Thursday, January 28, 2016

Me Enseñaste


"Me Enseñaste"

Me enseñaste a no fumar sin desayuno
Me enseñaste a dividir
Que la suma de uno y uno siempre es uno
Si se aprende a compartir

Me enseñaste que los celos son traviesos
Que es mitad falta de sesos y mitad inseguridad
Me enseñaste a ser pareja en libertad
Me enseñaste que el amor no es una reja
Y que es mentira la verdad

Me enseñaste que no es bueno el que te ayuda
Sino el que no te molesta
Me enseñaste que abrazado a tu cintura
Todo parece una fiesta

Me enseñaste muchas cosas de la cama
Que es mejor cuando se ama
Y que es también para dormir
Me enseñaste entre otras cosas a vivir

Me enseñaste que una duda puede más que la razón.
Pero fallaste mi gurú
Se te olvidó enseñarme que hago si no estás tú


Me enseñaste de todo excepto a olvidarte
Desde filosofía hasta como tocarte
A saber que el afrodisiaco más cumplidor
No son los mariscos sino el amor.
Pero no me enseñaste a olvidarte

Me enseñaste de todo excepto a olvidarte
A convertir una caricia en una obra de arte
A saber que los abogados saben poco de amor
Y que el amor se cohibe en los juzgados

Pero no me enseñaste a olvidarte
Pero no me enseñaste a olvidarte.

Donde se apaga el amor que quedó
No encuentro el interruptor
Si hay que aceptar que nuestra historia voló
De donde saco el valor.


Me enseñaste de todo excepto a olvidarte
Desde filosofía hasta como tocarte
A saber que el afrodisiaco más cumplidor
No son los mariscos sino el amor.
Pero no me enseñaste a olvidarte

Me enseñaste de todo excepto a olvidarte
A convertir una caricia en una obra de arte
A saber que los abogados saben poco de amor
Y que el amor se cohibe en los juzgados

Pero no me enseñaste a olvidarte
Pero no me enseñaste a olvidarte.

Monday, January 11, 2016

Should we pick a fight...

 "Should we pick a fight?"

The youngest of our gang blurted out yesterday.  I am not really sure what was going through his mind at the moment but we just bursted out laughing... “yeah..."  Another says... "lets go kick someone’s ass... just for fun... but let’s get fucked up first...”

We laughed and then looked at each other in one of those awkward silent moments... they all turn to look at me... I shrugged my shoulders... a bit confused... and say... “let’s go...” and they all chuckled...

Our young friend stands up and throws his beer bottle at the brick wall  - we were gathered in the back yard of a gang members house - his frustration and anger is something that reverberates through all of us... he lets out a primal scream and walks over to a tree and begins to kick it...

Long Shadow gets up and takes a fresh bottle of  beer from our cooler and takes it to the young man... he twists the cap off and takes a long drink... shakes his head and apologizes for his outburst... walks over to the wall and picks up the pieces of the broken bottle...

I know how he feels - we all do... we did not talk about the incident we simply picked  up our conversation before the idea of picking a fight interrupted us... but I know that for the rest of the evening it lingered in our minds...

He is a young man in his mid-twenties learning to become an electrician and hoping to find good work anywhere but here when he is done with his school... he is a good looking kid of Mexican and European descent that was always too shy to talk  to girls... he grew up in the states and was indoctrinated  by the  feminized  American school system and spent his youth in anger and depression for having to act and behave in contradiction to his nature... he never had anyone he could  really say were his friends in his youth and was bullied for a while... when he finally tried to stand up for himself - he was the one that got into trouble for it... the girls teased him and some called him creepy and the boys just shunned him and laughed at him... he confessed to me that he was on his way to becoming a criminal after high school because he just could not find a job and  he was too shy and intimidated, by all the women interviewing him for work positions everywhere he went, to even express himself...

He was the first one I brought into the gang... It was the simple act of listening to him  - he was not complaining... he was mostly asking why... and what... and how... he spoke of his frustrations and his anger at the world he was born into... and asked why... and what... and how... he needed someone to talk with... someone to listen and assure him that it was the world around him that was gone crazy and not him for the things he felt inside... and when he had nothing more to talk about and get off  his chest and clear his mind... I got him laid...

Our young Legionnaire was born with the gift of timing - like a comedian or skilled actor... he always knows (or does not care) when to let some outlandish but hilarious shit just fly out... and that was what we would use to make him the center of attention.

I was to meet with some business associates one night at a lounge on a week night at a place someone said would be filling up with a young crowd and attractive young women...  and it was also a watering hole for a white collar crowd after work... so I suited up our squire in one of my black suits which fit him nicely and a dark colored button down with a straight collar - no tie... made sure he got himself a nice haircut and we slicked it back - he looked like a young gangster out of Brian De Palma’s ‘Scarface’.  I was suited up as I knew the men we were meeting with would be and I instructed my friend to do very little talking - but he would act as the groups go to guy - get our drinks and make sure everyone is having a good time and that no one’s glass gets too empty - “tonight...” I said to him “you are the rain maker... whatever anyone wants, you will make it happen” I gave further instructions for him to sit at my right and he was free to ask any questions of anyone in the group but when doing so to move in close to them and ask in a low voice - the others will follow by responding in the same way moving in close and talking in a private manner... I also let him know to use his natural timing to let lose his wonderful insanity... I let him know that it’s best to let lose when everyone has their drinks in their hand ready to take a drink... and he did... and the men would laugh and spill their drinks and spit them out from nearly choking with merriment... and he would get up and move around the table to speak privately with the members of our group as I instructed him to and they would respond as I said they would...

We had commandeered a table in the center of the room and as the night went on a bevy of young ladies came and went but surrounded our table through out the night... and our open collard gangster with the slicked back hair stood out among the entire crowd... and quickly attracted the attention of all the women there... as part of his costume I let him carry the money - a wad of cash wrapped in a thick rubber band to stuff into his pocket... he also quickly became a hit among the men at our table... with his polite inquisitive manner and his flawless comedic timing... our table would get loud and everyone would look on us with envy  - the way you would wish you could sit at the cool table when you were in school... the shy boy was now rising up to the top of the food chain - but who was he, the crowd would wonder - this young suited hustler that men much older than him would pause to give their full attention to by listening intently as he spoke to them and laugh out loud as he joked with them... who was this kid that would get up to go fill a tray full of fresh drinks and pay for it all with a fist full of twenties and fifties... this punk that did not give a damn about anyone in the room and seemed to live for the moment and had the respect of the rich men at his table... he was loving it - at last... the universe was on his side... the women simply could not take their eyes off him... I looked up at him as he walked back from one of his trips to the bar carrying a tray full of drinks... and his walk had changed - he was confident and secure with his new persona... he had changed that night... as he passed a table of women he looked down at them and smiled and winked... a man he did not know passed buy him and stood aside with his arms out so that others passing by would not bump into him... the crowd was becoming mesmerized... and I myself was not even sure why... but I did know something was going to happen... the manager of the club came to our table to see that we were well taken care of and went directly to our young Mr. Montana... and offered us a round on the house... when the waitress came with our drinks he slipped her a big tip and dismissed her with a light tap on the ass... which she responded to with a shy giggle... and  blushed as she walked away... that was the move that brought other women closer to us... we put a couple of tables together with ours - as we were done talking business and “Tony” had begun to flirt with the girls around him... but he would leave them unexpectedly and many times with out excusing himself to go converse with one of our group or with me... and we would give him our full attention... he would say something that only the men would understand - a continuation of a joke from earlier and we would laugh... and the women would come to the conclusion that he must be a person of some importance... we moved the party to the lounge in some hotel and about a dozen women followed us there... it was our after party and sitting in a plush sofa with a blond to his left and a couple of brunettes to his right... one of them asked - “what is it that you do”

He smiled and said “baby... I’m the rain maker...” and I saw her eyes go wide... I had never seen that... what exactly she was thinking I could only imagine it to be... something... naughty...
The girls moved in close.

When the night came to an end a couple of the men left with some of the girls and the others alone but I was left there with my friend and four of the girls... one last round for the road...
He had chosen the blonde as his conquest for the night... girl had no idea she was getting a fresh one... I would linger behind with a young dark skinned girl of about twenty four...

Before he excuses himself  for the night he looks at me and says “ Jefe... do you need anything?”

I shake my head “No... but make sure you take care of that business tonight”.

His face turns serious “I’ll get it done - if I have to bury someone... I’ll get it done...”

The girls look nervous in an anxious anticipation kind of way (can’t really describe it).

He drinks down what is left in his glass in a hard swallow and slams it on the table in front of him to exaggerate his seriousness... and gets up and walks to me... I get up and we hug with one arm as we clasp the others hand - gangsta’ style... a give him a light tap on the cheek and say...  “ good job...”

Later he would tell me he got his first blow job that night... the first night he had sex... and the girl kept trying to guess exactly what it was he did as “the rain maker”.

Since then he has learn to take control... he is more sure of himself and he now has a gang he belongs to... he knows the life he does not want and is coming closer to figuring out the life he does want.  He has had enough girls now to begin to not care so much about them... they simply are play things for him as he is now learning the truth for himself about the modern American  woman... and works to better himself... he has found things to be passionate about and has taken to turning his mind and his body and his soul into temples of perfection... he looks to get closer to his creator... and still struggles to silence the demons inside... as we all witness yesterday... the anger and the frustrations that this modern world creates in us all  can not be contained for too long... young men will explode if there is no guidance there... if there is no one there to talk to... to listen... to laugh with him when he can no longer hold back the beast and wants to go out and pick a fight...

I am forty six years old... and I still carry that demon... along with others... and I want to go pick a fight... kick Satan in the dick and burn the world down... it still happens... I was that young man.

I know why he’s frustrated - he spoke of it before... he wants meaning for his life... he wants a purpose... a reason to do the things he does... he wants something true to believe in... not much has really changed since I was that young man...

“It’s coming” I tell him... destiny will find you... a fight is coming and you already know what side you’re on.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

three young men and a sad girl

 young man hoping for the best

 young man looking for trouble

young man looking for his place in the world

a sad girl

Friday, January 1, 2016

This Legionnaire

He wakes before the sun rises and writes in his leather bound journal by the soft light of a lamp on his desk, sometimes it’s only half a page of random thoughts and ideas, sometimes a couple of leafs full of theories and dreams... he lifts for half an hour and then goes for a run around the neighborhood and greets the morning light with a smile and an appreciative nod... God is good... all the time... he returns home and washes up... if he is meeting with others  that day he takes the time to style his hair... otherwise he leaves it lose, but he always dresses in pressed trousers and button down shirt as if he was seeing people... and then... his first cup of coffee... nothing fancy... no expensive coffee machines - just plain ole’ Columbian blend with a little cream accompanied  by a piece of baguette with jam... or a biscuit... it is still too early too eat.

He gets his daily information from a machine on his desk and scans this thing called the world wide web for the latest evidence of the decline of our modern world... until he can read no more and must shake his head and get back to his hustlers life... He is self reliant... as a politically incorrect liability to any employer, he must be... the last time he went looking for a job he was interviewed by a short haired lesbian in what is called ‘human resources’ and he wondered when the personnel department became ‘human resources’ either way, he did not interview with the man he was going to be working for - the man who offered him the job - but our solitary legionnaire was never much of a corporate man anyhow... he looks for art to buy and sell... first edition books and an assortment of collectible items that men of leisure and aspiring millionaires collect... he sends out correspondences to businesses in need of financing and investors looking for a winner... he basically gets paid for putting others in debt... he looks for musical groups passing through the region or conventions... or seminars... anything he can promote and take a slice of the pie from... it’s a hustlers life... and  it’s not as easy as you would think... but it is fun and keeps him well fed and under a roof and in tailored suits... and every couple of months a big score comes along to be stashed away for the farm.

Lunch time is not usually until 2:00 or 3:00 in the afternoon and then it’s eggs with rice or tacos or a burger from one of his favorite neighborhood eateries... and more coffee... when he eats out, he tips generously - what did they tell him when he was a younger man... “eat small, tip big”.
He spends him time outside of his home observing the world... smiling at pretty girls and avoiding all the ugly of this society - not an easy thing to do as there is so much ugly out there... but ignore as much as you can and acknowledge and appreciate all the beauty you come across... femininity in women and masculine behavior of men get a smile and a wink of approval... do-gooder faggots are lucky if they don’t get a kick in the dick...

It’s Thursday and tonight he gets together with his gang for some pool and drinks... and rousing conversation on reactionary beliefs that gather strangers to their table... and glances from the suspicious that make our legionnaire smile at the thought that his words make  some uncomfortable... with his dissident talk of tradition, culture and, national pride... sometimes some one will ask him if he is Mexican to witch he replies... “I am in America - so I am American and I speak English... but I am from Mexico... and when I am in Mexico I am a Mexican and I speak Spanish...” not to many people get that... and he is called a racist against his own people... but it always turns out that those calling him a racist are Hispanics born and raised in America or white folks... they just don’t get it... “My people...” he says “are these people...” looking over to his gang... because they get it... they don’t stay out late for the gang all have jobs to get to the next day... but they end the night with laughter - because they know they got some men thinking and pissed others off... rebels...

Friday nights are for the gang again - it’s meeting night at the lodge... but first dinner at someplace locally owned and as a rule the brothers must suit up tonight as only proper attire is permitted in the lodge... so they eat and have encouraging conversations and discuss the past weeks events and individual goals accomplished, and failed attempts at disciplined masculinity... after a fine meal the gang moves the meeting to the club house - lodge to you outsiders... and though what actually occurs with in the lodge walls is privileged information for brothers of this Legion only - I can inform you on the club house itself.

It is a room formed out of a garage in a mid-century built home in an old middle class neighborhood.  There is a side entrance so one does not have to enter the house from the  front door... this being a garage it also houses the laundry machines - but a couple of large bookshelves were placed in front of them and divide the room, on the shelves there are old encyclopedias and books in both Spanish and English - novels and history and poetry and some biographies and a couple of books on German history as well as on learning the German language - there are plans to add more books on Latin traditions and European traditions as well - Spanish and German and Nordic... along with some books on the fine art of Military discipline and war and armory... this is after all a library for men and men must be well versed in everything from poetry to war.  A large Persian rug covers the cold concrete floor - it has beautiful dark maroons and browns and some blue and beige... it is very nice and appealing and our Legionnaire enjoys looking at it.  An old brown leather sofa is placed a few feet in front of the shelves facing the garage door (which is covered by a thick dark maroon curtain), and an old wooden coffee table in front of the sofa and there are a couple of old arm chairs facing the sofa, and a very nice old lounge chair to the side of the coffee table.  A small shelf against one wall houses the clubs hi-fi system and records and CD’s of classical and symphonic music - piano recordings and movie soundtrack - some opera recordings but nothing that sounds to modern - perhaps Vangelis and Audio Machine are among the most modern music there...but it is all mostly just instrumental records... the walls are painted a dark red and there has been discussion about wood paneling... framed old maps hang on the walls along with some very nice plates and prints taken from old books that were framed and look just as attractive as the maps - there is a  picture of Simon Bolivar up there and Geronimo next to Ulysses S. Grant - pictures of old cowboys and soldiers from various wars - no, Pancho Villa is not up there... we don’t like him... there will be pictures for each gang member going up soon to stay for ever whether they come and go and will only be removed if they do something to dishonor this tribe - there is a framed copy of the Code of The Templars and pictures of old ships... a poker table sits near one corner close to the garage door that serves as the gangs round table - when not in use for cards - but it will soon be replaced by an actual table - another small table against the opposite wall of the hi-fi is the bar and holds scotch whisky and bourbon and gin and rum... and some old tumblers and a stainless steel ice bucket... the room is lit by soft lights and candles and it smells of cloves and other tobaccos and the incense used in the ceremonial rituals that open the meetings... it is an old style mens club - or on its way to becoming one... There is no television or loud noises aloud - and there is much studding and contemplation going on there and the door is always open for a member of the gang.

Our Legionnaire spends his weekends in the mountains... or wandering down roads in the valley when he is not locked up in his room writing or drawing or thinking up some scheme that will take him far away from the things of man... he has spent too much time away from the sea and longs for the sounds and the smells of Valparaiso... but he can still find solace in his tent... under the stars... by a small fire... on a lonely patch of land... somewhere in Texas.
Howard Turpning