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July 2001
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Tijuana Gringo | |
Daniel's Journal | by Daniel Charles Thomas |
7 November 2001. Wednesday. |
10:38+ a.m. -- Sleep late. But woke first at five twenty-nine and rose briefly to say prayers kneeling on my petate mat. Ay Jesus. What a mess this old world is in, still.
Went back to sleep until recently through dozens of dreams I only remember flying to elementary school in the valley of the creek where I grew up, that crosses under the rebuilt freeway before going down toward Spring Valley, Jamacha, and the Sweetwater Bonita. The watershed where I grew up, la comarca donde crecí yo.
How many people care any more about what watershed goes where? Gary Snyder. Well, that's one. I think Tom Falvey, too. Maybe.
And my son, Jude. He's hep to those vibes.
And I do. En primera de cambios -- sabes que that means, Gringo? In first gear, es decir how would you translate that if you can? What? In the first place, well, yes, maybe that will do it. En primera de cambios, no eres un gringo comun.
God have mercy Rudi actually said something nice about me.
But do my guardian angels understand Spanish? Any better than the little I do, sometimes...?
Grandmothers, aunts, fathers, uncles. Have I confused and disturbed them as much as I have myself by living on the other side of this frontier and learning a little bit of how hard the psyche must struggle to be an immigrant, a stranger in a strange land oh yes I taste and smell the mystery of being on the other side, living with the other, and feeling like YOU are out of place, You are the stranger, you are the other....
American can I create footsteps of persona by writing yes and or no ? So many hours I sit at my little table reading, thinking, writing, the jagged edge of my tooth biting at the corner of my tongue who would rather be kissing Tere, so yes, so very yes.
I'm going to cross over to San Ysidro to go to the post office. I'll be walking all the way. Mail some poems to Chicago, Boston, and Washington D.C. Wonder how many weeks it will take before they come back, rejected. Ah, such positive thinking. Not.
Will probably stop at library branch in Ysidro. Love books. It shall seem strange to see so many in the library in English. I am used to the little treasure we have here across the street in the park. I am used to reading in Spanish.
I'll sit down and read and read and read. The kids there will be babbling bilingual. Of course. I live on the border. Yes.
Then I will come home again. This evening Oscar Cota will come into the restaurant to eat. Rudi will be ragging on me as usual. "Why are you writing about us, why are you writing about us like we are something you can just study and tell our secrets and... and... And... AND You Write ABOUT Such a THING AS I Told You NOT to Write! No, I'm not going to read it, I don't care what you said, that fact that You WROTE About it Is BAD Enough you son of a bitch Gringo, why can't you write about yourself, not about us."
And Oscar will tell him to lighten up. So then Rudi will start in on him, instead of me. Are you afraid of giving a concert? Are you afraid? No, it's just that I don't want to play to all those tuxedos and bluehaired ladies. Not any more.
Damn it's a good thing we like him. He can be a real bloody curmudgeon sometimes. But then, the thing is, he usually is right.
A kid will come in and make eyes at him. After a while mentions a concert he's going to in L.A. and that the band is Satanic. Rudi will tell him to leave. No one talks about Satan in my house, he says. Not like he's just some "good" musician...
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