El bukz (short for bukowski)
Originally uploaded by una luna
bukz, lina and i had a great time at the dog park yesterday.
discovered the puggle — a mix breed between a beagle and a pug.
bukz found another boston, oliver and enjoyed his time. he enjoys playing with most, if not all, dogs but he’s taken a particular liking to a few fellow bostons.
i wonder where rene acevedo and the rest of the “residents” crew is at at this point in time. it’s been so long.
so long since principal abenante recognized that the cardboard and “comp” happenings followed by fights was all not a good thing. he felt it needed some redemption.
and so he sought to sanction the sport.
and so “the residents” was born.
we made some decent money as perpetual first place winners. our first job, if you may.
i wasn’t very good but i loved my favorite move. swipes we called them. Of course, my friend “spider” was so much better at them than i was and i also wonder where he’s at, at this time. so many years later. lifetimes.
he got his name from the spider move he so perfected….he walked on his hands while his arms were tucked under his thighs. you would probably need a picture to understand. he and his partner would play “patty-cake” with their feet while performing the move…the crowd went wild.
swipes, spider, headspins, scorpion, windmills, flares, helicopter…the breakdancing moves that were all introduced by the “popping” madness of heartbeats, gay walks and “burning” gestures…
so, for anyone that’s ever loved or been enchanted by the sport, i leave you with this…a global round about version of the sport. fittingly so.
La pistolera @ the volcano,Houston
Originally uploaded by una luna
austin was good except for a difficult moment where bukz and i both came close to being mauled by a pitbull.
lina and i listened to obama’s speech and it made me think of the following beautiful and poignant poem by langston hughes.
Let America Be America Again
By Langston Hughes
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed–
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek–
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean–
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today–O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home–
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay–
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again–
The land that never has been yet–
And yet must be–the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine–the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME–
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose–
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath–
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain–
All, all the stretch of these great green states–
And make America again!
this was taken with my iphone. a shot outside our current abode on fairbanks in lindale park in houston. these new flowers have been blooming like crazy lately. beatiful.
i sent it to my blog while sitting at sro enjoying some crawfish and waiting for the rockets to beat the lakers for #22!
galveston was good yesterday. but i think bukz prefers his buddies at the dog park. a short trip to austin and then to the rgv to spend easter with jada.
spring (break) 08.
Spring 08
Originally uploaded by una luna
in the midst of all the hoopla (hoopla that will only be sensationalized by right wing bigots over the course of the next months) about rev. wright, obama’s former minister, i stumbled upon this video.
a nice follow up to my previous post on my church attendance. or the lack thereof, these days.
where would jesus church.
it’s raining outside my window.
didn’t go to church today.
didn’t go to church yesterday.
didn’t go to church last week.
didn’t go to church last month.
didn’t go to church last year.
did go to cool hunting. for church.
or something of the sort.
AUSTIN07 from luna lopez on Vimeo.
