/ but in la cama qué cochina
measure of wisdom: Dr Proust “w/ that touching prescience latent in women who love the
“male body so
“intensely that they immediately guess what will give most pleasure to that body
“which is yet
“different from their own”
& Dr Chorizo sez “Hellz Yeah. Hijo de la ching-ching
“punto”
chingwow /
& from radiowaves scratchy bass / synthesizer
“. . . tanqueray & chronic yeah I’m fuck’d up now . . .”
& this sign in neon:
SEXO—VIGOR Y PLACER
¿falta de ereccion? ¿no tiene eyaculacion?
EL FUER’E ERRRRRECCIÓN
puesssssss
GRAN PENIS : EL MIEMBRO
& from there to another stall & from radiowaves:
“te dijeron ya hay . . .
“voy a llevar mi chamaca
“y rocanrolear
“pues yo quiero
“estar con ella a todo
“dar a dijeron ya hay buen
“rocanrol ESTA NOCHE”
& arm in arm elbows akimbo La Pelona sd eso sobre Chaley & his living days w/ Xochitl
before she murdered him /
turning to him now as they walked those stalls of hell’s mercado:
“Look at his eyes—adorable / & a way of lookin at women—ye can feel he must love “them”
cierto
however w/ ye Chales en chinga everything’s always
charming whether what ye wear / what ye say / what
ye read / or what ye do
& to turn ye insideout back home desert deserted[1]
heart turning to stone & hot wind
& eyes learnin
“believe ye me” C sd to La Pelona
“believe I ye” La Pelona sd to Chaley dancing as she tapped her hooves
now we well cd all talk here
we cd whine ¿but why?
for always when strollin w/ Death it’s good to straighten
oneself / remarking on living one’s life fully
as possible / as variously as possible / & that Chaley
had several designs on Death from their first saunters
around McTlán’s wide avenues / when first she vomited darkbeer
directly on his shoes . . .
& to La Pelona—singer from Chaley’s heart--
strewn fragrant songs for ye Baldy . . .
carved for ye . . .
painted for ye . . .
& Chaley those words fall as drops of rain—soft--
exquisitely stained narcosis
“listen: an outbreak of ethnic fever—kiss me / Amurka
“I’m ethnically ambiguous
“& constructing a mass espirtual plan--
“for AZtlán / for Heela River valleys
“& nice identity crises—of inventions
“of MexMurkas--
“romanticized cultural legacies--
“& histories—suiting natural cultural needs—”
see Chaley cd perceive oppression
intellectually—had never directly experienced
as much as say Los Panchos
but Chaley didn’t want to be a ven-didi-dido . . .
like a Tío Pancho esp
—as these Chickenos gradually began
lighting candles to Sr Chavez & his first
brown handholding wall of minutemen
later adopted by scared whitefolks
down near tombstone / w/ walkietalkies
& wetterbottles / newspapers coffee
lawnchairs / & maps & lots of time
to wait for . . . well ye know who
see that wetline
Sr Chavez’s wetline / Oct 1974 / AZtlán / Snornora [sic] borderlands
UFW / humanshield browndeep / they stood
shoulder to shoulder to block folks who shared
surnames from common ancestors across
all different sorts of frontiers into Al Norte & Death
“stop here” sd La Pelona / ¿this stall?
“¿what do they sell here?”
“pomes / pennyeach”
“no manches”
“¿what?”
“nice / muy nice” read:
sent for family—“¡they just trash!”
but they all draw more welfare cash /
everything is mucho good--
soon we’ll own the neighborhood
since we have a hobby / it’s called breeding /
truchas: welfare pays for baby feeding [laugh track]
“penny mm”
“that one wasn’t so good no”
“well . . . there’s a lot here / let’s see”
sprinkles flowers
flower fates
owner of Sunday plumes
wind butterflies--
he descends as eagle
white eagle
possessor of arrows
eagle shield / scorching
of war / windsnake
he yodels . . .
“okay / yeah / okay: I like that last yodels”
“eh”
mescal
O
¿what’s his name? he: forgotten--
(when dios distributed intelligence)--
one talked abt behind his back--
that’s the very one / he just left
w/o saying goodbye—he lies fallen
on the road perfectamente borracho--
& he imagines himself—imagine--
dead—¡imagine!—he lies fallen on the road perfectamente
borracho / he lies looking
sideways—distracted—¿what’s
the use? old tortilla—not of
our inheritance—¿whot in the
woild fer? ¿whots the woild fer?
aright well he cd probably at least use pieces of this
& on they invented together more books
& shared looks w/ one hand behind back
that’s until they approached some freezer
bracketed w/ green neon & paperstreamers
& brownfolks on their knees whispering
prayers or sweet nothings they cdn’t decipher
& two youths lighting cigarettes which they left
burning at the fridge’s door in seashells
arranged symmetrically at the machine’s foot
& they thought ¿what cd this be?
& this beaner behind them sd Santa Gloria
her image:
& sure enough squinting w/ one eye while
coverin the other / they made out the shape
of her rebozo / chingao
believe this friends for when ye anda
in McTlán ye cain’t believe in things
w/ only two eyes / two eyes / y living Death
hispana
india
negra
espanola
gabacha
pero puro mestizaje mulatotations
McTlán
& when he arrived this güerita La Muerte
hooves clacking on tilefloor
grabbed him by his left arm & prophesied some strange space:
“for when arrived at país / Nueva Yorb
w/ his Tío’s ashes in tinbox
& w/ highest aims
“in this world / to feel co-ways to alleviate
“legs of fatigue for eleven days of walking hours
“I am 174 cm tall . . .
“si afrecso you w/ massage
“I will darte so you obtain
“sentirte papi disfrutalo
“I am warm woman
“beautiful yr hearth for firing”
well & good sweet & yammy
& into his palm she pressed this bit
before she patted his cheek repeating
“stonecactus fruit Chaley stonecactus”:
tall gamecock who won multiple pits / but w/ this Pocho he met one fierce cockerel who pecked his comb sure enough
she asked him “¿who ye be?”
& he sd to her “I am Chaley Chastitellez”
adjusting his calzones / shifting weight
from huarache to huarache
beyond them narrow trail w/ barbed wire & nopal thickets there
quiet / serene early morning mountain slope
darkness cool / air fresh after long night rain
& to that broad valley below eight barrios
each w/ its own chapel & saint
so forget yr harina tortillas & beans comparable to plucking a handful of eyelashes & rubbermeat & get yr ham & whitebread--
hahm ‘n’ ecks—olé—
for here in McTlán / a place completely w/o consequence en serio
faraway lands of tlapatl / datura stamonium nanacatl / teonanacatl / godflesh
bitter mushrooms which give fleshy visions bitter sight / washed down w/ a cold pulqazo
w/o consequence / Death already / then w/o will McTlán being
complete w/ all modern lucksuries
including plastics / oils / slaves whipped / jornaleros / Japanese internment camps / KKKs
&c
& fine panLatinAmurkan hospitalities
gold overestimated here claro
yes but Chaley Chastitellez : puro
storyteller & La Muerte / La Pelona
can do nothing but him embrace
& she rubs her baldhead on his shoulders
& there are great rejoicings
& sports for the next eight days / & visions
& vision
& then they went down to the shit
set shit to sail forth on the godly sea
forth Yucatán forth Isla Blanca forth
San Juan de Ulua
burned some copal
& pinche Diaz sowed his pips
pues he knows too people
will say these old stories
have nothing to do w/ history
[tell no more—]
[but Tío already married La Marcaida / la güera
[& as he ate more she grew thinner]
& Chaley’s dead guilt sent him to this Pelona
to her underworld he descended / cast into water
into cave from crag . . .
put yrself in those chords Chastitellez / into snare
let yrself
not escape / yr faults: deadly—destroying / ¡savage!
mayhap ye’ve retracted . . . ¿or have ye
swallowed yr stench?—¿yr rottenness?
¿yr blackness? ¿yr faith?
ugly
putrescent
rotten
forth 500 years conqueror:
“I never go back on my word” Chaley sd
to Xochitl: “¿what ye think I am ¿a Mexican?”
& as fog lifts eight pueblos merge
& city squeezed between mountains & sea—hugging AKlaskan edges of rocky island coast
smoke from setting to setting / obsidianflavored smoke . . .
imagine
dead imagine
& green raw materials of social readymade here hey hey heya / sez some tourist
brushing Chaley’s shoulder shrugging as he passes & some gentleman
from this yellow storefront asks if Chaley’s
looking for one maybe two quality Ay-Kay handcrafted
embroidered goods made in southeast Hacia
yes longer he stands here in AKlaska longer &
more eloquent he becomes maybe less brutish
& after all this ¿why? Chaley ¿why do ye want to imagine
that ye conduct yr own train of thought?
for bueno: te la crees muy muy cabrón
little AKlaska in yr stupid soul
shd shutup & lose yr gall
& open those crusty eyes
& ¿why? b/c why baby why
he ought not—never--
know / that he cd never--
& he doesn’t love
b/c she’s prob-ly
her husband’s best woman
ever known that brown one Xochitl
her husband / entirely slack
& careless / likely to lose
everything down to his testicles
& she took care to wax
before coming to him
in la gran manzana
ni modo y
she más o menos
loves rain & him
wants to be w/ him
how he met her in VegAZtlán
she shuckin pearls
from oysters
he made her laugh
w/ his self-mexrecating jokes
KAY chisme
& if he cd if he cd
take back her past
love her antes than
el gringo pendejo
who colonized her
antes / before if Chaley . . .
pues pues pues pues
‘pos: what more to say w/ that hoss
y otras mujeres whose
name rhymes nearly
vision
perfected products & services
changed & exchanged at everfaster
rates / & the knowledge to design
& create value efficiently
again to market / & mark
& market it effectively
& to be becomingly true . . .
bohrdars we don’ need no stinkin vordhers
PERO:
vision vision incense / dance / drum / vision
intense vision
a donde vas Tenochititlán
a donde vas
no puedo más
eso si que es
S—O—C—K—S
¡all common knowledge comin right on thru!
¡mande capitán!
¡en chingakay see!
common knowledge
diffused . . .
goes into land of Dead—McTlán--
yr stench / rottenness reaching
entire world—& at that instant
on his pipi: dead condom filled
w/ black beetles / scratching / crawling
& she / La Muerte remains
panting . . . coveting /
thirsting for that
& hungry
for Chaley
“Mister / ye’re a goodboy
“but just of yr own volition
“ye defile yrself—dishonor yrself / dirty yrself
“cast yrself into plumpy excrement—into ¡filth!
“b/c ye have found pleasure in vice
“ergo as penis penance do this:
“pass twice daily twigs
“thru yr earlobes
“once thru yr tongue
“esp. b/c of yr adultery
“b/c ye have hurt
“ye have harmed
“yr neighbor
“w/ yr lousy poetry”
La Muerte’s voice now sumtotal of contrary chords
—kisslurp / & suck that juice—¡O!—music / music
sueñorita / ¡how he mutilates yr harmonies!
[1] gila rivers & hills & curses shining miles per hours & hot stars & rollin hot winds & all those animals can feel monsoons arriving soon moving in thunderheads as tall as skyscrapers & purple mountains dipped into yellow valleys
measure of wisdom: Dr Proust “w/ that touching prescience latent in women who love the
“male body so
“intensely that they immediately guess what will give most pleasure to that body
“which is yet
“different from their own”
& Dr Chorizo sez “Hellz Yeah. Hijo de la ching-ching
“punto”
chingwow /
& from radiowaves scratchy bass / synthesizer
“. . . tanqueray & chronic yeah I’m fuck’d up now . . .”
& this sign in neon:
SEXO—VIGOR Y PLACER
¿falta de ereccion? ¿no tiene eyaculacion?
EL FUER’E ERRRRRECCIÓN
puesssssss
GRAN PENIS : EL MIEMBRO
& from there to another stall & from radiowaves:
“te dijeron ya hay . . .
“voy a llevar mi chamaca
“y rocanrolear
“pues yo quiero
“estar con ella a todo
“dar a dijeron ya hay buen
“rocanrol ESTA NOCHE”
& arm in arm elbows akimbo La Pelona sd eso sobre Chaley & his living days w/ Xochitl
before she murdered him /
turning to him now as they walked those stalls of hell’s mercado:
“Look at his eyes—adorable / & a way of lookin at women—ye can feel he must love “them”
cierto
however w/ ye Chales en chinga everything’s always
charming whether what ye wear / what ye say / what
ye read / or what ye do
& to turn ye insideout back home desert deserted[1]
heart turning to stone & hot wind
& eyes learnin
“believe ye me” C sd to La Pelona
“believe I ye” La Pelona sd to Chaley dancing as she tapped her hooves
now we well cd all talk here
we cd whine ¿but why?
for always when strollin w/ Death it’s good to straighten
oneself / remarking on living one’s life fully
as possible / as variously as possible / & that Chaley
had several designs on Death from their first saunters
around McTlán’s wide avenues / when first she vomited darkbeer
directly on his shoes . . .
& to La Pelona—singer from Chaley’s heart--
strewn fragrant songs for ye Baldy . . .
carved for ye . . .
painted for ye . . .
& Chaley those words fall as drops of rain—soft--
exquisitely stained narcosis
“listen: an outbreak of ethnic fever—kiss me / Amurka
“I’m ethnically ambiguous
“& constructing a mass espirtual plan--
“for AZtlán / for Heela River valleys
“& nice identity crises—of inventions
“of MexMurkas--
“romanticized cultural legacies--
“& histories—suiting natural cultural needs—”
see Chaley cd perceive oppression
intellectually—had never directly experienced
as much as say Los Panchos
but Chaley didn’t want to be a ven-didi-dido . . .
like a Tío Pancho esp
—as these Chickenos gradually began
lighting candles to Sr Chavez & his first
brown handholding wall of minutemen
later adopted by scared whitefolks
down near tombstone / w/ walkietalkies
& wetterbottles / newspapers coffee
lawnchairs / & maps & lots of time
to wait for . . . well ye know who
see that wetline
Sr Chavez’s wetline / Oct 1974 / AZtlán / Snornora [sic] borderlands
UFW / humanshield browndeep / they stood
shoulder to shoulder to block folks who shared
surnames from common ancestors across
all different sorts of frontiers into Al Norte & Death
“stop here” sd La Pelona / ¿this stall?
“¿what do they sell here?”
“pomes / pennyeach”
“no manches”
“¿what?”
“nice / muy nice” read:
sent for family—“¡they just trash!”
but they all draw more welfare cash /
everything is mucho good--
soon we’ll own the neighborhood
since we have a hobby / it’s called breeding /
truchas: welfare pays for baby feeding [laugh track]
“penny mm”
“that one wasn’t so good no”
“well . . . there’s a lot here / let’s see”
sprinkles flowers
flower fates
owner of Sunday plumes
wind butterflies--
he descends as eagle
white eagle
possessor of arrows
eagle shield / scorching
of war / windsnake
he yodels . . .
“okay / yeah / okay: I like that last yodels”
“eh”
mescal
O
¿what’s his name? he: forgotten--
(when dios distributed intelligence)--
one talked abt behind his back--
that’s the very one / he just left
w/o saying goodbye—he lies fallen
on the road perfectamente borracho--
& he imagines himself—imagine--
dead—¡imagine!—he lies fallen on the road perfectamente
borracho / he lies looking
sideways—distracted—¿what’s
the use? old tortilla—not of
our inheritance—¿whot in the
woild fer? ¿whots the woild fer?
aright well he cd probably at least use pieces of this
& on they invented together more books
& shared looks w/ one hand behind back
that’s until they approached some freezer
bracketed w/ green neon & paperstreamers
& brownfolks on their knees whispering
prayers or sweet nothings they cdn’t decipher
& two youths lighting cigarettes which they left
burning at the fridge’s door in seashells
arranged symmetrically at the machine’s foot
& they thought ¿what cd this be?
& this beaner behind them sd Santa Gloria
her image:
& sure enough squinting w/ one eye while
coverin the other / they made out the shape
of her rebozo / chingao
believe this friends for when ye anda
in McTlán ye cain’t believe in things
w/ only two eyes / two eyes / y living Death
hispana
india
negra
espanola
gabacha
pero puro mestizaje mulatotations
McTlán
& when he arrived this güerita La Muerte
hooves clacking on tilefloor
grabbed him by his left arm & prophesied some strange space:
“for when arrived at país / Nueva Yorb
w/ his Tío’s ashes in tinbox
& w/ highest aims
“in this world / to feel co-ways to alleviate
“legs of fatigue for eleven days of walking hours
“I am 174 cm tall . . .
“si afrecso you w/ massage
“I will darte so you obtain
“sentirte papi disfrutalo
“I am warm woman
“beautiful yr hearth for firing”
well & good sweet & yammy
& into his palm she pressed this bit
before she patted his cheek repeating
“stonecactus fruit Chaley stonecactus”:
tall gamecock who won multiple pits / but w/ this Pocho he met one fierce cockerel who pecked his comb sure enough
she asked him “¿who ye be?”
& he sd to her “I am Chaley Chastitellez”
adjusting his calzones / shifting weight
from huarache to huarache
beyond them narrow trail w/ barbed wire & nopal thickets there
quiet / serene early morning mountain slope
darkness cool / air fresh after long night rain
& to that broad valley below eight barrios
each w/ its own chapel & saint
so forget yr harina tortillas & beans comparable to plucking a handful of eyelashes & rubbermeat & get yr ham & whitebread--
hahm ‘n’ ecks—olé—
for here in McTlán / a place completely w/o consequence en serio
faraway lands of tlapatl / datura stamonium nanacatl / teonanacatl / godflesh
bitter mushrooms which give fleshy visions bitter sight / washed down w/ a cold pulqazo
w/o consequence / Death already / then w/o will McTlán being
complete w/ all modern lucksuries
including plastics / oils / slaves whipped / jornaleros / Japanese internment camps / KKKs
&c
& fine panLatinAmurkan hospitalities
gold overestimated here claro
yes but Chaley Chastitellez : puro
storyteller & La Muerte / La Pelona
can do nothing but him embrace
& she rubs her baldhead on his shoulders
& there are great rejoicings
& sports for the next eight days / & visions
& vision
& then they went down to the shit
set shit to sail forth on the godly sea
forth Yucatán forth Isla Blanca forth
San Juan de Ulua
burned some copal
& pinche Diaz sowed his pips
pues he knows too people
will say these old stories
have nothing to do w/ history
[tell no more—]
[but Tío already married La Marcaida / la güera
[& as he ate more she grew thinner]
& Chaley’s dead guilt sent him to this Pelona
to her underworld he descended / cast into water
into cave from crag . . .
put yrself in those chords Chastitellez / into snare
let yrself
not escape / yr faults: deadly—destroying / ¡savage!
mayhap ye’ve retracted . . . ¿or have ye
swallowed yr stench?—¿yr rottenness?
¿yr blackness? ¿yr faith?
ugly
putrescent
rotten
forth 500 years conqueror:
“I never go back on my word” Chaley sd
to Xochitl: “¿what ye think I am ¿a Mexican?”
& as fog lifts eight pueblos merge
& city squeezed between mountains & sea—hugging AKlaskan edges of rocky island coast
smoke from setting to setting / obsidianflavored smoke . . .
imagine
dead imagine
& green raw materials of social readymade here hey hey heya / sez some tourist
brushing Chaley’s shoulder shrugging as he passes & some gentleman
from this yellow storefront asks if Chaley’s
looking for one maybe two quality Ay-Kay handcrafted
embroidered goods made in southeast Hacia
yes longer he stands here in AKlaska longer &
more eloquent he becomes maybe less brutish
& after all this ¿why? Chaley ¿why do ye want to imagine
that ye conduct yr own train of thought?
for bueno: te la crees muy muy cabrón
little AKlaska in yr stupid soul
shd shutup & lose yr gall
& open those crusty eyes
& ¿why? b/c why baby why
he ought not—never--
know / that he cd never--
& he doesn’t love
b/c she’s prob-ly
her husband’s best woman
ever known that brown one Xochitl
her husband / entirely slack
& careless / likely to lose
everything down to his testicles
& she took care to wax
before coming to him
in la gran manzana
ni modo y
she más o menos
loves rain & him
wants to be w/ him
how he met her in VegAZtlán
she shuckin pearls
from oysters
he made her laugh
w/ his self-mexrecating jokes
KAY chisme
& if he cd if he cd
take back her past
love her antes than
el gringo pendejo
who colonized her
antes / before if Chaley . . .
pues pues pues pues
‘pos: what more to say w/ that hoss
y otras mujeres whose
name rhymes nearly
vision
perfected products & services
changed & exchanged at everfaster
rates / & the knowledge to design
& create value efficiently
again to market / & mark
& market it effectively
& to be becomingly true . . .
bohrdars we don’ need no stinkin vordhers
PERO:
vision vision incense / dance / drum / vision
intense vision
a donde vas Tenochititlán
a donde vas
no puedo más
eso si que es
S—O—C—K—S
¡all common knowledge comin right on thru!
¡mande capitán!
¡en chingakay see!
common knowledge
diffused . . .
goes into land of Dead—McTlán--
yr stench / rottenness reaching
entire world—& at that instant
on his pipi: dead condom filled
w/ black beetles / scratching / crawling
& she / La Muerte remains
panting . . . coveting /
thirsting for that
& hungry
for Chaley
“Mister / ye’re a goodboy
“but just of yr own volition
“ye defile yrself—dishonor yrself / dirty yrself
“cast yrself into plumpy excrement—into ¡filth!
“b/c ye have found pleasure in vice
“ergo as penis penance do this:
“pass twice daily twigs
“thru yr earlobes
“once thru yr tongue
“esp. b/c of yr adultery
“b/c ye have hurt
“ye have harmed
“yr neighbor
“w/ yr lousy poetry”
La Muerte’s voice now sumtotal of contrary chords
—kisslurp / & suck that juice—¡O!—music / music
sueñorita / ¡how he mutilates yr harmonies!
[1] gila rivers & hills & curses shining miles per hours & hot stars & rollin hot winds & all those animals can feel monsoons arriving soon moving in thunderheads as tall as skyscrapers & purple mountains dipped into yellow valleys
