La Globalización Mata

I crossed into Cuidad Juárez for the first time two weeks ago.

The concrete and barbed wire on our side contrasts with the no-one-gives-a-shit-that-there-is-a-border on that side.

Graffiti in Spanish (that I could read): "Bush la terrorista eres tu", "U.S. border patrol: ¡Asesinos!", "La globalización mata". Those were my favorites :)

More bustling and vibrant than any other city I’ve been to in a long, long time. Smells. People asking for money I couldn’t give. Places accepting dollars, listing what you can take into the U.S.

The border caters to its crossers on both sides.

El Segundo Barrio, one of El Paso’s oldest border communities for Mexicans and Mexican-Americans, in danger of being demolished--and it has been demolished over the years but built itself back up--by urban planners.

Their plan?

Another endless American mall, of Starbucks, fast food chains.

Prefab pretty houses. Cold concrete apartments rising up from wet black asphalt.

Not a chance.

Smells of food, smells of shit. Silence of the cathedral, where the bustle of city life loses sound. People. Everywhere. Beauty and filth all at once. Echoes of the downtown bars of Ankara, Turkey. Of the shops of Asunción, Paraguay, lined up with no doors, wares hawked.

Che Guevara necklace.

American football team sarapes.

And out of it all, what struck me the most?

What stands out in the border experience to me?

The Mexican emo girl exiting the border crossing to to El Paso from Juárez, decked out in tight, form-fitting plaid pants, a skimpy black top, studded belt, showing skin, showing curves, brown skin, mascara-ed eyes...

Negativity

Massively-delayed first post of the year 2008 commence:

I don't know where life is taking me. I don't know how much longer I have in school.

My life consists of scholastic assignments or duties to give me meaning and a reason to exist. Without those, my life would fall apart.

I'm confused, confused. Don't wanna be confused.

Wrong in what you write. You don't feel shit.

I just wrote a paper comparing the Zionist movement from 1880-1948 to Frederick Jackson Turner's "Frontier Thesis." See, Frederick Turner had an interesting idea--the soul, character, and institutions of a nation and nation-state forged on the frontier which existed "on the hither edge of free land"--but his idea was mired in American exceptionalism. To Turner, only the American had his character based on a "restless, nervous" energy which caused him to expand into the frontier, to civilize it. To me, the Zionist movement perfectly captures this "restless, nervous" energy and the Israeli character, to me, was definitely forged on the Palestinian frontier... on the "hither edge of (NOT)free land."

All right, I'll confront my bias. I'm not Palestinian, and I'm not even Arab except through distant, distant family ties that probably can't even be traced anymore. But I think Israel was a tragedy. The Palestinians got the shaft up the ass for just being a native people. Today people out there will still try to convince you otherwise; that they have no right whatsoever to national autonomy or national self-determination.

To all of you who think like that: fuck you up the ass. I'll slit your fucking throat, you worthless wastes of sperm.

Maybe the entire "Holy Land" would be better off destroyed in nuclear fire. Disinfecting atomic fire. Death and destruction. Radiation. Let there be light:

Blinding Light
Roaring Light
The Eye of God Ripping Through the Night
Now I Know
Now I See
The Fire of Faith is Consuming Me

Would God permit it? My friend, let me tell you of God:

God is Great
God is Great
He is the Wind that Roars,
The Ground that Shakes
The Earth's a Filthy, Lying Whore
God is Love
God is WAR

You will all kill each other before you reach a solution. You would kill each other before you realize how much you have in common. The Warsaw Ghetto uprising.. the First and Second Intifada... do you fools realize how much you have in common?

Do you realize the blunder that is Israel and Palestine? Do you realize that only killing each other will end it for good?

Your world is too gone to resurrect it.
You need the warheads to disinfect it.
Disinfect it.

This is all that these eyes see. History as the trash produced by humanity. Junk that we bury ourselves in until it suffocates us. There is no such thing as progress. Urbanization. Gentrification. Globalization. Islamization. American Republican Party-fication. Militarization.

...I'm so sorry.

We Are What We Are. And fuck you if you can't see past that.

I apologize for the massive delay in correspondence, in posting. I have a myspace blog that I have been using to the detriment of this magnificent specimen here. I believe I owe myself and this blog more attention.

Henry Rollins, when he was a member of Black Flag and they were touring in Europe, broke-ass and cold and starving the entire way... remarked how the American is unconscious of his nationality until he leaves the country. You're only an American once you step outside of the United States. In a sense, I believe him... and in a sense, I can understand his sentiment perfectly.

The United States of America's government is not well-liked across the world, for very, very good reasons. I understand why they aren't well liked. I don't like them either. I don't believe what they're doing right now (or twenty years ago, or for it's entire existence, for that matter) is right.

But I object to being equated with them. I object to anyone who is just another human being trying to get by being equated with the more vile parts of his culture, nationality, religion, or government.

I, as an American, became more conscious of my nationality-by-birth when I left the country a little over a year ago. I didn't experience any of the hate purported to exist. My hosts were just human beings like me. Kind, courteous, and overall generous. I am honored to have known the few I made acquaintances with.

But that tendency for people to lump me as an individual American with the despotic acts of my government is despicable. It's as despicable for me writing you off as an Iraqi, Turk, Iranian in a contemptuous manner because I'm not willing to look beyond the veil put up by both of our governments.

I will clarify something. I am an American. I may not be proud of being an American. But I am what I am. By birth and by culture. I can't erase years of that kind of building material. Don't ask me to. Don't ridicule me for being what I am. Ridicule my government; I don't care. Just don't fuck with me if you have that in mind. You're shit doesn't stink any less than mine, motherfucker.

This is not addressed to "you." Honestly, I don't know who this is addressed to. But someone out there falls under the above category. In that case, then this message is for YOU.

A death in the family

I have been informed today by my father that my mother called him earlier in the day to tell him that my cat passed away. He was hit by a car... but must not have suffered much, which is the only possible fact that I can find solace in.

Chairman Meow. I named him that because he was so vocal. He ate a little more than most cats, I suppose his love of food was what did him in in the end...

I had him since he was a kitten. He would wait for me outside like a dog whenever I came home and run up to me like a dog. He'd sit in my lap, purring his snorkel purr, while I pet him.

Since I left overseas and came back, I haven't been at my parents' house enough to hang out with him. I'd give him lots of love every time I came by, and Tari would whenever she stopped by, but I wish I could have been there for him, one last time, to give him the love I always gave him.




I'm going to miss you, my cat... and if I'm in heaven when I die, I hope you'll be there to see me. :'(

Web, web will tear us apart, again...

Okay, I apologize for the subject title. I'm not creative enough to do more than a pastiche of Joy Division, and I don't even like them. Anyway, here goes:

Walking today with my dad, I thought of something regarding humanity in general. Perhaps my musings were brought on by my good mood--a rarity for me this day and age, and probably induced by some meds I am taking for depression... the topic of which is a seperate entry in and of itself, one which I don't wish to indulge in... suffice it to say, I have a history of dealing with depression, and these past several months have been extremely difficult, and although I hate medication and the concept of taking medication, I have found that it's helping me to see life in less of a grayscale.

But I digress. Back on topic.

I thought of how the internet, although giving the ability for others to communicate instantaneously no matter what the distance, has not helped us as a race get together better but deadened us to each others' lives.

It's nothing new. There are countless theories about how technologies push us apart rather than bring us together. I just happened to be thinking on the subject on my walk.

Think about it. For the less social of humanity, a false outlet has been created; one that allows the shy to be more social in text, but virtually unlettered and illiterate, to use reading terminology, in speech and social interaction. I went through adolescence somewhat this way; it's hard to even believe that I made friends in high school.

In come message boards. Forums. Freedom to post whatever opinion you want on whatever topic. But ah, there is where our mutually assured hatred begins, in opinions. Opinions over the stupidest shit. Name calling, "flame warz," however you want to term it. Pointless bickering over stupid shit. The anonymity of posting whatever you want under an ersatz sobriquet giving a blank, faceless attacker spewing out misspelled curses and insults.

Our capacity for patience, at least in the United States, is almost virtually nonexistent. In New Mexico it's not nearly as bad as New York, where a minute is measured pretty much in one snap of the fingers. I suppose the find art of pen pal-ing is dead; what with instant messengering (not even email suffices anymore; it seems we lost the patience for that, too). Who wants to wait for a painstakingly handwritten letter (painstaking this day and age, I suppose, for anyone to pick up a pen and write more than a few sentences).

I'm rambling, I guess. But I think that technology--in this instance, the internet--has not brought us together but taught us to hate each other better.

Una opinión general sobre tatuajes y el significado de mi tatuaje

Pienso que los tatuajes se han aceptado en "la corriente principal," o en Inglés, "the mainstream." Porsupuesto, éste es de hecho el caso. Creo que éste en una buena cosa; cuál estaba una vez el símbolo de un criminal se ha convertido en un símbolo de la mismo-expresión. Pero también creo que esto ha corrompido el concepto de la uno mismo-expresión y lo ha hecho en algo enfímero, sin significado.

El único tatuaje que tengo ahora es el nombre de Dios en árabe, cúal se transcribe como "Allah" en el alfabeto latino. Este tatuaje es en mi brazo derecho. Lo conseguí no debido a cualquier convicción religiosa, pero algo debido a mis sentimientos espirituales y culturales. Yo creo en algo mayor que mismo... aunque no tengo ninguna religión, creo esto. Y porque mi gran abuelo era un árabe sirio, que significa que la parte de mi ascendencia es árabe, deseé expresar esto.

No deseé cualquier cosa elaborado, sólo algo simple que significó algo a mí... como el arte japonés tradicional, que incorpora belleza a simplicidad.




Well, my Spanish is a bit rusty, but there you go. Yes, I had to check some verb conjugations for the past tense and some vocabulary words, but I got it down without too much help. I find this a good way to practice it. I can't churn out something like this in Turkish, French or Arabic, but when I get to that point I'll definitely give it a shot.

Memories Remain

So I may have thought that I made a mistake, going to graduate school overseas almost a year ago. Bilkent Üniversitesi, in Ankara, Turkey, was my choice that I accepted and then declined after three months. And it's been a painful year of reminiscing about it...

... the arrival as a stranger in a strange land, barely knowing enough Turkish to tell the cabbie to take me to the university... the lonely days, lonely nights, taking the bus to Çankaya by myself, walking around, buying cheap, spicy köfte (see picture) wrapped in flatbread with fresh-squeezed portakal suyu (that would be orange juice)... talking with friends I made over there but never really getting anywhere, helping my Korean dorm-mate Kim with his English, traipsing through the city with my German friend Christian, drinking Danish beer and smoking the nargile with my Kazakh friend Zhar and my Croatian friend Vjeran in the Turkish equivalent of a bar and grill, working up a sweat in the fitness center that was only open until 7:00 PM... tossing and turning in a fitful sleep in the spartan dorm bunks, classes that progressed so slowly, loneliness setting in with studying constantly, all work and no play makes Ramon a dull boy, no women to pursue and slake my lust and loneliness, seeing the blue truck of the Jandarma patrol the University roads every night, walking those same University roads and listening to Michael Jackson or the NESkimos or the Damned or Nomeansno on an mp3 CD, depression setting in and debilitating me, the decision made upon a simple night's walk that I was depressed as fuck and needed to get out of that stifling atmosphere as soon as possible, the plane ticket, the flight home...

But I'll be damned if I let my painful memories rule my life and my interpretation of the past.

The good and the bad are remembered, but also I must always remember that it was a decision, not a failure. And I'm probably better for my whole experience, even if I could not bring myself to stick around for my whole graduate program.

I've spent my life for so long believing that I'm worthless, believing it when other people said or implied in any way that I mean nothing, and I'm sick and tired of it. It's time that their opinions don't matter, and that my negative self opinion doesn't matter.

I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm preparing to go to graduate school again... stateside, here in New Mexico, at the eponymous New Mexico State University, a scant three hours from my new hometown of Albuquerque, in a little city somewhat near the Mexican border called Las Cruces.

Building one's self esteem from the rubble left over and not sorted out since adolescence is not something that can and will happen overnight, but I'm working on it. Very slowly. And with noticeable progress.

So let's give this established joke that is life a shove, eh? Together we run to the highest prop, tearing it down and letting the fucker drop!*

Not bad for a first entry, I say.
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* With much apologies to the late Darby Crash for my pilfering of his lyrics, in these two sentences and in the very title of my blog itself :P