Joseph M. Marshall III’s The Lakota Way: Stories and Lessons for Living

Joseph M. Marshall III’s The Lakota Way: Book Review 

By Armando Ortiz

The author of The Lakota Way: Stories and Lessons for Living is a Sicangu Lakota elder from South Dakota who was born and raised in the Rosebud Indian Reservation. He teaches and writes about Lakota culture and way of life which existed even pre-Columbian times. In his book, Joseph M. Marshall III highlights the lives of Lakota people of great merit, but unlike the merit that we might attach to people today like, sport stars or billionaires. The lives of Crazy Horse, his grandparents and many others serve as allegories on how to live life, and gives you a glimpse into the Lakota way of seeing the world.

Earth, our home, plays an important role in the book, because just as mother earth has been very generous to us, that generosity should be practiced and be extended to all. In the Lakota worldview all includes everything on earth, from tiny fire ants to migrating families of whales. What I came to understand from Marshall’s writings is that we all make up tribes and groups that are interdependent on one another, like mycelium is an integral part of the root systems of trees, and like our original mother intended us to understand our existence. Earth is our home and we continually interact with her environment. We are the human people with tribes all across the planet, one of many groups that call this place home.

The stories and fables shared by Marshall were passed down to him by his grandparents and community elders who taught him. Now he teaches readers how to be with each other and how the land contains parables to share. It allows us to enter the Lakota way of life and learn from their adaptations to their land in the last 300 years. These stories originate from the land and are intended to instill in us a desire to have courage, to seek wisdom, to persevere under trials, to be kind and to be grateful. It’s a message for anyone and everyone. We all have ancestors and we honor them, hopefully, by following their words and emulating their positive actions. Everything has an end, but with it comes a beginning, and all we might leave behind are lessons learned to be shared with others.

Reading the book encourages you towards a more reflective and thoughtful way of living where we hopefully see the interconnectedness. Although we might see ourselves as different and unique individuals from others, Lakota ways of honor, morals and humility can be practiced. He also shows us the capacity that we have to endure, as families, tribes, nations and as a people of earth. Enduring to show the next generation that life doesn’t stop and must be confronted one way or another. Yet along with endurance the importance of relationships that we build with our families, our friends, neighbors, coworkers, and earth is an integral part that makes interconnectedness work.

The Lakota Way is a humble, yet powerful way to see one’s life. Long ago our ancestors had stories and allegories to go with them, but still the spirit of adaptation, and an ability to flex and bend with the wind when necessary is there. These tales also change and fit our realities but the message remains the same. Who we are doesn't necessarily mean who or what we think we are but the message and lessons that our own actions tell to the next generation. Ultimately it's a book about being better people to each other and better humans to everything around us.

Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park: Road Trips from Los Angeles

Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park

By Armando Ortiz

This place is an emerald in the north of California. It is a beautiful spot that will make you return again and again for many years to come. If you decide to camp here make sure to stay at least four days, minimum because that is the time needed to really take in everything that there is in this area. You’ll see giant redwoods on your hikes, wild animals around, beaches that seem untouched by corporate development, and if you are respectful and keep your distance everything will be fine.

You will know that you are nearing this park because redwood trees will suddenly make their majestic presence known to you. You arrive at the park and take a lane that gives you a taste of the experience that you will be having. Entering Prairie Creek State Park there is a meadow that sorta makes one think of a giant footprint that was left there centuries ago. It might have very well been an old Grizzly from the Shasta region as he was laying out the trees and left the mark there, but that’s a totally different story. The likelihood of seeing elk is high since a group lives in the area.  

There are reservable campsites, some cabins, a small stream that runs through the park, and many hiking trails for all levels to explore. If considering a trip to the Northern Coast then this is a must for anyone. There is a prairie adjacent to the camp where Elk eat and lounge there during the day. Some of the trails are short and take you to the Old Tree, and Cathedral trees. There is a 16 mile round trip trail that takes you all the way to the beach and along the way you walk through the redwood. Leaving early you at times might feel that you are alone and the only one on the trail. Driving north 30 minutes from the park you reach Crescent City which is a few miles away from Jedediah State Park, another treasure trove of redwoods in California, which at the edge of the park is the Smith River, an excellent place to spend some time swimming and lounging.

Come prepared to stay here a few days and take into account the distance that you will be traveling. It took us about 12 hours total driving from Los Angeles to the Redwoods. Make sure to stock up in Arcata where there are several markets where food, drinks and ice can be purchased. Also, in case you forgot an outfit then there is also a Walmart and a Costco nearby. Also, it would be good to fill up on gas once in Arcata, though there is a Native American reservation, the Yurok Nation, that has a gas station and their prices are much lesser than what is the norm in towns and cities across California. Enjoy your visit!

Mark Danner's The Massacre at El Mozote: Book Review

 The Massacre at El Mozote: Book Review (7/22)

By Armando Ortiz

Reading The Massacre at El Mozote by Mark Danner left a deep impression on me. Danner narrates a massacre that took place in El Salvador in the 1980s in a series of towns that had been believed to be friendly to leftist guerrillas. Between the late 1970s and the mid-90s El Salvador was involved in a civil war that killed many people and displaced countless more. The book itself has a bit of a slow start and details a rough outline of what the book is about -the civil war of El Salvador. As you continue reading the book you begin to see the tragedy that is told and narrated by people who saw the executions take place, and the reports generated by journalists that visited the location.The last part of the book is a collection of all the documents used to support Danner’s narrative.

As I read the book I was struck by the way people were assassinated. An image began to develop in my mind. It wasn't an image that sprung forth from the writings found in the book, but came from my childhood memories. When I was just a child, my mom would receive different evangelical pamphlets, booklets and small posters from the church that we attended. These various zines and fliers talked about the coming of Jesus, the end of the world, and judgment day, where everyone’s actions would be judged by god. If you were found guilty of being a sinner you would face eternity in hell. 

These images on paper showed characters that lived in sin and had died only to come face to face with the creator. In addition to that a poster that had been pinned on the side of our pantry showed the different forms of torture that would happen to real Christians. According to the book of Revelations, the devil would come down and start his reign of terror killing all who did not ge the mark of the beast. All the people that would die in the name of Jesus would be resurrected on the final Judgment Day. 

These cartoon-like images showed people being burned at the stake with yellow, orange and red flames engulfing the person, being shot to death by machine guns and gun shells flying out of the muzzle, and people being hacked to pieces by people armed with swords. Well, to me the book not only detailed the apocalypse that the people in El Mozote experienced, but also described how some Christian groups who had decided to not side with either the guerillas or the army became targets. 

Danner goes on to describe the death of a young woman who gets assaulted repeatedly and as that happens all she does is sing Christian songs. Reading through this section was as if my childhood memories were no longer really what they had been after having had this veil of truth removed before me. It was disturbing to read these facts, and as I kept reading the book I began to remember a song from a musician that was very famous during that time and is probably still played today, Stanislao Marino. In his song, La Gran Tribulacion he talks about the great tribulation, and describes how all true Christians would rise up to heaven to meet their creator. 

In this song he states, “se oye un grito, un lamento, un soyoso much gente esta alarmada, que a pasado se pregunta, que a pasado en el mundo,”  “you hear a scream, a lamentation, a lot of alarmed people, what’s happened they ask, what’s happened in the world, and hums a hymn.” He continues his song with, “una joven, va gritando, mamaaa! Un esposo va buscando su familia, unos dicen que una nave mucha gente se llevo, pero escuchen alo lejos alguien grita, cristo  vino, cristo vino, y su pueblo se llevo, no hay remedio, no hay salida, es la gran tribulacion,” “a youngling screams, moooom, a husband goes around looking for his family, some say that a spaceship a lot of people took, but listen at a distance someone yells, Christ came, Christ came and took its community. It's the Great Tribulation!” This song kept playing in my head, haunting me, like a scratched record that takes you back to the beginning. 

Reading the book took me back to my youth. It also made me think of this nauseating situation where I was listening to these songs, and began to imagine and to think of the people over in El Salvador and Guatemala that lived through these tribulations. Children being bayoneted and parents being hacked for being from a community that had to deal with groups that were both enemy and friend. 

The week spent reading the book was also the week I drove to the White Mountain Trailhead to hike White Mountain Peak. As I drove to the location I had to pass through the ancient bristlecone forest. Driving on that road and through the forest was an unreal experience. Not only did it seem that I was entering a different world, but it seemed that the book had had such an impression on my psyche that the fallen trees looked like petrified mummies, some looked like they were characters from the movie Pan's Labyrinth, other trees looked like they could be memorials to the people killed in El Mozote. This was especially true on my return drive through the gravel road that takes you back to the main road. To me the root systems of these ancient trees showed frozen images of people in agony, crying eyes, frightened faces, and still born babies. The branches of these old trunks looked like arms that were extended to some imagined place of safety, and had been begging for life before they were pulled out of the ground. 

I wondered if all that I was seeing was somehow connected to the book that I had been reading or was it that these ancient trees tell us something about our destruction of each other and our environment. Driving through the curves of the mountain I wondered if the singer knew what was happening in Central America when he made the song. How had he managed to get such a feeling through his music, but then was that feeling projected to those that had not experienced those tragedies. Was his music being played in the communities that would one day be burned to the ground or only in places where the fiction of the mark of the beast and the second coming of Jesus was preached? Eerie question to consider.

Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses: Book Review

All the Pretty Horses: Book Review

By Armando Ortiz

I’ve watched many “Western” or “Cowboy” films that I forget that at some point, that way of life was quickly ushered out of existence about a century ago. The novel All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy takes place in the mid-20th century, where cars are beginning to replace the old and traditional way of transportation- walking or riding horses. This essay will discuss the impact of technological change on traditional ways of life and explore the consequences of holding onto familiarity. McCarthy’s novel exemplifies this theme of adapting to change and clinging to the familiar.

Seeing that being a cowboy in Texas and the rest of the American Southwest is nearing its end, John Grady, and his friend Lacey Rawlins decide to head south of the border and find work there as cowboys and horse trainers. On their way south into Mexico they find a wandering kid, Jimmy Blevins, who claims to be from Oklahoma. Rawlins doesn’t like him much and despite the fact that they leave him behind, Blevins attaches himself to them and soon becomes a temporary member of the group. Jimmy looks and acts suspicious and at some point during a storm loses his horse. He convinces them to help him find his horse and gun, and in the process, more trouble arises, causing Belvins to separate from them.

After crossing through Coahuila and seeing some amazing views of the Cuatro Cienegas Basin John and Lacey finally find employment at a ranch. They seem to thrive since they are skilled at their work and easily communicate with the locals. In Mexico, they both fit in well, because cattle ranching and horse training is still part of their economy. Although they speak Spanish, they remain outsiders who can’t be trusted. John ends up meeting a young woman at work who turns out to be the daughter of the ranch owner, leading to some friction and trouble.

To their dismay, Blevins reappears but meets an unfortunate demise. One gets the impression that his life was mostly trouble, and might have very well been what we call today a throw away kid. Like many songs of bandits and criminals escaping law enforcement, Blevins seems to have sought refuge in Mexico. Being a foreigner in Mexico he naturally attaches himself to the main characters who are also from the U.S. Because of their association with Blevins, and Grady’s relationship with the ranch owner’s daughter, Grady and Rawlins end up in jail where they fend for themselves and fight for survival. Along the way they make some friends there, but have to engage in more gladiator combat. The novel reaches its climax with a prison fight, offering an inside ring view of the brutal bloodsport that tests the character’s resilience and survival instincts.

The underlying driving force of the story is trying to find one's way in a changing world and using the skills at one’s disposal to make a living while doing something that one enjoys. Despite Grady being from the U.S. his status among the other ranch employees is not much different. He is just a poor and broken cowboy. To make matters worse, he’s crossed some social boundaries which come to alter his life trajectory, along with his former female friend. Eventually Grady and Rawlins make it back home, somewhat recovered from their injuries. 

Once back in Texas, Grady takes it upon himself to find Belvins’ parents. The novel leaves us reflecting on the choices we make and their consequences. Sometimes one’s life trajectory is hard to see and we either adapt to the new world or the new world forces a change on us. The only thing we can go by is doing what we do best- following our heart, but beware, because life is not a dream.

Parzival: The Red Knight

 

Parzival

By Armando Ortiz

Behold him

who's engaged the world and

with folly has become wise. 

Trying to follow 

the word faithfully and falling

came to understand.

Through error and stumble 

arising again experienced

with discerning eyes.

Behold Parzival, 

who won every fight,

the fool turned red knight.

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.