NOTES OF A DIRTY YOUNG MEXICAN

NOTES OF  A DIRTY YOUNG MEXICAN

The reason this blog isn't in spanish that is obviously my first language it's because this is an exercise to try to achieve an own style.  

This journal, is about the interaction of this "Evil Illegal Alien" with the region called bay area.   His stories, passions, daydreams, wishes, desires and all kind of experiences will be posted on this blog.

Inspired in Charles Bukowsky's "notes of a dirty old man" this:  "notes of a dirty young mexican", will try to give a new and fresh vision about America for the locals and outsiders.  Based on the surreal everyday walk of this unidentified suspect who lands in this territory.  

1. Recognition.  

¨By walking one makes the road,

and upon glancing behind one sees the path

that never will be trod again.

Wanderer, there is no road, only wakes upon the sea"

 - Antonio Machado -

Falling, is always related with freedom, the word itself is a poetic license.  But it can also be harsh, more when you are not ready for it.  Landing, the last part of falling is not pleasant when you have no idea what kind of surface is waiting for you.  We know about the character of our people but  they never teach us in the school how is the character of other societies.  When you are used to be treated gently, warmly, softly, you never expected the opposite.  THE SURPRISE FACTOR turns into your everyday and so, you are here, in the middle of nowhere (the land of the opportunity) in the hysteria of adaptation, searching for change in your pockets to buy something to drink and realizing that your only single possession is the dust in your nails.

NOTES OF A DIRTY YOUNG MEXICAN

journal of an illegal alien

2.  Looking for a job

Berkeley California, monday morning.  My bed spits me, taking me directly to the streets.  I walk and walk for more than two hours, in any direction, with any recommendation, just trying to find it by myself.  I believe in coincidences, so, probably there is a work waiting for me, somewhere.   But, hold on. What work do you really know? well, I can figure out that on the road.

"If you just give me a chance" "if you let me try" "I promess I will never dissapointed you, you can have my word" "Social Security Number, yes, I have one" "no, I don't have kids and wife" Just standing up, in front of all this miserable employers, that they know my condition, they know what I do, for how much and for how long, it looks that is an easy thing to get here, to find a job, but  is that really what I want.  Being a clerk? a janitor? a maid? the assistant of an assistant? the toilet itself? suck some caucasian dicks for an illegal job which means an illegal salary that will make me able to share my life in the floor of a living room  with other ten happy, committed, SOLD compatriots.  Fuck that, If I'm already an illegal alien, let's make it real, let's make it illegal.

3. Tracking the business.

The progress and order of this nation, it's based on the public trust, that it is something like the collective hypocrisy, inherited from generation to generation, that consists basically in the acceptation of the capitalist phenomenon (what this dirty illegal alien it's talking about? I know, let me keep on), the obvious things and of course, the dark side.  The dark side, I don't have anything against  the darkness, everything has it,  we need it, it gives us balance, but the problem is when we manipulate its naturally and turn it into the opposite giving to it moral values that doesn't belongs to it. And I'm  afraid that we knew that and we have been tricking ourselves from a long long time ago...   whatever (ha ha ha), who needs to know that?  we are not able to do anything anyway. And so, the machine works in that way and below the worms there's other worms the ones who really move the earth, making everything possible.  It's awesome to know that now that I'm getting into this I'm in the same ethos level than dirty business men and politicians.   But, what I'm gonna do?

The easiest way to reach minor criminals, it's easy, we have seen them in our hollywood education, they stand up in front of a high school, leaning  over a street light or a pay phone, with the big baggy pants the rastas and probably a cigarrete, black glasses, etc.   But... what can I do for them? well, as I told before, I WILL FIGURE OUT! 

My pants are not too baggy, well, they are not baggy at all, second, this big sombrero (hat), is seriously big, my shoes, oh my god I'm wearing huaraches (sandals), and my nationalist poncho (red, green and  white) it shows obviously that I'm not from here.  Now, pay attention if you want to succeed in this lands, the first step:  get rid of your sombrero, switch it for a paliacate (bandanna) or a beanie (no, has anything to do with beans, don't get confused) and put it in your head, then, take out all your  white cotton clothes, and go to a god will store, change it for some old baggy jeans, the same thing with the shirt, change the poncho for a hoodie (hooded sweatshirt) and finally....  the huaraches (sandals) for some retro michael jordan nike shoes.  

4.  The rehearsal.  

The mirror, shows exactly what we apparently are, our quotidian aspect or our disguises? anyway...   You look now at yourself in front of the mirror and you can see a complete new character, different from the one you saw today in the morning, no more sombrero, no more huaraches, just another western garbage, standing up with a pimp-bum attitude looking for the next bitch to exploit. Ha ha, yeah bra! whatzza bra?? aight! aight! you need to rehearsal more than twice, so you can get the perfect tune.   this is hella tight bra, fasha bra, aight, aight, yo- yo.   Now you make part of the official marginalized social class, trying to play the game but without sombrero.

The street looks at you, not like earlier, when your curious attitude was more than evident.  Mexican curious no more! you are the owner of your destiny and your confidence is going to take you exactly where you want to go. You can tell there is some kids hanging out in front of the bus stop, they seems to be as cool as you, it's time to make the beaner a winner!

Alien:  Hey bra's whatzza? 

human 1: Who is this nigga?

human 2:   What the hell I know

Alien: Hella tight bra! (beaner)

human 2: What the fuck is he saying?

Alien: Fasha bra! (beaner)

human 2: Aight, let's stop with this shit, who are you?

Alien: My name is.   (I need to think about a name, I can't say I'm an unidentified illegal alien).   I'm PJ Perez 

human 1:  Aight, you have a tight name.  where are you from?

Alien: (Where I'm from? a cool place for them) I'm from Tijuana Mexico bra. 

human 1:  Tight, tight, so... you must like dope aight?

Alien:  Oh, yes.... fasha!!! (beaner)

human 2: Shut the fuck off, this nigga is hella funny, so.. do you like skateboarding?

Alien: Oh yes, I'm very good skating.

Take the skate, put your feet on the ground, look at the horizon, feel the wind blowing into your head, be ready!  In the moment you put your feet on the skateboard you fall down, all the kids are laughing at you, and you stand up and decide to try again, you look ridicously trying to do something you have never do before, you pose trying to copy your skateboarding references such as bart simpson and dennis the menace, stretching your arms, making grimaces and jelling the classical teenage mutant ninja turtles's: "cowabunga"

human 2: This fool is  sucka.

human1: yeh, let's take his money.

After your hilarious show, you approach your new friends, happy to be member of THE GANG.  

Alien: So... do  you have marihuana? I'm hella tired.

Human 1: I bet bra, you were hella good bra.

Alien: (winking to them) well, you know, what you have, is what you have to give away

Human 2: This fool is funny thou.

Human 1: So. How much do you want?

Alien: Well, I was trying to start the business, you know.

Human 1: You are trying to sell dope?

Alien: Fucking yes!

Human 1: Are you sure? 

Ålien: Yeah, yeah.

Human 1: This nigga is hella crazy.

Human 2: Hey bra, let him do whatever he wants, if he wants to sell weed, let him sell weed, aight?

Human 1: aight bra.  So, mexican, how much do you want?

Alien: A hundred (that is all my saves that I bring with me from mexico)

Human 2: This nigga is a fool... 

Human 1: Aight, aight, give it to me, and wait for us, aight, don't move from here

You are witnessing  how some strangers make fun of you, fool you and take all your money you brought to survive.  Standing up in front of the bus stop, the beats from some marginalized rap tune are sounding loud in  your head while the sun set.  it's time to return to your place.

Story moral: "The one who hangs out with wolves, to scream is taught"