Mactivism

I want more than the superfluous spirits that fail to stiffen this liver,
More than the excess of cheap beers imbibed tonight.
More than the deficient barrels of beer
attempting to quench the thirst brought forth
by its residual contents

More than conditioned love
teetering you on the brink of inebriation,
More than lining up drinks and warm legs
as unrequited company,
Removed from volatile morality
and the numbness of the self

I want more because yearning is the only absolute that lingers.

More than the vastness of your valley
that pits itself for relevance and bounty,

A Anthony Seidman

Mexico does not border the US to the South
Oh! the Global South!
nor does the Atlantic to the East
nor the magnificent Pacific to the West.
We are the North, so there is nothing
bordering us there

The US demarcates the pond with its NATO, Monroe Doctrine, and the Pentagon
The US wavers its delineation of the South
based on regulation by our militarized border
Our rush to the West, epitomized by our California laid-back liberal coast,
and Mr. President Obama,
upholds our dream of quelling the Pacific
So US, amigo,

It’s fun to stare at you,
you funny gays,
That longing in your eyes
as yet again you are denied access to hetero monoculture

Its fun to see the outrage in your eyes
the gaiety in your demonstrations
the political fierceness of your Lady Gaga mantras
I believe in your circumstantial case
argued by your monkeys-cum-attorneys
Your plight for equality and equal protection under the law—
the law?

Your struggle is admirable
who else but you to persecute those uncouth Mormons
the white Savior to enlighten those savage Mexican Catholics,
and the Blacks, let’s not forget the Blacks

whilst very White,
the most infectious of disservice
to my generation
is its erudition of dirty
assholes through
Craigslist.
detached from anachronic Ginsberg.

So now I get the beauty of LA,
instead of musing while people watching,
we get an endless stream of cars swift through our supersized streets...

I get that some of our streets are wide because of the Red Cars, but why were the rest of the connecting streets built with a minimum of 5 lanes?

I get the whole car industry fiasco, and the 50's post-war boom and white-suburban-living sentimentality, but did white people really not expect all the brown people from the global south to overrun Southern California?

Ok kids; so the moral of the story is:

if you want to play non-profit, or be 501(c)3-curious, you must really love the game, or you are getting fucked over, and not in the "without-lube" good way that organizers have become accustomed to and love.

See? I told you the new me is trying to be real non-NPIC, I gave the moral
[you know what? I prefer the word 'moraleja' better, it has a greater cachet with me... note to self: write in Castilian more often]

I gave you the moral of the story at the beginning. Cut right to the point. No community meeting called, no 2-hour meeting, no process for the process, no fake sense of discussion.

You gotta give me credit for trying to undo my teachings...

How's that for post-colonial?
[See I'm more vanguard than the vanguard. Maybe I do need to start another collective of my own; call it the Byron LA CRU. saz! #yatriunfe!]

So this is the story of a young immigrant, who had big dreams, que queria triunfar, until he met the the NPIC...

The funniest thing is, albeit skeptical, and filled with untapped cynicism, I sucked up all the NPIC rhetoric, structure, process, MO, and instruction, faster than non-profits compromise their unfounded values.

Then, to top it all of, said teachings, were complemented by the raw, not thoroughly processed, non-academic analysis, and vagrant criticism of tokenized youth-cum-pariahs of the NPIC.

And then there were four...

After that, I became part of a collective, in which we tried to play the NPIC game, knowing that we were never going to be played, nor that we will sell our souls to the NPIC.
[I know! how very idealistic youth of us!]

The thing with that was, that although we posed a threat to the NPIC status quo, by demonstrating and upholding that you didn't need to be an adult, nor college educated, nor white, nor have all the foundation money you can pimp your members for, to do community work, or to develop theory and analysis, it drained us due to fighting the inherent oppression that affect our communities in one front, and the NPIC in another.

The greatest lesson learned was that because we were born out of a revolt in the NPIC, we needed to run as far away and as fast as possile from it, before it co-opted and appropriated us out of existence.

It kept me up all night, and I didn't even cum...

Like I said; the NPIC is like the best-tragic-abusive-train-wreck relationship...

[oh right!]

So now I'm left with negotiating between undoing my NPIC schooling and the greatest hard-on that it gives me to process process process, over-analyze, break-it-down, put it back together, and then never shut-up about how fucked up the NPIC is...

[Like I said; bitter bitches make the best ex's.
How many of you can say that the NPIC was your first relationship? #verymastriste]

So now, as I pretend to move on and do work that I want to do because I want to do it, not because there's a shitty NPIC paycheck or organizer self-righteousness, how do I find folks who haven't been tainted by the NPIC?

[Is there anyone in Hell-A who hasn't slept with the NPIC? Who here does not share an ex with someone they know?]

But at the end of the day bitching and processing won't help me...

All I have to remember is:

querías Norte...