Music and More

Vicente "El Picosito" Garcia Jr.

There is a part of the Chicano culture that is ruthless. Even the slightest social struggle creates opportunity for deviance. My family was a victim to the darker side of the Chicano culture. There is a pride in young Chicano men that is detrimental. There is an ignorance that festers in the poverty. That ignorance is harnessed and feeds a violent restlessness. As outsiders might see it, deviance is a bad choice that many of our youngsters make, but as the insiders know it, it is an inspired direction that is influenced by those who are consistently working in our lives. With Chicano pride comes Chicano disgrace. My primo was ruthlessly murdered by the noxious strata found in Albuquerque's barrios.



My cousin, Vicente "El Picosito" Garcia Jr., whom I only met once was shot and killed. Picosito embraced boxing and the people in his life gave him a fighting chance at prosperity. It was in the shadows of a prideful Chicano culture where Picosito fought his last fight, and was ruthlessly murdered. I feel guilty claiming him, because it wasn't until 4-5 years before his death that our family was able to begin the reconciliation process. Reconciliation for circumstances that distance him form us. He was an aspiring boxer and future contender. Raised in California and New Mexico, he brandished the qualities that athletes hope for. I never got to know him as a young man. I played with him once for a short time in front of our grandparent's house. He was around 8. I am fortunate to have that memory.

Happy Birthday Primo

Outsider

what is it to be an outsider? it's perspective and interpretation. I have a romance with my connection to New Mexico. the romance isn't necessarily good or bad. it causes me to feel included and a part of something everlasting. there is convenience in this. I am familiar with my surroundings, this makes surviving easier. New Mexico is a framework that is rooted in attitudes and systems designed by people like me. lifestyles were created with me in mind, and I continue the tradition of trying to live with understanding and concern for future generations, my future generations more than yours. all this convenience leads me to think like an insider. the wonderful thing about memorial is that it allows me to ponder the past. in this reflection I encounter the outsider, me.
I am the continuation of outsiders. I am the consequence of evolution. I am the consequence of a restless generation. I have convinced myself that I am an insider while denying all the remaining evidence of how I am also an outsider. it is in critical thought that i can accept that both are persona that motivate my thoughts and more significantly my actions. in the end, I must reconcile that regardless of duration, pedigree, and lineage, the insider is one who operates from respect for others and is mindful of their inpact on the surroundings. the outsider is in it for the benefit and experience.

Your tradition is confusing my tradition

I think generations of New Mexicans are inundated with trends and superficiality leading to the acceptance of inferiority and imposition of other's values and expectations. I recognize how our cultural gems are being marketed and exploited by many outsiders. I think the outsider is a threat to the integrity of our traditions, whether it is a meal, art, or ritual. I think we are learning to apply economic value to our cultural icons. The American way is to assign value in dollars, and I am struggling to accept this mindset. The economification of this culture is an aspect of modernism that I see as corrosive to the integrity of a collective identity. This is music to the individualists ears, and I like to think that the individual has lived generations disconnected and feels threatened by others connection and unity. I see it as the reason why Americans try so hard to market their American Pride. In New Mexico our pride is engrained in our behaviors, our friendships, and our understanding of God. In metropolitan life it is package, manufactured, themed, and sculpted. Many Americans shop for culture, desiring a connectedness with a past and hopes for legacy; even the individualist. It might be hard to fathom but I am both New Mexican and American; owning both the traditionalist and capitalist mentalities. Not sure why the following program inspired this note but it sucks knowing the military complex has New Mexico and its people by the balls.

No you are not right, but yes you are not wrong

In today's economic struggle we see the unfortunate consequence of materialism and a desire for sustained growth. I see it in my longing for convenience. I see it as the theory of exponential growth. Can life be entirely about constant convenience? Our business schools preach efficiency leading to profit, our politicians preach simplicity and function with complexity, and most American lifestyles are motivated by prosperity. Efficiency, simplicity, and prosperity are all qualities of convenience. We are destined to prove that we can continually improve.
I call this reaching for perfection.......Godliness. I might not be fair in saying this. It is probably more a projection of my own personal desires. I think the intellectual wants to prove God false, the scientist wants to know Gods secrets, the athlete wants to prove himself immortal, the romantic wants to prove herself all desirable, the jefe wants infinite worth, and we "all" want bliss.
Convenience is how I exploit God’s gifts of intelligence, emotion, and senses. I am now recognizing the importance of inefficiency in the paradoxical system I call nature. In destruction there is prosperity. Between two polarities there lies reality and construction and destruction....feast and famine....invention and robbery...cultivation and pruning.

Fear is in the eye of the feared!

I find that when I create animosity it thrives in me. I think maturity allows me to process animosity in my thoughts, actions, and memories. There are rappers, news organizations, and cultures that should be feared but animosity is not the remedy. I think what has helped me mature is recognizing the child in adults and understanding how being in an adult body is a lot simpler than being in an adult mind. I have had great teachers of maturity.



Common, you make a lot of sense for me, and your message is vital to the empowerment of the marginalized, rejected, and disqualified.

Keep on, keeping on.

Do this for me please-resend

I am not much for e-mail chains, but I understand when a message needs to be made. I am not a very patriotic person. I tend to find the reasons for war ambiguous. I find the reasons for killing even more ambiguous, and I am not designed to kill. I am designed to be influenced. I see that influence can lead to passion, and passion can open doors I may have never thought to open, like reasons to kill. I function best on rational and often realize that rational is often a luxury. The soldier is a reflection of their country, heritage, and history. The soldier is most importantly a person. In my search for reasoning, I tend to minimize that my country's aggression and strength are deserving of respect and dignity. I do my best to value the sacrifice a soldier makes, by living a lifestyle that isn't too antagonistic to natures balance. I will likely never experience conventional warfare, but life is a war. For now, I can only sympathize. This was sent from a "special force" in my life, and I am following orders....somewhat!
Your cell phone is in your pocket.
You're looking at all the pretty girls.
He patrols the streets, searching
for insurgents and terrorists.
He's told he will be held over an
extra 2 months.

You call your girlfriend and set a
date for tonight.
He waits for the mail to see if there
is a letter from home.

You hug and kiss your girlfriend,
like you do everyday.
He holds his letter close and smells
his love's perfume.

You roll your eyes as a baby cries.
He gets a letter with pictures of his
new child, and wonders if they'll ever meet.

You criticize your government, and
say that war never solves anything.
He sees the innocent tortured and
killed by their own people and
remembers why he is fighting.

You hear the jokes about the war, and make fun of men like him.
He hears the gunfire, bombs and
screams of the wounded.

You see only what the media wants
you to see.
He sees the broken bodies lying
around him.

You are asked to do something by
your parents. You don't.
He does exactly what he is told even
if it puts his life in danger.

You stay at home and watch TV.
He takes whatever time he is given
to call, write home, sleep, and eat.

You crawl into your soft bed, with
down pillows, and get comfortable.
He tries to sleep but gets woken by mortars and helicopters all night long.

I will try and understand you American Soldier.

The Show Goes On



"One in the air for the people that ain’t here
Two in the air for the father that’s there
Three in the air for the kids in the ghetto
Four for the kids who don’t wanna be there
None for the niggas trying to hold them back
Five in the air for the teacher not scared to tell those kids thats living in the ghetto that the niggas holdin back that the World is theirs!
Yeah yeah, the World is yours, I was once that little boy"

Every generation has a voice that sings of truth, using a language that is only understandable by the proverbial code talker. I investigate phenomena and find that Darwin is more right than wrong. His show goes on.

I see that advocacy has become advertisement. The grassroots are paved. I find that Jesus is more quoted than reflected. I find that faith is in the bottom line and invention is the real God of too many people. His show goes on.

This song moves my soul in a floetic way. It strangely gives me courage to be a moron, outcast, and misunderstood. It gives me courage to live to the beat in my heart, that is out of tune in this materialistic orchestra. At times I see how I may be dancing on stage that was never meant to be mine. I am the show that goes on.

"Yeah, ain’t no body leavin, no body goin’ home
even if they turn the lights out the show is goin’ on!"

Immigrating Without Borders

      I immigrated from Albuquerque’s city life to a quieter Santa Fe.  Santa Fe is 50 some odd miles north of Albuquerque along the Camino ...