to replicate light, but with watercolor one builds colors on top of the blank white paper. Once that lightness or white is gone. it is hard to recapture -it can be a compelling process. The hues and combinations of colors are key to his art. In some areas he seems to have saturated the paper with multiple layers of color to the point that backgrounds turned purple or brown. They are contrasted by peach colors or faint lines and deep blue colors that make up his skies. His technique makes you think of light, and how when we look out towards the horizon it is difficult to assimilate into a painting. Though one may try, light and refraction plays a big part in the way we see light and color, and yet Gustave succeeds in this with his paintings.

In his book Gustav Moreau, Jean Selz explains that in Moreau’s attempt to explain his paintings he imbued them with greater meaning. By explaining his works with greater detail than could be seen. (Jean Selz, Gustave Moreau p.36) I was engrossed in learning more about his work and when I visited France I made sure to visit his museum. In 2016 I visited Paris, France and visited the Gustave Moreau Museum. Moreau’s most famous paintings are found in this museum, his former studio. His whole studio seems to have been an attempt at explaining the process of making art. When you walk up the wooden stairs of the building and enter it as if the whole space is a library to the process of his artwork. 

Entering the three story studio is like entering his mind as an artist that from the outside does not seem to be significant. Once inside you see the art he created and the artifacts that helped him create his new paintings. Leaving behind sketch books, incomplete paintings, framed sketches, a library of reference books from all over the world. Everything inside is like a representation of what he considered art. He examined mythologies from Europe, but also of other countries. As you continue to look at his reference books you discover that he studied Buddhist art and the jewelry that decorated the personas were inspired by them. Inside glass cases you find marble hands and feet that most likely served as reference to his works.

A recurring theme of his are the chimera found in many of his paintings. Chimera can mean illusion, dreams or the seeking of things that might not be there. When you visit his museum you see before your eyes the different manifestations of illusions and dreams. In some aspects of understanding one can say that life is a dream, but also that dreams are what make us humans. After carefully looking at one of his most famous paintings I began to wonder if it was a representation of an ancient Maya stela imbued with all its ornaments and jewelry and its symbols undecipherable. 

As you continue to explore, some of the framed paintings seem to be sketches and appear incomplete. Taking a step back I think of all the ancient art that exists today. All that is left is the stone artifact, its color faded and no longer visible, yet it still is a piece of workmanship and it is art. The illusion or dream that Moreau was trying to encapsulate can only be appreciated by visiting the museum. It is there where you get a hint of what he was attempting to do- to encapsulate humanity into symbols that were cross-cultural, the symbol of life and people's thoughts, dreams, goals and illusions.

One need not worry about reading his notes on his paintings. Even if it revealed his worries and thoughts about what he wanted to encapsulate on canvas. What he managed to paint is something that is very much along the lines as one of those songs that one likes to listen to over and over. There is a connection in this case with his creation and the outside which still happens even today. Some might ask, well, what is so special about that, and I say that the same concerns that people back in his day had still exist today. Though the symbols used today are slightly different, there is that concern of whether this life is a dream or not. Moreau created works of art, but also explained what the intended message of his works were. Furthermore, his whole studio was an affirmation that art is a process, it was left as proof of how we must be open to ideas, and that process is influenced by everything around us. 

We are the creators of our destiny and we choose how to define the forces around us, and we can recreate the meanings of these forces as a means to create art. The artist, at times is a prophet and at other times a jester too. In order to appreciate the scope of Gustave Moreau’s art one must experience his art, read about his art, and pay a visit to the place that houses his art. Returning to my initial introduction of his work through Roberto Bolano’s 2666. The characters in that book are also living in a world where cultural traditions play a role in the storylines, but these traditions are also challenged. His characters ultimately make independent choices and attempt to recreate their world in a world that is both filled with traditions, myths, sacred, irreverence, lies and mundane symbolism. Maybe, by him talking about Moreau is his novel and having the art cover be his makes Bolano’s novel more compelling and a testament to the power of art.

Madvillainy: MF Doom and Madlib

Madvillainy: MF Doom and Madlib

by Armando Ortiz

I remember when I first heard the initial track. My friends and I were walking into Pennylane Records, a store in Alhambra, which is no longer there, and as we were looking through the cd stacks, some hypnotizing beats, with some gnarly lyrics began flowing out of the speakers. I went directly to the salesperson behind the counter, and asked who it was that was rapping, and he directed my attention to the record, Madvillainy. It was the first time seeing a rapper with a metal mask, which wasn’t the typical image I had of hiphop artists. This experience opened to the door to a diversity within a genre that I believed only had gangster and mainstream rap/hip hop.

No questions were asked about who it was or where he or they hailed from; the music resonated immediately, making me buy the cd. I wanted the album and wanted to take it home and listen to the entire thing. The comic book like lyrics, but clever word play triggered curiosity. In all honesty, this happened ten years ago, so to really gauge that moment is difficult. The cd came with the music video, ALL CAPPS, a comic book like video where the main character, who also wears a metal mask, breaks through the scenes onto other scenes.

Up to that point in my life only a handful of hiphop records had been purchased, and most of them were bootleg. I was in grad school at the time, so I had some loose cash, and enough to splurge on a cd. This happened sometime between March when the album came out and September of 2004, when I moved to East Asia. I do not clearly remember the date of when I bought the cd, but I took it with me to Beijing. I was on my way to study Chinese at Peking University. Preparing to live in China for a year, so a humble collection of music was packed which would be enough tangible things to take from the US to somehow manage to live in a foreign country, so Madvillainy, El Primer Instinto by Jaguares, Morrison Hotel and other albums by The Doors, and some heavy metal albums by Anthrax, and Megadeth’s Countdown to Extinction were put inside the suitcase. I couldn’t leave the US without Jimi Hendrix’s Life at the Fillmore East. Mp3 players already existed, but that technology had yet to make its way into my life, but that is another story.

The whole time living in Beijing, the music blasted from the speakers, inside my little apartment while sitting behind the desk, spending hours trying to decipher Chinese characters, and writing characters over and over and over and over again till I had memorized them. The symbols became internalized in my being in the same manner that the beats made me reach that level of energy of focus and creativity. The numerous tracks on the album helped me navigate through the labyrinth of Mandarin, helping to stay focused, giving a musical adventure that I never tired to re-experience.

At the end of the day I was just a consumer, and bought what I liked and never did read on the magnitude of Madvillainy till years later and hours of listening. There was no clue that it was a critically acclaimed production. The purchase had prompted me to find out more about the artists behind the album, but that happened two years later. I discovered that Madlib had produced the beats, and had his own Jazz band, Yesterdays New Quintet, where he played different instruments. MF Doom was the guy rapping and had a wide variety of other albums, such Mm.. Food.  They joined forces, and became Madvillain and produced one of the most critically acclaimed albums of the 21^st century.

Not only did Madlib have stacks of beats on his CV, and to top it off back in 2006 when I was teaching English in Korea, I heard his beats on an aspirin commercial that would reappear every 45-60 minutes on the television.  MF Doom had other alter egos which manifested themselves in King Geedorah, Vikto Vaughn. Since then, Doom always appeared mysterious to me, so whenever I came across anything that was written about him I’d devour the words only to leave me with more questions about the artist. Madvillainy is and remains one of my favorite albums, and was key to exposing me to many other artists, and also became a door from where two prolific artist have served as templates of what inspiration, commitment, creativity and hard work produce. In addition they functioned as doors that led to a variety of musical knowledge.

Antemasque and Le Butcherettes: At the Observatory

Antemasque and Le Butcherettes: At the Observatory

by Armando Ortiz

Two weeks ago, I went to The Observatory, a venue located in Santa Ana, CA, to see Antemasque. The show was off the hook, but reasons for that were unexpected, more on that later. Before I start talking about the show, I will briefly describe what happened before that. I woke up and went to the event being held by the writing club I belong to, Zzyzx Writerz, who for this month are hosting poetry readings across the city. I had no idea it was an early show, so when I got a text from my friend, asking if I wanted to carpool, I figured it was not a bad idea. For this day, Poetrypalooza would be held at DiPiazza’s Italian restaurant, located in Long Beach, CA. I quickly showered, and ate some toast with Nutella and left the house. I wasn’t able to drink coffee so I had a slight headache. The reading event was really good and a lot of poets from Long Beach, CA were there to read. In addition to poetry readings there was a really good artist there showcasing his ink and watercolor portraits, Fernando Gallegos.

By 6 in the afternoon, I was already on 405 freeway and on my way to Santa Ana. I got to the venue, parked my car and walked to the wooden structure that lay hidden behind low lying office buildings/warehouses. I entered the place and was impressed by the lay out of the venue. The floor level was good, but decided to check out the upstairs balcony area, and chose to stay there for the rest of the time. Teresa Suares aka Teri Gender Bender, lead singer of the band Le Butcherettes put on a solid performance. I had seen her last year when she was on tour as a member of the Bosnian Rainbows, and in that instance she was solely doing vocals, but this time I got to see another side of her showmanship, where she used a synthesizer and a guitar.

 

The music had a different beat; it was faster, and though the long wails from the Bosnian Rainbows debut album were missing, traces were still there. The drummer of the band, Lia Braswell, was also in the pocket the whole time. I recall thinking, “wow, those drum beats are really good and could be looped for hip hop beats.” The fact that the drum set was not in the center towards the back was a bit odd, but it definitively made me look at her and her drumming skills. Lia is certainly very talented. The bassist put on quite a performance by keeping pace and maintaining a tempo.

Le butcherettes

Le Butcherettes sounded very good, and the crowd was visibly pleased to see the great performance. One aspect that makes this band unique is that their sound is very unusually experimental, and hard to describe, yet when you hear it there are traces of many influences that one can call familiar, it made me think of My Morning Jacket, Elevator and various other punk bands. They really blew me away, it was a great performance. Geri Bender was cool and takes control of the stage. With the change of light hues it made the show even more preternatural in the manner they performed different songs creating an atmosphere that blended well with the different hues that were radiating from the flood lights.

The band I’d gone to see finally took the stage, Antemasque. They began their set, and one couldn’t help but feel the raw energy that emanated not only from the instruments, but from the bandmates themselves as they began performing. It might have been the huge fan that was next to the drummer David Elitch, but it certainly could not explain his rapid drumming and hypnotizing beats that blended with the bass player and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez guitars. Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s vocals made the whole show seem as if one was in the different world with vocals that were eerily high pitched, but at the same time short enough to make you want to hear more. At times I felt that their performance was like drinking beer and the more you drank the more intoxicated one became. Their versatility with their music and their ability to produce a wide variety of rock and roll melodies certainly left you feeling that they were one of the best groups you’d ever seen perform.

Antemasque

I’d never seen The Mars Volta so for me, seeing any manifestation of any off-shoot bands from members of that band have always interested me, and for this band it certainly was one that triggered curiosity because most of them had been in The Mars Volta previously. The pace at which they played and the variety of music as pointed out earlier really was pleasing to my ears and definitively made the trip to Santa Ana, CA worth the drive. The show in Los Angeles had already sold out.

The two bands that performed and every single member of those groups really gave me inspiration. They inspired to me to keep working on my passions and interests, and to let my self be carried by the flow of time but also of creativity. They certainly are living a life that most people dream of having, but who is to say that one cannot find the same success in whatever we put our hearts and minds to and that the work and time put in our creativity will not give us the same results.  Hopefully one day, I do get to see The Mars Volta live and that is as pleasing as what I saw on this Sunday evening.

Reflections on a Music Filled Weekend

Reflections on a Music Filled Weekend

by Armando Ortiz

A few weeks back I went to see different performers and bands that played in and around LA back to back. It all started on Thursday July 24^th when I went to see Kevin Gates perform at The Roxy and ended my Sunday at the Silverlake Lounge where The Cotton Jones band performed. It was a memorable weekend for me, and hopefully I get to do this again in the future.

That Thursday I drove to The Roxy Theater to see Kevin Gates aka Luca Brasi, who was promoting his album By Any Means. He is a Southern rapper from the roughest part of the US. I was the odd man out, not wearing the right clothes for the event wearing slacks, dress shoes and a dress shirt. Everyone was hip-hoped out, wearing jerseys or shirts with strange start up names of record labels and cliques.

There were two artists before him, the first was King Menz and he was cool. He used a beat from one of Kanye West’s most recent album, keeping it honest and real, showing signs of a good future. Then it was another rapper, Chevy Woods. His beats were too loud for the room, so I had to step out of the venue and chill outside, smoking a bit for a while. I went back inside to listen to his music, but now he was making threats to someone in the crowd - that’s when I decided that I was not ready for his music.

Kevin Gates put on a really good show. He looked like a menacing tiger with the grills that he wore, singing various songs that most of the crowd knew well, and towards the end of his set jumped from the stage, to the ground area and finished his performance in the middle of the crowd that cheered him on. For a moment I feared that he would move towards my direction so I stepped back as everyone else rushed to shake his hand. I met some really cool people there, like the two ladies that were teachers who took photos with him at the meet and greet. It seems that the ladies were smitten by his words.

Santa Barbara Bowl

The next day took me to Santa Barbara. I left Los Angeles at eleven thirty and got there at four thirty in the afternoon, but not before stopping at the Camarillo outlets to buy a pair of jeans and have some lunch. The Santa Barbara Bowl was awesome with stairs made of stone and the amphitheater being intimate, though some would complain about the walking and climbing, but the overall vibe was good and chill. The show started at around six in the afternoon, the audience side of the hill cast a shadow on the ground floor where the fans were, and slowly crawled to the stage, where Stephen Marley, Cypress Hill and finally Slightly Stoopid performed. They put on a great show, giving fans a taste of their music and their versatility in creating punk, rock, and reggae styled beats. It was my first time seeing all those that performed live. One of the highlights of the night was when Damian Marley came out and performed with Stephen. In addition, Slightly Stoopid’s set was diverse and included some really good grooves.

Missing Persons

Saturday I met up with friends in Downtown Los Angeles' Pershing Square. That was where an 80s band the Missing Persons performed a full set of hits and singles like, Destination Unknown. They performed for about an hour, and after their set we went to the beer garden where the booze and other drinks were sold we chilled there, where I tried to talk to some ladies that were in lounge chairs but alas they were in another dimension of thoughts.

Cotton Jones Performing

Sunday took me to the Silverlake Lounge a local spot in Silverlake, Los Angeles there is saw the Cotton Jones band, made up of Michael Nau guitarist and song writer, Whitney McGraw organ and electric piano, and Greg Bender who was on bass, and opened up with his own band. They performed to a packed audience. I was walking to the bar and saw Michael Nau from far away, but thought why bother going talking to him, let him be, but then 20 minutes later he walked into the bar from the front door, so I said hello to him and told him that his music and lyrics were excellent. Later some friends, Ismael and Roxy, showed up and mentioned that they had seen him outside in the parking lot, and that they wanted to take a photo with him, I tagged along and also got a picture with him.

Michael Nau and I

Freddie Gibbs and Tech N9ne in Los Angeles

Freddie Gibbs and Tech N9ne in Los Angeles: With Some Distractions

by Armando Ortiz

I came across Freddie Gibbs while looking at something related to Madlib. I am not sure what it was but it was a track from their new album Pinata that opened the doors to Gibbs’ other work. I soon found other albums that were pretty good, Cold Day in Hell and ESGN- Evil Seeds Grow Naturally.  I found myself listening to his albums and mix tapes over and over again for the next few weeks. I missed a chance to check him out at the Echoplex where both Madlib and Gibbs would be performing, so when I saw that he would be touring with Tech N9ne's Independent Grind Tour, and that he would be passing through again in June the ticket was bought no questions asked. The day finally arrived and I had arranged with a buddy from work to park my car in a place I thought was safe, but on second thought the area is quite safe and it’s better to just pay for parking.

 

I parked the car in a private residential building thinking it was the most convenient thing to do. The security guard claimed to not know the person who was letting me park inside, but then he remembered that my friend had mentioned to him that a friend would be stopping bye. I parked the car and began to prepare some things. I ended up spending too much time in the car and spilled water and other contents onto my legs and on the floor of the car to make matters worse the security guard came knocked on my window and hurried me up.

After talking on the phone with my brother, I walked to the venue down Holloway, but I saw a 7-11, so after crossing La Cienega Blvd went inside to get some snacks- a Big Bite dog, a bag of kettle chips, and soda water. I walked out and headed to the venue, but at a distance there was a tattoo shop, The Honorable Society, where I once sold art books to its artists and whose owner, Marco Cerretelli, I knew. I once again took a detour and headed towards the shop. After entering, and asking to talk to Marco, I got to see the lay out of the shop which was akin to a Victorian Era living room/ bazaar. He was not there, so small talk with the guy that was working there ensued, but didn’t last more than five minutes.

I stepped out of the shop and continued on my way to the show, crossing the street and climbing Olive Dr., which leads you up a hill and to The House of Blues. But by the time I got there, I’d already spent an hour walking and talking with people. Nearing the venue about 5 guys walked past bye in a row exiting the theater, walking to the parking lot, where after some seconds a fight began. Freddie Gibbs was already half way through his show by the time I was inside, and managed to hear three songs one of which was from his recent collaboration album with Madlib, Pinata. After his performance Tech N9ne began his set. The gathering was amazing, and the fans for Tech N9ne were decked out in red. He definitively has a loyal following and getting to watch him perform was a very unique and memorable experience, though not as long lasting as missing more than half of Freddie Gibbs’ performance.

Bosnian Rainbows: A Los Angeles Experience

Bosnian Rainbows: Blasts from the Past and Scaffolds of the Future, A Los Angeles Experience

by Armando Ortiz

“Perhaps when you watch all your dream lovers die

You’ll decide that you need a real one.” – Townes Van Zandt

Bosnian Rainbows

            A few days ago I went to see the Bosnian Rainbows perform at the First Unitarian Church, which is located on 8^th Street, a few hundred feet east of Vermont Avenue; it was the first time in many years that I’d walked down Vermont let alone 8^th. The band is made up of Omar Rodriguez Lopez, guitarist and overall excellent artist, Deantoni Parks, avant-garde drummer, Teresa Suarez a.k.a Teri Gender Bender, vocalist and performer, and keyboardist Nicci Kasper. Before that I had been waiting for my friend at the corner of Wilshire and Vermont, a major transit point in the city, sitting on one of the benches while reading Bolano’s The Third Reich. On this intersection there is now a subway stop and I can no longer see what it is that was here at this crossroads a few years back. In the past I’ve waited for friends by stations like this one, but outside of Los Angeles in other countries, so I did not think much of the experience. Nonetheless, sitting on one of the benches near the exit I got to see the flow of people; all kinds bodies coming and going, resembling the flow of an airport runway and a conveyor belt of suitcases being loaded and unloaded that were students, daily workers and quasi professionals, all under different hues of skin and wearing different kinds of clothing exiting and entering the underground station. Finally, my friend, Scott, arrived and we walked to the venue. As we made our way there we discussed Lev Vygotsky’s Thought and Language, with him explaining how author argued that language, in a sense, makes us conform to certain boundaries, and identified the difference between teaching, instructing, and learning from experience, yet as we moved toward our destination, I could not help to recall the many times I had walked through this part of Los Angeles, but many years ago, as a child. Hoover Elementary school is only a few blocks away, and as I reached my destination I also remembered walking with my uncle around this area, and looking for a wedding ceremony that he had been invited to attend, and was immediately transported to that day where we aimlessly walked around trying to find the address, it seemed like a distant dream, since these days we use GPS. As we were about to make a left on 8^th street my memories took me back to the day I bought a Chuck Norris action figure from a small toy store that was down the street, and I also recalled how I’d walk back to my house every day after-school. The duplex where we lived was located on Berendo Street off of Olympic Boulevard.

First Unitarian Church, Los Angeles

            Today the streets were lined by a caravan of parked cars, and the movement was unusually heavy for being Los Angeles. Though, in contrast to the past the traffic hustle and bustle of people was significantly more, though not a new thing for this particular area of the city. Across the street from where I waited for my friend the massive steel scaffolds surrounded the metal infrastructure that in a few months will become luxury apartments for the new urban people that will quickly fill the empty rooms and walk on its marble courtyards. The residents that once called this district will most likely be displaced in the coming years, due to the rising costs of living in the city. The church, had a tall four sided tower that pointed to the sky and iron gates at the entrance that quickly let the people that were waiting in line. I doubt there ever was a line of church goes waiting to go inside to hear the sermon, but life is strange. As we entered we saw the beer garden that was located on the brick tiled courtyard, the sun’s lingering light was slowly disappearing, the sky was now a faint yellow and the flood lights were slowly beginning to emanate their electric white glow.

            I had once gone to a church that had been converted into a club in Shanghai, China, but I’d never been to church to see a rock band, so this was a new experience. Like any typical Sunday service, you had the early arrivals, the dedicated people who get to sit close to the stage, and get to choose the right spot where they will be able to see everything that is going on the platform at their preferred angle, taking me back to the days when I’d arrive to church and see the early arrivals kneeling on the ground with their elbows resting on the red upholstered benches, while others were reaching to the sky like baby hoping to get picked up by a loved one. They were praying for something, maybe for some type of relief or a request, but we were there to get good seats and have a good listening spot. Soon the lights dimmed and Sister Crayon, the first band, began their performance and gave an excellent show.

Kali

As soon as the opening band was done, the stage lights began turning purple and the shadows neon green.  Standing there and checking out the band one went from being in a live music performance to drifting from a Sunday sermon into an opera experience of the netherworld. Teresa Suarez's dance resembled Kali, with movements that mimicked the ancient deity that destroys all men, making you wonder where she had come from, definitively an outer space being possessed her body. The wails that emanated from her larynx became calls to the other world and opened up the gates to the gods of old. I thought, what if there was reincarnation, and we returned to this earth, and then remembered the words Marcus Aurelius saying that the good thing about life is that we only have one, all of us have one life and that is it, and again I wondered, what if we had to return to this world as a punishment, like Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Paramo, who returns only to live in a world of personal nightmares and into a place where everyone was a not allowed to enter the gates of heaven. The image of the mountain people coming down to the village and selling their trinkets amidst the rain and cool weather immediately came to mind and at that point a high pitch holler resonated with me and I was there, with the lights flooding the stage and the audience, purple everywhere, with shadows of green. Then a mental image came to life and I saw a series of wooden crosses in the middle of the desert matching the still life photography of Rulfo.

Juan Rulfo Photography

            A particular song of theirs, “Morning Sickness,” made me think of the people we meet and wondered if we ever mutually think of each other at any time of the day. Relationships come to an end and there is always an aspect about a person that though not present is still within our memories and within our psyche. She might no longer be next to you or beside you when you wake up but the faint traces of her smell still lingers. Sometimes though, we think a connection has been made, maybe we are stuck reliving a Garcia Marquez short story, where we only meet our lovers in dreams and wake up to a world of solitude. We might in fact be more selective with the people we choose to remember and the type of outlooks that they might have of the world. Still the very thought that to another person we might not have been adequate or perhaps someone in our life was not able to fill a space in our long term memory might be more telling of the things we find to have value. True beauty, in this sense, is like our memories, selective of the things we wish or have no choice but to recall. As this carousel of thoughts and memories went round and round my mind I returned to my temporal moment, and took a sip of beer. The ceiling was high enough that wails seemed to reach the skies. The haunting cries of a distant love and of a birth untold that yearns to grab hold of something tangible was my impression of the voice that performed on stage. Soon the roof disappeared and all one could see was a collection of stars in the middle of a forest of thoughts, and for a moment the distant galaxy that’s closest to earth came into focus. In between this musical ceremony, we took swigs of our beer, and the rhythmic, and hypnotic dance of the guitar and the base became an old ritual dance that included a synthesizer, and yet I was there in a spot that I had been and walked by many years ago, listening to a band that I’d wanted to see live since the first news of their visit to Los Angeles. Bosnian Rainbows momentarily transported everyone to a world of music, universal sound waves and merged with the resonance of the planets. It was a good show indeed.

Dreaming of Life: An Essay on Edgar Alan Poe, Walt Whitman and Zhuang Zi

Dreaming of Life: Poe, Whitman, and ZhuangZi

By Armando Ortiz

As I searched for some topic materials for a student I was tutoring, the idea came up of introducing him to a few poems by Edgar Allan Poe, and while looking for two that would be a good fit, I came across A Dream Within A Dream. After reading it I was left feeling that somehow this particular piece went well with a poem by Walt Whitman, though I had trouble remembering which piece that was. After choosing the later and The Raven, the lesson was pretty much set on what the discussion would involve; hope, dreams, and the symbolism of the raven. Later the idea that had been born while examining some of Poe’s works returned like a bird that lands on a branch and perches outside your window, propelling me to write on A Dream Within A Dream, and Whitman’s Facing West from California’s Shores. Though plenty has already been written by both authors, my reinterpretation of their pieces along with personal past experiences will crystallize, in some way, the messages that these two authors attempted to convey. I will then end my brief discussion on these two poets with an older writer, Zhuang Zi, and compare his piece The Butterfly Dream to the ideas gathered from Poe and Whitman.

Both authors stand at the edge of the giant land mass of the North American continent  and look towards the ocean, watching the waves and viewing the horizons of the East and West coasts while the approaching, yet diminishing soapy waves slightly touch their feet, concurrently their different perspectives connect with me on a personal level. My experiences matched the things they talked about, though not in the manner that they wrote. Reading their passages transported me back to the Summer of 2001, to the beach, where my body sat on the sand and looked out towards the ocean, my mind pondering the future; I’d be flying to South Korea soon. Sitting there I thought of the other side of the ocean, and wondered if there were people also sitting and looking toward the ocean facing my direction, as I faced theirs.

In South Korea, I visited Seoraksan National Park, which lies on the East Coast, and on the first day of arrival I explored the fish market that was by the coast and got to see the Pacific Ocean for the first time, from the other end of the world. The ocean was still blue, maybe a slightly deeper blue, and the waves appeared magnificent with their engulfing white noise, and with my back to the fish market, where hundreds of squid hung drying on wires- I stared across the massive body of water, thinking what people on the other side of the ocean were doing.

My eyes had glanced through A Dream within a Dream, but they had yet to decipher the words of Whitman, and still the meanings of both writers were far from becoming internalized in my life, but that’s no longer the case. Ten years later, as I read those passages once again, the past immediately reappeared, like discovering an old random photograph of vivid memories. Whitman stands looking West, pondering life, and all that has happened to mankind and his own life, and takes us back to the times when we traveled alone in a cramped bus or inside a cold train cabin where people asked innumerable questions about our lives and family in a language one was yet unable to register. On a personal level, the things seen and experienced in the past twelve years have been like one endless adventure, like an extended journey of discovery and learning, and yet all of that was expressed and rediscovered within Whitman’s lines. As I read those lines for the first time, I was immediately transported to the places I had once walked through, like the night market of Urumqi, China and as I continued toward the end of this piece it seemed to affirm life’s great gift. It took me through an epic journey where my life joined the life of many strangers that have walked and traveled this earth and have made the present moment their home.

Whitman has several lines that punctuated with realities that I had once experienced, like traveling through the Northern parts of the Himalayas in Sichuan, China and though I’ve yet to claim having traveled around the world, the long road trips and the long train rides seemed to merge with his lines, “Long having wander’d since, round the earth having wander’d,” and there I was now in Santa Monica beach pondering life, and wondering what the future held. With every gain there is a loss and with every action there is a reaction.

Facing West from California’s Shores

Facing west from California’s shores,

Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,

I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity,

             The land of migrations, look far,

Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circled;

For starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,

For Asia, from the north, form the God, the safe, and the hero,

From the south, from the flowery peninsulas and the spice islands,

Long having wander’d since, round the earth having wander’d,

Now I face home again, very pleas’d and joyous,

(But where is what I started for so long ago?

And why is it yet unfound?)

         -Walt Whitman

Reading Poe pulled me back to the present and made me think of life’s ephemeral experiences that are accented by our present emotional roller coaster rides, and the pace at which nature, though slowly, at a patient and steady pace passes us bye, making us reflect on our unfolding realities that can be traced back to the moments where we made decisions on a whim or due to someone’s random advice. Decisions that took you from climbing a peach tree in the front yard of the house as a child to hiking up the sacred TianShan in China as an adult, and the thought of the undecipherable future comes into focus. “Is all that we see or seem, a dream within a dream”?  His piece is more personal though in the sense that it revives emotions experienced with loss and with the closing of relationships along with the uncertainty of tomorrow’s hope. At the moment it happens all these feelings come alive, like a dry creek bed in the desert that suddenly becomes a raging river with the rabid summer rains that are difficult to control, and yet after an hour of downpours, everything dissipates and things go back to normal. Poe looks at the waves making contact with the coast, and thinks, “Yet if hope has flown away, in a night, or in a day, in a vision, or in none, is it there for the less gone?”

Time passes, and we want to hold on to the precious memories that seem to keep us from getting hurt by the world, but as we head West and we follow the sun to the edge of the continent one comes to the conclusion that at times we just have to let go of the past and move on because time is ceaseless;  “I stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore, and I hold within my hand grains of golden sand- How few, Yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep,” and in the end we will ask if all this that has been experienced was a dream or “a dream within a dream.”

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow –

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of golden sand –

How few! Yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep – while I weep!

O God! Can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! Can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

         -Edgar Allan Poe

Zhuang Zi

The possibility of Chuang Zi, a Chinese poet and philosopher from the Fourth Century BCE, having visited the ocean and pondered the very same thoughts that we have while looking at the waves and getting caught up in our introspection of life is very likely. In this case though, he writes about dreaming as another being, and gets caught up in his dream, but then stops to wonder if what he dreams is reality or a dream. As time passes and as we come to the realization that we cannot be anyone but ourselves, and reflect on the decisions made, one cannot help but think that if this life is and were a dream then we are living an incredible reality, because it suggest that we are in control of this dream and all possible outcomes are probable, and yet they are not, because in life the future is obscure.

                 

The Butterfly Dream

Once Zhuanzi dreamt he was a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was Zhuanzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn’t know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. Between Zhuangzi and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things. -Zhuang Zi

Life in its entire vicissitudes remains ours to make, like the painting that all writers have claimed life to be. It is ours to set up, sketch out, test out, prepare and paint, and like Gabriel Garcia goes on to describe in his epic novel, One Hundred Days of Solitude, we choose what to do with the life that we are given.