Monday, December 21, 2015

Grey Phases - part two








This series of drawings were done on small pocket notebook paper and whatever other small pieces of paper were around - they were done randomly and sketched out quickly... sometimes I was trying to capture a face passing by or directly in front of me or working from memory... yes, they might have big eyes, I taught myself to draw by copying the works of Patrick Nagel, and to me his models seemed to have small eyes... and I always draw my eyes big because I have always mixed styles - manga with western styles plus I also learned to draw from fashion books... that is how I ended up with this particular style... some of these drawings I also did on small business card sized paper... and on the backs of business cards... and many of them I simply left behind in offices and restaurants and markets through out Juarez and El Paso and other parts of Texas, New Mexico, and Chihuahua.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Grey Phases - part one







It might not be an actual phase...
it could just be that I have only been carrying 
four pens in my bag all these months...

I  always have found something quite elegant in 
the most simple minimal forms, including art
I might just be trying to get back to the basic.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

The Good Stuff...

I set down to write this but I don’t know how to start - I don’t know where to start.  The words are jumbled up in my mind and the images I want to try to relate to you are swirling in a storm in the dark lonely corners of my memories... so were do I start... how do I even begin to describe something I can’t find the words for... Veronica... lets just start with Veronica...

It would bring Veronica to her knees and I would have her eating out of my hand... It made seducing her easier and it was always a confidant builder and gave me just the right amount of swagger to be that dominant man she wanted me to be... the man she was trying to help me become... It was  something I would do only on very few occasions... and though I would always make up stories in the night about my travels - you know... things that may or may not have happened in cities I may or may not have seen... on those special nights... I could  convince her I was once an angel trapped in hell and fought my way out... and trekked across the far east and found welcoming solace in old Buddhist temples and Orthodox monasteries poring over ancient manuscripts... letting the smoke of the candles and the fragrance of the incense get trapped in the layers of my skin... I could tell her the smoke from my burning wings can never wash out of my hair and the aroma of  weathered leather from the centuries of wandering and fighting will forever be part of my soul... perhaps this is not a good place to start...

Carmen... It was the first night I met Carmen at Chihuahua Charlie’s in Juarez.  We had been introduced by a mutual friend... kinda’...  he gave her my phone number and  I  had hers and we spoke by phone for two weeks before we finally met... it was on a slow night of the week and the only ones there at the bar were the people coming from work around the neighborhood, she worked at a bank up the street... with Carmen I did very little talking and let her charm me... all I had to do was look at her and think of all the perverted things I wanted to do to her and somehow that would reflect in my smile and the way I would stroke her hand... she got the hint... but... I had her trapped... in my glances and in my presence and she would hang on my every word... it was she that brought it to my attention that everybody around us would stop to look over at our table... we were the center of attention - but Carmen pointed out that it was me that everyone was obsessing over... obsessing over? Did that come out right... let’s go back to the day I found this magical wonderful thing... this nectar of the angels... the juice from the fruits of Eden... might as well just go back to the beginning.

This is about cologne... no... not just plain ole' cologne... it’s about the good stuff... the  thing that legends are born from... that unforgettable moment in time that will get trapped forever in the minds of lovers and friends and strangers passing by... it is the scent of mystery... the aroma of man... and it is called “Lagerfeld”.

I was in my early twenties when I first discovered Lagerfeld - I was dating Elsa at the time... and I was looking for cologne at Dillard’s department store... at that time and still today, I wore ARAMIS... but I wanted something different.  I did not want to wander the men’s department like a fool without a clue so I asked the girl behind the cologne counter - A very attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties whose face I can still remember - she herself looked like she stepped out of a Lancome advertisement... and she had a lovely welcoming smile... I still remember her... I just said to her - “I am looking for something unique... something different...”  and she says - before I can say anything else - “you want to stand apart from the rest...” she said it almost like a question but with hints of an affirmation in the way she said it - I can’t even describe how her words came out... but I felt like she got me and knew what it was I was looking for... she walked down the counter and turned to a glass shelf behind her and came back with a box that she was opening on the way... a fresh bottle... not from behind the samples counter... and she pulls out a bottle as if she was charming it out of the box with mystery and dramatic undertones like a stage magician... and I fell for her trick at that moment - before even having taken my first whiff of that magic potion... it was dark orange and the genie with a thousand wishes swam in it... she smiles at me and takes my hand and turns it over and before she sprays my wrist she says  - kinda’ flirty... “this... is the good stuff...”

And I never looked back... smart choices have not been many in my life... but Lagerfeld is truly one of them... she waited a little while, letting the cologne dry before letting me smell it closely, but the citrus of lemon and orange was already rising... and then comes a honey and spice... cinnamon... nutmeg? Before she releases my wrist she takes hers and rubs it on mine... spreading the fragrance and burring it deep into my skin... but... she holds my hand... the hand with the cologne, firmly, and my hand closes around hers... she slowly raises her wrist up to her nose and breathes in slow and deep with her eyes closed and I feel her squeeze my  hand... I am mesmerized... I am speechless watching her... a bit confused and a bit turned on... she breathes out and opens her eyes like she’s coming out of a dream... and I’m standing there like a fool longing to be lost in her delusion... she focuses her glance on me and I can not look away... and she cannot look away... and she lifts my wrist up to her nose and breathes in still looking at me but she gets this look of desire on her face and closes her eyes again, I can feel her nose against that soft meaty part of my arm... and she brings her lips close to my wrist, she exhales and then breathes in the aroma with her mouth... I cannot move... she finally comes out of her dream and looks at me... she releases me from her grip with a serene but hypnotic look in her eyes... and her face begins to blush... I can see her chest and shoulders rise and fall as she breathes in and out... like a woman after an orgasm...

“I’ll take two...” 

It’s all I could say... what else could I say...

She gets this tired but satisfied look in her eyes... she wants to say something but then suddenly snaps out of her dream and gives me this big smile... “Two?”  - is she testing me?

I nod and she turns to get two fresh bottles in unopened boxes - she did not simply replace the new bottle she had opened for me to sample.  She opens a drawer and looks for the right box to place my purchase in... and she had my interest once again - she was not just going to place my cologne in a store bag... she places this dark brown box on the counter in front of me... smiles and waits for me to smile back... she can see that I am amused... and turns and walks away... she returns a few minutes later holding a silk scarf in her hands... it looks a bit like the scarf around her neck, at least I can definitely see the same colors in it... she takes this silk scarfs with green and dark blue and purples in it - what looks like some kind of water painting on the silk of Asian water plants... and folds it delicately and places it in the bottom half of the box... then she takes the two Lagerfeld boxes and gently lays them on top of the scarf with about a half inch of space between them...  She reaches for tissue paper under the counter and folds it so that she can place it between the cologne boxes and around it... she takes the overlaying sides of the silk scarf and folds them over the Lagerfeld boxes and then places the top of the box over it... I am looking at this woman and I can see that she is very much enjoying herself - did she do this for every customer or was this just special treatment for the men that purchase “the good stuff”...  She wasn’t finished yet... she wraps the box in paper for me... she walks to another counter and brings back a dark chocolate wrapping paper with Japanese fans in white on it... then she takes a couple of ribbons - brown and black and ties them around my box... I don’t know why she chose these dark colors and that particular wrapping paper...( remembering all this now has my head spinning a little... and I feel strange - a Little wicked, like I am getting away with something naughty... don’t know why...) Maybe it was because the dark orange of the cologne or because of it’s dark musk... she takes her business card and turns it over - she wrote... "I hope that you are very pleased, thank you. J." - her name was Julia... and she placed the card in front of the box under the ribbons... she sprayed a bit of Shalimar on it... and asks “would you like a bag for that... of course not... she rings me up all the while with a smile on her face and when our business was over she hands me the box with both hands and says - it was a pleasure... I ask her to point me in the direction of the mens suits department and she comes from around the counter and escorts me there herself... never before or after that have I ever been given such service in a department store in the United States... again.

I bought two suits that day as well - I had no intention to but I just got a couple of bottle of the good stuff... I needed to complete the role I was about to play... I purchased a dark blue Perry Ellis double breasted suit and a dark grey Geoffrey Beene... I was saving money for a new car then and I really had no need for the suits... it was one of those things that just came to me at the moment and decided not to regret it after I made the purchase... a couple of months before that I spent more money than I should have on a black Giorgio Armani double breasted wool suit... but that fucking suit was nice...

I was with a girl named Elsa back then, in my early twenties... she never new what  kind of suits I wore when I did wear them didn’t want her to think me pretentious or foolish for spending that kind of money and I never did use the Lagerfeld when I was with her either... I can’t say why I didn’t looking back - but I think it was because I was trying to be someone else... even when things were falling apart between us... the somebody else that I was trying to create never came out... and Lagerfeld has always been a big part of my alter personas... and... I always hoped and wanted her to want me despite of how or what I was not... and I never wore the Lagerfeld when I was with my friends - at the time they were all wearing Drakkar... and my go to everyday cologne was and has always been ARAMIS...

Lagerfeld was always for the dangerous nights... my nights of prowling the dens and allies were angels fear to tread... for the nights I was out alone looking for danger and trouble - and I always found it... I was wearing the Lagerfeld the night I got my ass handed to my by a gang in Juarez outside of a place called Fred’s for talking to the wrong girl... I was wearing it the first and only night I ever scored big at a craps table... with a couple of Bulgarian models at my side... I was wearing it the night I met Cris (he wears it, and so did Dom)... I was wearing it the night I met Veronica and Carmen... It was what I was wearing the day I made my first big money deal... and I scored... Lagerfeld was and still is a confidence booster... for me and all those I have ever known to where it... it inspires and relaxes the wearer... I don’t know what exactly was in the original formula... I do know that there is stuff out there called 'Lagerfeld Classic' that is not the same as the original and the original is still out there if you can find it - the name on the bottle has an artsy script on it but I do recall seeing bottles with the “Lagerfeld” written in a fancy cursive... I also do not know who actually designed the stuff and how much input Karl Lagerfeld had in the making of the formula - but they got it right... if they were trying to capture the scent of a certain man they did it... if they were trying to create an aroma of mystery, they did... if this was their vision of adventure... bulls eye!  But... what I just don’t understand is why in the hell did they change the formula... was it too much man for the world... was there something in it that was pulled off the market... I don’t know... but if you are looking to try the good stuff - do not get the bottle that says ‘classic’ on it...

I know a Naval Commander in North Chicago that wore it - but he already looked like a hero and had no need for the stuff... I know a man that owns an antique shop that wears it... he is always very well dressed and speaks in a slow and whispered voice... I know an artist (many actually) that wears it but only when he knows there will be women around... I know soldiers that wear it, but only the ones that lead other men... and I know business men that wear it, but only successful ones... and those on their way to becoming successful... it might not be the original formula, but it still has that kick... and I have heard other men say that it is too much like Jovan Musk - but I feel that Lagerfeld is what Jovan Musk aspired to be - I also wear the Jovan, because there are many similarities in the two.

Those two bottles I got when I was a kid lasted a very long time - because I hardly ever wore it - you see this fragrance is attitude in a bottle... and to really be able to pull it of... one must first experience life... travel a bit and have some tough times under your belt... it is after all the scent of man - if you are a man of a certain age then you will know the scent of men as being “Old Spice” that is the stuff our fathers wore...  And for a generation of men - that was the aroma of their generation... a tougher generation, a manlier generation... unfortunately that formula has also been changed... but the Old Spice was worn by the working class and the privileged alike - it was attitude in a bottle... so... work out and read heavy books and do work that toughens you up... travel and vagabond a bit... get your heart broken and acquire some scars... make friends with dark characters... become a dark character... become artistic and learn to brawl... learn to sail and ride a horse... learn to shoot and hunt... wander into the wild once in while... and come back to the world hungry and tired worn... but with a cleansed soul and renewed spirit... this is the attitude of the stuff we call “the Good Stuff” - it is Lagerfeld...

Now to some it may be too much... to much powder... perhaps at times too much citrus and smoke and tobacco... it is an acquired taste this Lagerfeld... but it turns heads... men and women... and it leaves its mark on your memory... I have also known women that wore this cologne... it does smell different on a woman... but it is not for all women... it is perhaps best on concubines and the mistresses of mobsters... and the slave girls that dance in a pirates den... but for women looking for the equivalent of Lagerfeld there is Shalimar... which may have the same effect on many men as Legerfeld has on women... For men it wears well with a business suit as well as with cargo pants and a field shirt... for those that drive Cadillacs and those that ride Indians... It is not for boys that want to be... it is for men that are... it is not for punks and rich kids in Ferraries, it is for cowboy monks in old pick up trucks... it is not for douchebag pick up artists, it is for solitary warrior poets on old motorbikes... it is not for soft boys that cry more, more, more... it is for the hard working father that protects what is his, what he has worked for and what he has earned and makes no apologies for it...

It is a man’s world... so look like one and act like one and by God... smell like one...

Good luck fellas...
Lagerfeld in original bottle
not labelled as 'classic'

Oh... that scarf that was in the box... I later re-wrapped it and gave it to Elsa as a gift for some occasion... but she never wore it in all the time I knew her... at least not for me... to this day... I am very attracted to women in scarfs...

Friday, December 4, 2015

Feminism - the great shit test

A Theory by Victor L. Vogt
I actually wrote this about a month ago as a comment somewhere that I can no longer remember where - but it got lengthy and I just filed it away, but a couple of days ago other comments and articles inspired me to post it

It’s just a theory, but I base  it on personal experience and observation on the behavior of these so called “feminists”.  The theory is simple and goes like this - when the generation of men before mine dropped the ball and allowed women their “liberation from oppression” they thought they were getting a good deal, because now they could have sex with all these loose women and not have to marry any one of them, now that they were giving the sex away, and the women, not sure of their freedom from oppression, family and children, got together to see just how much shit they could get away with... just how much would the men put up with in exchange for free no commitment sex.  Women, being as God and nature made them, are followers, they need to be led.  They follow the hive and they follow their man... it’s just the way they are. They will believe just about anything another woman tells them and everything they read in their women’s magazines and very few women will say anything that goes against the teaching and the preaching of the hive for fear of having the hive turn against them - even if they claim to not be part of the “feminist” group, and they will apologize quickly if they should offend the beliefs of the hive. Because women  need to be led  or chaos fills their lives they look for men that will not play their game and are not afraid to put boundaries on them and not afraid to punish them when they step out of line.  This is the great shit test - Western women are waiting for the men to man up and take control of them.

The chaos that followed the liberation of the women - deviant sexual behavior, abortion, single mothers, divorce, boys growing up without fathers and turning to crime and homosexuality in search of male approval, and the complete lack of morals and responsibility... is not what women want, and it never was, they came to the conclusion a long time ago that equality between the sexes was not going to work and all this time they have been waiting for the men to dominate them as our grand fathers and their fathers did.  The women do not want to be on medication to get through their anxiety filled days of liberation and debt accumulation. Women do not feel that their lives are fulfilled working outside of their home for corporate bosses that don’t give a damn about them - whose only thought of the female work staff is making sure they are not offended by anyone so they won’t get sued. I do not know any man working a nine to five job that finds it fulfilling and life affirming - don’t try to convince me that women do.  Women do not want to be responsible - for anything, but they don’t want the men to just let them get away with it, they want stability and security and they cannot provide that for themselves. 

This little theory is the only way I can make sense of the fact that I have not heard a peep from the liberal feminist about the invasion of the western world by third world immigrant Muslims raping and taking all they want - especially in Sweden, once a beautiful first world Western country now reduced to the rape capital of the world... and if you even mention the raping by all the third worlders... you are immediately attacked by those on the left as being an intolerant racist.  In  America the media goes crazy about rapes that never actually happen - but no one is losing their minds over the women and young girls being brutally beaten and raped, in the open, on the streets, in broad daylight. And the men in Sweden seem to be so broken that they wont raise their voices or their fist out of fear - no, the women definitely do not want the broken Swedish men. White women want to get hate fucked by a third world nigger that does not give a damn about her and she will love every minute of it - because while he has her, he will dominate her, and fuck the stupid out of her... and she wants to be dominated by a man more than anything. 
That’s my theory...

The women - these feminist women will silence anyone on their side that mentions the rape of Europe in order to keep the flow of Muslim men into their countries and in hopes that what is happening there will happen in the States... their true agenda is the importation of men that are not afraid to dominate and put the women back in their place, this is what the woman want - it has nothing to do with multi-culturalism or asylum seekers... it is about finding men to replace the broken, feminized, frightened man-boys they created... they don’t want them - they want men.

Western women want jerks... they go crazy for ass-holes that treat them like stupid whores... hey, I can’t explain it and I don’t understand it but it is what I have observed all my life in the United States... since I was a young boy I knew the truth that girls like bad boys... they like the jerks... they love the ass hole that doesn’t give a fuck about the world and does as he pleases and treats his woman like nothing more than a tramp... but... girls always tell you be nice and to just be yourself and treat a girl like a princes and that one day you’ll find the right one that will fall in love with you... buy her stuff... take her out to a nice expensive dinner... you’ve all heard the same bull-shit... an it was all a lie... The United States is a country filled with nice guys... that will never get laid... because to western woman that is creepy - what ever the fuck they mean by that... but it is not creepy to treat her like garbage... she will eat that shit right out of your hands... but there are very few men in the west that actually care so little that they will treat women in such a way... mostly out of fear of how the women will react - but the women will never tell the men what they actually want - most women are so confused by all the propaganda they are fed that they have no idea how to act naturally as women and allow their natural instincts to lead them... does it make sense that women listen to homosexual men on how to dress and attract men... how does a fag know what a real man wants in a woman?

Women are not going to get together as a group and admit that feminism was a bad idea.  Women need to have the last word and will not say that they are wrong - this is an argument that will get men nowhere... so instead of admitting that it was a bad idea they will bring in men from cultures that are not afraid to fix the mistake of liberating the women... these men will kill the fags... and the women will not say a thing about it... because they actually hate and despise homosexual men deep down in their hearts and souls - they know homosexuality is as much of the problem as their feminism is... they want strong men to come in and replace the week church that helped sell them the great con and weakened the men...

I myself can be very nice and gentle and caring... but when it’s time to get laid... I switch alters and go out and find a woman dressed like a cheap whore and acting like the world biggest attention hungry slut... and I treat her exactly the way she is acting... like a cheap worthless whore... and the shit works... (he shrugs his shoulders in disbelief...)

I have lost two women in my life to Arab men... I have lost women to macho jerks that treated them badly... women that I myself tried to be dominant with... but for me it never worked... I just could not pull off that kind of attitude... until... I actually stopped giving a damn about them and became indifferent to their presence and stopped worrying about their opinion of me... I started to fuck women like there was no tomorrow not giving a damn about her pleasure - just taking what I want how I want it... and they came back for more... women would show up at my place uninvited - they were there for sex... they weren’t going to cook for me or clean for me... they were not there to inspire me or motivate me and they sure as hell were not there to hear my problems... they were there to get fucked... fuck them well enough and greedily.. And they were bringing take out for my having to stop and pleasure myself with them... talk down to them and let them know that they are simply in rotation and can be replaced... and they begin to clean up a little and start working hard for my attention... what attention... exactly... I have made women sleep on the floor... I have thrown them out immediately after sex... I have rejected women after undressing them and finding out they have tattoos... and they come back for more... but when it is over... I reverse my alter and go back to being that simple solitary man that wishes he could find a nice traditional girl to settle down with... it is that easy for me now... the secret is to actually not give a damn about what she thinks... and just dominate her...

Here is something that I have learned from American women - If she starts acting like a thirteen year old girl in front of you to get your attention - she genuinely likes you, she has had to revert back to her innocence before all the garbage of the modern world filled her head... she likes you but has no clue of how to express it as a woman (and not come off as a slut ) other than to act like a thirteen year old girl with a crush on the older cool kid from the neighborhood... then you have to treat her as she is acting... that is what she wants... she wants those days of knowing what she can and cannot get away with... she wants a daddy to tell her when she has to be home... to do her chores... get her homework done... when to go to bed and when to get up... she wants a daddy to let her know what she can wear out and how to behave... who she can hang-out with... and who she cannot... that is what women really want and that is why they act like children... that is what they want... they do not want to be responsible... why do you think the welfare state is such a success... the women don’t have to take responsibility for anything.  So when the Muslim man shows up... and they have milked the welfare state dry... what do you think is going to happen?

All women want a strong confidant gentleman... at least they do everywhere outside the “western world”, there, they have no use for gentlemen... for a western girl, romance is giving a stranger a blowjob in the bathroom... or an alley... they will fall to their knees for a man that does not give a damn about her and does not put her on a pedestal... but for the man that dominates her and puts boundaries on her - she will become daddies little girl.

I am more and more convinced that America is not worth saving and the best thing to do is to tear it down and rebuild... the woman are definitely not worth the trouble... for me they have become nothing more than play things... I know... that is not helping to solve the problem... and I have admitted that I never was part of the solution - but I want to be... so I write this for young men to find and learn from... other men are coming... strong men... brave men... men that will trample your culture to dust because you will not protect and embrace it... men are coming to crush your church because you would not throw out the heretics that have taken over... men are coming to bury your traditions because you will not live by them and pass them down... and they are coming for your women because you are too afraid to dominate them and take away their ‘liberation’...  I gotta call it as I see it... America is not worth saving... we have gone too far and if we continue down this road we will only face the same out come as Sodom and Gomorrah... it would be best if we tear it all down before God does... as for me... I would rather go back to where I came from and protect and respect the women who want to preserve their culture and their traditions and their honor... where the men are respected for the preservation of their families and dignity and church... the whole world has not gone completely to hell... just a small part of it... but that small part gave us wonderful things... it did amazing things... what else could it do if we save it?

This is just a theory and it is based on my personal observations and experiences... and I could be wrong... but until I am proven wrong and I see behavior from the women that says other wise... I’m running with it.

Good luck fellas...

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

The Lost Art of Solitude

It simply is just being alone. It is the practice of centering yourself, gathering your thoughts, reflecting on your actions and evaluating your goals... or something like that - at least this is what it means to me... quiet moments to write and draw or to just listen to fine music and read... and is as simple and peaceful as just sitting in silence and looking up at the stars rocked by the sea or lulled to sleep by the sounds of the forest... it is time for yourself to create or take apart and rebuild.  It is time to plan and scheme and lay the foundations for the future.  It is time to remember and finding the strength to let go.  It is time for art. Time to learn. Time for making decisions.  It is time to create, to write and to remove the clutter and the chaos from your mind and your life... it is those moments that come at the end and just before the beginning... it is solitude.

I hear men talk about their “man cave” - I don’t live in a cave.  I live in a house and it is all my space, if and when I find a woman to share my life with I will be sharing my space... mine.  If she behaves and is a good wife she might earn a room just for herself - her space... but my woman will be busy with being pregnant and raising children and managing and maintaining my space and above all, making absolutely sure that my moments of solitude are not interrupted.

Men need space to be men, to converse with other men and explore new ideas among each other and alone as well.  It is just as important for men to explore their own minds and limitations alone at home and in the wild.  A man needs to learn to express himself in a productive way through art, through his creations, in a way that will benefit his society and beautify his surroundings.  Men need to learn to express their thoughts and emotions through words that will help others find inspiration and guidance. But a man needs time alone for these things, for everything begins in the quiet mind not in the chaotic one, and that quiet needed for creation and expression can only be found in solitude.

I have mentioned in these Deringer Files before that I have a hide out in a nameless city, and that I prefer to escape to the sea, but when I can’t get away to the forest or the waters and I am stuck in a place I would rather not be, I have my journal - a black leather journal that might seem chaotic but it actually is in perfect order to me... it is divided into sections of my own poetry and a section for quotes that I come upon and apply to my life, I write down my thoughts and ideas on life and women and manhood, spirituality and theories of my own, I stuff the book with lose sketches of the farm and village I plan to build and random lists, I do not include entry dates and just write as things come to be... but when I need time alone in strange places and even at home I take time to go over this book... and contemplate on its content - my goals and affirmations and my plans and sketches and poetry... it is a book I plan to leave behind for my sons... it is not only a part of me but it is in fact the development and progression of the man I aspire to be... the man I find in the quite and stillness of my mind... in the quite and stillness of my solitude.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

purple skies

(another strange dream of battles in the sky)

The dream started out strange and I knew it was a dream I was in  -  the black basketball gave it away.

I had just arrived in a town that I think is Odessa, Texas. I have my ruck sack slung over my right shoulder and I am carrying my old guitar in my right hand and a black basketball in the other. I walk onto the basketball court in a school yard - I do not know this school but from what I see of it, it  is very modern and clean and surrounded by trees, it is not a school I remember from my days in Odessa..  I place my bag and the guitar down and I start dribbling the basketball - I am actually practicing dribbling the ball as if I was trying to teach myself how to do it, sometimes stopping to toss the ball through the hoop... I am wearing my blue running shorts and a long white t-shirt... I don’t know how I know I am wearing this, but I am... I stop my dribbling practice a couple of times to play with the guitar - I am teaching myself chords... I pluck at it and hold it like I was holding it for the first time... I am learning this instrument for the first time - I don’t know what that means... why am I relearning everything? When I go back to my dribbling I see that the black basketball is changing colors - it goes from black to gold to hues of green and back to black... it is black when I hold it in my hands but when I push it to the ground it changes colors... I stop and hold it with both hands and examine it... nothing.

I look up and I am standing in front of a hotel, it is crowded outside and looks like people are looking for lodging - it reminds me of when we first moved to Odessa in 1979 - there was not enough housing for everyone during the first years of that boom... but my room is reserved and I just walk in and settle into my space... there is a terrace on my floor and the residence gather there to talk... I  find my old friend Will there and I see a young man named Ruben that I casually know - a dark skinned Mexican with very white bright teeth and a muscular upper body - he is always friendly and happy.  I hear the people on the terrace gossiping and scheming as people do when new wealth has made its way into their lives... that oil money... but I go looking for Will... I lean over the terrace and see him making out with an old girlfriend of mine but in the dream she is a current love interest - I don’t really think much of it except for how rude it is that she did not come to see me - or perhaps she is coming to see me after she has been satisfied by Will... I am not angry at will - he knows I don’t love the girl but I am bothered that he is doing this under the same roof (so to speak) as I am in... I walk away and make my way through the crowd on the terrace back to my room - Ruben walks up to me with his big bright smile and just stands there looking goofy in front of me... I just start laughing at him... we find a place on the terrace with a view of the city and linger around with no purpose like the rest, my girl shows up and is friendly and affectionate... the whore... then Will arrives and starts talking about all the people and everyone starts telling the tales of their  boom town adventures... and I offer my own childhood experiences of Odessa from 1979 to 1983...

The sun is setting and it seems that more people have gathered on the terrace... Will, Ruben and I are smoking and drinking some beers... the setting sun has turn the sky shades of purple near the horizon and fades to blue above us - I make a comment about the stars being so bright and Will says it is still to light for any stars to be noticeable but I  point up and he looks and says that is strange that we can see them, but they are there and they begin to flicker... very far up in the sky blurry clouds begin to form... the clouds are on the edge of space it seems, but I can see the stars behind them for they are so bright even in the echoing glow of the setting sun. the image in front of us is mesmerizing and the crowd on the terrace all stop their conversations to gaze upon the horizon. 

In that silence I hear a boom in the distance... not a crack and not a crash but a distinct and recognizable reverberation of a distant boom... that trembles in the air... everyone hears it and we inspect the skies... one of those blurry clouds far up in the atmosphere begins to expand and becomes thicker and more defined... and we see a star fall from Heaven... I get a familiar feeling and every one just looks on in awe... as the cloud expands the stars begin to dance... they are moving around chasing each other... the crowd is amazed... but I start to remember the war... what war? I get the feeling in my dream again that this is now a memory and know that what we are looking at in the skies is a battle... I tell Will and Ruben we need to get the hell out and I run into my room and grab my bag... “meet me out side” I tell them but they think I am crazy and I tell them this is a war... we gather outside and they have their ruck sacks on their shoulders and we are dressed as if we were going on a hike... Will asks about my girl, I say - “that filthy faithless whore can stay behind to get what she has coming to her...”  Will looks down in shame - he knows I know... I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him now is a good time for him to prove himself to me... there is an explosion in the sky and clouds begin to change colors - it is from the explosions - purples and blues and greens and reds... the crowd on the terrace thinks it is fire works... but soon the clouds fade away and the jets come into focus... I start running and the  two follow me... I head for a residential area but only because I know it is the road out of town... will asks how did I know this was a war... how did I know what was happening... and who are we at war with... I only respond that I don’t think this war has anything to do with us - as a nation.

There is big pick-up truck in someone’s drive way that we jump into the bed of to rest and inspect the skies... and I begin to explain the war... but they look at me as if I am making it all up... which I am, because I can only give them my theory... of what is happening... and I am explaining to them the dreams... and I tell them that there is a very good chance they are trapped in one of my dreams... Will grabs my jacket collar and punches me in the face and tells me this is no dream!!!  There is an explosion and it shakes the truck and I begin to question (in my mind) my reality... Ruben pulls out a pair of ridiculously big binoculars with a light on top of it like a lazar but is white... and tries to get a look at the battle over head but the light begins to draw the attention of the jets and other strange ships in the sky and they begin to come toward us... Ruben puts his binoculars away and we run... stopping to take shelter in peoples yards as now bombs begin to fall on the neighborhood... we run and stop for shelter all night... the neighborhood is now on fire... we hear people scream... and demonic sounds from the sky... every time I look up the sky is a different color and the atmosphere flickers like an old television screen... and I know it is not a real sky but I cannot explain the jets and the bombs that fall from it...

We ran and hid all night until we reached the school... it was now morning but the light of day was hidden behind the smoke of war... the battle in the air continued and we are resting under a tree in the yard just outside the schoolyard where survivors have gathered... the wounded are left to rest and die under the trees...  I can hear people pray and cry and try to comfort each other... I hear fathers make up stories for their frightened children... but the explosions in the sky are getting closer and the ground quakes and trembles... the city begins to fall... and goes up in flames... I hear the sound of a plane falling from the sky... I look up and walk without noticing toward the school yard... the plane is about to fall on the crowd... the world goes silent... I breath in as it approaches...

I wake up.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

The Shepherd's Tree

an unfinished poem


The stories have gotten bolder
As I have gotten older
Lost out in the blue of the sea
Of  the mystery and the magic
Events romantic and some tragic
That unfold under the shepherd’s tree.
I was just a lad
When that knight Sir Galahad
Came in from the wild on his knee
They say he found salvation
From dying of starvation
From the fruit of the shepherd’s tree.

It was echoed  far and wide
And it could not be denied
That angels could often be seen
Laughing and crying
At the poor fool slowly dying
Still charging away on  his steed
Lost in the madness and the gladness
His solitude and his sadness
Conquering demons only he could conceive
And when the sun set on his battle
And the knight fell off  his saddle
They laid  him to rest on these leaves.

It was rumored behind palace walls
Of the squire who heard the call
And picked up his fathers steel
But the invaders came like a tide
There was no place the boy could hide
The Hun pierced his armor and shield
But as all the kingdom knows
There’s magic where the daffodil grows
And the nymphs play in the field
And to the wounded brave
The kiss of fire they gave
And under that tree he was healed.

It was whispered by lovers at night
Hidden from the candle light
Of a ghostly moan and sigh
And you could chose to believe
The old which who says it is Eve
Howling when the moon is high
And on the ground she crawls
Clawing at invisible walls
Around the garden reflected in her eyes
And she can’t break the spell
And they laugh at her in Hell
Under the shepherd’s tree she cries.
 La Belle Dame Sans Merci 
John William Waterhouse





Friday, October 2, 2015

Looking for tradition in the modern world

I look for tradition in modern America and can only find a culture based on consumption and debt and the endless treadmill routine of work  - consume - eat - sleep - repeat.  I see traditions that revolve around sporting events and shopping holidays but nothing that resembles a pride and respect for traditions of heritage and ethnic culture in white America, even the European immigrants seem to just be going through the motions as they celebrate their Holidays and march down the streets in their neighborhood parades.  Except for the Jews and some old WASP families no-one seems to be holding on to traditions.  Even the Latin Americans seem to have abandoned any cultural traditions once they reach America - but they aren’t really assimilating into the culture aside from the “more, more, more”, of the American dream.  I see churches abandoning their values for politically correct doctrines in the name of tolerance and acceptance of progressive ideals just to avoid the bad publicity - or perhaps it is a financial decision.  I see desperate men in fear of losing their jobs and their families, I see broken men that have lost their jobs and their families - separated from their children and robbed of their dreams.  I see women lost and confused, medicated and hypnotized by the magic of pharmaceuticals and the modern media.  I see young girls sexualized and robbed of their innocense and lost boys with broken spirits.

I see a country divided by politicians and the press.  I see  journalist and celebrities promoting shame and hatred for the white Christian traditionalist at the same time they preach tolerance and multi-culturalism. They are still promoting fear of terrorism and American interventionism in the Middle East, though there  is no money for either fighting terrorist, which we ourselves have created, nor for the liberation of countries that have nothing to do with us, but we are told that we must accept those people with open arms... those people - the ones that hate you for your freedom, those people whose religion is the “religion of peace”, those people whose culture and religion and heritage and traditions are so important that it must be accepted and preserved and respected. Yes, there is the strong traditions I was looking for in America - the Jew and the Muslim get to keep their traditions without question or criticism. They are ancient people and their religion and culture is here to enrich your country.  The Jew, is chosen by God I am told, and they have been victimized by the world throughout history - give ‘em a brake.  And the Muslim, wants to bring you the word and the law of his prophet - at the edge of a sword.  It’s the religion of peace, how many times do I need to tell you. Neither on of these two groups is going to leave and if they have to - they have a place to go - do you? The White Christian American is no match for them.  One has been force fed the belief that they are better than you and by the will of their god they were born to rule over you, the other is filled with anger and hatred for you, infidel. Two groups that historically have always been at each others throats have found common ground in their desire to take away your culture, rob you of your traditions and destroy your religion and your church, and your politicians will not do anything to save you.  Your religion is weak and cowardly and cares more about protecting its financial interests than saving your soul.  Your politicians only wish to divide you with the problems they themselves have created - they will distract you with immigrants from the south hoping you wont notice the ones from the East and Middle East, They legalize Homosexual marriage telling you that all Americans have rights but won’t hesitate to take  away your right to choose not to participate in their marriage as a business owner. 
           
Where are the traditions of the American people? The Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas.  I can’t really say that my family celebrated these holidays in any particular traditional way, in fact, I don’t know any man my age that has any “family traditions”, they grew up in families a lot like mine - get together on certain days, eat, drink, and go our own way... tradition.  My parents didn’t have anything to hand down to me - no rituals of manhood and no traditions, no family recipes and no family heirlooms - well, I do have a couple of crucifixes that belonged to my mothers father that I will leave behind for my sons with the rest of my treasure, but other than that, there is nothing that has been handed down in my family from fathers to sons. My dad did not teach my how to shave, that was cousin Freddie Hatch from Utah, I taught myself how to drive, taught myself how to cook, my parents didn’t even teach me how to tie my own shoes - that was an older kid from my bible class when I still lived in Mexico.  No - I have no traditions of country, of culture, of clan or tribe and no rituals handed down that I have not created for myself.

When I think of American culture, nothing really comes to mind outside of sports and cars and the pursuit of money. I don’t think of Christianity when I think of America - though I do when I think of my younger days.  I can’ think of any traditional American costumes without thinking of blue jeans and pioneers.  America has no traditional dance and when I try to think of one I can only imagine Indian braves dancing around a fire. I try to think of a traditional American family and I run through images of the fifties in my mind until I come to a screeching halt as my thoughts are interrupted by thoughts of modern America.  If I try to think of a Traditional American woman I can only imagine June Cleaver, but that is not reality - one can dream. I can’t even think of a traditional American dress for an American woman - In the Miss Mexico beauty pageant, the women dress in an extravagant and elegant version of the traditional Indian costumes of their region.  In the Miss Universe pageant, the women dress in the traditional costumes of their cultures - What do you see the American women wearing - Statue of Liberty costume... Uncle Sam’s coat... cowboy outfit... America has no traditional songs that we teach our children - outside of our National Anthem and the Hokey-Pokey... there is no song I remember from my youth that talks about the American culture... at least nothing I can remember.

Is a country without religion, without a true culture based on tradition worth saving?

I don’t know the answer to that question but I do see hope and desperation in both men and women that want to change the modern world and create something better, something based on tradition.  I am not a genius but I can observe that people of strong traditions and beliefs continue to grow while those that have abandoned their traditions are fading away - being pushed out by those that are growing, conquered by those that are willing to die for the things they believe in so the ones they leave behind will have traditions to pass down. I don’t understand how a people can let themselves be pushed around by small minority groups out of fear of  being labeled this or that.  I don’t know why people would support the media that calls nationalist and traditionalist extremist and does nothing but help create riffs between the people of a nation. It doesn’t make any sense to me why the ones we’ve elected to represent us feel it is more important to bring more people into our countries that we can not afford to support, whose culture and religions are not compatible with ours and make the ones that want to preserve their people and way of life enemies of the state... doesn’t make sense to me, but this entry isn’t here to connect any dots, I’m just looking for traditions - I long for traditions, I desperately want something to believe in, something to fight for, something to live for, something to pass down and  be proud of... something that I can call mine, that I can stand with honor and say this is our way... these are my people.

I am looking for a place I can call home.  I will not fight to protect a country that wants to force me to pay for things I do not want, need, nor believe in.  I have no desire to preserve a country that wants to force beliefs on me that I do not wish for nor that serve any purpose in my life. But I will fight for something I have helped to build, I would fight for a place I have invested my blood sweat and tears into, a place I have helped to construct and laid the foundations for - constructively and socially speaking, a place of  like minded people who believe it is in their best interest to protect our traditions, people who believe that the preservation of our culture is more important than the pursuit of money. I would fight to protect my tribe, it’s beliefs, it’s rituals, and it’s values, and my unquestionable loyalty shall be to the tribe who’s unquestionable loyalty will be given to me.
George Herbert McCord
"Luminous Sunset With 
Men Walking To Church"

Monday, September 28, 2015

Wind-Rider and the Ranger

a short story
(based on a dream)

I sauntered out of the woods... there was nowhere to be and no rush to get there - as I saw it that day... I look up and the clouds look like they want to let loose a storm, but it is just another grey day without rain... and it will stay like this forever.  I see a man in old brown biker gear tinkering around with an old motorbike...  converted to a wind-rider - it hovers a couple of feet above the ground and hauls ass... but he is broke down... or just making adjustmenst... he looks very much out of place... he turns his head slowly - the way old  soldiers do when they know there is no threat... and looks me up and down... his eyes squint and he, very most subtly, begins to shake his head but stops and just goes back to what he was doing... I move closer - slowly...  He speaks...

“You come down from that mountain?”
“A few days ago”
“Any water back there?”
“What got trapped in a small tank  a bit up the rock... nice bike”
“She’s nice when she runs...” he looks at me and I move even closer to inspect his machine... he looks at me as if I was very much out of place... he pauses for a bit and looks down at his tools and inspects them... is he looking for a particular piece, is he merely contemplating the idea of them? He does not seem to be in any particular hurry nor does he seem to have a care in the world... he simply just is... there... in the moment... he picks up his tools one by one and carefully wipes them down with a dark red bandana and lays them back down on an old but thick piece of grey cloth... he speaks -

“heading any where in particular?”
“Patagonia”
“The Legion Colonies... that is a long ways away...( he chuckles) you might die before you get there... “ he looks me up and down again... and tilts his head a bit in confusion...

“You Legion or Ranger... you gotta be a Ranger... ain’t no Legionnaire been around this part of the world since the crusades... you lost amigo?”
“Ranger don’t get lost...”
“Outcast... eh amigo... I got ya’...”

He has a manner and way about him, in his speech and demeanor that brings to mind Sam Elliot - he has an old rustic and friendly and familiar quality... I like him immediately.

“You’re Tejano?” I inquire.
“I was - a long time ago...” he stares into his rag of tools looking for a memory - “a long time ago...”
“Where is the closest town?” I ask, interrupting his thoughts.

he gestures with his thumb behind him

“300 miles back that way... but you don’t want to go there... the women can’t cook or fuck worth a damn... but the Muhammads will do you like you was a drunk goat... best you stay out of there Ranger...”

I look to my right - up the road and ask what is up that way...

“Two days ride on the wind is a trading town called Junktown... those girls can fuck... if you have food or water... but they’re nasty and filthy and carry disease... you just go along in the direction you was going... straight ahead for about a week... you’ll find an old militia stronghold... they got law there and if you have trade skills they may let you behind the wall... on the other side of that mountain... you’ll find the sea... eventually... don’t know how you’ll get to Patagonia...”

“A week, huh...” I rub my chin and mentally calculate my water supply...

He finally stands up... and he is just a few inches taller than me... he packs up his tools in a saddle  bag and turns to me

“Got anything to trade, Ranger?”

I think - there is rabbit jerky and berries and a little water and paper.. And ink... matches and lighters and oil... and hard candy...

“I got candy...”

His eyes light up and he smile for the first time... “well doggie... got a water bottle...”
I sit my rucksack down and open it up grab a bottle from the side pocket and reach deep down in the main pocket for a plastic bag of Christmas candy... I hold the bag up for him and he takes it like a child would... he tries to stay cool and calm... but he is just too excited about the sweets to care...

“Bring that bottle over here boy...” he walks to the back of the wind-rider... and uncovers a humidifier... what that is - what we call them... is a small machine that harvests the humidity in the air and converts it to drinkable water - it works while the wind-rider is in motion... can give you a couple of gallons a day... I hand him the bottle and he fills it up...  He smiles at me... “picked this up from some Japper... got the hell out of the country day before it all went to fuck...”

“What do you hear about Japan?” I ask him eager to know if they are still strong and free...
“Well... I hear tell many of them got wiped out... but there’s so many of them you can’t really tell... they’ve closed themselves off again... but they ain’t suffering...” my bottle is full and he hands it to me... I take a small drink... fresh and pure... and cool... I smile and he laughs... and does not wait any longer.  He opens up the bag and pulls out a piece of candy and drops it into his mouth... he lets out a loud laugh...

“A week, you say...” and I look to the mountain in front of me
“Yup...” he reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a silver box, it looks like a cigarette container... he flips it open... it is a most curious little object... a compass like trinket that also tells time and the day of the week... he finds North and points me in the direction of the camp and asks - “you ain’t no half-breed is ya?”
“I’m afraid I just might be”
“Well... don’t get caught with one of their women...”

He sees me admiring his trinket and hands it to me... “got that from an old dragon...”

I inspect this little machine - compass, chronograph... it tells the month and day of the week - it is silver and gold and it can be used as a sun dial... the circular parts turn and the hands move... I am curious to know how it works... but the clouds thunder... it’s not the sky... he turns around in the direction of the Muhammads... they're coming... he grabs his compass from my hands and jumps on the wind-rider... “run into the woods boy!” and he hauls ass out of there... leaving me alone... I run to the mountain... I run all day... until my heart and legs can’t take any more... a set down and lean back on a tree... and think about that wonderful little trinket that I held in my hands... what did he call it... what was it... I close my eyes and try to take it apart in my mind to learn how it could possibly work... and I fell asleep in the still and quiet forest.
A Magical Wonderful Thing
housed in a silver box, the inside
is made of gold with copper and
mother of pearl

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

If God wills it

I had to write this after reading this entry here at 
Only once have I ever punched someone in the face for insulting my belief in God - I did not know the person very well, he was a friend of a friend... I can’t remember what the conversation was about now - this happened about eighteen years ago - but I remember what I said before the insult - “we will all have to answer for our sins in the end...” he laughed and said  “you don’t believe in that crap do you?”

I say - “what God?”
“Yeah - you believe in that shit?”

Without thinking I swung my arm... my fist hit his face and he fell back to the ground... he looked up at me in shock and the other two men I was with stood there in silence... I looked down at him and said - “you don’t know me - you don’t know a fucking thing about me... that was for insulting me...” I turned to my friend Dave and told him to get his friend away from me before I beat the stupid out of him... Dave laughed, picked his friend up and they walked away...

I have always been Christian.  I have believed in God and Christ all my life... I have strayed... I have wandered and I have dabbled in occult subjects - even joined a group once that claimed to teach the truth... but... I never stopped believing in my creator and in my savior... and after the things I witnessed and my own personal experiences within and out side of the occult world, my faith has only gotten stronger - my advice to men looking for answers or if you are just curios, in the occult - don’t do it... it is not worth it, whatever they are offering... just go in the opposite direction... Now, I will say this and move on because it is not something I want to talk about - mostly because I can’t (I can mention it but I can’t discuss it) - even Satanist believe there is a God... there.

I may not be the most religious of men nor would I qualify as a moderately religious one.  I was raised a Roman Catholic and I have carried its teaching and principles with me to this day - actually putting it all into practice is a rarity... I do however try my damn hardest to live by the golden rule - do unto others as you would have done to you - basically, treat people the way you wish to be treated... the best rule and advice ever... thank you Jesus, for that one... but... sometimes people do not treat you the way you treat them and that’s when faces get punched... and dicks get kicked in... I am not very good at the turn the other cheek rule... sorry Jesus - but you know the type of man I am...

I do not preach the gospel but have absolutely no problem discussing it with others.  I do not try to convert anyone but will offer advice and counseling on the subject should anyone ask for it.  I am not a fanatic born again Christian type that wants to save your soul - they are a bit annoying aren’t they... but I understand them... though I do think many of them are full of it... I do not attend mass but I do go to church about twice a week to just sit there in silence and talk to God - I prefer the stillness and beauty of old churches and the smell of the candles and incense that have seeped into the walls and the pews after so many years and the echos that carry throughout those old buildings - (I have just learned that one of the old churches downtown that I visit does have a Latin Mass... and I have decided to attend once a week, next time I am there I will ask for a schedule).

There are people that want to take my beliefs away from me - away from Christians, as in the article above, these do-gooders want to make sure there is no public display of our beliefs - no posting of the commandments or nativities, no prayers in schools or sporting events... no talking about religion or converting members in the military because all of this is offensive to those that don’t believe in God... morals and ethics are offensive as well I guess... not sure how and why - peace on earth and good will towards man... the golden rule... that’s Christianity as I understand it - but the do-gooder tells me it is offensive... it must get in the way of the sodomy and the baby killing...

My belief in God hurts no one, much like my racism hurts no one... I am a peaceful man... but... I did punch a man for insulting my beliefs... imagine what I will do come the day God takes these chains off me... and I... am not even a religious man...

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Dash Deringer - Racist Half-Breed

I had been exchanging e-mails with an artist for a while when the subject of race came up, I expressed my feelings on the matter and this person freaked out, and after she calmed down, lectured me through an e-mail - which to date is  the most retarded thing I have ever received, filled with stupid arguments... and she wants nothing more to do with me - but I am sure that has more to do with me telling her that most men that buy art don't collect female artists... Yes, If you are going to put a label on me then I qualify as a conservative traditionalist - and this happens all the damn time... just because I work with and know many artists and entertainers people naturally assume I am a leftist liberal socialist... I am not.  I do what I do for the money and because I am good at it  - I want to get paid... I want to work for what I want, and I want to keep what I have earned - I don't screw people over, I don't lie to make money, I don't cheat anyone, I mind my own business - I am not a do-gooder... and I am racist... and I do not have a problem with it, and the majority of the people I deal with do not have a problem with it either - as long as I am putting money in their pockets... the subject hardly ever comes up but here it is now... will I loose money from it... probably... but who gives a fuck... the writings that follow were originally posted as comments on The Iron Legion Journal.

I
(May 12, 2015)

I came to America in the mid 70’s – my mother had remarried and her new husband was an American… back in those days the States was not a politically correct nightmare as it is today and foreigners had to assimilate to their new home – we were going to live and work in America and enjoy the “freedoms” it provides – you will speak English and live and act as Americans – yes, many foreigners retained their cultures… in their homes and in their neighborhoods – if they were all of the same kind… but at the schools and at work and in their daily lives out and about their cities… we were all American… and we were all proud to be here… this land of hope and freedom… and everyone is equal under the law… and you have the freedom of choice and of speech and opinion… and if you work hard enough… you can become whatever you want to be… for America – in those days – rewarded hard work… that was the America of my child-hood…

When I arrived I was out of school for a couple of years – In Mexico I had already began classes at the age of four – we were learning math and reading and writing – back then in Mexico we started early and graduated school early – many still do today – when the time came for me to start school in America I was informed by all that I would have to speak English… I was stubborn and held on to my Spanish for as long as I could… I struggled to keep it and I struggled just as hard to learn English… I had to take some courses twice – all the foreign kids had to that did not speak English – I took a math class in English and one in Spanish – the Spanish math was teaching us how to translate it all into English… I had to take a remedial English class to learn how to read English and our professor was a beautiful lady who spoke with a heavy Southern Accent… and I would always get in trouble for mocking her – I wasn’t, but she would always lecture me about it – see… I was repeating the words she would teach us using her accent – a heavy Southern accent… and all the kids would laugh… I didn’t know… I thought that is what I was supposed to do – I was trying to make an effort to become a young American and I guessed we were all going to be cowboys – because we had this country girl teaching us English… y’all… and all the kids laughed and I liked making them laugh and perhaps I may have gone too far… eh… you can never go too far in comedy… So back in that old America – that politically incorrect America – diversity was fine – as long as you remember that this is your new home… and you will live as an American – you will take it’s culture as your own, you will take it’s values as your own… and you will protect them…

I got the Spanish beat out of me and it was a struggle – I speak English like a mid-westerner now… and I have no Spanish accent… many people do not believe that I am from Mexico – but I am… and the older I have become I have embrace more and more my Latin roots… I am Mexican – in my heart and in my soul I am Mexican – I dream in Spanish… I love in Spanish… I hate in Spanish… I prefer to seduce in Spanish… as I have gotten older and see that Foreigners have come to the United States and were not forced to go through all that my generation and those before us went through to assimilate into the culture… well… it pisses me off… in English and in Spanish – I have been chastised by white Americans for lecturing foreigners for not learning English and trying to teach them how to speak properly… Americans – mad at me for wanting foreigners in their country to Westernize themselves… I give up… I was born in Mexico… I am Mexican – for it seems to me that America does not want those Americans of my youth anymore… but when I am here – in America… by God… I am a Texas fucking cowboy – that is the culture I was raised in… but now… even Texas is drowning in the stench of political correctness…

II
(June 2, 2015)

Henry – you’re right about all the fear and self censoring – I see it all over the States… people trying to put together a politically correct sentence so as not to offed anyone around them in public… It is a big reason why I must be self employed – because I am not politically correct and I wont get fired for offending anyone for whatever I may say or do… in this delicate spineless country… sometimes when I realize I may have gone too far in a conversation, or joke, or in stating an opinion… I shrug my shoulders and say – “I’m from Mexico – I don’t know how you do things here…” – which is bullshit… because I was raised here and know exactly how we do things here but it gets me off the hook – I have always hated affirmative action and people that pull their race card and the victim card… but I find that if I pull the” I’m Mexican” card it helps a little… “oh – you’re a foreigner… that’s all right…”

I even see Mexican Nationals here in Texas looking for the right words to use so that they don’t offend – which is hard because Mexican men say it as they see it… but in America… they are now trying to be very careful… Political correctness just wont fly in the Spanish language – we would all sound like a bunch or retards… I laugh when I see Mexicans try to be politically correct because… wait for it… Mexicans are very prejudiced and racist people… true, it is a half breeds paradise… but we prefer to separate our groups by color… we all love the brown girls… but we all want white children… if a dark skinned Mexican is successful you can bet your ass he has a light skinned wife or girlfriend… and there is of course the possibility that just because two fair skinned Mexicans have children that not all of them will come out white – there’s always the moreno of the family – the dark one… and of course I have seen all dark families with the child that is the guerro – the white boy… there are blacks in Mexico, but they are generally located in just a few states – and not many people outside of Mexico know that we have blacks… and you could say it is because we don’t let them run wild… was that a terrible thing to say… well… I guess this is a good place for me to admit that I am a racist half breed Mexican… but I am just like all other Mexicans in this regard… the problem with this fact is that it does not fit the narrative of the left… in Mexico – the land of half breeds… of Indians with varying languages and identities that we all struggle to preserve – because they are Mexico… and of the mestizos and the mulatos and the guerros… the gavachos… we all are prejudice and we all are racist… and we… the Mexicans, don’t have any problem with it… I am a racist and I have never hurt anyone… and I do not believe my being a racist effects the world in a bad way… and yes… I love the brown girls… but I want guerro babies… and I want them to be raised in the white world… it is the world I was raised in… all of Latin America is pretty much the same as Mexico and the people do separate themselves – so much so that it must be seen as something natural… it is even this way in Asia… it must be a natural thing…

The nations (people of the same culture and language) were separated for a reason – the races of the world found their own lands – for a reason… it must be to preserve themselves and their ways and their beliefs… it must be nature.

Men like Clay have their pick of women – it is good that he married a black woman and that he preserve his race and be proud of it – we all should… as I said I am a half breed – but I had no say in the matter… I was born this way… but I have more white European blood in me than I do Indian – I am fair skinned (but I tan beautifully) and in my family we get the brown skin from my mothers mother who is Indian – indigenous of Mexico – my mothers father is white of European descent… I do not hate people for the color of their skin – that is just stupid… I will decide on a person based on his actions… how they treat others and their behavior in society… I don’t judge people by what they say – because people say one thing and do another… and it is the other that I look for… are you respecting the world around you and acting accordingly… or do we need to beat the fucking stupid out of you… and I do feel sorry for those living in third world countries – for their poverty and the violence they live in – but that has nothing to do with me… they need to change their countries – their government – their way of thinking… don’t make me responsible for them…I am a man looking for a country I can call home, myself… before I become a refugee too…

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Friday, August 21, 2015

Collision with Destiny

Just a little patch of land with enough room to grow some corn on, perhaps a grove of apple trees and pecan trees... a corner in the back to grow some vegetables and a  fig tree... some chickens and lambs.  Just a little patch of land with enough space to build houses for your children when they get older and start a family of their own and everyone has enough food from your garden, everyone pitches in a little bit of money for whatever other supplies are needed... perhaps you have a business that your sons are part of, some sort of service or manufacturing that you do and all expenses for everyone are paid out from this family income.  It is not unusual to still find families in Mexico or Central and South America where several generations of one family all live together, sharing one property.  I know you can still find them in the middle east and in Asia... but not so much in Europe and America.  I once was told - and I believe it to be true - that the quickest and easiest way to create wealth is to do so as a family - one unit, one tribe against the world... it worked for those families that seem to never loose their wealth, but they were not raised like you and me... they were not raised like middle class children or like lower class children... they were raised to believe it is them against the world... and these families have a family home to go to if and when it is needed... most American middle class parents charge their children rent to live in their homes after they turn eighteen or if they have to return... but instead of teaching their children something that will help them in the real world, most parents tell them to go to collage and start life as adults in debt - well, they didn’t know any better... and they really didn’t have anything to teach their children anyhow. But do you want to repeat those same mistakes with your own children or do you want to teach them something... do you want to have something to pass down to them... something you can build together as a family that will last for generations?

Most Americans, most Christians, do not even know who their cousins are - not their first cousins not their second cousins, and ask them to name their great-grandfathers and they will draw a blank... why is that?  Why are  Americans and Europeans made to feel guilty about being white and made to apologize for events in the past that they had nothing to do with yet, not know where they come from... who they come from... I suppose for you it might not matter if your grandchildren do not remember you or know anything about you when you die, or that you leave no legacy behind for them... after all, you will be dead and you got yours... right... but... history remembers those who  met destiny head on... we might not know all of their names, but we remember their generation... we remember their clans and their journeys and their hardships... we remember the cities and the culture they left behind... we remember them by their music and dances and the stories of them... I think about it and wonder if it is only just a few who are called upon by destiny to play a part in the shaping of  history... madmen... poets... revolutionaries and wide eyed visionaries... those fools that others laugh at... the ones that wont conform... the ones that dream of it and obsess over it until they have to do something to make it real... the automobile... planes.. Computers... rockets... the wheel... in the big picture of history, those few men that we remember, and the ones we can’t, that changed the world, are but a very small fraction of the total number of lives that have come and gone... but what they left behind... what they left behind...

I do not believe that we - man - have reached our peak... I refuse to believe that... and that we still have  many more dreams left in us to make into reality... but there is just so much fear of upsetting the herd... of being cast out and shamed and insulted for the things you believe in... people fear rejection and they fear failure... they probably fear the laughter and humiliation  that comes from the failure more... mostly because that laughter comes from your own family - those closest to you... your friends, your loved ones... the ones that should have been helping you to succeed... instead of hoping that you fall on your face... they want you to conform they want you to be just like them... I  know... I  still get it from my own family... but... destiny is chasing me... I just can’t run anymore... I must meet it head on... and I know... what ever history says about me when I am gone - be it good or bad... will be better than not being remembered by my grandchildren... for I will leave behind a legacy... I will leave behind something those that come after me can have pride in... I will leave behind something that they will want to carry on - something that will give them identity that separates them from the rest of the crowd - honor, nobility... courage... I will leave behind a home for them and give them the skills that they will never have to wait in a bread line or grovel before a bureaucrat... they will have ethics and strong principles... they will work hard for their share and they will be rewarded abundantly for it... they will know their cousins... and they will be one tribe against the world... and they will say... “grandfather built this for us...”

Yes... Destiny is coming into focus...
The Cross in the Mountains
by
Caspar David Friedrich

Saturday, August 15, 2015

gold

I know it was real - because I can still feel...
her kiss on my lips...
and a child's curiosity
in her fingertips.

I smell her perfume on my body
and I see her eyes everywhere
the moonlight glows...
and her kisses and caresses
left traces of gold...



Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The Modern World Detox Week-End

Inspired by Simon's post: De-Programming Modernism at The Iron Legion

 1.  Turn of your cell phone and keep away from your computer.  No television and no radio stations that play modern music.

 2.  Eat only non processed foods - that is, if it wasn’t around before the 19th century, don’t eat it.

 3.  Exercise - calisthenics, lifting - I don’t have weights... I lift milk jugs filled with water and a back pack filled with books or rocks... but I lift.  The milk gallons are off-balance so it makes you focus on how you hold them and strengthens your grip and the form of your arms.  Do push ups and crunches.  And walk - early in the morning and in the evening as the sun sits.

 4.  Start carrying a pocket knife - a Swiss Army knife or a pocket multi-tool... a single blade or a multi blade like a Boker... but start carrying a knife and use it every chance you can - to slice your fruit and for repairs... use it and learn the feel of it in your hand and... its textures and form and  weight... it is your steel... your blade... your sword.  It is very hard to find a man of my generation who does not carry a pocket knife... when did that stop?

 5.  Plant something... vegetables or a fruit tree or a nut tree or  some herbs... whatever, if you want to plant roses then do so... it would be best if it was something you could eat but plant something and tend your garden and watch it grow... this will give you responsibility if you need it... especially if you are planting food... nature will do most of the work but you do have to tend to your garden and keep pests away and give it water... use your instincts and logic and common sense - it is in you... bring it out.

 6.  Build something.  Get some wood and build a shelf... a desk... a chair... a table - a table is simply a door with legs... you will not look it up on the internet... again, use your instinct, a ruler, a pencil, and your tools.  Create with your hands and take your time... visualize it and give form to your vision... keep the vision of what you are building in your head and put your spirit into it... it could be a simple wooden spoon or a bird house... it can be something as simple as making a book...

 7.  Write... everything - in your new journal that you fashioned together... random thoughts, ideas, lists, sketches, maps... the blue prints for your rebel fortress... the cipher poem to get to your buried treasure...

 8.  Find an old timer and make friends... ask question and learn... don’t let the knowledge of the last generations fade.

 9.  Find men - look for others of like mind and spirit and form a gang... a tribe... a brotherhood and form a bond and when the time has come seal that bond with ritualistic ceremony - like the bonds of blood brothers you made when you were a boy... what you didn’t do that?

10. Go into the woods alone and with your tribe... learn to survive... learn to just be alone and commune with your thoughts, with your soul... with nature and with God... learn your plants and weeds... the trees... the sounds and the smells... learn to make a fire - I don’t know how to make a fire out of nature... I carry a tin with fire making tools - fire-striker, matches, lighter and tinder...

Learn to hunt... with a bow and arrow - long bow, not your modern mechanical stuff... fashion a spear and fish with it... when you are not hunting for your food then play with the creatures in the woods - chase the rabbit and the deer... feed the birds and the geese... make your rituals in the wild - chant and pray and dance around the fire... make your rituals around the hunt and give thanks for your food... make a ritual before your hunt and after... make rituals around the fire - tell stories and create myth... even if your are just by your self... give yourself a tribal name - you have no name until the tribe gives you a name...

11. Find a church... if you are not ready to go to mass... just find a church... the older the better... and sit there in silence... take in the smells and the echoes... and whisper gently your conversation with God... this will center you - I don’t know why or how it works... but being in an empty old church... for a just a little while does do something spiritual to you.

12. Spend time with your family - many people these days do not get along with their family - but they are your family... they are your clan... you don’t have to say much... just be around them and get them used to the idea... of you being around them... perhaps you can convince your brother to go out into the wild with you... let them know that (even if they are jerks) you got their back... gather your family for a Sunday lunch or dinner... begin or restore your family traditions... in my opinion there is not much point of having a family if there are no traditions to gather for... and tradition is what we are trying to save and restore.
'Camp fire'
Winslow Homer

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